Lighter than Vanity by Agelast

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

It was not Eönwe’s long list of tasks that Sauron had to do to prove the sincerity of his repentance that actually killed Sauron’s sincere repentance. No, the blame lay with Eönwe himself, whom Sauron had always hated, and who now was enjoying himself far too much. Sauron felt like a wolf chained to a post, whose captors thought that he was nothing but a dog.

It was unbearable, and in Aman, he could expect more of the same -- or worse! Though the thought of Aulë’s disappointed looks would have been bad enough -- and so Sauron began to look for a chance to escape. That chance came when the last two sons of Fëanor invaded Eönwe’s camp, in pursuit of the last two Silmarils.

Well. Fëanorians always did have the best timing.

In the ensuing chaos, Sauron burst from his bonds and took to the sky, as a creature of fire that he always had the potential of being. He feared being pursued, and so headed East, where no self-respecting Vala or Maia would go.

But the life of a meteor was necessarily short and soon ended, as Sauron found out when he careened into the side of of snow-clad mountain and was extinguished.

A wandering band of Men saw the impact in the distance and marked the titanic column of ash and steam that rose from the side of the mountain. They gathered their children and their goats and fled, but they were too late. The darkness swallowed them up, whole.

Minutes, hours, centuries ticked by until Annatar stirred from his crater and sat up. Ashes came loose from his hair. He examined himself critically: ten fingers, ten toes, dirty skin and dirty hair, and a cock. All in place.

There was a squeaking sound coming from the lip of the scallop-shaped crater: two Orcs, apparently the smallest of their company, had been sent to investigate the commotion. Annatar narrowed his eyes and hissed at them. “What are you staring at? Get me some clothes!”

His voice was still unmodulated, gigantic. The Orcs were literally blown away, though they came back, apologetic, with an ill-fitting set of clothes for him. Annatar sighed as he got dressed, and then took a few uncertain steps -- his first on two legs for what seemed an Age.

Annatar was curious to see how he looked like -- but Orcs, naturally enough, had no use for mirrors, and he had no resources just then to make himself one. And so, he ordered that they carry him to the nearest river -- “A clean one, mind,” he said, in a normal tone of voice, digging his long fingers into the flesh of one of Orcs.

But still, they shuddered and said, “Yessir, of course sir.”

And soon they did come to a river -- broad and silver-colored, and on one bank, as smooth as glass. Annatar lay down on to the sandy ground, propping his head up with his hands. Despite some obvious flaws -- he was covered in mud, for one -- Annatar found many things to like about his new face and form.

He could be cleaned up well enough. What mattered now was that he was beautiful again!

Very beautiful and somehow familiar. Annatar frowned for a moment, wondering if he had plagiarized from the past.

In fit of pique, Annatar threw in a pebble into the water and distorted his reflection. No, no, he was perfectly original. Surely? And in case, Annatar was three inches taller, and his hair, a richer gold -- not to mention he was spared the distinctive Finwëan nose. Anyway, he was far more lovely than anyone who had once had a… similar look.

Lazily, Annatar turned to his Orcish companions, who had been cowering in the shade of some boulders all the while. “Now,” he said, “tell me the news of what what has passed since I’ve gone away.”

The news was mildly interesting: Beleriand had foundered and sank, there was a new land for the Edain, between Valinor and Middle-earth -- Annatar snorted sharply. “Oh, that will work well. The Valar never learn. Anyway, I tire of this talk. Where am I?” He waved his arms out vaguely. It was a green and pleasant looking land, though the weather seemed somewhat hot.

One of the Orcs said, “It is nowhere, my lord.”

“Then let us make something of it,” Annatar said, a trace impatiently.

So the work began, transforming the land into something useful. The river was first to go, and then greenery. The climate, however, was just right. At first, Annatar was content to consolidate his power and bring what mortal Men he could under his sway. But that, however, was not really a challenge, and soon his mind turned to bigger, more rewarding prospects. News trickled slowly eastward, snatched from a trader’s willing tongue and into his hungry ears.

Full of ripe prospects -- new kingdoms, new players in the game, all ready to fall for him. But Annatar began to wax nostalgic for the past, for the First Age and for Elves. (Melkor he missed, but distantly; he liked being his own master.) But Elves! Ah, they were a thing to be missed. It was far too easy to tempt Men, to make them fall.

But Elves… Not the boring, stupid Avari, still wandering about with sharpened sticks, or equally boring Sindar, who were hardly more sophisticated. But the Noldor! Yes, the Noldor were close to his heart. They always yearned so, they were so curious, they were so unlucky… why, with their help, Annatar need not be content with ruling a part of the world. He could have the whole thing.

Cheered by the prospect, Annatar began to make plans to head westward. First, to Gil-galad’s kingdom and then to Eregion. Annatar smiled, thinking of the latter place, and its lord. Perhaps a Fëanorian would come to his aid once again…

 

* * *

Gil-galad and Elrond were not open to any of Annatar’s suggestions, and they did not, in fact let him cross the border into Lindon. The interview was over in a matter of minutes; the king and his advisor were on horseback, and Annatar was on foot.

Given their relative positions, Annatar did not exactly succeed in starring Elrond down. Indeed, Elrond looked back at him with a calm smile (how did Annatar miss that he had foresight?) and said, “There are some inns down the road, where you might stay.”

Annatar turned away and muttered insults loudly enough so that both could hear him. But he nobly ignored the faint sounds of laughter that followed him down the road.

Eventually, even his fury deserted him. A great road stretched out before his feet and Annatar felt weary for the first time in his impossibly long life. With a heavy sigh, Annatar noticed that that the fine silks he had gotten for his meeting with the king were already streaked with dust. Alas.

