He was thrown onto the floor, scraped and scarred, one eye swollen shut, his lip split. Blood dripped onto the stone and he spat toward the feet of the nearest orc. He wiped the red-speckled spittle away gently. Two fingers were broken, he realized with a sigh.
“What have you found?” rumbled a voice on high.
“An elf, wandering in the mountains. He had this.” The orc held up the torn sash, displaying the colors and crest of Gondolin. “He has refused to speak.”
“He will not refuse me. Get him up!”
Maeglin was hauled to his feet and dragged before the vile lord. “I am Morgoth,” he said in a voice to make most tremble.
“Are you? Pleased to meet you,” answered Maeglin cockily.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Maeglin