What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

Prologue

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To many, Aman may seem as far west as west can be. It is named the Uttermost West after all. This is not entirely accurate however; a very few can go farther west still. Past the Halls of Mandos, where the dead wait (and wait and wait). Past the Halls of Nienna, where all the tears of the world flow in silvery falls to stream into dark pools. Past the Walls of the World, abandoned and crumbling, now that Aman is peeled off the globe. Past the Ekkaia, more memory now than actual sea, which goes from blinding light to deepest night in an instant as the Lights of the Sky sail quickly past. 

Here many of the Valar fear to tread. Here the fabric of the world is weak, and there are nameless things gnawing around the edges, waiting for their chance to devour. A few who are very powerful, very bold, very foolish, or perhaps a mix of all three, know that as far west as west can be there is a door.. It is black and huge — although size is a tricky thing to judge at the margins of the world; even únat seems slippery here. 

There is a ceaseless Guard on the door. Over the years the Guard has grown. Dark pillars, ever watchful, hedge around the door. The only sound is the memory of waves and a click click click sound from within the pillars. The Guard does not sleep, they cannot sleep, and each moment stretches to its breaking point. 

Some say there should be a guard on the Guards. Great woe would befall the world should their guard cease, or should one slip away. The question of who would guard the Guards is never satisfactorily answered though. Eärendil, sailing along the edge of darkness with his Silmaril and his sword always glances down to make sure that all is as it should be, but that is only once a day. From his ship, he cannot hear the noises coming from inside the pillars.

As far west as west can be there is a Door, and it is guarded. The world is empty that far west, so there is no one to note that there’s one less thing going click click click.

Wise and Fair

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The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Galadriel arrived at Ondomar, the house of Nerdanel and her guild was quartered. Shining sun and singing birds were the default in Aman though, and Galadriel hoped she would see one of the terrific storms that were possible up in the southern mountains where the Nerdanelië were located. 

After her horse was stabled, she sought out the mistress of the house, stopping a few times to exchange pleasantries with several elves she recognized. Nerdanel was in her workshop apparently, and would be out for an afternoon break shortly, so Galadriel made herself comfortable in the kitchen, waving away offers of food and drink. The kitchen was huge, equipped to serve the dozens of elves who lived here with several ovens and fireplaces and  alcoves filled with stored goods. There were long tables for food preparation and smaller tables off to the side, where the Nerdanelië often ate in shifts, each too absorbed in their own craft to observe regular meal times. Galadriel sat at one of the smaller tables now, watching the bustle of the kitchen. A very small figure entered the kitchen and hurried towards her.

“Lady Galadriel! As I live and breathe! You must join us for some tea,” Samwise Gamgee exclaimed. His hair was white, and his face was lined, but he was very spry for his 183 years. He attributed it to the good earth and better victuals that were to be found in Valinor. He was not wrong.

“Master Samwise,” Galadriel said with a respectful nod. Galadriel was largely visiting Nerdanel for her own purposes, but the fact that her timing coincided with Sam and Frodo’s stay was not an accident. In the grand scheme of things, the time where there were hobbits in Valinor was very short, and their presence should be strongly considered when making travel plans in her opinion. “None for me; I’m only waiting to speak with Lady Nerdanel.”

“Well then you must have some tea,” Samwise insisted. “There’s nothing better than getting business done over tea.” He put the kettle over the fire and set out no less than six cups and saucers. “Well, maybe beer is better, but I’ve found Valinor woefully short of brewers. I’ve had to dabble in it myself to get a good brew.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?” Galadriel asked, resigned to having tea with whomever Sam had invited.

Sam chuckled. “I have some fermenting in the cellar, but no, this is the kind of place where you learn new skills I’ve found. I’ve taken up wood carving myself.”

“I fear I disagree; I plan to take up old skills if Nerdanel will have me.”

They were interrupted by three of the other people Sam was apparently preparing tea for. 

“Lady Galadriel!” Frodo’s face lit up as he saw her in the kitchen. Although even older than Sam, he still looked younger, never needing to age past his prime in the Blessed Realm. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Indeed, Master Frodo. I’ve found my desire for craft would not abate, so I moved up my plans to arrive well before the wedding.”

“Well, the more the merrier!” Frodo said, getting a loaf of bread and butter to share before sitting down.

“Lady Galadriel, may I introduce you to Mistress Lodrien? She has been my tutor these past few months.” Sam motioned to a green-eyed Sindarin elf with her hair bound back in a scarf who had just entered the kitchen.

Lodrien bowed, sending a puff of wood shavings up as she moved. “We have actually met, my Lady. In Sirion, before the War.” She straightened.

Galadriel frowned. “I’m not sure I remember you.” She sighed. “I’m afraid I was rather busy at the time.” At that moment her focus was stolen by another elf walking towards the table. When Sam had arrived in Valinor, Galadriel had visited him as soon as possible, and that had meant visiting Maglor as well, however much she wished to avoid seeing her cousin. Maglor wasn’t as thin as he had been when he first arrived, but his face was still lined more than typical for the Eldar, his hair was streaked with grey, and his right hand was wrapped in a bandage. 

Lodrien smiled. “Very understandable. I also wasn’t there all that long before I was killed by this one.” She nodded at Maglor. 

“Did I kill you?” Maglor asked.

“Yes, but we’ve been over this before.”

“Did I apologize?”

“Yes, quite beautifully. You composed a song for me.”

“Ah, well that’s good. I am very sorry.”

“And I have still forgiven you,” said Lodrien gravely. 

“I thought your memory was improving?” said Sam.

“I did too,” said Maglor, carefully touching his grey-streaked head as if to find lurking memories by feel.

Galadriel examined her cousin carefully, and found to her satisfaction that the overwhelming anger she used to feel when faced with him had faded to minor annoyance. Studying with the Nerdanelië meant being near many of the guild founder’s sons, and that had kept Galadriel away for many years. But she was finding on the other side of death and long exile there were ways to find acceptance, if not forgiveness. That Sam and Maglor had formed a fast friendship during their journey to Valinor also helped make him more palatable.

The lady of the house herself arrived, wearing an apron streaked with stone dust. She took off her apron as she entered and hung it on a hook. Galadriel rose to meet her. 

“Artanis, welcome! I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” Nerdanel clasped Galadriel’s hand in both of her own hands and then motioned to a chair. They sat and allowed Sam to start serving the tea. 

“Yes, I came a bit earlier than I intended to. Maybe we can speak on it after tea?”

Nerdanel’s face took on the frozen expression of dread that Galadriel was all too familiar with. Some people had heard bad news too many times to anticipate anything else.

“Nothing bad!” Galadriel said hastily. “Nothing private either! We can discuss it now if you don’t object to some business over tea.”

Nerdanel laughed to relieve the tension. “I am sorry; we’ve had nothing but good news for so long, but I still get nervous when things are left uncertain. Speak away! There’s no need for a formal audience.”

Galadriel straightened slightly, reminded of ages past when she would petition to learn under a Vala or Maia. “I would like to take up crafting again. Revive some of my metalworking and glassblowing skills that have sat so long disused. I know some of the most skilled artisans of our kind make their home here and I would like to consult with them.”

“Oh.” Nerdanel looked a little surprised at Galadriel’s request. “You would like to join my guild?”

“Yes, if you would have me.”

Nerdanel set down her tea cup and her voice took a more serious tone. “I used to take all who would seek me out, but I have found in recent years the need to be more careful about who is invited here. I would first ask if you could abide by our rules.

“Many people have wronged others here in the past, sometimes very deeply. I do not ask that everyone must be forgiven, for that is only for you to decide, but you must be able to treat everyone with respect.”

Galadriel nodded, relieved in a way that this was explicitly asked of her.

“Likewise, I know much is said of us in Tirion, and that there is often talk about ‘what is to be done’ over me and my family,” Nerdanel continued. “Know this, I have my own allies in the court and have exchanged many letters with our rulers. But that is my business, and not for guild members to concern themselves with. I have found political discussions are rarely brought up for our edification and usually more gossip than anything else, so if you must talk about the latest politics of the day, do not do so on my grounds.

“Those two rules are the gist of what is required of those who wish to join. Is this amenable to you?”

“Yes,” Galadriel said. “ I will abide by your rules and seek to keep the peace with all who dwell here, no matter our history.” She pointedly did not look at Maglor as she said this.

“Excellent, then I can show you around after tea and have the steward find a room for you. Have you given a thought to who your mentor will be? Or maybe you had several in mind already?”

“I was going to speak with Tyelperinquar about that, but I’d like to approach him after I’ve done some initial work,” Galadriel said.

“You are free to do so. A warning though, Tyelperinquar receives many requests for apprenticeships and accepts very few of them. He’ll suggest other smiths and artificers if need be.”

Galadriel, who had already had to temper her pride in order to consider asking for Celebrimbor’s teaching, managed not to scoff at the idea that Celebrimbor would turn her down. She knew he very well might; her proposal might skirt too near past works for his comfort, and her impression was that he was more cautious now than he had been in Middle-earth.

“I will keep that in mind,” she said.

“I am so glad you’ve joined us, Galadriel,” Frodo said. “And if you are going to craft anything like the star-glass you gave to me, I am eager to see what you will create.”

“We shall see what I can do here,” Galadriel said. She was reluctant to speak too much about her project before she knew what was possible. Power ran closer to the surface of things in Valinor, and she felt more capable than she ever had before. It had also been a long time though since she had attempted anything without Nenya. But if there was any place where she could try and fail, it was here.

~

Galadriel started small, making inconsequential trinkets of glass and metal, remembering how it felt to shape things for no greater reason than the joy of it. She even tried her hand at jewel-crafting, although she quickly remembered why she found the long waits and unstable magic that it required tiresome. 

While she experimented and practiced, she spent just as much time reconnecting with her friends and family who had made their way up to Nerdanel and Írissë’s closely knit halls. She also spent long evenings talking with Sam and Frodo, drinking Sam’s excellent beer and watching the stars peep between the trees. In Valinor, the haste she had sometimes felt even in her refuge from time in Lórien was gone. Here, there was time to go riding with Írissë, there was time to dance with old friends from Ost-in-Edhil, and there was time to greet the slow trickle of guests making their way into the woods for the wedding. Here she could forget for a time her husband’s long absence, and how as each year passed it seemed less likely that he could ever bring himself to leave Middle-earth

She didn’t forget her original purpose though. When at last she felt her skills sufficient to at least avoid making a fool of herself, she dove into theory. Nerdanel’s library was extensive and the collection surprisingly thorough for the wooded surroundings. She even had some of Fëanor’s texts carefully transcribed and kept in guarded bookshelves behind the librarian’s desk. Galadriel knew Fëanor had written more than was kept in the library, but she did not feel it prudent to ask Nerdanel where all of his tomes of notes were kept; some things were better left alone.

Whatever her opinions on her uncle, there was no denying Fëanor’s brilliancy that she glimpsed in the few passages she could understand in his notes. As she copied down formulas on the nature and movement of light, she marvelled that here were ideas now only half understood that Fëanor had uncovered millenia ago. As she was further bogged down by the increasingly self-referential and arcane notes she began to remember all of her many complaints. What good was genius if it could not be taught or recorded in a way that those after you can decipher?

Fortunately there were other sources to consult — less brilliant but more understandable. She avoided searching out the most obvious source though; first she needed her idea to be fully formed and ready to stand up to intense scrutiny. 

Several weeks in, she began to regret that requirement and wrote to her brother in a moment of weakness, sending a letter along with a messenger who was making the trip to the closest village, several leagues away. The next day she woke up with a clear idea on how to proceed and momentarily considered mentally reaching out to her brother to let him know his help was no longer needed. She quickly discarded that idea though; with any luck Finrod would not come any earlier than he was already planning to arrive. Using ósanwë would only serve to convince him that she was working on something truly interesting and send him here at once.

With her plans drawn up, and looked over by several people whose discretion she trusted, she finally sought out Celebrimbor.

She found him at his desk. The windows were open to allow him and the cat on his desk to take full advantage of the morning sunlight, Celebrimbor by reading and the cat by napping.

“Galadriel,” he said without looking up. “I thought I squared away what I owed you from cards the other night.” In Ost-in-Edhil, they had been some of the few who used each other’s Quenya names, often shifting to the tongue of their youth out of old habit and the occasional privacy that afforded them. Here, amid the rolling Quenya that was the preferred tongue of the Nerdanelië, they defaulted to Sindarin. We both always must differentiate ourselves from those around us , she thought. Even in the most trivial of ways .

“Oh no, that debt has been paid and drunk, I have a matter of craft I would like to consult with you.”

He looked up at that and frowned. “I had heard you wanted to study under me. But I thought you must have changed your mind; you’ve been here several months without seeking me out for anything other than leisure.”

“Yes, well I found my old skills dusty from disuse and didn’t feel I needed your help to remind me of the basics.”

“But now you do need my help?” Celebrimbor asked.

Galadriel paused for a moment. It had been so long since she had asked anyone for help. People came to her for assistance — Elrond, Gandalf, Aragorn, the Galadhrim, her husband. In Middle-Earth, she was always wisest, the last, best example of the greatness of the Noldor in the Third Age. But it was the Fourth Age now, and besides, this was not a true reversal of positions; Celebrimbor had rarely asked her for help or advice in ages past, much to the despair of many parties.

She swallowed her pride and said, “yes, I have a project proposal and I would like your formal patronage while I complete it.”

Celebrimbor had gone back to reading his book. “Sorry, I’m too busy.”

“I beg your pardon?” This could not be born. “With what?”

“Well, you can see all of this work.” he gestured at the book and two or three papers on his desk.”

“You can’t be serious.” Galadriel pulled down the book so she could read it’s title. It was a well known collection of humorous stories by a Telerin author also famous for his raunchy scenes.

“And I also have an illustrious pupil already; so, as you can understand, my schedule is full.”

“Who is this other pupil?” Galadriel asked.

“Frodo Baggins. I am teaching him advanced mathematics.”