When he was finally clear of Lindon and finally free of the horrid stink of the sea, Annatar realized that he was not exactly the only person on the road, nor was he the slowest walker upon it. That honor belonged to an elderly Man who would rattle a staff tied with bells and ribbons at Annatar every time he glanced at him.

Annatar took care to not look at him very much.

Next were a small group of dwarves, who eyed everyone suspiciously, but especially disliked Annatar, who had made the mistake of trying to speak to them. He had only asked if they wanted his help. (After all, hadn’t he been a student of Aulë, once? The doddering old fool, who only wasted the power he was given… Not that Annatar mentioned any of this to the dwarves.)

One of them, the youngest judging from the dark color of his beard, spoke up in good, if slightly hesitant Sindarin. He said, “I am sorry, Master Elf, but what could you possibly have to teach us?”

Annatar bristled at being mistaken for an Elf, but he said nothing. One of the young dwarf’s companions stage-whispered in Khuzdul that Annatar’s hair was too bright and his face too pointed, that he couldn’t be trusted.

Annatar looked down at the first dwarf, expecting him to wither into dust. Nothing happened.

The dwarf blinked.

Finally, Annatar said, “Perhaps you are right. Please don’t let me keep you.”

The final traveller, a taciturn Elf snorted quietly. Annatar turned to look at him. He was plainly dressed, but his boots were far too good for his guise of a humble traveler. He looked almost painfully Noldorin, with dark hair and bright-grey eyes, and a nose like a knife blade. Annatar liked him immediately, although the Noldo paid him no mind after they had exchanged their first glance with each other.

Their little group lasted almost to Eregion, losing a few members and gain others. The old Man had turned away at a raw little settlement called Bree. “Don’t stop there,” said the Noldo to Annatar. “They’ve only one pub, and the beer there is like troll-piss.”

“You interest me, strangely,” Annatar said, but the Noldo had already turned away, going down the road with long strides. Annatar grew annoyed -- no one ignored him like that!

From then on, Annatar concentrated all his attention on the Elf, who ignored him in favor of the dwarves, who ignored everyone who was not a dwarf. The state of affairs took them through to the borders of Eregion. The dwarves were to go straight to the mountains, to Hadhodrond. Before they left, the youngest dwarf detached himself from the group and spoke at length to the Elf.

After they had gone, Annatar came and stood next to the Noldo. “I have heard it said that there are some Dwarf-Friends living in Eregion. I wonder if you might be one of them?” The Noldo turned to look at Annatar.

His gaze was piercing, and within it was the light of the Trees.

“I am,” said Celebrimbor, son of Curufin -- for who else could it be? While Annatar could not say that he had actually met Fëanor, and had only had a passing acquaintance with his eldest son, the family resemblance between the three was uncanny.

Annatar touched his chest. “And I am …”

“Annatar, Lord of Gifts, so called. Tell me, why should I let you into Ost-in-Edhil when Gil-galad would not let you set foot in Lindon?” Celebrimbor crossed his arms and looked at him calmly.

“Well!” Annatar huffed, offended. “Well!” he said again, staring at Celebrimbor, who was taller than him by a bare inch, but contrived to tower over him anyway. “I did not expect that the scion of the House of Fëanor would blindly follow the son of -- who was it, again? I have heard several theories.”

“Gil-galad is a friend of mine,” Celebrimbor said. “I have known him since he was a child. Insulting him will not win me over.”

“I see. Forgive me -- I am sure Gil-galad’s father was a very great king.” Celebrimbor looked, if anything, even more disapproving. Annatar went on, rather hastily, “But I realized my error in going to Lindon. For of course, I should have come to Eregion, to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain -- and to you -- right away.”

Celebrimbor gave him a mildly inquisitive look, “Yes? Why?”

“Yes,” Annatar said, looking around. “Do you mind if I show you something?” He bent down and scooped up a pebble from the ground and closed his hand around it.

With a great look of concentration, Annatar squeezed his hand and then said, “Put out your hand.”

Reluctantly, Celebrimbor complied. Annatar dropped the pebble into his hand. It was slightly warm, and still a pebble.

“You gave me a pebble? I don’t know what to say…”

“I’ve given you Middle-earth,” Annatar said solemnly. “And I ask you to help me make it as fair as Aman. I will tell you everything I know, that I learned from my old master, Aulë of the Valar --” here, Celebrimbor’s expression changed from skeptical to surprised, and then back to skeptical.

Annatar’s stomach growled again. He sighed and said, “And if you’d still rather refuse, may I at least have meal before I go?”

Celebrimbor’s lip twitched, and he said, “I think I see the purpose for Elrond’s warning now, but I wonder if he was exaggerating matters. Even if you are a fraud, it does not seems like enough reason to turn you out right away.” With that, he began to walk towards the city.

Annatar stayed where he was, uncertain if he had been insulted or not. He decided that he had been. “I am many things, but I am not a fraud!” he shouted to Celebrimbor’s back.

“If you say so!’ Celebrimbor shouted back. After a few moments, he called again, his voice fainter. “Now if you’re coming, then hurry up! Meals at the Mírdain do not wait for anyone, least of me!”

Annatar ran quickly to catch up with Celebrimbor. Once he had, he turned to him and said, “What made you change your mind?”

“I have not yet made up my mind,” Celebrimbor said serenely, “But I do prefer to make my own decisions, and not be led by others, however wise. And I do not like to turn aside a hungry person, whatever ridiculous claims they made. You said that you were in Aman?”

“Yes, long ago.”

“So was I. Long ago.”

 

* * *

If Annatar was honest with himself -- which he was, scrupulously so, though only with himself -- he would confess now that he was anxious to impress Celebrimbor, to win his favor, and his regard. It was not because he was afraid that Celebrimbor would throw him out -- not exactly, anyway -- but because thus far, Celebrimbor had refused to be impressed by him.

