Melkor was annoyed that of all beings he had to turn to her about this. But his son was clearly sick, crying and in need of something he could not provide the infant. So Laurelin was scrubbed and dressed as a servant and brought to the nursery where the father was rubbing the back of little Lerya as he got sick.
If it was possible, Laurelin looked worse now than she ever had before during her time in Angband. All other tortures, all other cruelties, none of them compared to having her son ripped from her and being barred from him completely. She had not eaten or slept since the day of his birth. For nearly a full week, she had sobbed and screamed and raged in her cell before falling silent and despondent as her grief overwhelmed her. Dark circles hung under dull and glassy eyes, and her frame was far too thin as she wasted away in the dungeons.
As the orcs led her to the upper levels, she almost wondered if Melkor already thought it time for another child, but, mercifully, she was led into a different room where she heard an infant's cry long before the door had even opened.
She pulled against her chains in anticipation as her head lifted and her heart pounded, the first signs of life she had shown in so long. Indeed, the door opened to the sight of her crying, ill son.
"Lerya," she croaked, pulling again at her chains as tears burned her eyes. Turning to Morgoth, she hissed. "What have you done to him?"