He'd already thought he would never see Melkor again, not until the ending of the world. And in seeing his own future, his deaths and defeat, he knew he never would, not in the state that he is. To watch Melkor flow away like this seems only natural, in its unnaturalness, so he shows no anguish. Not even when the pin is placed upon the bed, that he had repaired to working order at his master's behest.
Where in Melkor's service he would have been more free in showing himself, now he hides. He does not close his mind, but he hides, because if he does not he will lie. Like he has been lying these past three Ages, to the point where he can hardly tell if he speaks lies or truths.
But it is Melkor's final words that tear away the blinds. For love is a strange and unruly thing, and he has twisted such an ideal about his fingers to accomplish his own doings. And it is these words that have Mairon reaching out again, not to grab this time but to push, grab a fistful of the black jumpsuit and shove Melkor against the door with a desperation he has not known for thousands of years. A warrior he is not, but never has he been slight of strength.
"Is this how you will leave? Again?" Mairon speaks in a hiss this time as well, in their own mother tongue. For a moment his fea lashes out, reaches, seeks-- but stops short and retreats, unwilling and unable and undaring. But he does not let go, and he does not let up.
"For three Ages I believed you gone forever-- is that such a treachery? Should I have kept my secrets in fear, as I did this past month? Should I have continued pretending that nothing was wrong, that nothing had changed, should I have deceived you as I deceived the world since your banishment? I wish now that I had, Deceiver that I am!"
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Where in Melkor's service he would have been more free in showing himself, now he hides. He does not close his mind, but he hides, because if he does not he will lie. Like he has been lying these past three Ages, to the point where he can hardly tell if he speaks lies or truths.
But it is Melkor's final words that tear away the blinds. For love is a strange and unruly thing, and he has twisted such an ideal about his fingers to accomplish his own doings. And it is these words that have Mairon reaching out again, not to grab this time but to push, grab a fistful of the black jumpsuit and shove Melkor against the door with a desperation he has not known for thousands of years. A warrior he is not, but never has he been slight of strength.
"Is this how you will leave? Again?" Mairon speaks in a hiss this time as well, in their own mother tongue. For a moment his fea lashes out, reaches, seeks-- but stops short and retreats, unwilling and unable and undaring. But he does not let go, and he does not let up.
"For three Ages I believed you gone forever-- is that such a treachery? Should I have kept my secrets in fear, as I did this past month? Should I have continued pretending that nothing was wrong, that nothing had changed, should I have deceived you as I deceived the world since your banishment? I wish now that I had, Deceiver that I am!"