The meal they were given once they had washed off the dirt from the road, was excellent, if plain fare -- Celebrimbor was not expected for a few more days. Annatar ate everything with concentrated pleasure. It had been so long since he had needed to eat!

But still, he could feel all eyes on him, which would have pleased him, except that Celebrimbor was deep into conversation with a worried-looking Elf who seemed to be his steward. After a few more minutes of conversation -- with Annatar bending his concentration on him like a hawk watching its prey -- Celebrimbor looked in his direction and gave him a slight smile.

“After dinner,” Celebrimbor said, “you will demonstrate your -- knowledge?”

“Anything for you, my lord,” Annatar said, with a sincere smile. He was careful not to simper. He could tell that Celebrimbor was one of those people who made much of honesty and candor.

Which was just as well -- Annatar could be as candid as any.

Celebrimbor’s private workshop was off his sleeping chambers, presumably so that Celebrimbor could roll himself out of bed and get to work immediately, without having to meet anyone who would dare get in his way. Annatar looked critically at Celebrimbor’s current blueprints and projects laid out on the massive table. He examined as many as he could, before he was interrupted by a cough behind him.

Annatar turned back to Celebrimbor and smiled. “I thank you for your patience. Your faith will be rewarded.”

“Do you always talk like that?”

Annatar’s face fell. “Like what?”

“Like a merchant, selling his wares.”

“I am selling,” Annatar said in what he thought was a very reasonable voice. “Myself. My expertise. Our future collaboration.”

“Yes, your expertise. Which you have not yet shown me,” Celebrimbor said, crossing his arms together and looking altogether smug. It must have been a look he had inherited from Fëanor himself.

Irritated, Annatar went back to the table and sat on Celebrimbor’s chair. He began rifling through the papers until he found what he was looking for.

Celebrimbor crept up beside him, protesting at this invasion of privacy.

“Mm,” Annatar said, picking up a red pencil. “You’ve been working on this for a decade now? A pity it’s taken you so long, the solution is really quite simple --” he made some quick corrections to Celebrimbor’s equations and handed the paper back to him.

“I’ve been busy with other projects,” Celebrimbor said, as he read Annatar’s notes. “Should we try it now?”

“Why not? I have nothing but time,” Annatar said, leaning back on the chair. He was in some danger of tipping over -- and it was uncomfortable besides, Celebrimbor clearly did not care for cushioning at all.

They emerged from Celebrimbor’s rooms two and half days later, with all of Celebrimbor’s half-finished projects, dating back several centuries, completed and ready to be used.

Naturally, a crowd gathered around them, eager to see what they had made and especially, to see more of Celebrimbor’s new colleague. Although Celebrimbor called for attention, it was Annatar who brought silence to the crowd. He climbed atop one of the long tables that was used for mealtimes and meetings. Everyone’s eyes were upon him.

“Forgive me for my disheveled appearance,” Annatar began to say. “Although I think all of you may recognize the look of a man who has perhaps let his work get away from him.” There were some smiles and nods from the crowd.

Annatar beamed at them. “You will no doubt have heard rumors of my coming -- and theories of who I am, and what I can do. I am -- of course, flattered by the attention, but I will be honest with you, for I would not have any mystery between us!

I am Annatar, and perhaps some of you think I am presumptuous to call myself the Lord of Gifts --”? Here, he looked at Celebrimbor, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

Annatar flushed and continued on. “Perhaps it is, and perhaps I am. But I tell you, the noble fellows of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain -- I was once a Maia of Aulë,” -- here, there was an audible gasp from the crowd, and Annatar nodded eagerly.

He said, “And I was content to work and live in the beautiful serenity of Aman. But then I saw the bravery and the struggle of the Noldor, and my heart was moved. I forsook my place at Aulë’s side, and I crossed the Sea to Middle-earth, for I knew that if any of the brave and hardy folk of the Noldor still survived on this shore, it would be my duty to help them!”

The hall had grown dark as he spoke, until Annatar was the brightest thing in it. He willed the crowd to feel the strength of his goodwill and compassion. Someone began to cheer. Then, another took up the call until the hall was full of the sound of approving voices. Annatar got down from his makeshift pulpit, and was immediately surrounded by Elves eager to talk to him. He looked around for Celebrimbor, but could not find him.

In the following weeks and months, Annatar was eager to prove his worth. He would give time to both the most seasoned craftsman and the rawest apprentice, and when he was not improving everyone’s work, he turned out all manners of beautiful things among the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. He favored rings, above all else, though he could be persuaded to make other things.

Annatar shared his techniques and theories freely, and though he had something of a sardonic temper, there was no trace of jealousy in him -- professional or otherwise. He was very well-liked, so much so that if he wished, he could have replaced Celebrimbor as the head of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.

But Annatar had no such ambition.

 

* * *

Annatar dropped the ring into Celebrimbor’s hand at the end of the day and said, “It’s yours, if you like it.”

He felt a little nervous, giving Celebrimbor this ring, which was curious. Annatar was rarely nervous of anything.

Celebrimbor looked at the ring carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. A lovely, well-made thing, it was a bezel-set ring, with a large, teardrop-shaped piece of quartz that flirted between shades of red and pink. The band of the ring displayed careful gold scrollwork that was Annatar’s own speciality.

“Look closer,” Annatar said, leaning against Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor held the ring up to the light. In the gemstone, there were small, red hematite inclusions, that looked to all the world like strands of red hair.

Celebrimbor looked back at Annatar and said, “An interesting choice of materials and technique.”

Annatar said, “I would like to see how it looks on your hand. If you would?”