Galadriel let out a loud “Ha!” She knew exactly how much mathematics Frodo had been studying and how small a burden that would be on Celebrimbor’s schedule. She tried a different tactic.

“Aren’t you curious as to what I’m planning?”

“No,” said Celebrimbor as he turned the page.

Galadriel set down her plans on the desk, making sure they scattered a bit so Celebrimbor could glimpse several of the sketches and notes she’d made.

“Did I ever tell you what happened to the Elessar?”

“I can’t believe that’s what you ended up naming it. And yes, you gave it to that Man Arwen married, Aragorn.”

“Yes, it was with Aragorn. Now it is likely with his son Eldarion, being used as a beacon of healing and peace.”

At least Celebrimbor was now looking at her, his place in the book preserved with a quill.

“It will get more use in Gondor; there is much that needs healing, and many things have been withered before their time,” Galadriel continued. 

“That was indeed wise. What good are hoarded gems in Valinor? It is only a shame that so much else of our craft faded so we cannot give like we used to in the Years of the Trees.”

“Yes, well, I do wonder if something like the Elessar might have a place here.”

Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes. “There is all the healing here that could be wished for.”

“Some wounds remain.”

Celebrimbor’s gaze went far off. “You’re thinking of Celebrían.”

Galadriel grimaced. “And others.”

“Not Maglor?”

Galadriel resisted the urge to sweep her plans off the table and retreat from Celebrimbor’s room. “It has occurred to me that a certain amount of healing needs to happen before someone can truly begin to make amends for wrongs done.”

Celebrimbor sat back in her chair. “Yes. I would imagine an apology would be more meaningful if the apologizer were fully aware of space and time, such as they are.”

“Exactly.”

“But the Elessar could not heal Celebrían’s scars, nor Maglor’s mind. There are limits. Maybe Nenya could, if that was all that was asked of it. But then I am still not certain of that.”

Galadriel glanced down at her right hand where she still wore Nenya, now no more than a pretty accessory.

“No, I could not, or I would have.”

“Surely Estë—”

“Maybe some of us tire of petitioning the Valar.”

Now Celebrimbor looked really amused. “I thought you repented of all rebellion.”

“This is no rebellion! Besides, I repented of all past rebellion.”

“What exactly are you planning?”

Galadriel felt a moment of triumph. If she had captured Celebrimbor’s curiosity, she had almost ensured his help. “With the Elessar, if you gazed through it, you saw things that were withered or burned healed again or as they were in the grace of their youth. And when it was used, much hurt could be healed, but the worst of time’s ravages could not be undone. But what if what was seen through the gem could be made real?”

Celebrimbor stared at her in astonishment. “You cannot possibly be asking me to help make such a thing.”

“Who else?”

“Someone with fewer eyes on them; someone not known for creating things that wrought the doom of two ages.” Celebrimbor shook his head. “No, I cannot be seen helping with this project. It is overly ambitious, and would be seen as threatening the order of things.”

Galadriel fixed him with a look that would have set High King Ingwë to apologizing.

Celebrimbor just smiled at her. “Do you think that glaring at me is going to make me give in to you?”

For a moment Galadriel couldn’t breath; she was back in the darkest days of the Second Age, fully aware of exactly how stubborn her cousin was and what exactly he was willing to endure rather than give in.

“That’s not funny,” she said, even as a hysterical giggle rose in her throat. 

Celebrimbor was outright laughing at her now. “I’m sorry, but you rather walked into that one.”

Galadriel covered her mouth, trying to stifle the laughter that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Well, it was worth the attempt.” She tried to pull her papers towards her but was stopped. Celebrimbor had the stack pinned under one finger.

“I’m definitely not tutoring in any official capacity. I don’t think you should even credit me for consultation.” Galadriel lifted her hands off the table and let Celebrimbor pull the top page towards him.

“And I am quite busy. Do you know they put me in charge of the invitations and seating arrangements?”

“Really? I would think Nerdanel or Írissë were much better suited for that.”

“Oh, they definitely are. But they have their hands full with all the other preparations that are needed and all the guests that will start arriving soon. Meanwhile, apparently I’m the next best choice for keeping the peace between the two branches of our family.”

Galadriel shook her head in amazement. “I don’t know why Maedhros is insisting on an official ceremony. We’ve known they were married for millenia.”

“Fingon is just as excited, even if he has fewer charts and portfolios to show for it.”

“They are both entirely too old for this nonsense. When Celeborn and I were married in Doriath, it was a small affair, partly because even at that point we both were too established for any extravagant ceremony.”

“I’m sure everyone would agree that a Sindarin marriage ceremony would be more appropriate for Maedhros.”

 Galadriel did not need Celebrimbor for his sarcasm. “And now I am truly leaving. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Come back tomorrow,” Celebrimbor said without looking up from her designs.

Galadriel smiled as she left the room, wisdom and beauty in her ageless face, and not a little smugness.

---

Chapter End Notes

ósanwë - Quenya, interchange of thought.
Elessar - Elf-stone or star-stone. The green stone given to Aragorn in Lothlórien. I'm going with the canon that it was originally crafted by Celebrimbor, and brought back to Middle-earth by Gandalf.

Days of Miracle and Wonder

Finrod | Ingoldo

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Galadriel had been right about her brother. Long before he was due to arrive, Finrod rode into the courtyard with his youngest daughter Merillë and Curufin Fëanorion, of all people.

She found out from Curufin’s wife, Ornéliel, who interrupted her just as she was working through the conclusion of a key equation.

“I have you to blame for this I suppose.”

Galadriel lost her train of thought and slammed her hand down on the table in frustration. “Damn it Ornéliel; these rooms are for uninterrupted study.”

“I see no reason why I should let you study undisturbed when you are the disruption of my own peace.”

Galadriel glared at Ornéliel. She hadn’t liked her when they were young and both studying under Aulë. Orneliel had been patronizing to the younger Galadriel and prone to jealous displays as Galadriel showed herself quite capable despite her age. She didn’t particularly like her now either. Ornéliel was loud and obnoxious, always with a quip and a need to be the center of attention. She also found she still held a grudge on Celebrimbor’s behalf although he insisted all was right between them now.

“And what have I done now?” Galadriel asked.

“Curufinwë is here.”

“You think I invited Curufinwë? I’m the last person who would invite him here.”

“He came with your brother.”

That made more sense. Not Finrod and Curufin’s friendship, which Galadriel would never understand, but Curufin deciding to travel here with Finrod, who must have set out when he received her letter. 

Galadriel began to put away her papers and books. “If you would like to avoid seeing your ex-husband, you probably shouldn’t live with his mother.”

Ornéliel huffed and left the room. Galadriel headed toward the courtyard.

Finrod, Curufin, and Merillë were still in the courtyard going through the rounds of welcomes. They were all wearing the latest styles out Tirion, voluminous trousers with brocade tunics belted on top. Merillë’s tunic was long and contoured enough to be described as a dress and perfectly matched her purple and teal hair. 

“I’m just running out of places to put people,” Nerdanel was saying, her hand on her hips. “Carnistir is planning on arriving soon, and we’re going to convert more of the rooms to bedrooms closer to the wedding, but right now they're still full of, well, anything but beds.”

“My lady, I will be happy to sleep under the stars.” Finrod bowed to Nerdanel. Merillë gave her father a look that said she did not condone these sleeping arrangements

“And you needn’t worry about me, Amil. I wrote ahead to Írissë and will be staying at Árëmar.” Curufin raised an eyebrow at Finrod.

“Didn’t Artanis mention—” Finrod’s face lit up as he saw her across the yard. “Ah there you are!”

Galadriel sped up her steps and ran into her brother’s arms. It had almost been a yén since she arrived in Valinor, and it still felt miraculous sometimes that her family was here as real people she could hold. 

“Really Ingoldo, you shouldn’t have come.”

“And not help my sister with whatever marvel you are creating? Nonsense!”

“I did not actually invite him,” Galadriel said apologetically to Nerdanel.

“Oh this is all my fault,” Merillë said with a wave of her hand. “I knew it was time to expand my studies to some of the harder sciences, so when Atar mentioned he was considering coming up here to help Atanésa, I insisted we make a trip of it. 

“Well, you all are welcome, you’ll just have to share a room.”

Later, in the space within the workshop Galadriel had claimed for herself, she showed Finrod her progress so far. He examined the lens, and the bits of frame she had forged out of a gold alloy. He hummed to himself as he worked, flipping through her notes and holding pieces up to the light. Finally he turned and said, “You’ve made a good start so far; I can feel the intentions you put into the metal and glass already, despite its unassembled state.”

Galadriel nodded. “Tyelpë was right, power is much closer to the surface of things and much easier to grasp than in Middle-earth. I think the challenge does not lie in the degree to which I must call out the former strength of a being, but rather the ability to precisely find that which is the most wholesome, and not just the strongest.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. It sounds like this could backfire spectacularly.”

“Oh yes, we will need to test extensively before we try it on any Quendi.”

“This seems like something I would not want to fall into the wrong hands, even in Aman.”

“I have thought of that. The lens will work on the same principles of will and unwill that guide osanwë. If someone is not open to the change, they simply cannot change. It’s baked into every detail, every spell.”

“I thought I had sensed something of that,” said Finrod. “So, what’s next?”

“Well, the deepest crafting is next. You arrived in good time, I meant to start on the final assembly and calling of power tomorrow.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “In fact, you arrived here at a suspiciously good time.”

“Dear sister, you know how our blessings work. I can’t help it if it just all works out.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope that it continues.”

~

The next day, at dawn, Galadriel started assembling her lens. It required the greatest concentration, and she knew she needed a deeper sort of silence than an almost full house could provide.

She traveled several miles further up the mountain to a shrine she had prepared. She hadn’t spoken of this part to anyone; the Calaquendi generally held such things in contempt, associating them with the Moriquendi and superstition, tools created by those who could never hope to speak to the Valar directly. What need was there for symbols of religion in Aman? 

Galadriel had once held the same opinion, but had quickly been disabused of the idea by the many elves she had learned the higher arts from in Middle-earth. Places could be sacred, and there was value in ritual in and of itself. So she had consecrated a shrine to Estë, knowing she would need the precision of heart and mind that only a holy place could provide. 

She had her own apprehensions, not so much that it wouldn’t work, but that it would work too well. She was in Aman; Estë herself was liable to show up, and Galadriel wasn’t sure the Valar would agree that the power of restoration and healing should lie in such a concentrated form in the hands of the Eldar. 

As the light began to creep over the Pelóri, Galadriel entered her trance, beginning with a gentle hum as she moved the pieces she needed into place. The first beam of light hit the surface of the altar, precisely where Galadriel had set her lens. She began to sing, plucking at the precise weft of the world’s threads that she needed for healing, restoration, and wholeness. 

She sang until the sun reached its zenith, and finally stopped, the full heat of the day unsuitable to the subtle spellcraft she needed to employ. Fortunately, her tapestry was set. Now, it was time to assemble. 

She built up the fire in the small forge that was built into a shrine to Aulë she had also provisioned. When it was hot, she began the delicate work of fastening all the pieces of the lens together. The lens itself was of course very important, but all the pieces that held it needed to be perfectly calibrated and strong in order for it to function correctly. 

Several hours later she was finished assembling, well before sundown. She held it up, examining every angle, twisting and turning the lens to its fullest capabilities. She was satisfied — part one was finished.

~

Over the course of the next few weeks, Galadriel returned every day to weave her spells. Unlike with many other types of craft, pulling from the primordial Song and harnessing the power the Valar had left weaving through the world could not be tested part way through. Every day she must leave her lens on the altar, examined but not tried, and travel back to the Nerdanelië.

Towards the end of the making she began to feel sapped, enough that Sam asked her how she was feeling with concern on his face.

“I am well, Master Samwise. It is only that I undertake one of the greatest workings of craft and art I have ever undertaken.”

“Ah, Elf Magic!” Sam said with a grin. “I still would dearly love to learn it.”

Galadriel laughed. “Why Sam, Lodrien is teaching you some Elf Magic of your own right now.”

Sam shook his head. “You’ll find you can’t put me off so easily now milady. You know very well what I mean by Elf Magic by this point.” He sat back down, still looking very pleased. “I do hope you’ll share what you’ve made when you’ve finished. Why we’re in Valinor now; I can’t think of any good reason to play it close to the chest still!”

Galadriel smiled. “No indeed. Once it’s truly finished I intend to share it with many people.” She hesitated for a moment. “But, I think it will not be done for some time. It’s something I want to be very sure about before it’s known.”

Sam nodded with a knowing glint in his eyes. “That’s very wise, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’ve found there’s some things you want to keep in the bag, so to speak, until you’re absolutely sure you want to let them out.”

Galadriel was glad to have Finrod after all; he was adept at lending his strength to her, and kept her from becoming an empty husk before the end of her project. There were many others among the Nerdanlië who could have done the same, but Finrod knew her well, and knew exactly what she needed and when. 

She finished the lens under starlight, as all good things should be finished. As Eärendil set, she sang the last quiet note of her Song of Making. It was finished. She looked down at the lens; all seemed well. She was anxious to try it out, but she knew she was too tired tonight. Besides, as Finrod had pointed out, it was no small feat she was attempting. They would have to think very hard about what their first test subjects should be.

~

“I think a very simple creature for a start. Maybe, a snail?”

“Would we even be able to tell if it worked on a snail?” Galadriel remembered why she had been reluctant to involve Finrod.

“Why certainly! We simply ask it how it’s feeling before and after. That shouldn’t be too hard, right, Tyelko?”

Celegorm looked up from the arrow he was fletching. Why he was here instead of Árëmar where he usually lived she didn’t know, but it was irritating her. “To be honest, cousin, I have never tried to speak with a snail.”

“Really? I cannot imagine being able to speak to all beasts and never even attempting to speak to a snail.”

Galadriel tensed for a moment, but Celegorm just smiled and went back to his work. “There are quite a lot of animals in the world.” Galadriel relaxed. People were capable of change.

“I was thinking I would start with a plant,” she said.

“Wonderful idea, my dear. I have found starting with plants to be most useful, generally speaking.” 

