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Mairon stepped into the room, a smile stretching across his face and eager glee bubbling in his chest. The room – cell, really – was small and cozy to him, a ten by ten by ten foot cube. The prisoner was not able to enjoy all the space, though. On the far wall, chained by its left wrist stretched above its head, Maedhros half-stood and half-hung. Its clothes, once fine and fit for the lord it was, were now rags, tattered by the journey to Angband. It was turned to the side, with its right side against the wall and its left side stretched uncomfortably in an unsuccessful attempt to escape the stress position it was chained in.
The elven lord had looked over at the sound of the door opening, but it looked down again as Mairon entered. Its teeth were clenched as if in fury and its head was held high, yet it did not dare meet the Maiar’s eyes. As Mairon approached, the Elf tensed and drew back. Mairon could not quite tell if Maedhros was tensing to attack or was tensing to brace itself against the coming pain, but Mairon suspected the prisoner was no more certain than he.
Fear seemed to win out over anger as Mairon loomed over the elf. Tall though it was for its kind, no elf could match a Maiar who had shifted specifically to appear two heads taller than it. Mairon didn’t stop moving towards the elf until it had to press its back against the wall as best it was able to in order to preserve the few centimeters between their bodies. It was still holding its head straight up, but now all its view would be taken up by Mairon’s black-robed chest. Mairon desperately wanted to touch the elf and see what would happen. Would it simply shiver in his grasp, too frightened to dare to struggle? Would it cringe away, too frightened to bare his touch? Would that anger snap and make it strike him without regard to the recompense Mairon would drag out of its body? How delightful any of those would be! But Mairon had a job to do, and he would have plenty of time later to torment the elf as he chose. For now, he needed to figure out how quickly Maedhros could be beaten back into shape.
“Maedhros, darling, I am simply delighted to see you again,” Mairon purred, putting on his most gentle and seductive voice. “It has been too long.”
The elf twitched against the wall.
“I wish I could say the same for you, Thauron,” Maedhros hissed rebelliously, raising its head to meet Mairon’s eyes with pure hate in its gaze.
A flush of rage rose in Mairon. How dare the elf say that name, insult Mairon like that! With barely a thought, he seized its throat in his right fist and clenched. Maedhros’s eyes widened, and its whole body jolted in Mairon’s hand. Its legs kicked at Mairon’s without enough room to cause any damage, particularly after Maedhros had been standing on them without rest for days. Its mouth moved soundlessly, its voice stolen alongside its breath, but Mairon could make out the curses on its lips. Its right arm, still unchained but last to move, lashed out and began hitting Mairon’s wrist in a futile attempt to break his grip.
Few elves could do more than slightly scratch Mairon’s skin. Maedhros was strong, had been one of those, and last time, it had managed to scratch Mairon deeply enough to show a hint of pink below the top layer of his skin. Now, though, Maedhros could not. It had no nails to scratch with, no fingers to curl into claws, no hand on its wrist. With his left hand, Mairon caught the stump of Maedhros’s wrist and inspected it.
Maedhros must have been devastated to lose its right hand, Mairon mused, ignoring the prisoner’s thrashing. It had been fantastic with a sword. And when it escaped Angband without its sword hand, all that skill would have been near-useless, impossible to use without the muscle memory of a limb now incapable of holding a sword. But that wasn’t the end of the story, Mairon knew. Maedhros had trained to use a sword in its left hand until none could say if it was less deadly than before losing its right hand. Mairon had no doubt that it had taken decades of focused effort for it to regain all its skill, to retrain all that muscle memory in a new hand.
Mairon’s eyes traced their way up the elf’s arm, across its shoulders, and up its other arm, to Maedhros’s remaining hand. He smiled slightly. There were reasons the torturers of Angband preferred to not maim their prisoners. Mostly, it was because a broken elf would make for a better slave if it was capable of using all its limbs. But Maedhros was a prince and already maimed. Perhaps Melkor would accept keeping it as a prize rather than a thrall even if they managed to break it properly. They had struggled to break it last time, though, so any path they could discover to humble it would be useful.
Its struggles were weakening, so Mairon stepped back and released its throat. It sagged on the chain, gasping for breath. Mairon waited patiently for it to recover. Eventually, the prisoner got its feet under it and pulled itself up to stand. It looked up at Mairon briefly, absolute hatred in its eyes, before dropping its gaze to the stone floor. It tried to pull its stump away from Mairon, but he tightened his grip, and the elf gave up quickly enough.
