Of Love and Torture

98 ~ Maedhros

With those raw words flowing like wild rivers from his tongue, smashing against tremendous rocks trying to keep the water at bay, Maedhros fell silent. Somehow, amid the fear clogging his mind, he managed to keep the stern look in his eyes, desperately fighting back the sudden urge of jerking away and trying to run away, away from that abominable, monstrous figure regarding him so crudely.

For a moment or two, Morgoth seemed to ponder on what he'd heard, seemingly in deep thought.
Though whether the Fallen Vala was really reconsidering the situation thanks to his initiative of speaking up or if he was just trying to come up with a creative way of slaying him, the elf knew not.

"Do you honestly expect me to pay heed to such feeble utterings, thrall?"

The Noldo gritted his teeth at the degradation, but did not answer.

Morgoth paced around, circling him, and had Medhros not known better, he would have sworn puissance radiated through the room.

"You speak of death and torment bravely, elfling, I must admit." Morgoth began anew, and he must have given a command to the Balrogs as the chains gradually increased their grip on his wrists. "Your abidance in our dwelling served you well, after all. Yet, it is love you speak of with even more bravery. What in ironic thing, considering that you have no one to love nor care for you anymore, Maitimo."

And with mocking gentleness, his ashen fingers carassed one of the elf's bruised cheeks, trailing down his jawline where torn capillaries blossomed underneath the skin.