Galadriel’s face lit up. A familiar figure had rounded the corner of the house and was now smiling up at them on the porch. His hair was still mostly grey, but there was a rogue streak of brown making its way into his beard. His eyebrows had maybe been trimmed once or twice, but they were still striking beneath the brim of his hat. “Olórin! I did not know you were coming.”

“And miss the wedding of the century? Never!”

“The wedding,” said Celegorm, with the air of one had been put to long labor, “Is not until the waning of summer. We are still a week away from midsummer.” 

“Ah, well I have some catching up to do as well.” Gandalf climbed nimbly up the steps to join them on the porch.

“Now what are you doing to the plants?”

Galadriel explained the concept of her lens to him, with only a few interruptions from Finrod. After she finished, Gandalf frowned.

“I quite agree, you should start small to begin with. But you said in order for the transformation to happen, the subject must be willing. That seems to limit your subjects.”

“Many things besides the speaking people have wills,” Celegorm said.

“Very true! But if we are talking about plants, I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed will or unwill in most plants.”

Galadriel frowned. “That is very true. I still would like to start small though. And if there is no result for the first subjects, at least there is no harm done.”

Finrod clapped his hands together. “So, it’s decided we will start with a plant. Perhaps one from the kitchen garden?”

Galadriel paused for a moment, the reality of having her work tested setting in. It was only a moment though before excitement to see results eclipsed the fear of failure. “I’ll retrieve the lens.”

As she carried the lens back through the house she realized she needed a case as well if she was to move it from place to place. The lens was not fragile; she had spelled it with strength and her purpose knit the pieces together more tightly than soldered metal or screws ever would. There were many moving pieces however, and it was awkward to carry.

Back outside she saw Finrod and Gandalf combing through the kitchen garden. Celegorm was still on the porch fletching arrows.

“Be careful with the thing Arty.” Celegorm didn’t look up from his arrow, but a smirk was playing over his lips.

Galadriel suppressed a flare of anger at the overly familiar tone and terrible nickname. She could not help replying. “I always am, Tyelkormo. Of the two of us, I am not the one with a trail of failed plans in my wake.” She heard Celegorm chuckle as she left the porch.

“Galadriel, we have a likely candidate I think!” Finrod eagerly motioned her over to a sad looking pea vine, half the size of the neighboring vines with several brown leaves.

“Seems like it has had a rough time. Very well! Step back and I shall begin.”

Finrod and Gandalf stepped back so that a garden row was between them. Galadriel shut her eyes for a moment to help forget the eyes upon her. When she opened them she noticed the path of the afternoon sun and began to calculate where she should stand. First though, she checked the plant for insects. The lens would only work through her will as well, so there was no chance of zapping an unsuspecting bug, but the fewer interferences the better.

Finally, she stepped into position and lifted the lens, focusing it in the sun beam. She held it out, light streamed through, and an almost imperceptible shimmer beginning to dance in front of the lens. 

Half chanting, half singing, she began to guide the Song towards healing, making, and mending. 

Nothing happened. The pea plant remained small and brown. She lowered the lens with a sigh.

“It seems my first test is a failure.”

“So it appears,” said Gandalf. He peered at the lens. “I felt the power of your words and I see no error in the craft, although this is not my area of expertise. I still am of the opinion that there simply isn’t enough will in a pea plant.”

“You are probably right,” said Finrod. “Is it time to try the snail?”

“No,” said Galadriel. “I think we should try a plant that we know has will.”

“Ah! A tree,” said Gandalf.

“If you say so.” Finrod raised his eyebrows skeptically. “But I think a snail is a good deal safer.”

“Don’t tell me King Finrod Felagund is afraid of a tree!” Galadriel raised her eyebrows at her brother.

Finrod lifted his hands in protest. “I am merely trying to be the older, wiser sibling here.”

Gandalf broke out into full throated laughter. “Well, I will leave you to your experiments. I have already been here too long without greeting the lady of the house. I’ve found in Valinor that there are fewer people who excuse my appalling lack of courtesy. But please let me know how it goes, and perhaps take me with in the future.”

Galadriel smiled fondly at Gandalf as he went into the house. He could really get away with a lot more than he did, as the only being wearing the shape of an elderly Man in Valinor and a celebrated hero in his own right, and he was never quite as discourteous as he claimed to be.

She and Finrod decided to leave the lens back in her room before searching the woods for a likely tree. They set off north, away from the road and away from Árëmar, Írissë’s hall that lay directly south of Nerdanel’s guild quarters.

They searched until the sun went down, trying to find the perfect tree for the experiment. There were many ancient trees, well past their prime, but trees, unlike pea plants, could be spoken to. Most trees were content with where their aging had left them; they murmured of the cycles of the earth and the future selves within their hearts. There were a few with strange hearts who were unwilling to speak with Galadriel and Finrod. They agreed that these would not be good subjects for the lens. The Nerdanelië were good stewards of the forests, only taking what was needed and never felling too much from any one area. They were still a very Noldorin group though, and held their own goals above the intense symbiosis Galadriel had grown used to among the Galadhrim, and as such were not as assured of a friendly reaction from the surrounding trees as she was accustomed to. 

They finally found an old pine, damaged by a lightning strike several years ago. Several branches were still green and strong, but almost half were brown and withered, and a deep scar went through the center. The tree held no bitterness in its heart, but it spoke of pain and regret, that it’s time in the woods would be cut short compared to its family that surrounded them. 

“I will return tomorrow, friend,” Galadriel told the pine. “I cannot promise healing, but I will try.”

The tree rustled an assent, raining brown needles on Finrod and Galadriel

~

The next morning, Galadriel and Finrod had a quiet breakfast in her room before they left. The Nerdanlië were good for many things, but they were a curious lot and showing up to the kitchens and dining areas with the lens and dressed for a day in the woods would invite many questions. Galadriel did not feel like answering anything until they returned home, preferably after a success. They also didn’t want to get to the tree too early — the sun wouldn’t be in the right place for optimal work.

They left her room once most people in the household began to go about their day and only saw a few others in the hall. She was asked a few times where she was going, but never with much real intent, and all could be put off with a mysterious smile.

They set off in silence, following yesterday’s path. It was another beautiful day with puffy clouds scooting along the sky, birds singing, small animals chattering, and the woods alive with the fragrance of early summer.

As they approached the tree, Finrod began to sing an old welcoming song. The tree sang back in its own way, just a few deep notes that reverberated in their minds. 

Galadriel laid a hand on the bark. “Pine, do you still wish for me to attempt to heal your old storm wound?”

The deep but shaky voice responded, “Yesss, yesss. I long for more years in the sun and moon, with green needles and quick sap, and no wound draining me of life.”

“Very well,” she said. “I will try my best.” She began to circle the tree, taking note of the sun and the old lightning wound. She heard her brother begin to hum. She didn’t recognize the song, but the melody reminded her of songs she had sung in Doriath.

She settled on a spot and began to adjust the lens, taking into account the morning hour and the angle she would need for the light to hit the deepest part of the lightning strike she could see. She held up the lens so the light streamed through and sang.

Part way through, the tree joined in, its voice less shaky. Then, to her absolute joy, the bark began to knit and the tree seemed to untwist. Brown needles began to fall all around her as green needles pushed out from the previously dead branches. The smell of pine was very strong.

She finished the singing, watching in delight as the now healthy pine tree swayed back and forth, beginning a hymn to the earth it was rooted in. 

Finrod walked up behind her. “You have created a thing of wonder, sister.”

Galadriel breathed deeply of the pine scented air. “This is better than I dared to dream.”

---

Chapter End Notes

Atanésa - Q. Aunt, literally father-sister (invented by me, but probably similar to what others have done)
osanwë - Q. Communication of thought

Uncorrupted Still

Read Uncorrupted Still

Frodo woke to the smell of rain and the curtains flapping in the open window. He slipped from the bed where Sam was still snoring and stood for a moment at the window, letting the rising wind pull at his hair, and breathing the mountain air laced with the scent of the upcoming storm deep into his lungs. Then he closed the window and drew the curtains. It wouldn’t do for the cushions on the window seat to get damp, and Sam had been up late talking with Gandalf about something or other. Better to let him sleep.

Frodo wandered downstairs towards the kitchen. He stopped to examine a new sculpture that popped up in the hallway outside the kitchen. Just as he was deciding that yes, it was a nude of some kind, just highly abstract, he heard a conversation in the kitchen. Rather — he heard one side of a conversation.

“But few things are better at creating a sense of movement than triplets.” Maglor paused.

“Yes, triplets of all kinds. They are perfect when you need to convey flowing water, running, tripping, anything like that.” There was another pause.

“Oh well, triplets over eighths or sixteenths are a different matter altogether. Hello Frodo.”

“Good morning Maglor. Good morning Miaulë.” The second good morning was addressed to one of the cats who Maglor had apparently been discussing musical theory with. In truth, Frodo was relieved that Maglor had at least been talking with another living being; he often spoke to himself and held conversations with no one. But Maglor must be having a good day if he knew Frodo’s name.

“I’m afraid all that’s prepared right now is tea and porridge. I know how much you small folk like a large breakfast.”

“That’s quite alright. I’ve found that can be quite sufficient to start the day with in Valinor. Although I still like a hearty breakfast on occasion!”

After breakfast, he gathered his notes from the room he had made his office and went to find Celebrimbor. He found him in his room, by his desk, frowning down at something. Bits of string and pins stretched over the desk and the chair, reaching to the floor. The pins held down models of paper, clay, and metal — basically anything Celebrimbor could get his hands on. He looked a little tired, and Frodo hoped he wasn’t interrupting him.

Frodo cleared his throat loudly. Celebrimbor looked up with a start, and smiled at him from where he kneeled on the floor.

“Hello Frodo. How did you find the last round of equations?”

Frodo sat down next to him. He was still amazed sometimes to be spending time with legendary figures out of the First and Second Age. Celebrimbor surprised him especially. He had been expecting a tall, dark haired elf with intense eyes, full of pride and power. After all, he had helped make the Nine and the Seven, and made the Three by himself; surely someone who shaped the destiny of Middle Earth for two ages would be an imposing figure. Celebrimbor was tall, and did have dark hair, and when he really got going on a topic he could be quite intense, but he also laughed often, spoke with no condescension, and listened well with a true sense of caring. In fact, he was one of the few people Frodo had told the whole story of the Ring to. 

Frodo often found he did not have to say much when asked about the Tale of the Ring. Once Bilbo had been feeling better, he had a very good telling that he could do in a few hours. When Sam came, he took over that duty. One evening though, not long after Frodo had arrived in the Blessed Lands, he found himself alone with Celebrimbor after dinner in the small cottage he and Bilbo had shared on Tol Eressëa. Celebrimbor had been one of the elves who had been there to greet him and the Elven ring-bearers at the docks, although he hadn’t known it at the time. He had introduced himself afterwards though and began visiting occasionally, usually with friends Frodo and Bilbo had known in Middle-Earth. 

The evening Frodo told him of the ring, Celebrimbor had come alone. After Bilbo had gone to bed, they sat down together by the low fire in the sitting room.

Celebrimbor had stretched out his long legs and looked at Frodo consideringly. “Would you tell me some of your story? I have heard parts of it second hand, but I’d like to hear it from you if you don’t mind. I can’t help but feel it touches my own life, although there are thousands of years between us, and I was oblivious in Valinor all the while.”

Frodo had started the story, beginning as he usually did during a proper telling with Bilbo’s birthday party, but he soon found himself revealing parts he usually glossed over. He spoke of the burden of the ring, the weight of it, and the exposure when he wore it to that burning Eye. He quoted Gollum’s words as far as he could remember them, which he normally avoided. He ended with his last memories on Mount Doom, convinced it was the end, but happier and lighter than he felt in decades.

After he finished, Celebrimbor was quiet for a long time. Finally he said, “I am amazed, Frodo, at your strength to bear such a thing for so long. And that you survived it all, still capable of pity for Gollum, pity for all who deserve scorn, and still uncorrupted in heart, gives me hope.”

Hope for what? Frodo wondered, but he hadn’t asked Celebrimbor that. Instead he protested, “Uncorrupted? Did you hear the tale at all? I tried to claim the Ring! What else is that but corruption?”

Celebrimbor shook his head, and his eyes grave. “It could not have been otherwise. That it should be impossibly precious to anyone who held it was part of its Maker’s deepest design. I’m sure you’ve been told that before, but perhaps you will finally believe it from me, who knows more than anyone else how the Ring works and what its Maker purposed. That Bilbo and Sam were able to give it away before is amazing, but I hazard that even they would be unable to give it up at the place where the Ring was forged. 

“Yes, you are uncorrupted still, and here you will hopefully find the healing you seek.”

Frodo frowned down at the empty mug he had been clasping, uncertain, but with a glimmer of hope.

“Were you able to find healing?” he asked.

“Yes, although it took a long time. But I was healed in body when I was reborn and healed in mind with the help of those that love me, and now I am very normal and do only slightly ill-advised things like keep kind hosts up until dawn telling long stories.”

Frodo remembered that conversation still as he sat down next to Celebrimbor and spread his work on the floor. 

“I think I mostly understood it.”

“I’ll check your work. Now, how do you feel about another lesson?”

“That is what I’m here for,” Frodo said with a smile.

“Excellent!” Celebrimbor stood up, and then frowned at his desk where he and Frodo usually went over the day’s lessons. “I’m afraid our usual spot is taken.”

“If I may ask, what is all this?”

Celebrimbor pulled on his braid with frustration. 

“I am attempting to pull together the astronomical theories of the Eldar, the Númenoreans, and my own observations. I’m inclined to give greater weight to the Númenorean theories, as they made great use of their knowledge in their voyages, but they still don’t add up. I have years of data on the paths of the stars from Middle-earth and Númenor, as well as from Aman before and after its separation from the rest of Arda, and it does not fit together.”

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Frodo, examining a particularly glittery orb fastened to the top of a chair. 

