Deceitful blessing by Harnatano - Lithenna

Chapter 1

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Raven braids falling over a strong back and stuck to the sweat which was dripping along the impressive shoulders, the lord of Eregion leaned forwards to look closer at the small piece he had just finished crafting.

From where he stood, Annatar observed every movement, their meticulosity, their precision, and those careful fingers which were now brushing against the peace of silver. Truly, the Ñoldorin lord’s skills were outstanding, but what remained to be seen, was the power Celebrimbor was ready give, to trade, and if this power could help the Maia achieve his goal.

From where he stood, Annatar wondered if these impressive shoulders would break under the blow of a hammer, if he would have to strike hard, and as his lips curled up in a smile, he imagined the sound of the broken bones under his foot.

But it wasn’t the proper moment for such delightful thoughts; soon enough would come the blow, and the irony of Celebrimbor’s fate would strike him like a whip on a bare skin.

Hiding the decadence of his thoughts behind the softest smile, Annatar walked towards the Elf, the acrid smell of his cruelty covered by the sweet scent of his lies. With an infinite carefulness, Annatar looked over Celebrimbor’s shoulder at the ravishing circlet, and nodded silently in approval. The Ñoldo didn’t twitch, but the Maia knew his movement had been noticed.

Poor Celebrimbor, always so eager for someone’s approval, always seeking it, begging for it, and oh, Annatar knew the elf would come and lick it from his fingers. It only required a few more tricks, a few more years, and the Lord of Eregion would crawl to him.

“My lord.” Annatar begun, and his voice was as soft as a gentle breeze. “You have surpassed yourself… This is a remarkable work.” Slowly, the Maia reached for the finery, warm, long fingers brushing against the silver, but before he could grasp it, Celebrimbor shifted, putting the circlet away, out of the Maia’s reach. The heavy sigh that left Celebrimbor’s lips was too meaningful to remain ignored, and with all the faked gentleness he could gathered, Annatar tilted his head and gave a puzzled look. “What is it my lord? Are you not satisfied with your work?”

Celebrimbor was already wrapping a delicate piece of fabric around the circlet, carefully, though his movements were impatient, almost… chaotic. Such an unusual attitude from the meticulous cratsfman. Annatar was certain the Elda had heard his question, and yet Celebrimbor wasn’t replying, keeping his gaze down on his hands, on the rings that ornated his fingers marked by years in the forge.

“My lord…?” Annatar tried again, and his voice was but a worried whisper. “Is there something wrong?”

“I need to work a few more hours on this piece. Or maybe remake it entirely.” The words had fell from Celebrimbor’s lips hastily, like a painful breath filled with a shame Annatar could not yet understand. There were, indeed, a few imperfections on the jewel, imperfections that only a very experienced craftsman could notice, and although Annatar would never allow himself to make something that was not perfect, he didn’t totally understand the nature of Celebrimbor’s sudden trouble.

It could appear as a detail, but he needed to know, to know the depths of him, the turmoils of his Fëa and the wounds on his Rhöa.  The change in Celebrimbor’s mood had been too sudden, too harsh; it could only be the emerged part of a deeper torment, and the glint in the Ñoldo’s eyes was now too eloquent to be left aside.

There were secrets and sufferings that needed to be unveiled, and Annatar would gladly dig into this toremented soul to reveal what was hidden there; Strip the elf from his shield and armor, and leave him bare on the ground, eaten alive by his own misery, by the torturing thoughts which had been consuming his mind for so long. But to do that, Annatar needed to know more about the nature of these thoughts. If he wanted to use Celebrimbor’s torments as a weapon, he needed to meet these torments, to embrace them, to seize them.

“My lord Celebrimbor, you have made a breathtaking masterpiece; I see no reason to remake it.”

“Do not flatter me, Annatar.” The Ñoldo stated firmly, and the dark, threatening tone in this voice rejoiced the Maia. “She cannot wear this.”

“I am certain Lady Galadriel would be delighted to wear it, my lord.” Annatar replied, and how he fought to keep his voice soft as he said the name. “The diamonds, in the gold of her hair, will remind the world of the blessed hour, when Telperion and Laurelin’s lights merged in a beautful explosion of colors.”

Ah, the Trees; a sight the Maia had never witnessed, a light he could only imagine as the remains of the Lamps, a light that had never touched him: but that was a detail Celebrimbor didn’t need to know.

