[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]

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.