“It’s well established that after the sinking of Númenor, the paths of Arien and Eärendil changed dramatically so that the best explanation became a model where Arda circles Arien instead of the opposite. Now, I am not fully satisfied with the theories proposed, but they are explained by the need to alter their paths after the world was bent. That is also what Arien and Eärendil say themselves, as far as I can understand.

“What is perplexing is that previously, I was able to establish that while the stars travel across the sky, they did not travel in relation to each other. The Gwaith-i-Mírdain built devices stronger than any before, even than those in Valinor I believe, that allowed us to closely examine the heavens.

“After the fall of Eregion, all of those who were able to craft those devices and had recorded their observations died, and our records were lost. Late in the Third Age however, Erestor realized that a portion of how to construct a heliometer had been preserved from a random stack of notes, and he was able to construct one himself. He shared with me what he crafted, and it was not as powerful as those we had built in Eregion. However, it would be functional and stronger than other devices in use at the time. 

“The strange thing is that Erestor recorded precisely what I had not; some stars move in relation to each other. What’s more, the level of light emitted by some stars varies from what I observed in the Second Age and what I observe here in Valinor, even the very same star. And yes, I traveled to Valmar and Ilmarin to investigate what the loremasters there say. I even petitioned Elbereth, and spoke to the Kindler herself.”

“And she couldn’t explain it?” Frodo had seen the Valar, and had even spoken to some. It had been an overwhelming experience and not one that granted any clarity, so he was not as surprised as he might have been to hear Celebrimbor had experienced the same.

“I would not say she couldn’t, rather, she wouldn’t. Or perhaps the more pious answer would be that I, with my limited view, couldn’t comprehend the perspective of one as lofty as the Queen of the Stars.” He shrugged. “So, I am back to trying to figure it out in my own way.”

Celebrimbor motioned to the nearest mess of strings. “I decided to actually model everything out based on the notes Erestor wrote up for me. I trust his observations entirely, but I ended up with something quite different than my own model from the Second Age.” He frowned down at his notes again and picked up a measuring stick.

“Well, I can always come back another time,” Frodo offered.

Celebrimbor looked up with a start. “Oh no, let's do the next lesson. I’ve been staring at this all night and am still no closer to the answer; a break would serve me well.”

“How about we go to the office I’ve been using? There’s a chalkboard there too.”

“That will work.” Celebrimbor looked regretfully at his desk. “I’ll have this figured out someday.”

~

“There really isn’t any rush.”

“No, there really isn’t.”

“And the rain won’t hurt us, and I trust you crafted the lens so that a bit of water wouldn’t damage it.”

“Of course.” Galadriel stopped in the hallway and narrowed her eyes at her brother.

“And yet, I do not like to wait.” Finrod smiled apologetically.

“Neither do I,” Galadriel admitted. “I am as inpatient as a young elleth before her first yén!”

“Most unsuitable for such a grand and ancient lady.” Galadriel lightly swatted Finrod.

“We selected Ñaulë in part because Írissë loves her so, but there are likely suitable animals here,” Galadriel said.

“Yes. Any animal who has lived for a while among the Nerdanelië seems like a safe choice for the lens.” Finrod glanced into the open door they had stopped in front of. “Frodo! Perhaps you can help us make a decision if you’re not too busy.”

Frodo looked up from where he sat on a couch, working at a lap desk, a ginger cat next to him.

“Certainly.” Frodo shifted his notes to the side and looked up expectantly. “What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s not a problem per say, it’s only—” Finrod noticed Galadriel glaring at him and looked slightly abashed. “Yes, you should explain it to Frodo; after all, you’re the inventor.”

“Thank you. You remember, Frodo, the lens I was telling you about?” Galadriel swung the leather satchel she was wearing around and lifted the flap to reveal the lens. “Well, we had planned on going up to Árëmar today to try it on one of Írissë’s dogs. It’s our largest planned experiment to date, and we had vetted the dog thoroughly.”

Frodo nodded solemnly, and although Galadriel thought she could detect bemusement in his face.

“I just don’t know if I want to go to Árëmar in the storm.” Galadriel continued.

“And you don’t want to put it off until tomorrow?” Frodo guessed.

“No, and it would have to be put off past tomorrow, because Írissë is busy all day tomorrow doing something for Fingon, and I promised that she would be there when we used the lens.” Galadriel smiled ruefully. “I know we have all the time in the world, but I was eager to try out the lens on something more complex than an insect.”

Frodo nodded. “As we say in the Shire, ‘Lost Time is never found again.’”

“See?” Finrod beamed. “That is the beauty of mortals. They truly value time. I can’t help but wonder what the perpetual sundering of our kindreds will do to our concept of time.”

Galadriel cut him off before he could start theorizing on the future of Time and the Eldar. “There are plenty of animals here. Finrod and I were just discussing if we had any likely candidates.”

Frodo tilted his head in thought. “What made Lady Írissë’s dog a good subject?”

“Well, she had been badly injured by a boar during a hunt, and walks with a limp. We also spoke with her after a fashion, and through Celegorm as well, and she seems to be highly intelligent. She also seems very good natured, and is a respected member of her pack.”

“So, you are looking for an animal that needs healing, and also seems to be temperamentally sound — perhaps one who is familiar with somebody you trust?”

“Yes, exactly,” Galadriel said.

“How about Miaulë here?” Frodo asked, gesturing to the cat next to him. The cat in question half opened his eyes, before yawning and rising to do a deep stretch.

“He does appear to have sustained some injuries,” Finrod mused.

“Yes, look at the scarring here,” Frodo pulled away some of the fur at the cat’s neck to better show the scarring, “and he’s even missing a toe.” He wasn’t quite bold enough to grab Miaulë’s paw. “And he’s lived here for many years. He came with Amrod and Amras, but he really seems to belong to Celebrimbor, if a cat can belong to anyone. In my experience he’s very friendly.”

“Hm.” Galadriel and the cat stared deeply into the other’s eyes. “He does seem to be agreeable enough. We’re not sure how much of your personality the lens changes, if at all, but that is something we’d like to determine with this experiment on intelligent animals.”

“Well, I think he’s a good candidate in that way at least. I think I’d notice if his personality changed a lot. Maybe not if it were quite subtle.”

“Of course the most important bit is that Miaulë agrees to the process,” Finrod said.

“Right, well I’m sure we can just ask him. He’s intelligent — I think he understood the mathematics problem I was trying to talk through earlier,” Frodo chuckled.

“Quite possibly,” said Finrod. “The more intelligent animals are attracted to elven settlements. I even found that to be the case in Beleriand.” 

“So, Miaulë. Do you consent to have the lens used on you? What it has done in the past is heal the wounds that time has not managed to solve. The trees and other animals we have tried it on have all seemed to have had their spirits lifted as well, but it is unclear how much that is due to the nature of trees and insects, and how much of that is to do with the lens,” Galadriel said. 

Miaulë had stood up, tail twitching, and when Galadriel finished speaking meowed and bobbed his head.

“That seems like a very clear assent to me,” said Finrod.

“Wait!” Frodo scribbled something on two different scraps of paper and set them on the ground. “I think we can be even clearer.”

Frodo glanced around, clearly feeling a little silly, and addressed the cat: “Miaulë, I’ve put ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ on two different pieces of paper.” He gestured to each paper in turn. “Step on the answer you give: Do you agree to have Lady Galadriel use the lens on you, for the purpose of healing your wounds, but with, as of yet, some unknown outcomes?”

The cat leaped off the couch and walked without hesitation to the ‘Yes’ paper, and then batted it several times for good measure.

“Now that is quite clear!” Frodo said with triumph.

“Indeed it is.” Galadriel took several steps from the couch away from the window, and considered her position. “Now, Miaulë, can you stand right where I am now?”

The cat walked over and stood next to Galadriel before sitting down with a yawn.

“This may take some adjustment and time,” Galadriel cautioned. “Despite the storm, there is still enough sunlight to use the lens, but I haven’t tried with this much cloud cover before.”

“Should we open the window?” Finrod suggested. “The glass will not offer much interference, but we should remove anything we can think of that could skew the experiment.”

“Yes, please do.” Finrod opened the window after Frodo snatched his notes away, swinging it out from it’s frame. A gust of wind blew in, smattering Galadriel, Finrod, and Frodo with rain. Galadriel was wearing sensible traveling clothes, but her hair was loose and billowed dramatically in the wind.

She lifted the lens and began to adjust it. As expected, it was difficult with the diffused light from the storm clouds. Arien was powerful though, and Galadriel was finally able to get the right calibration. 

“Are you ready?” She asked Miaulë. Miaulë twitched his tail and meowed. Finrod and Frodo stood back to eliminate any distraction. 

Galadriel began to sing, the now familiar arc of the spell coming naturally. Nature seemed to join in, thunder booming when she hit a low note, and with the piercing last note came a flash of lightning.

She felt power go out from her and watched as Miaulë shifted and shifted, and then changed even more. The room was utterly silent, and Galadriel almost dropped the lens in shock. Sitting where Miaulë had been was something like an elf. The naked figure was very familiar. He held up his right hand, and looked at the four fingers there in wonder. Galadriel distantly registered that the lens had not been able to reform the previously missing claw. Given how the claw, or rather finger, was lost though, she could find no fault in the lens.

“Oh my,” Frodo said. “Miaulë, did you know you weren’t a cat?”

Large gold eyes blinked at Frodo. He opened his mouth a few times, before finally saying “Yes, but I wasn’t expecting this!” A brilliant smile spread across his face, and he lifted a hand to his throat at the wonder of speech.

Galadriel drew her first breath since she finished the spell. “How are you here?” She hissed. Frodo and Finrod looked at her astonished. She ignored them. “How are you here?” Her tone was now commanding and loud.

“I’ve lived here for quite some time. I could ask you the same question!” He went back to examining himself, threading his fingers through his hair and finally standing up, looking surprised at the ability to easily lift himself onto two legs.

“Finrod, don’t you recognize him?” She asked her brother urgently.

“No, I’ve never seen him before. What’s the matter?” Finrod asked.

“Look beyond,” Galadriel urged. She herself did not sense the lurking malice shrouding a restless, burning presence that she had battled for so many years, but the unguarded spirit had the same unique color and shape that she would have recognized anywhere.

Finrod frowned at what had formerly been Miaulë and then gasped.

“No!” he said.

“Yes,” Galadriel said. They both watched in horror as Frodo Baggins approached what was certainly Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor, in the form he had held for most of the Second Age.

“I did think you were a bit too smart for a cat.” Frodo smiled good naturedly up at Sauron. Sauron smiled back. “How are you liking two legs instead of four? And fingers?”

“It’s wonderful. I had enjoyed being a cat, they are very athletic, but this feels very natural.” He held out his hands again.

“It’s unfortunate your finger is still missing,” Frodo said. “But you’re in good company.” He held out his own four fingered hand in comparison.

“So I am. And look, It’s the same finger!”

“Frodo,” said Galadriel, her voice perfectly even. “Please step away.”

Frodo looked at her surprised. “Why? Is something the matter?”

“I will explain in a moment. Come here.” 

Frodo correctly read her short tone as fear and hurried over. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

Galadriel ignored him and locked eyes with Sauron. “ Pusto ,” she commanded, putting every ounce of will into the word and drawing upon the many threads of Power that wound about the room. 

Sauron froze, one arm still raised. Galadriel grabbed Frodo’s shoulders and hustled him out of the room, Finrod following close behind. She shut the door firmly behind her. She found she was breathing hard, the panic she had held off in the room encroaching.

“What is going on?” Frodo sounded a bit angry now.

Finrod was the one who answered. “I don’t know this has happened, but that was Sauron, the very same being whom I thought was defeated by your effort and many others.”

Frodo’s mouth opened in shock. After a long moment, he asked, “Are you sure? That didn’t seem like Sauron as I knew him at all.”

“Very sure,” Galadriel said. “I would know that face anywhere.” Her mind was awhirl with thoughts. How was this possible? Sauron had been destroyed; she had been filled with joy that he who had slaughtered so many of her family and corrupted so much of the world she loved was dead. As the shock wore off, a deep dread settled in the pit of her stomach. The fight was never over. She had left for Middle-earth with ambitions and hopes, but what she had faced instead was death and defeat. Until the end. But apparently even that victory had been false and her Enemy would follow her even to the Blessed Realm.

“What should we do?” She was dismayed at how quickly she turned to her older brother for help. 

Finrod just frowned. “Let’s take council. There are many powerful people here, there’s no need to fear. By all accounts, Sauron seemed to actually believe himself a cat.”

“That could easily be a lie.” This time at least Galadriel was certain she could convince people that a fair form could hide a deceitful heart. “But yes, we should seek help.” She felt slightly better, although she had a feeling of dread still in the pit of her stomach. “I will find Olórin.”

“And I will find Nerdanel,” said Finrod. “The lady of the house deserves to know what we found first of anyone.”

“Very good,” nodded Galadriel. “Between the two of us, Olórin, and Nerdanel we should be able to contain him. He must be weakened. He must.”

Finrod glanced at the door. “How long will your spell hold?”

“At least an hour,” Galadriel replied. “Maybe a whole half a day.”

“Right, we will gather here after we find our targets,” Finrod said.

“And I will wait right here, and keep watch,” Frodo said. Galadriel and Finrod looked at him in concern.

“No need for worry! I won’t do anything foolish. You should know me better than that at this point.”

“We’ll be back before anything happens,” Galadriel assured him, before taking off to find Gandalf. 

~

Pain laced through his body as Miaulë tried to break through whatever mysterious force held him in place and had stolen an unknown amount of time. The knowledge of how to shake off such a thing seemed to come through some deep instinct, but accessing the power it took to act hurt worse than when he had been savaged in the woods. His muscles suddenly unfroze and he collapsed on the ground.

As he lay there, he tried to figure out why Galadriel had done this to him. She’d never seemed to dislike him before, although she was not one who he would count among his friends, but after he’d transformed, her eyes had held something forbidding and frightening. 

