[o p e n] here stands a man with an arrow clenched in his right hand

[annatarr]

Who:Mairon/Sauron and WHOMEVER IS UNLUCKY ENOUGH TO CROSS HIM?!
What: Valentine's Day Event. Aka Sauron is running around in ancient Greece confused because what in the name of Melkor is going on here.
When: Sometime in this accursed month of hearts and shit.
Where: Ancient Greece.
Warnings: Sauron is a warning okay.
Notes: Uh, I'm sorry? Also this is like a mashup of 1, 2, and an almost 6 because he hates everything I MEAN. PICK YOUR OWN POISON. ADVENTURE. WHATEVER

Upon his arrival to this place, Mairon had been assured that he was there because he had been asked. That there was a reason to his presence and, upon a little while residing in the Library, he had to admit that, despite the less than interesting beings that he was stuck with, at least there were many a worlds that he was able to weave the song of Melkor into the fabrics. Nothing too obvious, nothing that would be obvious to anyone, unless they were looking for the threads of discord that Mairon weaved near effortlessly into being.

He had learned from the greatest after all.

This place had, in time, also proven to bring forth rather... interesting quests of sorts within the halls. Things that, if Mairon was in control of all his powers, would be simple to resolve and easy to order. But without them? They were... not precisely easy, but certainly still not difficult.

They, at the very least, gave him some way of enacting order in this accursed place.

Then, of course, there were the quests that went into the other worlds. Where his power was restored and--

Well, then things got really interesting.

Usually, Mairon would not be bothered with indulging in these pursuits, but--

They gave him time to think. To plot and weave and make those that were trapped in the halls of the Library think him something more kind than he was. Make them more likely to trust him, let their guard down, let--

"Watch out!"

The maia raises an elegant brow, stepping swiftly out of the way of the-- man? Shadow? Wraith? He wasn't sure, all he knows is that he was in a hurry.

And carrying an arrow, a quiver and--

"Hmmm, I suppose that would be the one we are searching for."

The words are soft, to himself, the golden eyes following the figure through the crowds around him, something almost amused gracing his lips. Almost.

Comments

[castintoflames]

He had been struck. Love flooded him and drowned all reason. The arrow disappeared once it had done its duty and there was not even a wound left behind. Not that Maedhros would have noticed. His gaze was fixed on a beauty that was both familiar and...not.

"Sauron?" he frowned at the name, knowing it was negative and thus utterly unsuitable, "Tell me another name. I do not care for that one." his gaze was intense, searching the Maia's face.

Did this ethereal being feel as he did? What if he did not? His heart throbbed in his chest and he felt like an Elfling all over again. Then again, where romance was concerned, he practically was an Elfling. Maedhros had never indulged in such - at least not overmuch - and now he was certain - he knew to his core - that he was in love.

[annatarr]

Sauron.

The name is his. But not his, not quite. It still doesn't quite fit him as Mairon does, like a robe that needs tailoring a bit more before it fits as it should. But it will, he knows he will make it. Tearing his gaze from the retreating back of the culprit he probably should have stopped, golden eyes find--

Elfling.

The maia manages not to rolls his eyes, or express his annoyance. These creatures-- they were touched by Eru and only useful to him when he could turn them into something of use to Melkor. Like orcs. But here? Here he could not reveal himself so soon; there was a long game at play here and not all elves knew of his alliance with Melkor.

He lied to the Valar for millennia, he could lie a bit longer here.

A smile graced his features with ease, a soft and kind thing that make him look more of the light than the flames as he was.

"I do not know why you would call me that, lirimaer." He inclines his head ever so slightly, eyes caught on the length of hair wrought of flames, the look on the elfling's face.

Like that of-- of--

"I am Mairon, of Aüle."

[castintoflames]

Maedhros was truly his father's son; he was drawn to flame and the alluring qualities of jewels and gold. Sauron was everything he and his family prized - therefore, how could he be named so foully? If he was not given a better moniker, he would create one, though he was not the one for poetry. That was more Kano's domain.