Celebrimbor presented his hand, with the ring resting on the palm of his hand. Delicately, Annatar took the ring and put it on the index finger of Celebrimbor’s right hand. He waited for a moment for the ring to do its work. “Do you feel it?”

“What does it do?” Celebrimbor said, looking down. His expression approached something like vulnerability.

“It is to remember those you have loved, and perhaps lost, without bitterness. And perhaps to see love that is right in front of you.” After he said this, he lifted his head and kissed Celebrimbor’s cheek, as any dear friend would do.

“What makes you think that I have old loves to think of?” Celebrimbor asked, with a crooked, half-smile that somehow seemed to soften the angles of his face.

“Don’t we all?” Annatar said with a melancholy smile and turned back to work.

 

* * *

It was a blisteringly hot day at the end of summer -- made hotter by the blazing forge-fires that had burned all through the night. Annatar wiped the sweat from his brow and looked over to where Celebrimbor, who deeply immersed in his work. Annatar flexed his golden shoulders -- on days like this, he dispensed with shirts, laughed at the fear of sparks -- and sighed.

Loudly.

It was ridiculous, he knew, to pine after someone so who was so … oblivious. It was true that Celebrimbor seemed to like him well enough, perhaps he had even begun to respect him, but…

That wasn’t enough.

As Annatar began to scheme for a new way to attract Celebrimbor’s attention when one of the little apprentices came in, cautiously, and motioned for his attention.

“Yes?” Annatar said, “Hinnor, isn’t it? What do you want, boy?”

The boy made a quick bow. “Please, sir. There’s a visitor to see Lord Celebrimbor, from Lindon.”

“Really?” Annatar bent down, his voice conspiratorial. “Tell me boy, who is this visitor? Is it Master Elrond?”

“No, my lord. It is no one important. Just someone named Erestor.”

“Oh,” Annatar said, straightening up. He turned back to Celebrimbor and said, “You’ve got a visitor from Lindon. Some lackey of Elrond’s, I believe.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes never left his work, as he delicately fixed a jewel into its holding. He said to the boy, “Tell Erestor that I am delighted to receive him, and shall see him at dinner.”

Then he turned to Annatar and said, “Come here. Do you think this looks right?”

Annatar came over and hovered over his shoulder, his hand brushing quite deliberately against Celebrimbor’s cheek. “Do you know him, your new visitor?”

Celebrimbor looked up at him. “A little. He was a follower of my uncles’, to the end, before he switched his allegiance to Elrond. A clever man, by all accounts.” After a pause, Celebrimbor continued, a trace of amusement in his voice. “What’s this, Annatar? You don’t look very pleased… Are you worried?”

Annatar laughed. “Of what?”

 

* * *

Annatar had intended to be dripping with gold when he went down for dinner, but the end, he was rather more restrained in his choice of ornamentation. He wore only a gold circlet and sapphire earrings, diamond-and-gold cuffs on each hand, some rings, and a very modest belt on his waist -- of netted gold threaded with pearls.

He felt almost bare.

But Celebrimbor had done him one (or several) better -- he wore only a silver circlet and a ring on his finger. Not one of Annatar’s rings, as it happened. “You’re late,” he said, as they went down together.

“Who is Erestor, that we cannot keep him waiting?” Annatar said, catching Celebrimbor’s arm for a moment before letting it go. “I’ve mind not show up at all.”

Celebrimbor stopped a step below him and turned. “I don’t believe you,” he said, with a slight, half-smile.

“What can I do to convince you?” Annatar’s lips hovered a little above Celebrimbor’s ear. He straightened up and rested his hands on Celebrimbor’s shoulders, enjoying the easy strength of them, the breadth. Celebrimbor certainly wasn’t a willowy bit of nothing, like some Elves were. It would some time for him to break…

There was a loud cough at the bottom of the stars. “Sir,” said Celebrimbor’s steward. “Dinner is served.”

With a vaguely apologetic look at Annatar, Celebrimbor turned and went down the stairs, and down the hall to the private dining room. Annatar waited a few more minutes, before making his own entrance.

 

* * *

Erestor was a drab-looking Elf, neither wholly Noldorin nor Sindarin, but simply an uninteresting mix of the two. His voice too, was unremarkable, as he droned on about the happenings in Lindon and in other places. Annatar, from his seat on the left of Celebrimbor and opposite of Erestor had an opportunity to look at him at leisure.

In addition to Celebrimbor and Erestor, the table was rounded out by two of the newest members of the brotherhood -- one of whom, was, in fact, a woman. (Though that was not as remarkable as had been in earlier times. Nearly a third of current membership were women -- and the number was likely to grow.)

This particular woman, Colheril, was of Noldorin extraction (by way of Gondolin), and was eating her soup quite calmly, while her companion looked everywhere with rounded eyes. Annatar himself was not the least cause of his astonishment, a fact that Annatar found both pleasing and irritating.

“And you, Annatar, how are you settling into to Eregion?” Erestor asked, abruptly, breaking off a rather long-winded story of fishing in the Gulf of Lhûn. Everything about him seemed to sharpen, somewhat, and become much less drab.

Ah, he is a challenge then, Annatar thought, pleased.

“I am very happy here,” Annatar replied smoothly. “I could not have guessed, before coming here, how wonderful a fit it would be for me.”

“How wonderful,” Erestor echoed, turning his attention back to Celebrimbor. “I have heard reports that you are shattering all the records for production and profits for the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. I congratulate you on your success.”

“It is not merely my success,” Celebrimbor said. “Nor does it belong solely to the brotherhood. I believe that the work we do here will directly benefit every man, woman, and child living in Eregion. And that is what I care about.”

“Ah, you are a born leader,” Annatar purred, his foot rubbing against Celebrimbor’s right one, and not entirely by accident.