His joy at his sudden transformation dimmed. What am I? he thought, as he ran his hands over his face. He had been aware that he wasn’t like the other cats at Ondomar, but he had met several other animals that had a greater intelligence and spirit than others of their kind, so he had not thought himself particularly special either.

He considered for a moment what to do. Maybe Frodo and his friends were just outside the door, and if he followed them they would explain what was going on. That might not work; he could just be frozen again and lose another chunk of time. He brightened. He knew who would tell him what was going on. He jumped onto the couch and went out the window, heedless of the rain, heading towards Celebrimbor’s room. Just because he wasn’t in a cat’s body anymore didn’t mean he couldn’t take a cat’s shortcuts.

---

Chapter End Notes

Pusto - (Q) Halt. Invented word from the Qenya 'Pusta' meaning stop.

Miaulë is the name of one of Tevildo's cat servants in the Book of Lost Tales, and I think it is a thoroughly delightful name for a cat. I imagine it's a very common name for an elvish cat, the equivalent of Mister Whiskers, Chairman Meow, Fluffy, etc.

By Any Other Name

Celebrimbor (Brim) - Tyelperinquar (Tyelpë)
Aredhel - Írissë
Gandalf - Olórin
Galadriel - Artanis
Sauron - Gorthaur, Annatar, but really he'd prefer if you called him Miaulë.

Ondomar - Nerdanel's halls, and her guild's headquarters
Árëmar - Aredhel's halls where she lives with Fingon and her son, a few miles south of Ondomar

Read By Any Other Name

The window was unlatched and cracked like it always was for him. Miaulë quietly slipped through the window. Climbing up a floor and several rooms over had been much more awkward in this bipedal form, but he was happy to find this body was stronger than it looked and still graceful, although less so than the cat-form. 

Celebrimbor wasn’t at his desk, which was still covered with the sprawling model that had been there for the past few days. Instead he was lying down by the fire, creating yet another spot that was turning into piles of notes and books. 

Miaulë approached quietly; Celebrimbor appeared to be napping, and he didn’t want to disturb him. He knew he hadn’t slept much last night, and his question could wait. He sat down by the fire before deciding to curl up against Celebrimbor’s back. Miaulë breathed the familiar scent of his hair deep into his lungs. His sense of smell was definitely weaker, and his sense of hearing was different, as if it were attuned to a different register then it had been before. The range of color though was wonderful, and he marveled at the silvery undertone in Celebrimbor’s dark hair he had never seen before. His sense of touch was different as well without whiskers and fur. He thought he liked touching more with hands instead of paws. He ran a hand down Celebrimbor’s side and left it on his hip.

Celebrimbor shifted onto his back with his eyes still closed. He smiled. “What are you doing here?”

Miaulë felt relieved; he knew Celebrimbor would react well. “Aren’t you surprised?”

“Not really. Why would I be?”

“You should open your eyes,” he batted at him, frowning when he realized the gesture wasn’t quite the same with hands. 

“My eyes are open.”

“No, they’re not. Come on, I know you’re awake.”

Celebrimbor slowly blinked his eyes open; it seemed to take a lot of effort. “What did you want to show me?” He didn’t look surprised to see Miaulë in a different form, nor to hear him speak.

“Notice anything different?” Miaulë asked. 

Celebrimbor sat up, beginning to look confused. He ran his hands over his face. “This feels very real.”

Celebrimbor’s lack of reaction was annoying. “It’s me, Miaulë, your cat.”

Celebrimbor squinted at him, picked up one of his notes, deliberately looked away, and then read the note again. He looked back at Miaulë, the color draining from his face.

“This doesn’t feel like a dream.”

“Because it’s not. I’ve been transformed!” He beamed at Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor stared at him unblinking, and then shot back like he’d been stung. He lurched to his feet before running out of the room faster than Miaulë had ever seen him move before, slamming the door behind him.

For the second time that day, Miaulë found himself abandoned in a room with the distinct feeling that people were not happy to see him. This one hurt much more than Galadriel’s exit, even without the spell. Miaulë looked around the room and tried to decide what to do.

~

Celebrimbor slammed the door of his room behind him and slumped against the wall in the hallway outside. Part of him wanted to run until he couldn’t run any farther, but he also didn’t want to take his eyes off the door.

It was him. It was definitely him. His teacher, partner, best friend, lover, husband, torturer, murderer, his worst nightmare, who had killed all his friends and destroyed everything he loved in Middle-earth, was in his room and had introduced himself as his cat. The thought that this was a dream flitted through his mind again, but he quickly dismissed it. The words had stayed the same when he read them, all of his senses were returning normal feedback, and he’d been able to run from the room and slam the door: all signs pointed to this being the waking world.

“Tyelpë, how are you doing?” Celebrimbor dimly registered someone sliding down the wall to sit next to him. He forced himself to focus on Maglor’s weathered face.

“Things are happening,” was all he could manage.

Maglor nodded sagely. “Things are always happening. Anyway, what are you working on now? Maybe I can be of assistance?”

Normally Celebrimbor would be happy to include Maglor in anything he was doing; he thought that companionship was the best way to undo the devastation caused by years of isolation and grief. Now though, he felt incapable of explaining to him that he was in no state to make casual conversation.

Maglor leaned towards him. “You look pale. What did you mean, ‘things are happening’?”

Celebrimbor felt momentarily relieved that Maglor was aware enough to pick up on physical signs of distress. “In my room.” He stopped, hardly knowing how to describe the situation.

“Is there something in your room?” Maglor asked.

“Yes, my cat—”

“Your cat’s in your room? That’s not very strange, is it?”

Two people hurried by them, then stopped suddenly. 

“Celebrimbor, what are you doing in the hall?” asked Galadriel.

Celebrimbor looked up, suddenly suspicious. Galadriel’s tone was uncharacteristically neutral and devoid of curiosity. “There’s something in my room. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this?”

“About what?” She widened her eyes.

Gandalf pressed his ear against the door. “I don’t hear anything.” He closed his eyes, then opened them suddenly. “Oh, that’s definitely him.”

“Did you think I was dissembling?” Galadriel asked.

“What in the name of Manwë, Varda, and all that is holy did you do?” Celebrimbor’s patience was gone.

Galadriel looked genuinely upset. “The lens—”

“I told you it was a bad idea!” Some distant part of Celebrimbor’s mind realized that it felt good to finally be the one who could say ‘I told you so.’

“Maiulë was already Sauron — I didn’t change that.”

“Sauron, that name sounds very familiar.” Maglor gathered his feet under him and looked between Galadriel and Gandalf. 

“What’s going on?” Nerdanel and Finrod came hurrying down the hallway.

Galadriel addressed Nerdanel. “Apparently my spell did not hold, and he sought out Tyelperinquar.”

Nerdanel covered her mouth with her hand. “Valar, no. Tyelpë, are you well?”

Celebrimbor looked up at the concerned faces peering down at him. “I’m fine.” 

“Is everything alright?” a voice called from the bottom of the stairs.

“You can stop watching the door, Frodo,” Finrod replied. “He seems to have escaped through the window.”

Frodo hurried up the stairs and joined the crowd. “What are we doing?”

“Trying to decide what to do with the unexpected reemergence of Sauron,” Gandalf said.

“Is he in there?” Frodo asked, looking at the door.

“Yes.”

“Shouldn’t we go in the room and make sure? He left out the window before — seems to me like he might do that again.”

“Excellent point! I’m going to open the door.” Gandalf placed a hand on the door knob. There was a friendly ‘woof’ from the end of the hall, and a tall, sleek dog appeared, followed by Írissë, Fingon, and Maedhros.

“Here’s where everyone is! I thought I’d bring over Ñaulë myself now that the storm’s slowed down,” Írissë said with a wave. They all appeared quite damp, and the dog shook herself, spraying everyone with more rain water.

“And we came along to talk about the chairs Lodrien is making. I think we’ll need more,” Maedhros said.

“Speak for yourself! I came because I heard Finrod was visiting. Hello Finrod,” Fingon waved, and then frowned at the assembled elves. “What is everyone doing in the hallway?”

“I was just about to open the door,” Gandalf said.

“And this requires seven people?” Maedhros asked. 

“No it does not. In fact, I think everyone but myself, Olórin, and Artanis should exit the hallway,” Nerdanel said with authority.

Celebrimbor slowly rose. “I’m not leaving.”

“Can someone tell me what is going on?” Maedhros asked. Celebrimbor hadn’t heard him use that tone since his reincarnation. It also seemed to have an effect on Maglor who straightened and put his hands behind his back.

“My cat—”

“Now you admit he is your cat!” Nerdanel turned on him. “Just a few days ago when I complained that he scratched me, you said he belonged to no one but himself and that he wouldn’t scratch if I didn’t antagonize him!’” She pushed back a sleeve to show a scratched arm.

“Yes, well now I think we can lay the blame on Miaulë’s presence at my feet once and for all.”

“Are you sure it’s not mine?” Frodo said quietly.

“No Frodo. I’ve had Miaulë for years, long before you started staying with us.” Celebrimbor scrubbed his hands over his face. “No, this is definitely my fault. Again.”

“What? What is going on?” Írissë put her hands on her hips. “Someone spit it out.”

“Sauron, our ancient enemy whom we thought defeated utterly, is in that room,” Gandalf said. “And now, I am opening the door!”

Gandalf opened the door and entered the room. There was a moment of silence. 

“Only Olórin and I are going in,” Nerdanel told the crowd.

“It’s my bedroom,” Celebrimbor grumbled.

“And it’s my home of which I am the mistress,” Nerdanel replied with a quelling look before following Gandalf into the room

Celebrimbor glanced at the faces surrounding him. Finrod looked remarkably calm for a man whose murderer was sitting in the next room. His eyes were alert however, and there was a tension in his hands that belied the calm exterior. Galadriel, on the other hand, looked every inch like someone who was unexpectedly facing an ancient foe. Her eyes blazed with anger, and she was clearly just waiting for Nerdanel to go a few steps further into the room before following. 

Frodo stood off to the side, his eyes wide, wringing his hands. He didn’t look particularly afraid though, and he peered through the doorway with curiosity. Celebrimbor glanced at Maglor; his uncle was looking back at him with an astonished expression. Írissë and Ñaulë were approaching with almost identical looks of fascination. Ñaulë’s tag was wagging slightly; she was glad to be included in such exciting happenings. Celebrimbor suspected that if Írissë had a tail, it would be wagging slightly too.

Fingon and Maedhros were still further down the hallway, holding what looked like an urgent conversation in low voices. Maedhros started forward, and Fingon pulled him back with a sharp word. Then Fingon stepped towards them, only for Maedhros to grab his hand and pull him back. Celebrimbor met Fingon’s eyes and shook his head slightly. Fingon glared back in a way that made it clear he was also going to walk into that room shortly as well.

Celebrimbor leaned against the doorway as Galadriel and Finrod pushed past him.

“I was wondering when you’d come inside.” The voice was so familiar. A thousand memories that he thought were dead and buried another lifetime ago rose up; he clutched the door frame in a desperate attempt to stay standing. 

“And we’ve been wondering a great many things,” said Gandalf. 

“What do you call yourself?” Nerdanel interjected.

“As I said before, it’s me, Miaulë, the cat.” Somehow though, the voice was different; the tone was changed. If he had to describe it, the voice was lighter, simpler. Or maybe it was only that the being who had called himself Annatar would never have simply said ‘It’s me, Annatar,’ in the face of four angry strangers. There would have been undercurrents of warning and some dissembling as he tried to discover what they wanted from him before disclosing his identity. Annatar was capable of excellent explanations, but not about himself.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath and pivoted around the door frame so that he was in his bedroom, his back against the far wall. Annatar, no, Sauron, was standing at his desk, still completely naked, smiling winningly at Gandalf and Nerdanel. A little bit behind them stood Finrod and Galadriel, two watchful golden figures, ready to rain down destruction at the first sign of aggression.

Sauron’s eyes lit up when he noticed Celebrimbor. It felt like being stabbed in the heart. “Celebrimbor, come here! I have something to show you.”

“Tyelperinquar, get out of the room,” Nerdanel hissed. 

It would have been hard for Celebrimbor to leave now even if he wanted to; Írissë, Ñaulë, and Maglor were crowded into the doorway, Frodo peering between their legs, Fingon looking over their shoulders, and Maedhros looming over their heads. 

Gandalf cleared his throat. “Miaulë then, you may be surprised to know that many in this household have known you by different names.”

Sauron frowned at him. “I don’t think so. Ambarussa named me Miaulë, and I had no name before that.”

“Aha! Yes, before you came here, what were you doing?” Gandalf leaned forward eagerly.

Sauron looked off into the distance. “I was alone and lost in the woods.”

“And before that?”

“I remember nothing,” Sauron looked back down at the model on the desk. He suddenly looked back up at Gandalf. “No, wait, I was somewhere. It was very bright.” He shook his head. “No, it was dark. And loud. Or was it so quiet it felt loud? It’s very confused.” He pushed his hair back several times in a row.

“And before that?” Gandalf was speaking very quietly now.

Sauron closed his eyes. He opened them slowly; they were wide and gold, and completely guileless. “There was nothing before that place.”

Gandalf let out a deep sigh. Nerdanel raised her eyebrows at him. 

“I hope you are not satisfied with that explanation. I have many more questions.” The last part she addressed to Sauron.

“He is lying,” Galadriel said. “He has been named The Deceiver by many, and I hope that this time I will spend less effort convincing everyone of that fact!”

“I told you not to come in,” was all Nerdanel said in response. She turned to Sauron. “How did you find this house?”

“I didn’t,” Sauron said with a shrug. “Pityo found me, as you know.”

“I don’t believe you came here by accident.” Nerdanel crossed her arms. “So tell me, if you came here only because of Pityo, why do you spend so much time with Tyelperinquar?”

Sauron looked at her like she had asked a very stupid question. “Because I’m his cat.”

“What does that mean?” asked Finrod.

“You are also not supposed to be in here,” Nerdanel said. “Will no one obey me in my own house?”

“Sorry, my lady, but I cannot let Gorthaur remain here unquestioned by myself.” Finrod looked apologetic but made no move to leave the room. “We have a bit of a history you might say.”

