Likeness by Agelast

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Chapter 1

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After.

He felt many moments crammed into one. A persistent smell of smoke, his father’s face, twisted in anger, of Nargothrond, destroyed, and hair enmeshed with light divine. Why must he wake? But he did, with a jerk, and saw Annatar’s face. A ruinous likeness, his own, stared back at him. Callused fingers caressed Celebrimbor’s skin. It left marks behind.

He croaked out, “Am I to die?”

“Not yet,” Annatar – Sauron – murmured. He smiled, a wolf’s smile. The wind howled through tops of the twisted towers, the stones quaked underneath them. Celebrimbor spat out a clot of blood and it hit the ground near Sauron’s feet. Sauron made a displeased noise.

Pain, red-hot and sudden, took Celebrimbor. Down he tumbled, into the past.

 

Before.

“Have you ever thought of marriage?” It was a bold question, bluntly asked. Annatar’s hair was ruffled in the brisk wind from the mountains. It slapped at their faces, brought a rising flush to their cheeks.

They had been tasked with taking some exercise outside the citadel, for both of them had started to looking like mushrooms, too seldom seeing the light of the sun. Behind them, spread out into the plain like a jewel on a velvet-green lap, lay Ost-in-Edhil, the city of the Elves. Set as it was within its fortification, its spires sparkled in the sun, plumes of smoke twisted and rose, a darkly diminishing blue that faded into the sky. Celebrimbor fancied that he could hear the ringing hammers against anvils still, faint but ever present, the city’s very heartbeat.

He turned back to Annatar, who waited patiently for his answer. “No. Never. What, are you proposing?”

Annatar threw back his head and laughed. The sound of it boomed, filled up the spaces, pushed against Celebrimbor. He looked up, momentarily distracted by the sudden flap of wings against the hard blue sky, birds startled into flight.

In a low voice, Annatar said, “No Melyanna am I.”

Then, he said, “I see no use in letting only a very few benefit from my … gifts.”

“Ah. I see,” Celebrimbor said.

“Do you? I wonder,” Annatar said, and walked past him, taking the path back to the city. Celebrimbor heaved a heavy sigh, took in the fresh air, and followed him down.

 

 

 

* * *

“Astonishing,” Celebrimbor muttered, examining the ring that lay in the palm of his hand. It looked very much like any other ring, and had little in the way of embellishment. Indeed, Celebrimbor resisted the the urge to suggest a setting for a stone, perhaps, or a few more engravings on it.

“Put it on,” Annatar urged, his hands hovering over Celebrimbor’s. They shared the same expression, one of intense scrutiny, of excitement, barely contained. Celebrimbor slipped on the ring, and sighed. The effect was immediate – the dim workshop seemed to brighten, and Annatar, dressed in his stained work-clothes seemed almost to be a being of light –

He took off the ring and blinked, adjusting to the light once again.

“What did you see?” Annatar said.

“Well, it was brighter – ”

“Yes, yes, and if you had kept it on longer, you would have felt a general uplifting of your spirits, an easing of your worries, and all such things people seem to like. It is a small ring with small power, but I think you can see the promise the concept holds.”

“And rings? Not jewels or – ?”

“Rings, not jewels,” Annatar said firmly, closing his hands over Celebrimbor’s. His eyes shone with delight. “We don’t want to repeat history now, do we?”

 

 

 

 

* * *

He asked during their noon-day meal of brown bread, slices of cold roast, blue-veined cheese, and such fruits as their winter stock provided, if Annatar had ever encountered Fëanor in Aulë’s halls. Annatar shook his head. “I already left when he trained there. It’s a pity, I would have liked to see him work.”

He swallowed a mouthful of ale, and pressed a hand against his mouth, wincing. “You truly prefer this to wine?”

Celebrimbor shrugged. Ale reminded him strongly of Narvi, his friend. Lost now. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and looked up. A young woman, dressed in white and grey peered down at him. It was Lothwen, one of Galadriel’s maidens. Quietly, she said that the Lady wished to speak with him. Celebrimbor left his meal mostly uneaten. Annatar followed him to the door, but Celebrimbor paid him no mind.