“Not especially, no,” Celebrimbor said, leaning back into his chair. His foot withdrew from Annatar’s reach. “I never wished to lead, when I was younger. I dreaded that if I did, I would lead all who followed me into misery and death. I did not wish them to hate me.”

Erestor straightened, and said softly, “Those who followed your uncles, my lord, did so because they loved them. To the end, almost.”

Annatar perked up, and put down his fork. “Really?” he said, “I heard that they turned on them at Sirion, driven by moral repugnance for their actions. It is odd that such morality should have failed to stay their hand in Doriath, but one must remember that the population of the Havens was more heavily Noldorin, I suppose.”

“Annatar,” Celebrimbor said, a warning in his voice.

Erestor gave him a thin smile. “I did say almost. I myself stayed on -- though perhaps more because I had nowhere to go rather than what I believed.”

“It is a sensitive topic,” Annatar said. “But I feel that I must speak.”

Erestor inclined his head, “You speak very boldly.”

“I do,” Annatar said, smiling blandly. “It is part of who I am.”

“You are not the sort of person I would have thought that Celebrimbor would have chosen for a friend.”

“How good it is for me, then, that you do not choose Celebrimbor’s friends for him ,” Annatar said, before quickly adding, “but in fact, we are colleagues, first and foremost.”

Erestor opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by Celebrimbor.

“Enough,” he said abruptly, getting up. “I grow weary of these games. Erestor, take to Elrond and Gil-galad my warmest greetings, and wishes for their continued prosperity. I hope that the differences between us will not cut our ties of friendship, kinship and love.”

Annatar, you may retire for the night; I have no more use for you.”

Thus having dismissed everyone, he left. It was clear that Celebrimbor had entirely forgotten the two new members of the brotherhood, who had been listening to the whole thing with slightly open mouths. Annatar waited a few minutes before he followed Celebrimbor upstairs.

His rooms were across the hall from Celebrimbor’s own -- there had been an occupant there before Annatar had taken it up, but he had not been seen in many days and was supposed to have taken an extended mining expedition west.

Annatar, of course, knew nothing about that.

He paced up and down the hall at length, until Celebrimbor’s door opened and his voice issued out. “If you are ready to stop wearing down the carpeting, come in.”

“I wanted to beg for your forgiveness,” Annatar said, sliding in through the gap that was just wide enough to allow him through. Celebrimbor had taken off his circlet and his robe. He rubbed at his eyes, a childish gesture that to Annatar -- who had never been a child -- seemed at odds with his wary demeanor.

Annatar came to stand beside him and said in a rapid undertone, “I know, of course, that your uncles must be a sore spot for you, and I should not have sacrificed you to score points against someone I care nothing about.” He reached out and took Celebrimbor’s hand, which was hard and calloused from years in the forge.

“I would do anything for you,” Annatar said, with perfect sincerity.

“Anything?” Celebrimbor looked amused despite himself.

“Yes,” Annatar said, and kissed him. As first kisses went, it was not entirely a failure. Celebrimbor neither toppled over from shock, nor did he throw Annatar across the room. He merely pulled away and shook his head, as if disappointed.

“You seem to overexerted yourself tonight,” Celebrimbor said mildly, “perhaps you would like to take a rest.”

Annatar withdrew with a little shrug. “Ah, well. Worth a try, anyway,”

 

* * *

Annoyingly, Erestor was still there in the morning. He was walking in the gardens when Annatar pounced on him again. “How wonderful to see you, Erestor, I am so glad to have run into you. Will you walk with me?”

He trapped Erestor’s arm in a friendly but unbreakable grip, and they wandered about under the shade of holly trees. They had a pleasant conversation about the holly trees -- about the shape of the leaves, their glossy green color, and the bright red berries that would soon grace their branches.

After several long moments of such talk, they lapsed into silence. Both of them eyed each other warily at times, when they thought the other was not looking. Finally, Annatar said, “It is nearly noontime and I have yet to light the fire in my forge. Excuse me.” He stepped past Erestor, going down the mossy garden path, when Erestor spoke up.

“What do you want with him?”

Annatar turned back to him. “I want nothing but to help him.” It did not seem necessary to mention Celebrimbor by name. Annatar tilted up his head and eyed the sky critically and said, “You can tell that to your masters.”

Erestor blinked. “I have no masters, Annatar. Only friends whose cause I think is just.”

Annatar smiled, like a cat. “Then we are similar in many ways.”

Later, when Annatar related this conversation back to Celebrimbor, in a slightly altered state, Celebrimbor wrapped his ash-covered arms around himself and looked thoughtful. “One does wonder why the Valar would send a Maia here, now, when they did not see fit to do so before.”

Annatar shook the ash from his braid. “You know I came on my own.”

“Can a Maia do that? Disobey his masters?”

“I have no master, now,” Annatar said lightly. “Save perhaps you.”

“Stop,” Celebrimbor said, “you will swell my head.”

“That would be a pity,” Annatar murmured, looking at him again with a more than a trace of admiration in his eyes. “Your head is perfect as it is.”

 

* * *

A year passed, and then another. Celebrimbor’s wandering feet started to itch again. Annatar had learned from others that Celebrimbor had the distressing tendency to go off on journeys by himself, taking off for weeks and months on end, and coming back with wild tales and a variety of gems and metals that were astonishing to the eye.

Annatar nodded along to the stories and planned.

On the day Celebrimbor crossed the main gates outside Ost-in-Edhil, Annatar went with him.

Celebrimbor had packed lightly and he walked fast. Annatar was less wise, and clanked audibly with every step that he took. But still, his companion raised no objections. They took the Great Road eastward, as it rose away from the valley of Eregion to the mountains. By the time they reached the western gates of Hadhodrond.