“I know that very well, that’s why I asked you not to enter!”

“If you were looking for people without a history with Miaulë here, you should not have asked me to come with you,” said Gandalf with a small smile.

Sauron looked very confused. Celebrimbor walked towards him.

“Surely we can all agree that Tyelpë at least should not be here!” Nerdanel grabbed his arm as he walked past. He shook her off. 

“What was it you wanted to show me?” he asked Sauron. 

Sauron smiled at him with an infectious smile that Celebrimbor struggled not to return. 

“I tried to show you before, when I was fully cat, but it was so hard without fingers and a voice. Look!” He gestured at Celebrimbor’s star model. Celebrimbor looked at the pieces that had been moved. 

“What’s the significance of the red yarn you tied on all these pieces? And the other colors?”

“They are different multipliers!”

“Of what?”

“A moment.” Sauron hunted for a scrap of paper. Paper obtained, he painstakingly wrote down several numbers in an alternate notation next to a legend. He was clearly finding the pen more difficult to handle than he expected.   “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard you say the notation out loud. I only read it in some of your notes.”

“You’ve been reading my notes?” Celebrimbor said faintly.

“Of course. What do you think I was doing in your lap?”

“Napping? As cats do?”

“Oh, well, that too, but I found that I needed less sleep than most of the true cats in the household.”

“So you knew you were not a cat,” Nerdanel said, stepping up the desk herself, brows still knit in anger.

“In a way. There are many animals here and at the neighboring home who are more than most of their kind. Like Ñaulë here!” Ñaulë took that as her cue to come fully into the room, tail wagging. She nudged Sauron’s hand. “You were right, my friend,” he told the dog. “Fingers are one of the best parts about the two-feet form.”

He looked around at everyone. “I understand the surprise, I was surprised myself to have this form. But—” He paused for a moment, looking around with concern at the mix of anger, confusion, and fear he saw. “I think you are all angry at me, and I don’t know why.”

Something clicked for Celebrimbor.

“Valar. The stars that don’t move are further away. Much further away. But that makes no sense. How could they be of varying distances from us in one place, but not in another?” He looked at Sauron. “How did you figure it out?”

Sauron looked ridiculously pleased with himself. It was such a familiar look, Celebrimbor didn’t know whether to start forwards or backwards.

“I only had to—”

“Brim, please, could you at least pretend that you find this as alarming as the rest of us,” Galadriel interrupted, desperation and anger warring in her voice. 

“Miaulë, I regret to inform you that you are not a cat.” Gandalf cut in. “You are in fact an ancient being formed before the creation of Arda, like myself.”

“What?” The confusion was back on Sauron’s face. Celebrimbor was sure it was genuine. “Then why don’t I remember more than a few years back?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell us that.”

Sauron shook his head. “No, there was the original, unpleasant place. Then I traveled very far as a cat. Then I was here.” He searched Gandalf’s face. “How do you know I’m this other kind of being? Can you sense something I can’t?”

“No, in fact even now I can hardly detect any power in you. But the pattern of your spirit is the same as when I knew you before.”

“You also look the same as when I knew you for a time,” said Galadriel. “You had that form for many years.” She paused for a moment startled by a thought. “I am surprised though. I thought Eru forbade him from taking a fair form again?”

“Fair form?” repeated Sauron.

“How do we even know that?” asked Finrod. “Do you know, Olórin?”

“I was told that by Manwë. I assume he was granted that knowledge directly from Eru.” Gandalf shrugged.

“Tyelpë,” Sauron addressed him in a low voice as Nerdanel, Gandalf, and Galadriel continued to argue. “What’s going on? What has Eru to do with me? Do you think I’m, I’m, whatever Olórin is?”

Celebrimbor threaded his hand in his hair, trying to think how he could explain things. “A Maia. That’s what you and Olórin are. And yes, I know you are the same being because I also knew you when you had this same form.”

“Ah!” Sauron looked relieved. “So, you know why everyone is angry at me?” The argument had trailed off, and now everyone was staring at them both.

“Yes,” said Celebrimbor.

“Please tell me. I thought this would be a wonderful surprise, but it seems to be going wrong,” Sauron looked at everyone with helpless frustration.

Celebrimbor felt an unseen nudge and reluctantly opened his mind to Galadriel. Remember, he is a deceiver , she admonished. He glared at her. He knew she was only trying to protect him, but if he had been tired of her knowing what was best for him in the Second Age, he was certainly tired of it in the Fourth. 

“Everyone is angry because you allied yourself with our greatest foe many ages ago. Then you lied to many people, including me, and continued the same great evil that you had been a part of before. You wrought devastation and destruction for ages.”

Sauron stared at him with disbelief. “I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

“I’m very certain I am not,” Celebrimbor replied.

“How did we know each other then? Were we somehow friends?”

Celebrimbor grimaced. This was not a conversation he wanted an audience for. On the other hand, neither was this a conversation that he wanted to have alone with Sauron.

“Yes, we were friends.”

“I knew it! Maybe that’s why I’m your cat.” Sauron smiled at him hopefully.

“You keep saying that, but you know you are not a cat now, right?” Finrod interrupted.

“Yes, you’re correct, that’s imprecise. Probably a better term would be familiar, but it’s a concept I’ve only heard mentioned a few times,” Sauron responded.

“Familiar.” Celebrimbor’s braid, which had already been loose before, was becoming a mess.

“So we were friends, and I lied to you, and that is why you were so disturbed to see me earlier,” said Sauron, nodding to himself.

Nerdanel cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at Celebrimbor. He sighed.

“You did a bit more than lie,” he said. 

“A bit!” exclaimed Fingon from the doorway.

“Would someone else like to tell the story?” He asked the room at large.

“No, please continue if you can,” said Gandalf quietly. “I think he needs to hear it from you Tyelperinquar.”

Celebrimbor tried to pick up the thread again. “Well, you wronged many people in this room, and are directly responsible for the death of two of us.”

“Really? Who?” Sauron had stepped closer to him and was now looking at the room with wide eyes.

“Findaráto for one.” Finrod actually waved. 

“Oh. I’m very sorry, I suppose.” Celebrimbor was reminded that apologies for forgotten murders were less than satisfying, as they had found out with Maglor. “Did I kill someone else?” Sauron asked in a worried tone.

“Yes, many other people.” There was no way around it. “Including me.”

To his surprise Sauron laughed. “I was so worried!” The whole room tensed in response to his reaction. He looked around. “I’m sure you have the wrong person! I would never hurt Tyelperinquar.” He looked at Celebrimbor fondly.

The silence was deafening. Finally Írissë said, “Are you all very sure it’s him?”

“Yes,” Celebrimbor bit out. He stared at the star model, wishing that he were anywhere but here.

“He looks, sounds, and feels exactly as I remember.” Galadriel was frowning. “I don’t see how the similarity could be so strong if it’s not him. Or some echo of him, somehow.” She trailed off.

“Give me your hand, Annatar,” Celebrimbor ordered.

“Annatar?” he said with a raised eyebrow as he placed his hand in Celebrimbor’s.

“I cannot call you Miaulë. If you regain your memories, you’ll understand.” 

Celebrimbor shut his eyes, and tried to access the bond he knew lay between them. He had never tried to open it intentionally before, and had slammed shut all access to it shortly after Sauron and he had bonded. He hesitated to call it a marriage; whether the Maiar could marry the Children of Ilúvatar was a matter for the philosophers. To him the word ‘marriage’ seemed to imply a blessing from Eru that he was sure neither of them had asked for, but still, he knew that a spiritual connection lay between them.

It flickered to life effortlessly. Celebrimbor almost dropped Sauron’s hand in surprise. He had maintained a guard against this for so long, despite the oceans that lay between, the sundered continents, and the walls of the Valar, but it seemed like disuse mattered little. 

He felt Sauron’s grip on his own hand tighten. Now there was another part in his mind that was him, yet not him, and he felt an awareness that was slightly beyond his own in the echo of the bond. The connection opened, he purposefully brought up a memory of one of the many days they had spent working together. He didn’t know why this one in particular came so readily; they’d been working on something inconsequential — some measuring tool they said would save time, but was really just a chance to put one of Celebrimbor’s theories to the test. The afternoon sunlight dancing in through the southwest windows was achingly familiar. The voices in the background of the memory were accented in a way that sounded like home. Once in a long while, Celebrimbor would hear someone shout out with that same accent in Ondomar, old modes of speech summoned up through passion, and Celebrimbor would have to look at the ceiling until the tears passed. It was a memory strong enough that he didn’t think it could be manufactured, and he thought that Sauron would sense its reality. 

He heard Sauron breath in sharply. He blinked his eyes open. Sauron was staring at him, eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. He stepped towards him, their faces now perilously close together. 

“What was that? How could you do that?” As he spoke, Sauron grabbed Celebrimbor’s other hand. 

If I pulled him towards me, he would fit perfectly in my arms , Celebrimbor though distantly. Sauron stepped even closer, and he realized that the bond was still open between him, and his train of thought was still obvious to Sauron. Celebrimbor shut his mind and dropped Sauron’s hands. He turned away from Sauron’s bereft expression and gestured to the room with a smile he hoped didn’t look too manic.

“He is, without a doubt, Sauron.”

Frodo, now followed by Sam, pushed his way into the room. “I’m sorry, I thought we established that already. Did I miss something?” Frodo asked.

“No, Frodo. You missed nothing.” Celebrimbor felt very tired. It would be nice to lie down, if his bedroom wasn’t full of family, friends, and ex-husbands. 

Frodo looked at him skeptically, but said, “Ah, well I thought some clothes were in order, so I asked Sam to help me find some.” He offered the bundle in his arms to Sauron.

“Thank you, Frodo,” Sauron replied with a grateful smile. “I think clothes are just what I need.” He unfolded the garments one at a time, examining each with the air of one who was solving a great mystery.

Sam cleared his throat. “We also have some news.”

“News other than the reappearance of Sauron, sorcerer of dread power, master of shades, and lord of werewolves?” Maedhros said dryly from the doorway.

“How many names do I have?” Sauron asked Celebrimbor. He had at least managed to put on some underwear. 

“Many,” Celebrimbor replied shortly.

“How did I gain so many names?”

Sauron’s wide eyes and almost childlike questions made Celebrimbor feel like screaming. In the span of a few minutes, his world had been turned upside down like it hadn’t since his reincarnation. “Ask someone else. Please,” he added when Sauron’s expression began to look hurt. 

“Yes, big news, as a matter of fact.” Sam was studying Sauron warily. “Though him turning up after we all thought he was done away with for good is a pickle, make no mistake about it. And looking like that!”

Frodo lightly nudged Sam, and said, “Another guest has arrived.”

Írissë threw up her hands in the doorway. “Everyone thinks they're coming to help out, and they only sit around and eat up my food. The wedding isn’t for months yet. Did you two send out the right dates?”

“Yes!” said Fingon indignantly. “It’s not my fault that this is a much anticipated occasion to attend a beautiful celebration of love between two beloved heroes.”

Maedhros raised his eyebrows at him. “Speak for yourself. I am still not allowed in any of the major cities of Valinor.”

“Bureaucracy,” said Fingon with a wave of his hand.

Nerdanel cut them off before the conversation could devolve further. “Master Samwise, who is here?” She looked up at Írissë. “My house is almost full; we may need to start using your rooms.” Írissë sighed with resignation.

Sam coughed awkwardly. “Begging your pardon Mistress Nerdanel. It’s your husband Fëanor. He’s back.”

Be Our Guest

Aredhel - Írissë
Maeglin - Lómion

Read Be Our Guest

Galadriel was glad of Gandalf’s presence, truly, but his calm expression just infuriated her further. She knew she should stop pacing, but if she stopped pacing she would do something rash, so she continued striding from wall to wall in the room she, Finrod, and Gandalf had commandeered.

“We must call on the Valar. I don’t know what he’s plotting, but this time at least I will not play his games.”

Finrod nodded. “Very wise.” He didn’t appear to be listening to her though.

“Yes, we should tell someone,” Gandalf said.

Galadriel whirled on him. “But?” She voiced the unspoken note.

Gandalf leaned towards her. “But how did he get here?”

“I don’t know, nor do I care.”

Gandalf raised a single bushy eyebrow.

“You have to admit the story he told is a strange one,” Finrod said.

“Because he’s lying. He’s done this countless times before; you cannot trust anything he says.” Galadriel couldn’t believe she had to explain this to her brother and Gandalf. If anyone should know how little Sauron could be trusted, it was these two.

“I do not think he was lying,” Gandalf said thoughtfully. He held up a hand, forestalling her protests. “Truly, think about what he said, what he did, and how long he’s been here in the form of Miaulë. Do you really think it is all false?”

Galadriel tried to give Gandalf’s question full consideration. Finally, she sighed, “I cannot completely put aside the thought that it may all be a lie.”

Finrod finally seemed to snap back to the present. “How much does it matter if he’s lying? Olórin is right; how did he get here?”

“How can you say that? Of course it matters if he came here with intent to deceive.”

“Peace, Galadriel. You are right, of course. It makes a great deal of difference.” Finrod looked at her closely. Galadriel could not meet his eyes. How unsettling it still is to be back among people who can see through me, she thought. It made a great deal of difference to her if Sauron came here meaning to trick them or not, and she did not want to think about the reasons why that question felt so personal.

“I do not feel easy with him walking about freely,” she said. The next words came reluctantly. “But I also share your questions.”

“I have often wondered where my fallen brothers and sisters went.” Gandalf’s voice was low. “I do not think it is possible to completely destroy what we are.”

“Could you not just ask the Valar?” Finrod asked. “You are held in high esteem.”

“I have asked. The answer was not satisfactory to me. Perhaps my perception is still clouded by this form.”

“You would not advise us to hide our guests from the Valar though?” Finrod said.

“No, no!” Gandalf paused. “But I also do not council haste.” Now Gandalf looked away from Galadriel.

 

“I also think that it would be prudent to share this news with the Valar with care,” Finrod said.