Galadriel’s quarters, when he came to them, were a den of activity. Elves came in and out, arms bundled with baskets and bags. Celebrían streaked past him, barefoot and giggling, only pausing for a moment to tell him that her mother was upstairs.

Galadriel looked to be in a temper, but it was too late to turn back, she had already caught sight of him. She barked,“You! Sit!” And pointed to a pair of chairs near the windows, and he sat, and waited for her to speak. She began to pace back and forth, picking something up and then tossing it down again.

Finally she turned to him and said, “Tyelpë, what are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to speak – ”

“None of that nonsense, please.” She sat beside him with a sigh. “You’re impossible! For centuries, everything went relatively well, now I hear that you’ve started some absurd war in council against Celeborn – oh, not now, Meril, truly! – ” The door closed with a thump, and Galadriel went on, “And Elrond wrote to me to say that you have flouted his and Gil-galad’s advice about this – Annatar person. The Lord of Gifts, really? Honestly, he sounds like a charlatan.”

“He’s no charlatan, I assure you,” Celebrimbor said, waving Galadriel’s rather grudging offer for tea. “And as for Celeborn, I had not thought a friendly difference of opinion could be described as a war.”

More softly, Galadriel said, “Tyelpë! Don’t be a fool, I beg you. What you’ve done here is … extraordinary. Don’t let the dead ruin it. Believe me, I knew Fëanáro much better than you could have, and I tell you, he is not a mark you should seek to surpass.”

Galadriel paused, as if seeking the right words. Celebrimbor leaned forward, for it was not a common happening, with Galadriel. Finally, she said, putting her hand on his, “He did not have your generosity of spirit – I suppose you get that from your mother, the poor woman. But Fëanáro sought – ever, to claim and take, do you understand? And what was his was ever his. That led to his downfall – to his family’s downfall! Do not fall into that same trap.”

Celebrimbor leaned close and closed his eyes. Galadriel’s hair was pulled into a braid, but some spilled forward, light long lost enmeshed in them. For three strands, Fëanor had begged, and had been denied. He wondered if he should be so turned away, if he asked her for them now. He knew that she liked him more than she did his grandfather, and certainly more than his father, whose name never passed her lips.

Galadriel watched him carefully, measuring him up.

He pulled back and cleared his throat. “You know I wish to share my work. That has ever been my goal.” He offered her his open palm, half-smiling. “I come with an open hand, not a closed fist.”

Galadriel made an impatient noise. “Sometimes I think you only to seek your grandfather’s fate from the other direction.”

 

 

 

* * *

It was the most productive quarter for the Gwaith-i-Mírdain yet. Riches flowed in, and work flowed out, each more surpassingly beautiful than the next. Both he and Annatar were feted, and cheered, and toasted, to the very blurry edges of the evening. Celebrimbor stumbled on the smooth stone of the stairs to his rooms. Annatar, who had drunk more sparingly than he, put an arm around Celebrimbor and half-led and half-carried him to his door.

The keys, the keys, where had he put them? Celebrimbor patted his pockets vaguely, and looked up to see Annatar holding the ring of keys, an ironic expression on his face.

“Well, go on then,” Celebrimbor said, muffling a yawn.

It was the first time Annatar had been in Celebrimbor’s private rooms, he looked around with interest. Every flat surface was covered in papers, save the bed. Here and there, Celebrimbor had made some half-hearted attempt at decorating – the Fëanorian star studded the mantel over the fireplace – but all in all, it was a scene of controlled chaos. “Don’t touch anything,” Celebrimbor said, waving his free hand about. “It’s a very delicate system of organization I have set up here.”

“Truly astonishing,” Annatar said, at last.

