It hurts. He thought it would, knew it would, suspected it would, to hear the words that Melkor now speaks. The distress he'd felt earlier is all but gone now, replaced by something more primal, something he hadn't felt towards Melkor in years, in so, so many years.
"It costs me even now, to make such an offer." Not pride or dignity, for these had already given over. But it's said softly, with a tinge of anger and bitterness and emotion that he rarely, if ever, decides to show. And if that isn't enough to get Melkor to turn around, Mairon strides forward, reaches out with his empty hand to pull upon Melkor's shoulder and strike him across the jaw with the other that holds the ring.
That hurts, too.
But in this he cannot seethe, or wallow in his anger. Nearly a thousand years it had taken him to fully reconcile with himself the fact of Melkor's banishment, his defeat, the fact that he would find almost no other Ainur, no other ally but orcs and men of old. Now as he steps away, it's as if none of that had ever happened.
"I do not sever myself from you." Quietly, and with a hollow sort of tremble, never allowing his gaze to stray from the other's form, his face, if he would deign to look back. Even after all these years he had not severed himself from Melkor, not truly. But these are things he can never say.
"Deny me if you will, and know me not, for it is long since I have thought to know myself. But know that I am and will ever be your servant." I will ever be yours. "If you should call, I will answer."
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"It costs me even now, to make such an offer." Not pride or dignity, for these had already given over. But it's said softly, with a tinge of anger and bitterness and emotion that he rarely, if ever, decides to show. And if that isn't enough to get Melkor to turn around, Mairon strides forward, reaches out with his empty hand to pull upon Melkor's shoulder and strike him across the jaw with the other that holds the ring.
That hurts, too.
But in this he cannot seethe, or wallow in his anger. Nearly a thousand years it had taken him to fully reconcile with himself the fact of Melkor's banishment, his defeat, the fact that he would find almost no other Ainur, no other ally but orcs and men of old. Now as he steps away, it's as if none of that had ever happened.
"I do not sever myself from you." Quietly, and with a hollow sort of tremble, never allowing his gaze to stray from the other's form, his face, if he would deign to look back. Even after all these years he had not severed himself from Melkor, not truly. But these are things he can never say.
"Deny me if you will, and know me not, for it is long since I have thought to know myself. But know that I am and will ever be your servant." I will ever be yours. "If you should call, I will answer."