Annatar noticed the hand that quickly turned into a fist, and instantly he knew he had hit a nerve. The thirst that ran in this family for the Arafinwëan’s golden hair was something Annatar had accidentaly discovered when Felagund had ended up in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, when the Maia’s power had crept through the elf’s mind, stealing glimpses of his memories, of his shame, of his sins….

Oh pathetic Eldar, so greedy, so weak, always running after a treasure that should never be theirs. And beyond their fair features, beyond the remains of their wisdom, lies the greasy stain of their lust.

Miserable worms.

“No, Annatar.” Celebrimbor’s stern voice brough the Maia back to the present moment. A better access to the Ñoldo’s mind would be a blessing, but despite the temptation, Annatar should resist. It was too early, the Noldo didn’t trust him enough. The slightest brush against his mind would awake his suspicion. Yet, before Annatar could say anything, Celebrimbor continued in a whisper. “I remember the day the king of Nargothrond made a request for a crown, and how my father indulged him. I remember the silver crown, how it enhanced the pure gold of Felagund’s hair, how the gems reflected the silk of his braid and the light in his eyes…”

Listening closely, Annatar drunk the words one after another, analyzing them to find the fracture, the crack in which his power would creep. After a long silence, the Maia made one careful step towards Celebrimbor, and kept his voice soft and gentle; he was applying the first layer. “As I have heard, your father then tried to steal Felagund’s crown. As I have heard, the throne of Nargothrond was his only interest, and if this crown seemed so wonderful, tis only because he wanted it for himself.  Whereas you, my lord, have no other purpose than to please Lady Galadriel and to honor the fine beauty of her features.”

Another silent, heavy and toxic. Annatar allowed this silence to creep through the room, to fill the air with a terrible disconfort, and continued slowly. “My lord, if I may, you should not compare yourself to someone who was said to be so–” The Maia didn’t manage to finsh his sentence, for he was cut off the by the elf who had stood up hastily, his silver eyes burning with a nervosity Annatar had never seen before.

“I know what words have been spoken about my father, Annatar. I need no reminder of them, nor do I want to hear more about the accusations that were mingled with his name.”

The Maia knew he had to be careful now. One bad move, a single wrong word, and he would need months to regain the Elf’s trust. “Far be it from me to blame your father, my lord. All I know of him, I have learned it from the tales and rumors.” Annatar turned away, his graceful silhouette moving slowly around the workshop table as he continued. “Yet, I have also heard that you disapproved his behavior. This is why I can but wonder why you still need to compare yourself to him.” It was risky, this much he knew, the threads he was weaving around Celebrimbor’s mind were fragil, and any hasty intent would break them. “Forgive me, my lord, if my curiosity went too far, for it was but the fruit of my concern.”

Celebrimbor seemed to relax slightly, enough to indicate the Maia he hadn’t lose his grip upon him, and when the Noldo walked towards him and rested a hand on his shoulder, Annatar smiled. Yet, behind his smile lied the strength of his disgust, and with all the power of his being he managed to keep his muscles relaxed, forcing himself to accept the friendly touch.

”I am afraid you cannot understand.” Celebrimbor explained, a somber veil covering his silver gaze. “I disapproved my father’s actions, but I respected him and loved him more than I could say.”

Annatar felt sick, and he would have killed the elf right away in the name of his own sanity. Love. How deliciously pathetic. But instead, he simply nodded, his golden gaze sinking into the silver one in front of him.

When Celebrimbor pulled away, Annatar gave a slight brush of his fingers against his own shoulder to get rid of the unpleasant sensation left by the Noldo’s hand, and after a short pause, as he watched Celebrimbor clean the table, he decided to weave another thread around the tender heart. "And did he love you?”

Celebrimbor froze, obviously unsettled by the unexpected question, but Annatar continued, digging deeper with a gentle, innocent voice. The voice of someone who simply wanted to understand. “Did he respect you?”

He could already witness the impact of his questions upon Celebrimbor. His breath was sharp now, the trouble in his eyes was intense and when he replied, his voice was shy – the voice of a child who had been caught off-guard. "He did love me… He told me he did. We used to be close, my father and I. It’s only during the last years that we… We didn’t get along so well anymore; there were a few issues, but after the Bragollach, it has hard for everyone.”

