The Last Maker by Ecthelion

The Doom: Part One

The first time Celebrimbor met Annatar was on the main road outside Ost-in-Edhil, when he was on the way back from Moria (1), still relishing the memories of vast halls delved in the mountains and large veins of mithril running through the deep rock. As a smith himself, he could not but marvel at what a strong desire of creation and exploration could bring about: although once criticized of lacking 'a sense of delicate beauty', the Naugrim had achieved something much more than delicacy by their great skill with metals and with stone.

It was said that the most successful deception always rooted in ultimate understanding. Now that he thought about it, it was probably not by chance that he would notice the man.

Even now the doomed evening was vivid to him: half of the sky was painted red by the sunset, and a man stood tall and straight by the roadside, hands behind his back, gazing out on the rolling hills in the distance. His long hair, unbound, shone like molten gold on his shoulders, concealing all the dust and stain caught along the road. Viewed from the side, the man's silhouette was so much like that of a perfect statue made by his grandmother that Celebrimbor suddenly had an illusion: even the river of Time had to slow down and linger around him.

Aware of his gaze, the golden-haired man turned around; after a glance at the banners flying high in the twilight, the man fixed his eyes on him. 'Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion?'

It was clearly a tone of asking, but he knew the man had asked while knowing the answer. Finding this both interesting and annoying, he decided to teach him a lesson first.

'You are neither a mortal nor an Elf,' he remained on horseback, lips curling and voice condescending. 'Can it be that I actually have the honor of meeting the famous Annatar whose gifts have so far interested no one?'

To his surprise, the man was totally unaffected by his plain insolence and merciless mockery. 'The value of my gifts is not meant for everyone to understand.'

He let his mocking smile deepen. 'Are you saying that Lindon is too dull to recognize your talent, so you can only hope to find your peers in Eregion?'

The man gave a laugh at that before speaking. 'Celebrimbor son of Curufin, the Head of Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the Lord of Eregion, and in Middle-earth the last of the mighty House of Fëanor.' Ignoring his tricky question, the man who named himself Annatar enumerated his titles and looked straight at him, eyes sparkling of challenge. 'I was only wondering if you would also be the last maker in this mortal land.'

He lifted up a hand to stop his assistant from rebuking him. More seriously now, he looked down at the man and studied those grey eyes: at first they seemed to so clear that one could see to the bottom of them, but a closer look would reveal their unfathomable nature. Seeing this, he blinked and burst into laughter. 'Then come with me. I am now curious about what my cousin must have missed.'

Since he seldom had a mind to deal with ordinary folk, the news that he brought back a stranger aroused wide interest in the city. Despite the fact it was already at night, many came to visit him at the guildhouse with fallacious excuses, just to have a look at this stranger as early as possible. He watched this farce all along, having no intention to interfere with it; however, by the time he led Annatar into his sitting room and sat down, he still found no trace of embarrassment or dissatisfaction on that handsome and flawless face, and thus could not but feel a little disappointed.

'Coming all the way from Lindon to Eregion, what on Arda do you have to say?' He asked bluntly, ready to drive the man forth if any empty talk followed. But Annatar did not boast of anything. He simply sighed, long and deep.

The man in front of him took the appearance of one in his prime, but the sigh revealed experience that could only be accumulated over thousands of years, so sad and so true that he almost regretted his sarcasm before.

'A mighty king is Gil-galad, and wise in all lore is Master Elrond, and yet they will not aid me in my labors. Can it be that they do not desire to see other lands become as blissful as their own?' (2)

Annatar said, word by word, with the deepest regret yet just the right hint of frustration.

'But should Middle-earth remain for ever desolate and dark, whereas the Elves could make it as fair as Eressëa, no, even as Valinor?' (3)

A silence fell. The crackling of firewood in the hearth became the only sound in the chamber. Face unperturbed, yet heart racing hard, he could only stare at the man who was confident and energetic just a moment ago but now appeared tired and forlorn.

'My lord, Lady Galadriel is here.'

The silence was broken by the unexpected report from his assistant. So she has heard of it too, he thought and suddenly found an inexplicable satisfaction. 'Tell her I am coming.' He told his assistant. Looking back at Annatar, not surprisingly, he saw concern in the man's eyes.

'Do not worry. I will be back soon.' he assured him absently, and then seemed to be reminded of something. 'And, you had better keep this in mind.'

Leaning over, he kept his smile on the lips, but not in the eyes.

'Gil-galad is my cousin, and I know him better than you ever can. Do not let me hear your speculation of him again.'

Chapter End Notes

(1) I chose to use the name 'Moria' in the narrative, for the Elvish translation for Khazad-dûm, Hadhodrond, is much less common. But in fact 'Moria' did not exist until Sauron made war on the Elves and the West-gate of Khazad-dûm was shut. (Yes, I am aware that the script on the West-gate of Moria contains the word 'Moria', which is a mystery in itself.)

(2)(3): adapted from The Silmarillion.