Galadriel had to laugh. “Once a rebel, always a rebel it seems.” She spread her hands. “I share your same reluctance to involve our guardians in something that we are more equipped to deal with if history is any guide. But I am not willing to put those I love in danger.”

“No, of course not,” Finrod said. “But, you must admit, he does not have the same aura as the creature I once knew as Gorthaur. The pattern is the same, but it is diminished.”

“I sense the same, but he broke through my spell so quickly.”

“And you are right to caution us against him,” Gandalf said. 

Galadriel sighed. “We return to the problem I thought I was solving: a certain amount of awareness needs to be present if any sort of accountability is to be demanded.”

Finrod looked at her with bemusement. “I did not realize that was the problem at hand.”

“I feel we must find a way for Sauron to remember who he is, but I am not blind to the danger of that endeavor,” Gandalf said.

“If he truly does not remember who he is, it seems to me that those memories could come back at any time. Thus, whether we try to stimulate the memories ourselves or not, we could run into the same dangerous situation.” The beginnings of a plan were beginning to form in Galadriel’s mind. She didn’t particularly like it.

Finrod looked between Galadriel and Gandalf. “If you both are certain of the decision to try to handle Sauron ourselves, I will not gainsay you, but we must get approval from the lady of the house. I do not know how she will feel about sheltering a dark lord, however enfeebled he seems now.”

“I think Nerdanel was more prepared to handle a dark lord than her husband. It seems like gross misfortune that both appeared at her house on the same day.” Galadriel frowned at the wall that separated them from the room that Sauron had been put in.

“Misfortune,” Gandalf said. “Or more likely fate. I thought the days of great deeds were past, and now I could retire to a peaceful existence. But it seems that excitement is seeking me out.”

Galadriel couldn’t help the smile that crept over her face. “Perhaps this is justice for all you put those poor hobbits through.”

Gandalf only harrumphed in reply.

~

Galadriel refused to knock. As far as she was concerned, Sauron was still their prisoner, and as such couldn’t be trusted with privacy.

Sauron sat on the bed, his fingers twisted in the sheets on either side; he straightened when they came in. He looked quickly between them as Galadriel, Finrod, and Gandalf walked in.

“Sauron,” Galadriel said crisply. “Have you remembered anything further?”

“No,” he answered. “I also have no memory of ever being called ‘Sauron.’” As he said the name his brows pinched together with distaste. 

“No matter,” said Galadriel. “We have decided you will be allowed to remain here with the Nerdanelië if you agree to try to regain your memories.”

“I agree,” Sauron said promptly.

Galadriel was slightly taken aback. “You don’t even know what it would entail.”

Sauron spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t care what it takes, I need to know my past. Maybe if I knew I could fix… things.” He looked away. “When I saw my new form, I thought everything would be better, but now it’s so much worse.”

“Do not look for pity from us,” Finrod warned. “You have caused me and my family immeasurable pain. We are only helping you regain your memories in order to understand where you came from and how you found us.”

“I also wish to know that.” Sauron pressed his lips together and made no further complaint.

In the ensuing silence Gandalf cleared his throat. “Since you agree to try to regain your memories with us, you should know what that will look like. We have tools that allow us to view the past. You will sit with one of us, for a few hours or maybe half the day, and we will access a portion of your former life. We hope that viewing your past self will trigger memories that are still buried in your mind.”

“What is this tool?” Sauron asked. He perked up slightly, a curious spark in his eyes.

Finrod frowned. “We have many methods of viewing the past, and it is not important for you to know the details.”

“We will begin tomorrow,” Galadriel said. “In the meantime, remain here. You are surrounded by wards. If you attempt to escape, you will be detected and caught. We will not be so lenient then.”

Sauron sniffed. “I will not attempt to escape.”

“Do not try to visit Celebrimbor,” Galadriel warned. “Stay away from him.”

A guilty look crept over Sauron’s face. “What if he comes to see me?”

“Then that’s different. But he will not.” With that she left the room.

~

“Are you sure you are comfortable with this?” Nerdanel asked. “One word, and I will call upon Aulë to take his wayward student.”

Celebrimbor sighed. He, Nerdanel, and Írissë stood in a room off the entrance of Ondomar. They were probably on their fifth round of ‘are you sures’. Next, he would reassure Nerdanel that he was fine with Annatar here, and then make sure that she was fine with housing an Umaia. Then she would say yes, you all seem to have it well managed, but Írissë, are you sure you are alright with Fëanaró staying with you? And then Írissë would say yes, it’s fine, but are you comfortable with me taking in Uncle Fëanaró? And then Nerdanel would say yes, better than letting him out into the wild, but Tyelpë, are you fine with Sauron staying here? 

“Yes, I have no issue with him staying here. I think Galadriel’s plan makes sense. But are you fine with him staying here?”

A soft ahem came from behind them. Finrod’s daughter Merillë widened her eyes innocently when the three of them turned to her. 

“It sounds to me like you’ve decided where everyone is staying.”

Írissë sighed. “Yes, I suppose we have decided.” She looked up sharply. “We’ve all decided we’re as comfortable with the arrangements as is possible considering,” she waved her hand vaguely, “everything. But what about the Valar? I could see some parties being less than understanding about our guest.” The word ‘guest’ dripped with sarcasm.

“Not here,” said Coroniel, one of the Nerdanlië. “Anyone, be they Elf, Maia, celestial body, or Manwë himself, would have to search with great intention if he wished to see the goings on here.” She spoke with utter confidence.

“I don’t remember anything like that from when we built Ondomar.” Celebrimbor frowned. 

“I don’t tell you everything,” Coroniel waved her hand vaguely in the air.

“You didn’t happen to bless Áremar in the same way, perchance?” Írissë asked.

“I wasn’t involved in any part of the building of Áremar, just some of the design choices afterwards, so I could not devise a similar shielding.” Coroniel said. 

“Ah, pity.”

“Do you mean to tell me, the entire time I’ve been here, there was no need to worry about anyone observing what I was doing?” Celebrimbor asked, a note of exasperation in his voice.

“Have you been worried about someone spying on you?” Nerdanel exclaimed. “Who would even care what you did?”

“Oh, plenty,” said Coroniel. “I don’t know who, but there are many beings who have tried to have some sort of look at Brim.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that?” Now Celebrimbor was definitely exasperated.

“What would the purpose of that be? I knew they wouldn’t succeed.”

“You don’t think Sauron was one of those spies?” Írissë asked. “Not now obviously, but before—”

“I don’t think so,” Merillë said slowly.

“How would you know?” Coroniel spoke with surprise.

“This will sound silly to all you elders, but I have tried for years to find a way to connect with Middle-earth.” Coroniel’s eyebrows almost rose off her face as Merillë spoke. Celebrimbor’s surprise almost matched his friend’s.

Merillë spread her hands helplessly. “It’s just so fascinating, and forbidden, and it seemed such a shame that I would never see the wonders my father spoke of.”

“The wonders your father knew are all now drowned,” Celebrimbor pointed out.

“Yes, the exact places are gone, but the descendents and the things that touched Nargothrond of old are still around.” Merillë shook her head. “Anyway, I tried for years to contact Aunt Galadriel mentally to no avail.”

“I’m not sure that failure there means it’s not possible,” Celebrimbor said. “I would not expect such a thing to work even within the same land for two people who have never met, and one of whom doesn’t know the other exists.”

Merillë bit her lip. “I am very talented with osanwë. If it could be done, I think I could do it. But that’s not important — I knew the principle of close relationships before I started trying of course, and you are right: considering the distance and lack of a former bond, it was not surprising that this did not work. So, I decided to try with the closest bond there was: a marriage bond.”

Írissë raised an eyebrow. “What sundered spouses still exist where one is in Valinor and the other in Middle-earth?”

“Írimien,” Merillë said simply. Nerdanel inhaled sharply at the name of Maglor’s sundered spouse.

“She agreed?” Nerdanel asked,her voice tight.

“Yes, and I hope to never have to ask for something so awkward and personal ever again,” Merillë said fervently. “It took as much persuading as you would think.”

“And nothing?” asked Celebrimbor.

“Nothing,” Merillë confirmed. 

“But—”

Coroniel interrupted, “Merillë is very talented.”

“I know! I believe that she is very talented—”

“But perhaps the traumatic nature of Macalaurë and Írimien’s sundering stopped the attempted connection,” Merillë finished for him. “I appreciate your suspicion! I had no other option though, so I had to be content with those attempts. Of course, I tried again once Aunt Galadriel arrived. Even Galadriel and Celeborn, recently parted, and on as good of terms as two partners can be considering their differing desires, could not speak to each other using osanwë across the break in the world.” Merillë sat back with satisfaction.

Celebrimbor opened his mouth. “And I think it would be the same for the Maiar, based on my other studies and my experience with teachers, some of whom number among that folk, although unfortunately I could not attempt that exact experiment.” She tilted her head at him. “Of course, it seems that I could have tried, theoretically. Would you have agreed to such a thing?”

“No. That would have been a most unwise idea,” Celebrimbor said immediately. Coroniel just snorted. 

“Let’s be done with ‘what ifs,’” Írissë said firmly. “I think we know as much as we can, and it’s time for me at least to return to escort my guest to Áremar”

Nerdanel glanced in the direction of the courtyard, where Fëanor probably still stood, speaking with Maedhros. “I cannot believe he is content to be sent off to your home without seeing me.”

Írissë pressed her lips together. “He seems contrite, and fully aware that his return might not be an easy occasion for you.” She shook her head. “He only interrupted me once while we were speaking, and that was only to say he would wait at my halls as long I would have him.”

“Waiting for me.” Nerdanel turned to Írissë, her hands clenching. “And now I have saddled you with a guest as long as I am undecided. Perhaps that is reason enough to send him away — let his brothers deal with him.”

“But that’s not what you wish. I would do a great deal more for you than simply open my doors to my most difficult uncle! It is no hardship. Besides, Lómion would be outraged if I sent Fëanáro away without telling him.”

“Very well, I will let you leave. I am sure we will speak soon,” Nerdanel said with a sigh. “And now I will check for a third time that the wards set around our own guest are holding firm.”

“Brim, are you sure you don’t want to stay at Áremar?” Írissë asked. “You know I am always happy to have you — I haven’t even put anyone in your room yet.”

“No, I will be fine here.” Despite his words, Celebrimbor would probably check his own lock to his room several times, just in case. 

After Nerdanel and Írissë left, Celebrimbor sat down heavily at the table with Coroniel and Merillë.

“Are you really fine?” Coroniel asked. 

Celebrimbor rubbed his temples. “I suppose so. I’m not really sure how I feel.”

Coroniel sighed. “And here I thought we’d really developed a knack for dealing with someone’s murderer showing up. You always have to be a special case.”

“Exactly. That’s why this is so hard. I really thought I was exempt from this problem.”

Merillë delicately cleared her throat again. “Yes, I’m sure that’s the only reason you might find Sauron’s reappearance difficult.”

Celebrimbor glared at her. “I thought you were just studying logical design with Cori, not how to harass me as well.”

Coroniel looked at him reprovingly. “Merillë is very bright.” Merillë nodded, her colorful curls bouncing along.

“I’m sure she is.” Celebrimbor turned to address Merillë. “I’m sure you are. How are the lessons going?”

“Quite well. Maybe we can discuss my studies some other time when you don’t look like you’d rather be tearing your hair out.” Merillë softened her words with a smile.

“Perhaps.”

“Just, maybe add another set of locks and a few more wards?” Coroniel chewed on her lip.

“That’s the plan.” Not that he really thought a second lock would stop Annatar if he really wanted to get to him.

Coroniel seemed to have similar thoughts as her brow creased. “You know, in Ost-in-Edhil, he always knew where you were. Most of the time he was easier to find than you, and I would always seek him out if you’d vanished like you tended to do.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

“You know, my house in Tol Eressëa is always open to you, whether I’m there or not.”

“I know, and I appreciate the offer, but I do feel in a way that it’s safer to be close. To know what’s happening.” 

“Have you seen Frodo?” Gandalf asked, peering into the room, Sam poking his head out from behind him.

“No, but Írissë and Nerdanel just left.”

“I’m sure he’ll be by in a minute,” Sam said as he pulled a stool over to them.

“He had best hurry if he’d like to actually speak with Fëanáro.” Gandalf stepped more fully into the room, but did not sit down.

“Why does Frodo need to speak to my grandfather?”

“It will be educational.” Gandalf glanced into the hallway again.

“So he says.” Sam climbed onto the stool, in no hurry to leave. “Now, Gandalf, there is one thing I’m wondering. I seem to recall asking you, while we were all in Gondor, whether Sauron was dead in truth, and you said something about him turning into a spirit of malice, chewing on itself in the darkness, but unable to become anything greater. Now, time will tell if things go badly from here, but the man I saw today did not seem like a spirit, and he did not especially malicious neither.”

Gandalf drew himself up. “And have I not also said, on multiple occasions, that even the wise cannot see all ends? Why you cannot recall that, but you can recall a single conversation we had over a century ago seems designed to test my patience.” He paused. “If you must know, I heard that information from Tyelperinquar.”

“Me!” While not the most absurd thing Celebrimbor had heard all day, being blamed for misinformation regarding Sauron was almost the last straw. “I’m quite certain I wouldn’t have told you that.”

“You did! If you recall, I paid you a visit before I left for Middle-earth. We spoke of many things, including the Rings of Power, and you told me that while the One existed, Sauron could never truly be removed.”

“Well, I may have said that, but—”

“And then you said, if the Ring were to be destroyed, he would never rise again, and would only be a restless fell spirit, unable to effect change in the world.”

“Ah.” Celebrimbor slumped onto one elbow. “Well, clearly I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“No harm done, the advice was still sound in its essence. Ah, there’s Frodo. Come Samwise, I think we can still catch them.”

Sam shot Celebrimbor an apologetic look as he hopped off the stool. Celebrimbor decided he should leave as well; the thought of talking with anyone else today exhausted him.