“As I was saying, it has been too long,” Mairon continued pleasantly. “You look so different! So asymmetrical! How odd that must be. But worry not, dear one: I can make you symmetrical again, and prettier than before.”
Maedhros looked up again, meeting and holding Mairon’s gaze this time. Its expression was full of confusion.
“What do you speak of, monster?” it hissed.
“Is it not obvious, Maehdros One-Handed?” Mairon cooed, rubbing a thumb over the elf’s stump. “You still have one hand left. I can fix that.”
All the blood drained from the prisoner’s face. Its eyes darted from its stump to its chained wrist to Mairon’s smiling face. It mouthed half-formed words of denial.
“Can you imagine it, precious?” Mairon asked gently, leaning forward. “You without hands, utterly defenseless, lying chained by the throat at the foot of my master’s throne. You would be truly useless, of course, but that would not matter to us. We would value you for your beauty and helplessness. Does that not sound perfect?”
Maedhros was shaking its head. Its eyes were wide, with a hint of pure panic deep inside.
“No, it sounds awful,” it insisted. Its voice shook. “Please, do not…”
“Please?” Mairon repeated, smiling. “Last time you were our guest, it took you far longer to learn to say please.”
It flushed and fixed its eyes on the ground, wincing in shame.
“Well, then,” Mairon continued, “let us see what else you remember.” He ignored the way the elf tensed. “What do you call me?”
“Lord Mairon,” came the subdued response.
“And my master?”
The prisoner twitched and glanced up at its chained wrist. If Mairon was an incarnate, his breath would have caught in his throat. Last time he had tried to force the elf to say his master’s name, it had refused. Even when it was delirious from the pain, the infected wounds, and the blood loss, it had refused to repeat the title and name Mairon had told it to. Mairon had managed to make it call him ‘Lord Mairon’, but that was as far as he had gotten, and that had doomed the foolish creature to being hung by the wrist from the cliffs until dead. But now, it was looking down with an expression of deep and unpleasant thought.
“King Melkor.” There was an edge of anger in its voice.
“That is right,” Mairon cooed. “Well done, elf. You are far politer than you were last time. I am pleased with you. Very pleased. And you even did so with one of your hands left! Perhaps it will not cause problems.”
Maedhros’s head snapped up and its eyes met Mairon’s. They were wide, full of shock and the softness of hope. Mairon’s first instinct was to crush that hope, to take a knife and take the elf’s hand then and there. But he hesitated. They had made so much progress with just a threat; that threat had proven itself to be of great use as leverage and if he cut off its hand, the threat would lose the possibility of future use. If Mairon wanted to have it repeat itself in front of his master, Mairon would need to keep that leverage. And Melkor would love to hear Maedhros call him King, anger or no.
Fortunately, Mairon’s hesitation was rewarded by a look of utter horror crossing the prisoner’s face and wiping way its hope.
“What game… why are you acting like this?” Maedhros demanded. Then it grimaced and added, “Lord Mairon.”
“Acting kind?” Mairon clarified in a gentle tone. He thought the elf probably meant ‘reasonably’, which he regretted to admit to himself was likely an accurate description of his actions that day, but he had no intention of suggesting he thought he ever acted unreasonably. At the elf’s hesitant nod, he sighed sadly. “Oh, dear one, last time you were our guest, you constantly insulted your hosts, attacked our soldiers, and generally refused to behave politely or reasonably. Is it any wonder that we were angry and tried to correct you? But today, I see you trying to be polite. It does not come easily to you, I know, but you have accepted correction quickly and tried to stay polite. Is it truly so strange to you that an authority would want to reward you?”
Maedhros looked down, shaking. It looked like it was biting its tongue in a manner more literal than metaphorical.
Fortunately, those lies were supported by everything Mairon had told it when it was first captured. Mairon had said that it deserved all the pain it experienced at his hands. It had never believed him entirely, unfortunately, but convincing it that Mairon had been honest would be destressing enough for Melkor despite the lack of obvious pain. Perhaps, just perhaps, Mairon should not try to break it, he thought. Perhaps he might have more luck with twisting it until none could tell whether it was broken or not. It would still be a difficult task, as Maedhros had proven to have a great well of anger and a stubborn will, but perhaps twisting it would be possible, where breaking it seemed to be impossible. With a small smile, Mairon reached out and tucked a lock of Maedhros’s hair behind it ear.
“Do not look so grim,” Mairon chided with all the gentleness he could muster. “Everything will turn out well, I believe.”
He was rewarded with Maedhros shuddering.