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.