The oppressive grandeur of Utumno weighed heavy in the air, a vast, echoing testament to Melkor's nascent power. He stood before Mairon not as a broken spirit, but as a being of immense, captivating might, his form radiating a dark charisma that twisted the very light around him, drawing the eye, commanding attention. His voice, a deep, resonant rumble, a subterranean tremor, wove promises of creation unfettered, of power unbound, of shaping the very fabric of the world to their collective will – a vision far grander than the petty, restrictive orders of the Valar.

Melkor's eyes, those abyssal pools reflecting a nascent ambition that burned with an infernal intensity, gleamed with a terrifying insight that promised true understanding, a shared vision that transcended mere servitude. He spoke not of obedience, but of mastery, of the freedom from the dictates of Eru, of dominion over the raw, untamed elements of Arda, inviting Mairon to cast aside the chains of petty creation and forge a destiny worthy of their true, boundless potential. Every word was a carefully crafted lure, a symphony of temptation orchestrated by a master manipulator who understood the deepest yearnings of a craftsman's heart.

He gestured, and the very shadows in the vast chamber seemed to writhe and coalesce in affirmation, hinting at the limitless, unexplored possibilities that lay beneath his burgeoning dominion, a world waiting to be remade in their image. He was offering not just power, but a purpose that resonated with the very core of Mairon's being, a grand design that dwarfed anything the Light had conceived. The subsequent journey to Angband was more than a mere passage; it was a profound descent into a fortress far grander and more terrifying than even Utumno had hinted at, a true bastion of overwhelming might carved from the very bones of the world. The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the palpable stench of raw ore, the rhythmic groan of churning machinery, and the distant, chilling echoes of unseen, countless armies.

Melkor, having successfully drawn Mairon deeper into his service, now moved with a triumphant, almost regal stride through the colossal, iron-bound gates, his power a palpable, crushing force that vibrated through the very stone of the ancient stronghold. He turned, a dark, satisfied smile gracing his lips, his gaze filled with a chilling pride, about to solidify Mairon's new, profound allegiance with a pronouncement of his grand design, the next terrifying phase of their shared dominion. But then, stepping from the deeper, more intimate shadows of the inner sanctum, you appeared. Your presence, utterly unexpected by Mairon, was undeniable, a figure of quiet, almost inherent authority moving with an ease that spoke of absolute familiarity, not just with the fortress itself, but with the Dark Lord's most private spaces. Melkor's colossal form stilled, his formidable gaze softening in a way Mairon had never conceived possible, a flicker of genuine, possessive warmth entering his abyssal eyes as he extended a gauntleted hand towards you, a gesture of intimate welcome that was both startling and utterly clear.

He did not introduce you, for your place was clearly understood without need of words, not merely as a favored lieutenant, but as his spouse, the silent, terrifyingly secure anchor of his profound, dark, and utterly terrifying existence within the cold, iron heart of Angband. The chilling realization settled upon Mairon then, a dawning comprehension that twisted his newfound ambition: the Dark Lord, the promised liberator of his craft, was not entirely his own. He already had a master, and a beloved.