Skill Issue by Babblecat  

 After trolling the Valar and their creatures most epically, Melkor and his partner-in-crime flee to Middle Earth with shiny rocks in their possession, hijacking a ship for the purpose. Since one half of the duo refuses to leave spider form, and the other refuses to open his hands, this would be an impossible task, ordinarily. However, Melkor has the power of magic at his command, and he abracadabras the ship into obedience, generating ship wraiths out of the wood, creating Barnacle Orcs from the barnacles. These do all the things necessary for the movement and guidance of the vessel, leaving the arch criminals to sit in the centre of the deck staring at each other, since they're both too large to enter a cabin or go below deck.

Now crouching on deck facing either a Dark Lord or a monstrous spider, is not the most pleasant experience, but what can you do when you're on the side of Evil? 

“Can you not take the form of a beautiful elven wench?” rasps Melkor at Ungoliant. Ungoliant, who fills his vision the way the pits of his various fortresses do not and can not. “A beautiful evil elven wench? With dark hair, perhaps? And a black dress? Maybe red hair even.”

“I can.” rasps Ungoliant in reply, her voice like that of a wicked female child, her many eyes like dark Silmarils whirling in the sudden darkness generated by the loss of the Trees and her own immense malice. 

“So why do you refuse? I do not enjoy gazing upon a spider at all times. See my form? It is that of a beautiful male in black. Follow my example.”

“Have you ever been a spider, Melkor?”

“No.”

“You should try it sometime. You will prefer it to being a tiny little frail humanoid. Why possess two legs and eyes when you can possess eight? It does not make sense, Melkor. More is better. Quantity over quality.”

“I doubt that more than I have ever doubted anything.”

“Skill issue. You are a loser, Melkor. Now, feed me a snack. I see you clutching snacks. Clutching like your life depends on it.”

The slow blink of Melkor’s maleficent eyes says that his life does indeed depend on it. He wonders if he can surreptitiously cast the monumental spider into the deep, but when he glances at his barnacle orcs and wraiths, they turn their backs. 

“You cannot be hungry already.”

“I am always hungry. Feed me.”

To stave off his imminent demise by overbearing female, he compels fish and swimming mammals to cast themselves onto the deck in a continuous stream. This mildly distracts Ungoliant. Just enough to make the trip only frightfully horrible rather than petrifyingly terrible. 

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