“Too right,” Celebrimbor said, collapsing into bed. Annatar stood perfectly still, as if contemplating his next step. He looked very handsome this night, his black hair swept back into a simple braid down his back, and a gold circlet perched on his head. On his robe, there was the insignia of the jewel smiths of Eregion, and small stars of silver studded his collar. Not so small anymore, for he had come closer without Celebrimbor even marking it. Celebrimbor blinked, and blinked again when he felt Annatar’s hand, always cool, press against the back of his neck.

He was not so befuddled with drink, nor so inexperienced in such matters, as to be surprised with what happened next. Annatar bent down and kissed him firmly on the lips. Annatar’s lips were dry, and his mouth still tasted faintly of wine and sugared almonds.

Celebrimbor looked up and said, “I thought you said that you were wholly unlike Melyanna?”

Annatar’s smile was shadowed. “I have a body, the same as yours. Well, not the same, but it close enough. It exists, it longs for …” His hands were now on both sides of Celebrimbor’s face, he held it delicately, and examined Celebrimbor critically.

“Have you lain with a man before, Tyelpinquar?”

“You may be surprised to learn – or perhaps not – that I have never lain with anyone before.”

Annatar’s breath gusted against his cheek. “But you wanted to?”

“Yes.”

“But she was married.”

“Yes.”

“And she lives here with her husband and a child that should have been yours.”

“I – no, I never thought that, she is right, we are kin too near – ”

“You don’t believe that. If she truly cared, the rules wouldn’t have mattered.”

It seemed to Celebrimbor that a change had been wrought upon Annatar so that his companion in the forges had been made anew into a seductive creature, whose hands seemed to inflame every part of him that they touched. The press of his body was such that Celebrimbor was flat on his back in no time at all. His clothes were pulled from his body, he barely felt them go, and Annatar’s hands were on him again, now making cool traceries on Celebrimbor’s hot skin.

Annatar’s eyes, usually as grey as any respectable Noldo’s would be, seemed to glow faintly golden. His red mouth curled upwards, a pink tongue flicked out. He looked satisfied. “If I wanted someone or something, I would not let a hundred rules stop me from having them.”

“No,” Celebrimbor said, sitting up, despite Annatar’s weight on him. He put his arms around Annatar’s waist. “I do not think you would.”

Annatar wriggled in his grasp, breathing heavily. His mouth dragged down Celebrimbor’s neck, with both teeth and tongue. “Do you want me, Curufinwë?”

Celebrimbor hissed at the mention of his father-name and pulled away. Annatar only smiled widely, and pressed forward. “Tell me.” He palmed the hard bulge of Celebrimbor’s erection, gently at first, and then his hand picked up the pace. Celebrimbor gasped and fell back, words tumbling from his lips.

Yes, yes yes.

 

 

 

* * *

He found himself on his back, with Annatar crouching between his legs. Celebrimbor hid his burning face against his pillow. His neck had begun to ache. Fool, he chastised himself. Did you not promise yourself that you would not get into such entanglements? Think of Uncle Maitimo. Was he not lesson enough?

Annatar’s voice floated up, lazily. “You’re tensing up. Relax.”

Celebrimbor hardly had a chance to reply when he felt – whatever he was expecting, it was not the slick feeling of Annatar’s tongue licking the head of his cock. Celebrimbor gasped, squeezing the life out his pillow. Annatar’s hands pressed firmly against his stomach. Celebrimbor arched up, moaning, “No, no, you can’t just do that– ” The rest of his protests were subsumed by moans and gasps, and soft noises. Indescribable.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

He woke to Annatar’s long, smooth body pressed against his own. Annatar did not sleep, he merely held still until he felt Celebrimbor stir next to him. Celebrimbor rolled to his side, and Annatar did the same, until they were facing each other.

“Do you regret it?” Annatar said.

“No. Do you?”

Annatar’s teeth were very white and somehow very sharp. “I never regret.”

Celebrimbor muttered, “Lucky you.”

And before he could get up again, Annatar was upon him, straddling him. He raised an eyebrow, as finely shaped as the rest of him, his ass not quite touching the head of Celebrimbor’s cock, which stirred in interest.

“Annatar...” Celebrimbor tried to get out from under him, making his position even more difficult.