“A few issues? Do you mean quarrels? Desillutions? Failures?” It was game Annatar enjoyed. The trouble in Celebrimbor eyes was increasing, and already the Maia could feel the pain, the blood that was gushing from the Ñoldo’s open heart. “Do you think he loved the man you have become? After all, he never came back for you.”

Celebrimbor sighed deeply, one shaking hand passed over his face, and he picked up his tools to drop them carelessly into the washbasin. “He didn’t come back because Orodreth didn’t allow him to. Now, could we please talk about something else.”

“Forgive me my lord. I did not mean to be rude.” Annatar gave a deep bow, and took a step backward as he watched, amused, the obvious distress reflected by Celebrimbor’s movements, each one of them more chaotic and disordered. But the new silence that fell over them was twisted with a terrible spell, uncatchable and poisonous, that made the air thicker and heavier. It was accompanied by the Maia’s intense gaze, which never left Celebrimbor, and soon Annatar got the reaction he had been expecting.

“My father could not take the risk to come back! The threats in the North were too great, his duty was to stay there. And I was not expecting him to come back anyway.”

Annatar nodded, hiding as much as he could his pleasure as he watched the Ñoldo struggle with what seemed to be nothing less than excuses and justifications. He was so eager to defend his father, it could almost be touching, and the Maia knew the moment had come for him to launch his last arrow.

“Did he send someone for you when he learned the fall of Nargothrond?”

“I left Nargothond before its fall, and as soon as I learned what had happened I sent a message to Himring, informing my uncle that I was safe.”

“But did you father send someone? Did he ask about you?”

Celebrimbor bit down his lip, and the childlike expression in his eyes was so very touching that Annatar would have laughed with all the disdain the pitiful look inspired him. But oh, he could not laugh. Not yet. “Did he care?”

“Annatar enough!”

There was the sensitive nerve.

The Maia bowed again, and without another word he left the forge, leaving Celebrimbor alone with his tormenting thoughts. And when he closed the door behind him, the smirk on his lips and the glint in his eyes revealed his twisted satisfaction.

---

The shadows of the night were slowly gliding through his chamber, and in the distance, the cries of the wolves could be heard. But Celebrimbor didn’t pay attention to them, to any of them, his mind focusing on the images which were rolling through his mind. Bare bodies sweating and shivering, flesh against flesh, hands and tongues, golden locks, muscles and nerves reacting to the touch. No face, no identity, only bodies and their beauties enhanced by the gemstones and the gold that covered them.

The Ñoldo was lying on his bed, his face buried in the pillow, his stomach flat against the mattress and his fingers curled around his own erection. Lost in the beautiful display of his fantasies, he was slowly forgetting the world around him, falling into an abyss of lust and passion. There was no sin, no shame. Only this enthralling pleasure which was opening all the pores of his skin and making him burn with the heat of his own erotism.

His fingers dancing along his flesh, sliding along his sex, he rubbed himself and caressed himself with a fervor he hadn’t felt for too long. How beautiful were the images that popped up in his mind, how delightful, and he drank them wilfully, wholly, with all the strength of his Fëa. 

Celebrimbor moaned into his pillow, unaware of the poisonous mist which was now crawling into his room. He squirmed and cried soflty, eyes closed and lips parted, and, at last, a familiar face appeared in the confusion of his fantasy. Annatar’s face. Annatar panting and moaning and offering himself to him. Giving in to the pleasure brought by the figure, Celebrimbor decided to ignore the first sparks of shame which tickled in the pit of his stomach.

So tender, so soft…  Annatar’s skin against his own, the strength and purity of the Maia between his hands, under his weight, against his tongue and around his flesh. A skilled and delicate hand which would come to consecrate him, honor him, torment him; A sinful blessing.  

Around him, the chamber was changing, the atmosphere was heavier, the heat stronger and the terrible silence was only broken by his own moans. But these changes remained unnoticed by the Ñoldo who was falling into the meanderings of his own lust

And yet, slowly, the images that floated through his mind turned into something different. Annatar’s face disappeared, but the skin, the muscles and the sweat remained, the bodies’ undulations following the pace of his own moans. 

Another familiar face appeared, the well known features standing out from the confusion. 

His father was there, lost in the middle of his fantasy, watching and judging, the stern look upon his face betraying a deep disappointment. 