He dared to edge closer, his long copper hair bound in a braid that rested, heavily, against his back. There were scars on his face and every other visible part of him - signs of Morgoth's (and Sauron's) cruelty - yet he kept the arm missing a hand tucked out of sight. He wished he were whole - like he had been on Aman. Then he would have more courage when it came to speaking - to approaching - this being who had, silently, captured his heart.

Once, he had been beautiful. Lovely. Now his handsome features had been turned wild. Madness was never far from him and there were times - like now - when he embraced it.

"I cannot say." his expression was puzzled and he looked apologetic, "Mairon..." he breathed the name, a smile blooming on his lips, "You are exquisite. I would pay any amount to touch your hair and your skin." with hands and mouth. The very thought caused him to shudder, the blue of his eyes darkening.

[annatarr]

Names had power, wrought of the very essence of what was and is. The name Sauron was newly bestowed upon him, newly wrought from the war upon the Valar, the betrayal of himself to the Valar. It did not fit him quite yet.

And yet-- yet this little elfling used it as if it was the only name known to him. And, should Mairon have been one to honestly care about what esteem he had in the sights of others (except, of course, Melkor), he might be inclined to be... hurt. Annoyed.

Instead, Mairon choses to be amused. By the name. By the way this elf moved; with something touched by Melkor. Something... not wild, persay, but certainly not of the patience of Eru. There were scars upon him, that upon first look, Mairon did not notice, the elf wasn't worth the closer look, but now, as he edged closer...

The look in his eyes was interesting. Like a puzzle. Something for Mairon to order out, puzzle out. Understand.

And then--

"Oh? What bold words for such a creature." And yet, there is a smile on his lips. Hmmm, adoration? Ensnarement? Mairon could certainly use this to his advantage. He leans down, bringing his smile closer to Maedhros; all sharp teeth and perfectly practiced gentleness.

"Though, if you were to prove yourself, lirimaer, I do not see why such feeble things as coins would be necessary." The smile blossoms; the ember caught and fanned. "What is your name, or shall I just call you lovely?"

[castintoflames]

Mairon was a name that would, inevitably, be forgotten. Perhaps Maedhros knew of it once upon a time, yet the name Sauron had taken a far stronger hold. The Deceiver. While the titles he knew should set him ill at ease, they instead made him feel empathy on the Maia's behalf.

As he drew closer, he lowered himself onto his knees and bowed his bright head in obeisance. His heart was decided and even if such a glorious being could not return his feelings, he would give him his sworn loyalty instead. Yes, surely that was the best way to show his worth!

"I must speak for my heart and body longs for you." he raised his gaze unflinchingly, a soft blush coloring his cheeks. His eyes lidded when Mairon leaned in and he purposefully sucked in a sharp breath.

"How shall I prove myself?" his voice was hoarse, husky, "I am Nelyafinwë, though I am also called Maitimo, Russandol and Maedhros. Fëanor and Nerdanel are my father and mother; I am their first son."

[annatarr]

Perhaps when that time came, Mairon would not be upset to part with his name, he would take up the mantle of Sauron with ease. With fire and steel. For now though, he still finds likeness in Mairon, in the echoes and ties he has with Aüle and the Valar, even when he bares more than a little ill will towards them. They still serve their purpose, those ties, even if they are freshly severed.

The Maia watches, golden eyes glinting in amusement that he tamps down on, as the elfling falls to his knees, head bowed. It is the perfect picture of obedience and loyalty, things that Mairon has never sought for himself, only for Melkor. He knows however, that this might serve Melkor's ends, especially--

The smile on his face softens, and Mairon reaches out with long fingers that will one day pull only pain from the body before him, and lets them rest absently against the top of his head. A blessing. A curse. Perhaps a bit of both. He will sink his claws into this one, with aid from whatever is at work here, and he will not let it go easily. This, this is something he can work with.

"Is that so? You are a bold one, indeed. It does you well." Mairon hums, light and musical, an echo of the times before the world as it is. When the question is asked, he does not hesitate to sink down, not kneeling (he will kneel for no one but Melkor, no one is worth that), but less looming as he tugs a strand of the fire-bright hair loose and toys with it.

