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."