Annatar leaned down pushing his arms down onto the bed. They were still for a moment, staring at each other. Then Annatar eased up, saying mildly, “Of course, you’re a beginner yet. It’s best to ease you into it.” He moved off Celebrimbor, and sat on the edge of the bed.

Celebrimbor got up and began to dress, turning away from Annatar. He paused in front of the large, silver-backed mirror with an ebony frame, elaborately carved with figures of flowers and elves, tangled together. Hideous, of course. And an heirloom, survived all who had looked upon it. Except for him. He was the last.

Celebrimbor examined himself, wondering if perhaps he should look different now. But he did not – he looked only like himself, though perhaps more tousled than usual. He felt a hand on his shoulder, Annatar had come up behind him when he wasn’t looking.

“What a marvelous likeness we have to each other,” he said, his breath warm against Celebrimbor’s cheek. And indeed, they both had sharp cheekbones jutting out of pale, white faces, grey eyes that missed nothing, and black hair, like raven’s wing, or polished ebony, or perhaps just black.

“Marvelous,” Celebrimbor echoed.

 

 

 

 

* * *

Galadriel was not well-pleased.

She stared down at Annatar, as if she were high above him, though they were roughly the same height.

“So you see, Lady Galadriel, it is only natural that the Gwaith-i-Mírdain – and the city at large – would choose Lord Celebrimbor to lead them. It is no slight upon your husband’s abilities – I am sure he is very good with his trees. But a craftsman like Celebrimbor is surely the best to lead a city of craftsmen.”

“You forget,” Galadriel said quietly, “that the craftsmen do not live on their craft alone. They need workers to clean for for them, to build for them, farmers raise their food, and even trees and the people who care for them are needed, at times, for a myriad of different reasons.”

“Of course,” Annatar said, carefully abashed. “You truly are the voice of the people, Lady Galadriel. But tell me, how does your nephew, the King, fare? His last emissary left here in precipitate haste.”

Galadriel smiled with only her teeth and said she knew nothing about that.

“Quite,” Annatar said, returning her smile.

Celebrimbor came by then, noticing a slight chill in this part of the room.

“Artanis,” he said, with nod, as he put a hand, briefly, on Annatar’s back. Annatar turned to look at him and said that he ought to be getting along. Celebrimbor watched him go and turned his attention back to Galadriel, who gave him a worried look.

“You will leave soon, I hear,” he said, not looking at her.

She sighed. “No doubt we will have to, now; there is nothing more for us here.”

“Nothing?” Celebrimbor looked at her, and did not bother keeping the hurt from his voice.

She looked at him with a flash of anger in her eye. “Yes, nothing. Tyelpë, what else can I do? You ignore my advice – you ignore all of our advice – ”

Celebrimbor snorted, “Valar forbid the day that I need to take the advice of young Master Elrond! He is very young to be so wise.”

“Listen to me, if not him,” Galadriel said, “That man, Annatar, is a cockroach. What do you really know of him?”

“I know that he was once a Maia of Aulë, and that he came to Ennor after the War of Wrath, and wished to heal its hurts. I know that he, unlike other, greater, Powers, has an interest in what happens here.”

Quieter, he said, “Artanis, you and I agreed, long ago, that we would live on this shore for as long as we could, though time would wear at us, because here is growth and change. In Valinor, there is only sterility and conformity. And besides,” he broke into a smile, “Cousin, you have not gotten a realm of your own yet!”

Galadriel snorted, but in a very ladylike manner. Then she looked at him with something like pity in her eyes. “I only hope that you do not love him.”

Celebrimbor took her hand and seemed to examine it. It was fair and strong, well-made. “Never mind about that.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Annatar sidled up to him later on, and touched his shoulder. He asked conspiratorially, “What did she call me?”

A pause. “A cockroach.”

