The Last Maker by Ecthelion

The Decision: Part One

Even from afar Celebrimbor heard the noise in his workshop, and easily identified it as a sound of continuous, rhythmic striking. Frowning, he quickly searched his memory and knew for certain that he had authorized no one to use his workshop this morning.

He skipped the courtesy of knocking before he pushed the door open. Narrowing his eyes at a wave of heat from the inside, he was ready to rebuke whoever had dared to trespass, but words were stuck in his throat when he saw what was going on.

A man was working at the anvil, a true expert with impeccable technique and supreme skill. Unlike Elven-smiths, the man wore no leather apron or other protective gear, and his bare back was covered with sweat, glistening in the light of red flames and golden sparks. As the hammer rose and fell, strong, toned muscles extended and flexed in perfect coordination, so well-shaped that one could not even hope to find a flaw.

Celebrimbor would have mistaken him as someone he had known and once looked up to, one who had perished long ago with the remote history of the First Age, had he not noticed in time the long golden hair neatly bound with a leather string.

Fortunately, the man stood with his back towards him and was unaware of his momentary confusion.

'If I am not mistaken, I am still the leader of Gwaith-i-Mírdain.' He took a deep breath silently and found his voice. 'Annatar, the presumption on your part is truly beyond my imagination.'

The man did not turn around but paused. 'Perhaps what I can offer is beyond your imagination too.'

Instead of provoking him, these arrogant words only made him laugh out loud. Since the New Age began, he had been widely recognized as the greatest Elven-smith in Middle-earth, and even the proud and stubborn Dwarves of Moria had to respect his great talent and unrivaled skill - of course, not without testing, challenging, and competing with him first.

'Why do you not tell me what you can offer then?' More amused than annoyed now, he asked, half teasing.

But this time Annatar did not respond with words. The golden-haired man put down the hammer, picked up a piece of metal from the anvil, and handed it to him with a confident smile.

It turned out to be a gold bracelet that seemed to be nothing extraordinary at the first sight; indeed, it could be considered shoddily made by the standards of the Noldor. Seeing there was still dust on it, he showed no sign of taking it; and in response to his deliberate hesitation, Annatar chuckled and wiped it casually with stained fingers.

He curled his lip and reached for it, ready to launch a counterattack with ridicule, but as soon as the bracelet fell onto his palm, he was taken aback and lost all the heart to make fun of the man.

'How did you…' He started and then bit his tongue. Laying aside his previous pride and scorn, he began to inspect the piece of metal that was still warm to touch. When he finally looked up after a long while, Annatar had cleared up the tools. Looking back at him, the man still chose to stay silent, but his burning eyes along with the simple, unadorned bracelet had conveyed much more than words.

As you surely can see, it is but a prototype, far from perfect. Give me more time, and work with me. Together, you and I can achieve more than all that has existed in this world.

For the first time since they met, he was rendered speechless, for he knew the man did not boast. In the bracelet of gold, he felt something most unusual: a sign of life, faint, but real.

He never told others about the incident in his workshop, but he acquiesced in Annatar's presence in Eregion from then on. However, Annatar had also changed his way since then. Appearing to be a proper guest now, Annatar did not test his host's boundary again, nor did he abuse the privileges granted to him. Most of the time, the man seemed to be content with the role of an observer and kept great manners even when isolated or ignored; but if someone was willing to speak with him, he also never hesitated or refused.

As time passed, inhabitants of Ost-in-Edhil gradually became accustomed to the presence of such an outsider, and words about Annatar began to spread in the city. Maidens gave their opinions, first in private and later in the open, saying that Annatar was fair, polite, and generous; craftsmen soon chimed in, publicly acknowledging that in matters of metals and ores, Annatar spoke wisely and had insight. Only Galadriel appeared to be indifferent towards the popular man, so was her husband Celeborn, who was not of the Noldor and thus had little interest in craftsmanship; she seemed to have distanced herself from the Mírdain since her unpleasant meeting with their lord.

To the surprise of many, he turned a deaf ear to everything related to Annatar. But late at night, when he returned to his study and saw the humble bracelet on his desk, he still could not help staring at it for a moment, though choosing to keep silence in the end.

When he heard that a messenger arrived from Lindon, instead of feeling any concern, somehow he was utterly relieved.

He had been wondering how his cousin would react to his decision. After the land of Beleriand was broken and drowned, the two of them both chose to stay in Middle-earth, but as if they had reached a tacit understanding, he seldom set foot on the land of Gil-galad, and Gil-galad rarely interfered with his doing. However, he was not so naive as to expect the High King of the Noldor would simply tolerate it when the position of Lindon was openly defied.

He dismissed the messenger after exchanging a few words of greetings, for he could not wait to open the letter from Gil-galad. But after perusing the beginning part of it, he was a little disappointed. Presumably the rest is also worded in such a careful and diplomatic manner, he thought, and was about to put it aside.

'Surely you know better than I do: once Morgoth also walked on the land of Aman in a form fair and wise.'

Just then, he accidentally caught a glimpse of these words and instantly clutched the parchment paper.

'In Arda Marred, few gifts come at no cost.'