There, Celebrimbor was greeted as a hero returning from a victorious war, an honorary dwarf.

Annatar was more of a curiosity -- he only gained admittance because Celebrimbor vouched for him. Even so, Annatar watched the activity around him with a sort of amused contempt, though he was careful not to let this show to Celebrimbor. And when he was introduced to the son of Narvi, Celebrimbor’s heart-friend, Annatar recognized him as the very same dwarf -- a little older now, and presumably more wise -- that he had met on the road.

Nar was his outer-name, and he was the one who lead them deep into the mines, on Celebrimbor’s errand. Long did they walk together, one by one with Nar leading them into the mines. Each of them carried lanterns, which cast blue-tinted light on the rocky walls that surrounded them. As they went down deeper into the the mountain, the air grew stale and cold.
They went down narrow passages and stairs cut into the rocks, until they came to a cavernous space the size of a citadel, that went on and on until suddenly it dropped off into utter darkness.

From below came a strong, cold current of air at fluttered Celebrimbor and Annatar’s hair and made the beads in Nar’s beard clink against each other. There were ropes and there were harnesses, to go down the ledge, and the packs of tools that they carried tied to their waists.

Nar refused to go down -- with many polite refusals and bows -- but even Annatar could not fault him for his reluctance. Celebrimbor, however, did not seem affected by either the dark or the cold. He went about his preparations calmly, and paused only for a moment to look at Annatar.

There was a great need to keep his hands free, and so Celebrimbor had designed a loose choker that hung around his neck, with a jewel that gave off the most light when there was no other source of about. Both he and Annatar wore them, as did Nar, who had settled down far from the edge and put a hood over his head.

Annatar glanced at him and said to Celebrimbor in a whisper, “I did not know that the stunted folk ever feared the dark.”

Celebrimbor gave him one of his faintly disapproving looks. “Nar is a valiant fellow, the best of Narvi’s sons.”

“I have heard of Narvi. Why did he not come himself?”

Celebrimbor dropped his gaze. “It is because Narvi is dead, and before his time.”

Annatar nodded slowly, fuming at himself for his lack of tact. “It is the way of mortal folk, to die and leave us. But still, Nar is afraid. Why?”

“It is only a rumor. The delving in this section of mine is newly discovered, but has an ill-reputation. There have been some … incidents.”

Annatar nodded and wondered what kind of incidents, but Celebrimbor did not elaborate. Instead he said, “Are you not coming down?”

There was a challenging look in his eye, which of course, Annatar found irresistible.

He began helping Celebrimbor secure his ropes and his harness. Celebrimbor returned the favor, and soon they were both on the edge. After a breath, and then two, Celebrimbor went over the edge and Annatar soon followed him.

The rock face was mostly smooth, with little in the way of footholds. But still, the ropes were strong and they went down quickly. Annatar was not particularly interested in what Celebrimbor was after. He could never understand the endless infatuation Elves seems to have over mithril -- gold was so much lovely and biddable…

Instead, he turned his attention to his surroundings.

In the dark, with no distractions except for the quiet sounds of Celebrimbor’s chisel chipping away at the stone, it was easy to extend his consciousness out and out until Annatar was aware of many minds crowded above him.

Dwarf-minds were more difficult to pick apart than the minds of Elves and Men, but then again, Annatar had never truly wished to know their contents. Although… There were possibilities there.

As he considered this, Annatar heard a tiny fraction of a sound below him, a heartbeat that was slower and deeper than any creature living. Save one. He looked sharply at Celebrimbor, who was obvious to everything but his work. Such deep concentration! Annatar found it amusing and arousing in turns, but now…

Annatar turned his attention back to the sound, which had resolved itself into a whisper.

Is it time?

Annatar replied back in the same fashion. Who are you?

He felt the presence reel back from his voice, as if in recognition. It went silent, but too late. Slowly, Annatar begun to understand who it was that he was speaking to.

Speak, renegade! Annatar I am now, and Gorthaur the Cruel I was called before, and Mairon before that.

No, no! Forgive me, lord. I am no one, I am nothing.

You did not come when you were called!

Annatar hissed as his fingers grazed carelessly against the edge of his chisel. He was shaking, but not out of fear. Loathing, instead, radiated out of him, as powerful as any drug.

The creature whined. I could not -- I dared not, my lord!

Coward!

The rope was shaking. Annatar looked sharply, and saw little flakes of stone falling past him. Above, Nar had begun to shout for them. “Celebrimbor!” Annatar said sharply. “We must get out, now.”

“In a minute,” Celebrimbor said vaguely. The shaking only grew worse, as Annatar began to pull himself and a struggling Celebrimbor up to the ledge.

I will not go back! You cannot not make me go!

“I don’t care, damn you!” Annatar shouted, “Stay here and rot!” He exerted all his strength, regretting for the first time that an Elf-shaped body came with Elf-like capabilities.

Celebrimbor was protesting, “Careful! My bag!” But as he said it, it was knocked out of his hands, as they both reached the surface. Annatar managed to grab the bag, but not before some of the contents spilled out and fell down into the abyss.

Nar’s anxious face looked down at them. “Quickly,” he said, “There seems to have been a cave-in above. We must go somewhere more secure.”

Scrabbling out of their harnesses was no easy job -- Annatar and Celebrimbor were hopelessly entangled with each other. By the time they reached the tunnel that left out of the cavernous room, the shaking had ended, mostly, but no one, not even Celebrimbor, suggested going back.

It was a somber trip back to the city. Annatar, who had only days before sneered (internally) at the painfully geometric architecture favored by the dwarves, could not help but be overwhelmed to see it, and the great lanterns that hung overhead, and the sound of voices, and the smell of cooking. All of it was better than the dark, where the past lurked.