“Ha!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

Clothes were scattered around Annatar’s room. Unlike Celebrimbor’s chambers, which were similar in their dimensions, Annatar’s room was almost bare, though he had inhabited it for years now. There were white walls, and a bed, where they struggled. It was almost too much, this closeness they shared. Celebrimbor wondered how others could stand it. It had come too late for him, he have not the right frame of reference –

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Annatar snapped, his cold hands scraping against Celebrimbor’s side. He hissed in protest, and Annatar’s mouth pressed apologetic kisses on his neck, on his shoulder. Annatar’s voice was small and secret, trickling into his ear. “Let me take you. Let me mar you. Just a little.”

It was as if he could not say no. In his mind, he saw himself pushing Annatar away, getting up and walking out. Instead, he moaned and pushed back and said in a ragged whisper, “Please.”

Annatar took that for a yes.

He wondered if they could see him now, his family, his ghosts, on his back and getting fucked. Would Vairë dare to weave such things into her tapestries? He could see his grandfather gnashing his teeth, and his father smirking in the background. In this too, you have failed.

Annatar’s hands wrapped around his cock and he brought him off with a few strokes. The world turned white for a moment, and slotted back into place. He watched Annatar, less smooth now now, less controlled. Less human. “How I wished I did not have to stop,” he said, pressing his hands against Celebrimbor’s throat. Celebrimbor arched forward, relishing the touch, and the danger hidden in it.

“But,” Annatar said, with a sigh and he loosening his grip, “even elven bodies cannot stand such use for too long...”

Celebrimbor was breathless. “What do you plan to do?”

“Nothing,” Annatar said, “Nothing... Beloved.”

Celebrimbor made a startled laugh, and Annatar cocked his head, puzzled. “Is that not what they say in such situations? I have heard it so.”

“You? Love me?”

Annatar slid down to rest next to him. Thoughtfully, as if he was working out some new formula, he said, “It would be a great novelty, I think, to be loved. Perhaps I would like it. And perhaps I do love you.”

“No,” Celebrimbor said sobering a little. “No, you do not.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

Celebrimbor waited for Sauron to come to the gates of the Mírdain. He expected to die, when Sauron came at last, in his gleaming black armor, smooth and spiked, and utterly frightful to behold. Galadriel was right, Celebrimbor thought, as they fought, as he lost. He is a cockroach, writ large.

But it is I who will be crushed.

 

After.

He woke to a cool hand on his forehead, and at first, all he could see was golden hair, a soft smile. But the color was wrong, the mouth was leering. Sauron mused, “If I knew how much you longed for Arafinwëans, I would have come to you in this way.” And indeed, his face was parody of a long-dead face, well-known and well-loved, and lost.

Celebrimbor’s stomach turned and he looked away. “You are nothing but a weak echo what once was.”

Sauron got up, his boots dug into Celebrimbor’s side. “The same could be said for you.”

Celebrimbor struggled to sit up, but he was bound tightly, he could not move. “Why didn’t you kill me?” He saw before him still the burning city, its citizens laid slaughtered at its gates. All my fault. All of it.

Sauron frowned, as if hurt. “I thought we could speak. As one colleague to another.”

“I have nothing to tell you. You know all.”

Sauron smiled, gloating a little. “Liar.” He crouched down to Celebrimbor again and softly touched his face, lover-like once again. He was attentive, his face the picture of contrition, of sorrowful beauty. “It could be as it was. You needn’t be ashamed, you needn’t regret it. We have so much more that we can accomplish.”

Celebrimbor said, “I never regret.” And he spat in Sauron’s face. There was a cry of rage and flash of unbearable brightness, and then darkness fell, a heavy hand pressed against him and snuffed him out.

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Chapter End Notes

Note on names:

Celebrimbor - Tyelpinquar (Quenya), Tyelpë. I stole the idea that Celebrimbor’s father-name being Curufinwë from another fic, which I've forgotten the name of. It’s a brilliant idea though. Because Curufin totally would.

Annatar - Sauron’s guise in Eregion and later in Númenor

Melyanna (Quenya) - Melian, Queen of Doriath, a Maia

Galadriel - Artanis (Quenya), her father name

Lothwen, Meril - OCs