For a second, everything merged into a mass of bodies and faces and hair, and in this chaos, his father was still there, taking and crying his pleasure as he fucked an anonymous body with such a troubling appearence of truth that Celebrimbor froze, his body paralyzed by shame and confusion. Had his mind slipped into a dream - a nightmare? Had he willfully summoned these twisted fantasies?

“Well, well…” The voice was quiet, but in the silence of the room it seemed so very loud. His heart stopping in his chest, Celebrimbor lifted up his head, his face leaving the pillow which was now wet with his sweat and his eyes fell upon Annatar. The Maia was standing a few inches away from his bed, his gaze locked on the Ñoldo’s trembling body, but the look upon his face revealed nothing. No arousal, no disappointment or disgust, not even amusement.

Panicked, Celebrimbor brought the bedcovers up, covering his shameful body as much as he could, but the heat of his abashment was quickly moving up to his cheek and to the tips of his ears. The Maia didn’t move, and how beautiful the endearing light of his very being was standing out from the darkness of the room. He appeared as a radiant spirit who would come to absolve him, to wash away the shame and the dirt of his mad reverie.

“A-Annatar. By the Valar, w-what are you doing here?!” His voice was so hoarse and covered with so much embarrassment that Celebrimbor barely recognized it, but his mind was now nothing more than a swirl of confusion, and his body was still trembling with the strength of this painful arousal which was still throbbing between his thighs.

“You, Eruhíni, are fascinating.” The Maia whispered slowly, taking a slow step towards Celebrimbor, who instinctively backed against the headboard. “All this lust… the strength of these impulses, of this need and hunger… how alluring and how terribly intriguing.”

“Annatar… I really… I really am in a compromising situation right now.” Celebrimbor managed to say through his panting breath. “Please, go.”

But the Maia ignored the words, and slowly he kept on moving forwards, each step bringing him closer. “Your abandon is a delight to witness, Tyelpë.”

Celebrimbor shivered. Never before he had noticed Annatar’s voice could sound so… perverse. And when had he start to call him ‘Tyelpë’? During all these years the Maia had refered to him as a lord, why did he suddenly use his nickname? A nickname only a few were allowed to use… But Annatar cut off his reflection with a movement of his hand, his index finger brushing against his own lips as if he was asking for silence. Celebrimbor watched as he tried to catch his breath, to tame the painful erection, and silently, nervously, he waited for Annatar’s next move.

But the Maia had stopped, frozen, a few inches away from the bed, golden eyes observing him with interest… There was something new in these eyes, Something Celebrimbor had never seen before; a glint of twisted delight, imbued with something darker than the night itself.

Holding his breath, Celebrimbor frowned, until a strange dizziness started to fill his mind with new turmoils. The room around him seemed to swell, the high halls and the bed itself seemed to creak and to shake, and in this madness Annatar stood still and silent, impassive. Celebrimbor clung to the mattress, his naked body half covered by the bedsheets, and he shook his head, trying to make the terrifying sensations vanish. A few blinks later, the room was still blurred and trembling, but something else had appeared. In the corner of the room, not so far from his bed, another silhouette was standing. He instantly recognized him. 

His father. Again. Staring at him sternly. 

Disapproval obvious in his eyes, Curufin was wincing with disdain. And this disdain was aimed at none but his son; Celebrimbor knew it, he could feel it. He was the cause of this harrowing disappointment.

What would Atya think of such a lustful, greedy boy?

It was Annatar’s voice, echoing in his head, though the Maia hadn’t spoken a single word. But slowly, the voice changed, became deeper, lower, and turned into a voice Celebrimbor hadn’t heard for so long. His father’s voice.

Tyelperinquar… Never shall the light of Aman touch you again.  For you have poisoned your gifts with you vanity and your greed. You repudiated me for the sins which are now consuming you. My hypocritical child… There shall not be any forgiveness…

“NO!” Surprised by his own voice, by the sudden outburst, Celebrimbor shook his head and closed his eyes, fingernails digging into the mattress, his jaw clenching with the fierce intensy of his horror. He didn’t know for how long he remained immobile, eyes closed, panting painfully through a throat which wouldn’t entighten, but when he opened his eyes, Annatar was sitting on the bed next to him, a look of sheer innocence on his graceful face.

“My lord…?” He asked softly, his voice suffused with worry. “My lord, can you hear me?”

Celebrimbor blinked a few times, and slowly his gaze returned to the corner of the room where his father had been standing a few seconds before. Nothing. Curufin – the image of Curufin - was gone, and the room itself was back to normal.