Suddenly, Annatar felt ravenous. He looked back at Celebrimbor, who had not spoken to him since the cave-in, and saw a similarly hungry expression on his face.

 

* * *

After a supper and then a long, long session of drinking (of which Annatar did not participate in, though Celebrimbor did more than his share), they were ushered into the guest-quarters. There were only two beds that were meant for long-legged folk, and one of them had been especially measured for Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor now stretched on it with every indication of comfort, though the bed was made of stone. Sleepily, he murmured, “It is worn so smooth that it is like sleeping on silk.”

“Nothing about sleeping on a bed of stone is like that,” Annatar grumbled, as he tugged off his clothes. Besides a quick wash of his face and hands, he remained unbathed. From the smell of him, Celebrimbor was too, though he stretched out luxuriously in his day-old clothes as if he was naked on a bed stuffed with eiderdown.

Annatar went over to Celebrimbor’s bed, and began to clear away a space for himself. Celebrimbor blinked, his next words were slightly slurred. “What are you doing?”

‘What does it look like? Sharing your bed, since it is clearly more comfortable than mine.”

“What! It is the same, no, get your own bed, Annatar…” They struggled for a moment, until Annatar was perched on top of Celebrimbor. In an instant, the atmosphere of rough play began to dissipate. Celebrimbor blinked slowly. Annatar cocked his head, puzzled. Perhaps Celebrimbor had been drinking more than he thought.

“You,” Celebrimbor said, arching upward and enunciating every word carefully, “owe me almost three ounces of mithril ore.”

“How greedy you are,” Annatar sneered, rubbing against Celebrimbor, who groaned deep in his throat. “Is your life not worth more than three ounces of mithril?”

“Mithril ore. We were in -- no danger. Nar was mistaken -- there was no cave-in.” Celebrimbor’s words came out in little gasps and Annatar smiled grimly.

“There was something,” Annatar said, before bending down to kiss Celebrimbor’s throat. Celebrimbor’s heart began to beat harder against Annatar’s open palm, laid firmly against his chest.

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said, his gaze sharpening in thought. “There was. Who were you talking to, Annatar?”

Annatar moved away, and detangled himself from Celebrimbor for the second time that day. “Nothing. No one. A ghost.” He left Celebrimbor’s bed, saying softly, “You need to sleep.”

He blew out the little oil lamp that still burned on a table beside Celebrimbor’s bed, and curled up on his own. He watched as Celebrimbor finally drifted off to sleep.

Annatar didn’t sleep. He sought out the thing in the dark, but found only echoes and reflections of himself. Useless.

 

* * *

Upon their departure from the city, Annatar presented Nar with a sapphire and diamond ring, set in gold. It was small, even considering the size of dwarven fingers. It was, in fact, an infant’s ring.

“Thank you, but I cannot accept it,” Nar said, as his hand closed over the ring. With a faint blush, he admitted, “I am not yet wed.”

Annatar smiled distantly and -- he hoped -- mysteriously. “Be that as it may, I see your need for it soon, Nar son of Narvi.” He could feel Celebrimbor watching him intently. He turned with his back straight, not looking at Celebrimbor at all. Out the gates, into the cool night air. The stars were hidden by a blanket of greying clouds.

After they were sufficiently far away from the gates as to not be overhead, Celebrimbor said, casually, “You reminded me of someone else, back there.”

Annatar smiled quickly before schooling his features back into a neutral look. He waited for Celebrimbor to catch up to him before saying, “Oh? Is it someone I know?”

Celebrimbor looked momentarily uncertain. “No, I do not think so, though you have no doubt heard of her.”

Annatar looked down. “Ah. Her. Could it be Artanis Nerwen, known on these shores as Galadriel, that you speak of?”

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said.

“And did you love her once?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

After an awkward pause, Celebrimbor said, "But I have never wished to be married. Not in the way that my father was -- or the way my grandfather was."

Annatar chuckled darkly.”So you wished to be a Fëanáro, but without distractions."

Celebrimbor shrugged. “You cannot imagine how many projects he left abandoned in life.”

“Your approach is practical but cold. Do you regret it now?”

“No,” Celebrimbor said, looking away.

Thoughtfully, Annatar said, “Celebrimbor, this is just to say -- if things are to progress between us, I will have to know that I have all of your heart.” He stopped and looked at Celebrimbor expectantly.

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows. “And what of you, Annatar? Do I have all of your heart?”

Annatar snorted. “I was created from the Music, and saw the making of Arda. I helped raise the Lamps, and saw the Trees grow from two seedlings. Tell me, little Elf, how can you demand all of my love? Could you comprehend it if you had it?”

Then, thoughtfully, he said, “But, yes.” He touched his chest, cautiously, and said, “This heart, in this body, Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, is yours to do with as you will.”

Celebrimbor made a thoughtful noise, and walked past him quickly. Annatar stood still for a moment, frowning. He felt more that a little underwhelmed by Celebrimbor’s response, and raced after him.

That night, they camped in the foothills in on the borders of Eregion. Annatar was heartily sick of munching on waybread, but until they reached Ost-in-Edhil, that was all they had. Soon, Celebrimbor unpacked his bedroll and made himself comfortable in it. He gave Annatar significant look, which Annatar could not quite read before turn over to sleep.

Annatar kept watch. Overhead, the clouds had cleared away and the stars were bright against the dark blue sky. It was quiet all around him, save for the soft sounds of Celebrimbor’s breathing and the crackling of the fire. Annatar felt, not for first time, how very small he was in this body, limited in so many ways.

He had his purposes, of course, and they were not vague. But…

He could not let himself become distracted, become limited…

“Annatar, stop hovering and come here,” Celebrimbor said, his voice muffled.