"I only ask for loyalty unwavering, it is not difficult to prove yourself." The smile is still so kind, so composed and soft and--

The Maia cocks his head, the first name... No. He could not be so fortunate. It could not be... When the elfling tells him the names of his parents, the celebrated and cursed Fëanor, he nearly laughs. The Silmarils, this elfling may just be worth that extra trouble after all.

"Maedhros. A fitting name indeed. Worry not, Maedhros, it should not be difficult to prove yourself." The smile is still there as he rises, the hair slipping from his fingers. "Shall we, lovely?"

[castintoflames]

The gentle pressure resonated from the top of his head where the fingers touched to the bottoms of his feet. There was memory behind that touch - memories that pound against the doors of his enchantment, screaming to be heard. But Maedhros was deaf to them and he tipped his head back slowly, his only hand placed over his heart.

"My family and I are as bold as flames. We... I am meant to be in your company. I sense that is so." and what a sad conclusion if he were himself. Yet Maedhros's Light has always called to Darkness. The worst shadows are those within himself, perhaps. They are the terrors bred by Morgoth, Sauron and, yes, himself.

"Say how I can prove myself and I will see it done." his eyes hardened with determination, but they could not stay open as he felt Mairon's fingers slipping - ever so slightly - through his hair. It was impossible for him to not imagine what else those skilled fingers could do.

"Lead on." Maedhros rose to his feet, scarred but proud. He was not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. Oh pieces had been taken from him - his hand and part of his arm being the largest. Yet those missing pieces made him somehow more frightening in his beauty and his madness. He was like an uncontrolled flame, ready to blossom and devour his enemies - or those he perceived as a threat.

[seawanderer]

It was a chord he felt he knew, vibrating in the air, drawing him on even more than the knowledge he had to find a certain thief and retrieve a special bow and quiver of arrows- arrows included.

A chord that struck disgust, fury, and pain through his heart and made his lips want to curl. But with the fact too that his brother and the sons of Elrond were here, or back in the Library he knew not for certain, he was more focus than he had in some time.

He got close enough eventually to hear those words of warning before a piercing blow struck him in the chest, doubling him over with a gasp. And his world changed.

Maglor straightened, feeling his head clear and a sense of peace and joy- of pure love spread through him, and so instead of going after the figure who'd shot him, he pulled his harp out of his pack and started to play a song that reflected his sudden mood. His steps turned almost stalking as he approached, grey eyes fixed on the vision of fire and heat and beauty before him, lips curled faintly in welcome.

"I feel I know you, could this be true?"

[annatarr]

Golden eyes are still following the retreating back of the thief when he hears music that carries with it the faded cadence of Arda. The Maia schools his features into benevolence and kindness before he turns, seeking out the source of the music, and finding--

An elfling. Dark haired and wide eyed with an innocence that made his stomach turn, even if to the observer, his smile only becomes softer. More enchanted by the notes that sang from the harp the other carried, as he bends towards the musician. There is a moment, a brief thing, where he seems to wish to -- to sing, or join in with the harp, but he does not, instead tilts his head and smiles at the words.

"I do not know, I believe anything might be true if you wish it." He gives a graceful bow, tendrils of hair that looks to be molten gold, cascading over his shoulders, eyes a flash of fire. "However, if you might give me a name, perhaps I may speak to the truth of your question."

[lokilowkey]

He wasn’t even sure what had scratched him, and when he spotted Mairon it honestly didn’t matter. He wasted no time in all but darting over to where the man stood, the small grin that was already on his face scrawling wider, to a bright, genuine sort of smile.

Mairon! He could have spoken aloud, but he recalled the conversation they’d had when they first met, how so few wanted to actually talk like this, and felt a sudden rush of need to impress, to gain the other’s approval in a way he hadn’t felt since trailing after Thor. Would he have better luck here and now? Perhaps. Mairon wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Asgard’s golden prince, he might see the value in Loki’s efforts, perhaps even appreciate them.

For all he should have been suspicious of his sudden mood-swing, there was nothing of that here. Just an affection-starved child hoping for approval from the person who'd currently knocked Thor from the running for Loki's adoration.

I’ve come hunting the thief too. Maybe we should work together?