No more crack, no more tremor. Only the soft moonlight and the breeze blowing through the open window.

The Ñoldo was still shaking, and when he felt a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, he gasped, and suddenly grasped it, his own fingers wrapping violently around Annatar’s wrist.

Was Annatar the cause of these perverse hallucinations? It was hard to believe, for the Maia’s innocent features revealed nothing but worry and gentleness. And yet, Celebrimbor knew he wasn’t mad. He knew these images didn’t come from his own mind. He knew this insanity didn’t belong to him.

Annatar didn’t struggle, allowing the touch, and as Celebrimbor fingernails digged into his skin, the Maia barely reacted: his head titled soflty and a tender smile played on his lips. “My lord, I think you had a nightmare. Should I bring you some water?”

Celebrimbor didn’t reply. On his face was floating a look of sheer confusion, of fear and anger, but his eyes reflected the fragility of child.

There had been a truth in the illusion. A truth about himself, something that he refused to see, to admit. And it hurt even more, for Celebrimbor remembered perfectly his father’s patent and endless denial in Nargothrond. He remembered how terribly blind Curufin could be, the harshness of his reaction when his son dared speak about the darkest part of his mind.

'Father, this madness must stop. And only you can make it stop. The man I know to be my father would not let it happen.’  Curufin had stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a violence which would have made anyone shiver with fear.

“My lord, let me help you. You seem disorientated…” Annatar’s fingers were now brushing gently against Celebrimbor’s hand, and it took a few seconds before the Ñoldo noticed this unexpected gesture. “These fears of yours, my lord…” The Maia continued, and his voice was only a soft murmur floating in the silence of the room. “.. Let not these fears stop you. I have seen you, I have watched you, Celebrimbor. I know you are strong enough to overcome them. With my help, with my support and advices, there would be no impediment, no limit, no boundary. I can free you from your fears, Celebrimbor, from you past. “

When the Maia stopped, they both remained silent, Celebrimbor pondering lengthily the speech, and when finally he decided to talk, the Maia was already pulling away from the grip of his fingers and leaving the bed. Behind him was floating a sweet scent, which Celebrimbor wound’t relate to anything he had ever known.

“The choice must be yours, my lord. And yours only.”

The Maia started to walk away, but overtaken by a sudden impulse which he couldn’t understand, Celebrimbor reached out, and paying no attention to his compromising nakedness, he grasped Annatar’s arm. “Stay.”

It seemed the Maia had excepted it, for when he turned, there was no surprise on his face, no confusion, only a calm expression accompanied by a cunning flame in his golden eyes. “No.”

Annatar’s voice was sharp, firm. It was not a answer, but a statement, almost an order, but in his pride mixed with a deep distress, Celebrimbor didn’t let go.

Lost in the swirl of his emotions, where fear and anxiety merged with what remained of his lust and this terrible need for a comforting presence, Celebrimbor could but insist. “You have decided to come here, in my room, tonight, and you will stay. I will not beg you, Annatar.”

“Will you not?”

The cunning glimpse in the Maia’s eyes turned into a sharp threat, though the tone of his voice was still as sweet as a lullaby. It lasted a second during which the atmosphere, once again, seemed to change, Celebrimbor’s throat tightening as he grasp the promises which were floating in these menacing  eyes. He had no other choice but to let go, and slowly, gracefully, Annatar turned away and headed to the door, leaving Celebrimbor, one more time, with his trouble thoughts for only company.    

---

"Please Tyelperinquar, tell me more of this 'sinful blessing’ which has been invading your thoughts during these past decades. Tell me how much it has enthralled you and consumed you, how much you wanted it.” The Maia purred as Celebrimbor was brought and stripped in the middle of the horrid crowd of orcs and wargs. “Tell me how much you have been craving my touch.”

The crowd laughed, such a terrible, awful laugh, and although Celebrimbor had been brought to the edge of his physical capacities, although he couldn’t stand on his legs anymore nor lift his head to watch the tall, threatening silhouettes, he shivered, his body shaken by a harrowing impulse of shame and hate, of rage and terror. He wanted to protest, to cry and scream it was an awful lie, but the orcs were already gagging him under Sauron’s amused gaze, and what remained of his strength didn’t allow him to struggle.

It’s not you that I wanted, Thauron. Only your power. Your grace and your beauty. Yourfake beauty.