“I am not hovering,” Annatar said, as he settled down beside Celebrimbor. “It’s still a very dangerous world, remember.” Still, he pushed his face against the back of Celebrimbor’s neck, and put a possessive arm around his waist. Celebrimbor stilled for a moment, but did not move away.

“Think of all the warm baths we’re missing,” Annatar said in a low voice.

“Are you saying that I smell, dear Annatar?”

“I am saying that we both do, dear Telperinquar.”

Celebrimbor laughed softly and turned to look at him. “I do not think I have ever seen you so much as sweat, even in the hottest days in the forge. You always look -- immaculate.”

“Not always,” Annatar said, though of course, Celebrimbor had never had the occasion to see him covered in blood and dirt. Nonetheless, he heard the warmth in Celebrimbor’s voice and acted on it; carefully, he brushed his lips against Celebrimbor’s cheek. At first, his touches were cautious, as if Celebrimbor could easily break, but soon he grew bolder, his fingers snaking under the waist of Celebrimbor’s breeches.

It took only a few pulls until he had Celebrimbor gasping and hard, and a few more until Annatar took his hand away. He licked his fingers, made sure that Celebrimbor was watching him.

Annatar closed his eyes in utter satisfaction.

In the end, it had been so easy.

 

* * *

Annatar sank under the hot, soapy water with a great sigh of relief. Whatever Celebrimbor thought, he sometimes need to bath and he enjoyed doing so -- as much as he enjoyed eating, and having sex. (If only he could have more of that!) It was one of the consequences of having a human-shaped body. One’s appetites adjusted.

He washed the ash from his hair, scrubbing until the gold shone again, and his skin was pink and clean. Wrapped in a sheet, Annatar wandered out of his rooms and across the hall. He discovered that Celebrimbor’s door was open -- well, it was not locked, anyway -- and slipped in.

To his surprise and mild chagrin, Celebrimbor was already there, hunched over a stack of papers at his desk. He acknowledged Annatar’s presence with a bare nod, before turning muttering to himself, “I was only gone a week. How could so many things have gone wrong?”

Annatar looked over his shoulders and murmured something vaguely sympathetic before leaning down and kissing the back of Celebrimbor’s ear. “You can set it right later. Come to bed, now.” And to demonstrate his point further, Annatar let the sheet drop to the floor. Celebrimbor turned his head and trained on Annatar a cool, grey look of interest.

Annatar laughed softly and shook his head. “When you’re ready, that is.” He went a few paces to Celebrimbor’s bed -- which was large, though not particularly elaborate -- or comfortable. But still, Annatar sprawled on and gave Celebrimbor his most lascivious look. “I burn for you, Telperinquar, will you not have pity on me?”

Celebrimbor tapped his pen against his desk and looked undecided. Annatar sighed, again. Finally, Celebrimbor put his pen down and came to him, and Annatar took him, lazily exerting his strength so that Celebrimbor was now over him, clothed still and panting, slightly.

Annatar’s lips parted and his tongue darted flicked out, tasting a sliver of Celebrimbor’s skin. “Tell me something,” he murmured against the crook of Celebrimbor’s neck.

Celebrimbor looked at him. “What?”

Annatar peeled back Celebrimbor’s robes back with great care, and then tossed them aside. “What do you wish to prove, Telperinquar?” He traced his fingers down Celebrimbor’s chest. “That you are a better craftsman than your father was? Than his father was? Or perhaps -- a better person than they both were?” He reached down, and pulled down Celebrimbor’s breeches, and began to stroke him to hardness.

“I do not,” Celebrimbor said, between gritted teeth, “think of it that way.”

“No? Are you afraid, then, that you will become like them? That in a certain part of you, you already are? Arrogant. Selfish. Doomed.” With each word, Annatar picked up his pace until Celebrimbor came apart in his hands.

“You demon,” Celebrimbor said, his voice heavy with arousal.

Annatar laughed again, this time, deeper this time, as he could shake the bowels of the earth. “I know what it is like, to choke off a part of yourself. But know that it only comes back again, stronger than ever. That is why I tell you, Telperinquar, you need never pretend with me. I will never turn against you, I will never -- ah --”

Celebrimbor straightened, and pulled his body flush against Annatar’s, until they were eye to eye, chest to chest, hip to hip. Celebrimbor looked at him, his sharp eyes digging into Annatar’s skin. “Do not speak again,” he said.

“All right,” Annatar said, almost breathless, and that was the last thing he said for a long time. They moved against against each other, until Celebrimbor thrust against Annatar’s thighs and rubbed against him until Annatar nipped him sharply against his neck before coming. Annatar swallowed harshly and whispered, “Oh love, love...”

He wasn’t sure that he didn’t mean Celebrimbor, at that moment.

 

* * *

Later, bright-eyed and triumphant, Annatar rolled over and said, “Now, dear Telperinquar, I have an idea, and I beg you to hear me out!”

Celebrimbor groaned and covered his hands with his face, but Annatar pulled them gently away, kissing the knuckle of each finger. He lingered on the last one for a moment before pulling away, faintly smiling.

Annatar said, “You know by now how dearly I love rings, and how much thought you have devoted to the preservation of Middle-earth. I cannot think of anything so perfect as combining these two things together.”

Celebrimbor stirred. “That is … an interesting idea.”

“Interesting in that it is stupid and you are too polite to say so or --”

“Interesting in that it stirs my interest. How would you go about it?”

“Ah, you see, the sort of ring we are speaking of would invest in the bearer power according to the strength of his will, and so you can see if the bearer was an elf-lord such as yourself, the power you could wield would be… considerable.”

“And you, Annatar?,” Celebrimbor said, his fingers running down Annatar’s sides.

Annatar shifted toward him, his eyes alight. “Nevermind me! As I was saying, we have all the materials at hand…”