Melkor laughed a wolf's laugh that bared teeth white as bleached bone, and moved himself to follow after Mairon's brightness into the shadow of an outcropping. "Deceiver! Did you destroy them from within the circle of their confidences? What gifts were lain at your feet while you walked unknown?"

His arm dropped from around his servant that they could face each other in the shadows, and his body clenched at the sight of the fire in the maia's eyes. He loves only one thing better than well-lain plans, he thought, mouth cutting into a grin that was knife-sharp when he closed one broad, strong hand over the finer fingers of his pet.

The pad of his thumb touched the cool metal of the ring, sensing nothing, stroked it so that it rolled easily around the finger it rest upon. He moved the hand nearer to his face rather than lean to inspect it, and under the great force of his gaze, it began to heat, the fine script winking into view. "But what is the manner of its command, Mairon?"