Not you.

It appeared so clearly now. The greed and the lust for a power and a beauty which would never be his.

"Oh, Tyelpë, sweet child… There is something I never told you. Something important.” Sauron cooed in what remained of the Elf’s ear. “I should have mentioned it the day we talked about Nargothrond… Do you remember? Our fascinating talk about your father… About his careless and neglectful attitude towards his own precious son.”

Through the mist which was filling his mind, Celebrimbor tried to protest again, against those oddious lies which only made his heart bleed with hatred and horror.

“When the troops came back from Nargorthond after the sack of the realm, they made their rapport to me.” The Ring was burning against Celebrimbor’s flesh, but he could barely feel it. The words spoken by the Maia were slowly settling into his mind, and with his last strengths, Celebrimbor clung to them.

“As they headed back to the North, they met a messenger, wearing the Fëanorian star on his breast plate. As you can imagine, they killed him, but they had the decensy to keep the letter he was carrying.”

As the Maia talked, Celebrimbor felt his legs being pulled apart violently, and although he tried to resist, to fight one last time, his Rhöa didn’t respond and he could only wait and suffer Sauron’s speech and torments. There were laughters around him. He felt something, sharp and thick, sliding against his flesh, and soon, Sauron’s fingers clasped his hair, pulling them backwards with a stength which made Celebrimbor gasp. “I remember the words perfectly, the beautiful and yet hasty writing…

I have learned the news, and with relief, your uncles and I have received your message. Please, Tyelpë, stay safe. Your father.

The Maia laughed softly, and his terrible laugh was followed by the scratch of iron claws against the Noldo’s scalp. “And at the foot of the page, were a few more words. I bet he wrote them with his tears. Do you want to know what they said, Tyelpërinquar?”

There were tears too, in the corner of Celebrimbor’s eyes, burning tears which were slowly sliding along his cheeks, wiping off the blood and the dust, and he could clearly feel a pressure increasing against his flesh, between his legs, threatening to rip, to rape, to pierce.

“Such tender words should not remained unspoken… though I am not sure you deserve to know. After all, you refuse to share the knowledge that I desire to hear…”

With the last strength that he could gather, the Ñoldorin lord struggled and groaned, trying vainly to urge the Maia to end this desastrous game. But the grip on his scalp tightened, and Sauron’s voice echoed again, low and soft in his ear. “No… you surely do not deserve to know. But am I not the lord of Gifts? Should I not be happy to share my knowledge with you? Is it not what I have done since our first meeting, Tyelpë?”

All that he wanted now, was to put an end to it. Death. Darkness. Void.

Whatever his father had writtent in this letter, he would learn it, and not from Sauron’s lips. No, not from those toxic lips. His father would tell him, his father would find him in Mandos and he would reveal the truth. Not Sauron. Sauron had no right to soil this truth, not after all the lies which had polluted and tarnished the memory of his father. Celebrimbor would see him again; he would talk to him again, and his father would tell him.

Not Sauron.

And as the silent odium ran through Celebrimbor’s mind, Sauron pulled away. “What is it Tyelpë?”

In this exact moment, the Noldo felt the intrusion in his mind. Once again Sauron was trying to explore it, to grasp the informations he so painfully wanted, and once again Celebrimbor fought, barricading his secrets - the three and their locations - behind the strong walls of his mind. His body was broken, but his determination stood fiercely. Sauron could crush his bones and muscles, but never would he affect his willpower; this Celebrimbor had promised himself, and he would not give up. The only thoughts, the only words Sauron managed to get from the Ñoldo’s mind, were the last ones, his refusal to know, his vehement protestations against the corrupted truth.

“Is that so, Tyelpë? You do not want me to tell you, do you? You do not want to hear what your loving father had written for you in this so touching letter that I carefullyburned centuries ago…”

It was unbearable; at this point Celebrimbor didn’t know what he dreaded the most: Sauron’s words, the promise of a revelation he didn’t want to hear, or the cold threat of the pole between his legs. And through his tears and his pain, Celebrimbor heard the Maia give an order. 

Before the pain struck, before the pole pierced him and passed through his flesh, the dark lord put his eyes on him, and from where he laid, Celebrimbor read his father’s words on the Maia’s mocking lips. 

And for once - this Celebrimbor knew - the Maia spoke an unsoiled truth; his father’s truth.

May you forgive me, dear son.