“I’m sure I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he told Coroniel and Merillë.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Coroniel said. “I know what you mean about staying close, it’s just, you said that before.”

“I’m well aware.”

The Greatest Woe

This chapter was beta-d by the exemplary Visitor! (Maedron on AO3)

 

Read The Greatest Woe

Miaulë stayed in his room, although he itched to explore more in his new bipedal form. He supposed he would eventually leave his room, but he suspected the rest of the denizens of Ondomar would rather he stayed in one place for today. Nerdanel had been very clear that, while not a prisoner, he also should not leave Ondomar. He could sense something on the doors and crowding around the walls; he suspected they were wards of some kind but knew too little about magic to know for certain. Despite the lack of knowledge, he could detect more of the threads of power that wove through the house than he could as a cat, and he distracted himself for a time guessing at the purpose of each. 

The rest of the day and night passed without incident. Miaulë kept his ears pricked for any strange noises or conversations about him, but the murmur of life outside his room sounded different; his hearing had changed. He also didn’t hear any talk about him, either directly or indirectly.

The only interesting occurrence happened in the late evening when a crisp knock sounded on his door. Miaulë jumped up quickly and opened it. Much to his disappointment, it was not Celebrimbor standing there but his mother, Ornéliel. Her soft face pulled into a ferocious glare as she looked him up and down. 

“Hello, Ornéliel. Did you need me for something?” Miaulë said, not quite able to suppress the hope that Celebrimbor had asked for him.

Ornéliel sighed deeply. “Honestly, I can hardly blame him,” she muttered, and with that she turned and left as abruptly as she had arrived. There were no other visitors throughout the long night.

The next day, Miaulë rose bright and early, ready to face the household as he left to find some breakfast. He absently trailed his fingers along the stone walls as he walked towards the kitchen, pondering the mystery of his past. He hoped whatever he and Finrod did today worked, he’d remember everything, and then he could get back to what he really wanted to be doing: helping Celebrimbor with the star model. Just being able to tell him about the scale factor had obviously sparked something for him; if only they could get past whatever had happened previously, they could start truly working together. And with the discovery that Celebrimbor could somehow slip into his mind, fitting perfectly into a place that seemed made for him, it seemed to him inevitable that they would start working together soon.

As he stepped into the kitchen, the cheerful chatter abruptly stopped. A few of the elves outright stared at him, and many looked at him out of the corner of their eyes. The prospect of getting food suddenly became daunting. As a cat, he had mostly hunted for his own food, although he had also been given scraps regularly. He could still hunt for breakfast he supposed, but it would take more than a single mouse to sate his hunger, and that also sounded much less appealing now. A kernel of resentment rose in him; I’m sure I didn’t personally hurt everyone here, he thought. I will not let them keep me from enjoying my meal.

So resolved, he cut several slices of bread from a loaf at one of the tables and slathered a generous amount of butter and jam on the slices. His anxiety eased as he began eating; the simple breakfast tasted delicious and the difference in flavor he experienced between his old and new body fascinated him. He studiously ignored the elves who had risen from the table when he sat down, focusing so intently on his meal that he was startled when someone sat down next to him.

“I suppose you wouldn’t like some tea would you?” 

Mouth full, Miaulë examined the small being next to him. Of the two hobbits, he preferred Frodo, who had always seemed to have a snack for him and with whom he had spent many quiet afternoons napping as the hobbit studied. He had always had the impression that Samwise didn’t really like cats, so they had avoided each other.

“I would like some tea, thank you,” Miaulë replied. With a raised eyebrow, Sam went to put on the kettle. He remained silent as he brewed the tea and poured them each a cup. Miaulë took a sip and almost immediately spit it back out. 

“You willinging drink this?” he asked.

Sam frowned and took a sip. “This is perfectly brewed, but if you don’t like it, don’t drink it, although it’s rather rude to refuse something after you asked for it.”

Miaulë wrinkled his nose, the bitter flavor of the tea still stuck in his mouth. “I’ll stick to water.”

“So, what are you doing today?” Sam asked, apparently willing to ignore the snub to his tea.

“I’m meeting with Finrod soon; he is going to try to help me remember my past.”

“Hmm.” Sam took a sip of his tea. “And why do you want to remember your past?”

Miaulë looked at him with surprise. “The past is rather important, is it not? And it seems like everyone here has knowledge that I don’t, which is —.” He paused, trying to describe the feeling of looming dread that had settled over him once he’d realized the millennia of time unaccounted for in his memories. “—Is uncomfortable,” he settled on.

“No other reason?” Sam asked lightly. Despite his tone, Miaulë could tell the hobbit would weigh his answer carefully.

“I would like to learn many things,” Miaulë said slowly. “The past is just one of them. It just seems to be a prerequisite of learning anything further from the folk here.”

“Hmm.” Sam stared at him steadily. “I suppose I should level with you. I don’t trust you, and even more so for this fair-seeming face you have. I thought Frodo had ended you for good, or as near as could be done, and I don’t much like the thought that all our pain was for naught. All this is to say, I’ll be watching you very carefully, and if an old hobbit can’t do much if you end up being bad news again, well, I’ll do my part again regardless.” 

Miaulë frowned, mulling over Sam’s threat and the crumbs of information he had just revealed. He had had no idea that even the hobbits figured into his past. “Frodo ended me? What do you mean?”

Sam squinted at him, and then shook his head. “It’s a long story, and one I’m sure someone will tell you soon enough. It’s too bright a morning to start off with such a long, harrowing tale.”

Miaulë sighed. “I feel so blind. If you will not tell me about when you knew me before, will you tell me something else? Something interesting?”

After another sip of tea, Sam said, “I suppose we can talk of other things. Would you care to hear about the chair I’m making?”

“Yes,” Miaulë said, sitting up straighter. “Tell me everything.”

~

After a pleasant breakfast, all things considered, Miaulë set off to meet Finrod.

He descended the stairs to the cellar level and cautiously entered the meeting room. The familiar cellar felt different; for one thing, he no longer had half an ear perked for rats and other pests that might get into the food stored there. As with the rest of the house, there were rooms for interests of all kinds. Experiments with chemicals and mixtures were conducted here in cool dark to keep the ingredients stable and undiminished. 

This room was empty of any equipment. Dark curtains hung down the wall to make it seem less like a cell, and candles were set throughout the room. Finrod sat at the center of the room in a comfortable looking chair, in front of a table with a silver basin on top of it.

“Come in, Gorthaur,” he said. In the dim room, he seemed to give off a soft golden light of his own. 

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” Miaulë closed the door behind him and moved to stand in front of Finrod. ‘Terrible dread,’ what an awful name, only slightly better than Sauron, the name he heard whispered before him more often. It even sounded heavy and dreadful in his ears. 

“And why should I not call you by your name?” Finrod challenged with a tilt of his head.

“Surely I was not always called Gorthaur,” Miaulë said. “It doesn’t sound like what I’d call myself.”

“I am not sure about that. When I met you, you seemed to take great pride in your dreadfulness.”

Again, the reminder that everyone here seemed to know more about him than he did himself. Well, that will soon be solved, he thought. “Call me Miaulë, please.”

“For reasons that may become apparent today, I find it very difficult to call you something so silly.” Miaulë opened his mouth in protest — he liked his name. Finrod held up a hand. “But I shall try! If we are to commence this experiment, we should give you a chance to use the name of your choice. Now, please have a seat.” Finrod gestured to a less cushy seat in front of him.

“Let me explain what will happen in these sessions. Galadriel, Olórin, and I have created a window to the past, a Mirror, if you will. It was created with some haste, so it’s not our finest work, but I believe it will do the job for now at least. You will gaze into this basin once it is filled with water, and it shall show you parts of your past. We will try to steer it to certain points, but that is an imprecise art, so there is no guarantee of what it will show. Are you amenable to this so far?” 

Miaulë nodded.

“Now, the next part is important, but perhaps more disagreeable to you. We decided that the best way to help you is if we also know what you are seeing.”

“Shall I describe it then?” Miaulë asked.

“A bit more than that. You will initiate a mind to mind connection with me, and share your thoughts, and thus what you are viewing,” Finrod explained.

Miaulë frowned. The thought of a direct mental connection with Finrod made the hair on the back of his arms stand on end. “Will it be like when Celebrimbor spoke in my mind yesterday?” he asked.

“Ah, not quite.” Finrod rubbed at the back of his neck. “We don’t have the same connection as the one I believe you have with my kinsman.”

Miaulë thought for a minute. Speaking to another through a mental connection felt intimate in a way he couldn’t put into words. On the other hand, he had no room to bargain. Besides, it might be good in some ways; if he saw something he didn’t understand, Finrod may be able to explain. 

“Very well, I accept your requirements.”

“Good.” Finrod smiled kindly, but Miaulë thought he detected some apprehension in his eyes. “Now try to open your mind to me. I find it’s helpful to think of the other person and then picture opening a book, but that book is yourself. Or—” Finrod’s eyes widened. Miaulë sensed Finrod’s approval through their connection, which did pale in comparison with his link to Celebrimbor. Before, there had been an awareness of emotions and an extension of the senses that the connection with Finrod lacked. He still found it strange, especially after he realized his thoughts about Celebrimbor flowed freely to Finrod who in turn tried to give his own perspective into mental connections. 

Finrod stood and began to pour water into the basin from a ceramic pitcher. There was no chanting or singing, but his motions were smooth and meditative. 

Gaze into the Mirror.

Miaulë took a deep breath and followed Finrod’s instructions.

The surface of the Mirror stayed dark for a long while. Miaulë almost looked up and asked Finrod to explain how it worked, but a flickering glow in the depths caught his eye. The light grew closer, until suddenly the surface of the water trembled and a large room came into view, some of the walls of rough stone, some smooth as glass. The light did not reach every corner, but the way it glinted off of distant metal or polished stone suggested a cavernous size.

There were two figures in the center of the room, one larger than the other. It was hard to tell without references, but the larger of the two seemed immense, his bulk not merely a function of size but also a mental and spiritual vastness that came through even over the watery surface of the Mirror.

“Ithīr.”

The word echoed painfully through Miaulë’s head. No sound came through the mirror, and yet when the dark figure had opened his mouth, he heard what he said. 

Troughs of fire flared to light illuminating the room more fully, although some dark corners remained. A series of cages lined one wall, the bars obscuring furtive scuttling movements. 

“Mairon, long thou hast searched far afield; the quarry gathered for me is more than satisfactory.” The words ceased to hurt, and now he understood them, although the sounds still felt too close, the strange experience of hearing without ears confusing his mind. The impression of immensity still emanated from the speaker, but the light now illuminated his face. Grey skin of stone, or crafted to appear like stone, wrapped a strong face, and the grey gleaming surface shifted like plates of earth rather than skin. The blue fire of his eyes blazed too bright to look at for long, even through the Mirror.

“I live to serve, Lord Melkor.” The other being, presumably Mairon, tilted his horned head at whatever huddled in the cage, the bright golden eyes unblinking. With a mental nudge from Finrod, Miaulë realized he looked at a previous incarnation of himself.

“Thou hast hunted enough for my work to begin; now it is for thee to continue.” Melkor unlatched the cage with a touch. “Come out, pet.”

The thing in the cage could walk, but barely. His legs were misshapen and twisted, bones broken and set in strange shapes. His back hunched, and he lurched with every step. He came to a halt in front of them, swaying precariously. Drool dripped from the half open mouth, teeth protruding in such a way it couldn’t close all the way, and the yellowed and bloodshot eyes stared ahead. Despite the horrific injuries, Miaulë recognized an elven form; one pointed ear remained, and there were some clumps of silvery hair left. 

“On the table,” Melkor ordered. The broken elf shuffled to a stained table with built in restraints and awkwardly hoisted himself on. 

Mairon slowly circled the prone elf, curiosity in his face. The firelight reflected off the black scales that clung to Mairon’s body as he moved; Miaulë could not tell if they were armor or his own skin. He examined the teeth, flexed the joints, and poked at various contusions. The elf cried out in pain, but made no effort to escape. 

“My lord, I am not certain I understand your work. Surely he was more useful before? There is no assurance this creature could survive a week in the mines.”

“Use? Use?” Melkor’s voice took on a painful dimension again, and Miaulë began to rub at his jaw to alleviate the tension even as his eyes remained fixed on the Mirror. “The use is the furtherance of my ultimate purpose — I have shown that there is nothing that I cannot bend to my will; no part of creation is outside my purview. My siblings in their Blessed Land have not yet found the first Children, and already I have begun to fit them into my own purpose. Perhaps these creatures are the thought of Ilúvatar, but now they are also the thought of Melkor.”

His hand darted forward and grabbed Mairon by the arm, guiding his hand to the elf’s chest. “Use more than thine eyes, Mairon.”

A chill ran through Miaulë even in the safety of the cellar room, but the self in the mirror looked like he could barely restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Mairon’s pupils narrowed to vertical slits as he focused, then a look of wonder crossed his face. 

“You have attached — I cannot, ah! Is that your own being?”

Melkor released Mairon’s arm, a smile shifting over his face. “You begin to understand.”

“And that is why it followed your command. Not because it was frightened, but because it must.”

“Thus I have made the Children into my own. Their souls are now bound to me and changed, just as their bodies have changed.”

Mairon tilted his head up at Melkor, his eyes shining with excitement. “Marvellous. But surely even you cannot pour yourself out into these creatures without end? The form appears frail, and there are other creatures that could benefit from your mighty will.”

“Such doubt! But thou art my right hand, so I will answer thee. Still, the extent of my power is beyond thy comprehension. Long could I impart my essence into the world without any cost to myself. But thou hast noted well; there are more worthy vessels even now and more yet I could create.” Melkor bent over the elf, stroking his face with an almost fond gesture. “But I need impart nothing further into these creatures; why else would I give this task to thee? This one is the offspring of two of my original creations — I have hardly touched it.”

Mairon’s head snapped up. “It is inheritable? This, this, change to the soul? That is news indeed.” He grabbed one of the prisoner’s hands and snapped the bone of the index finger; the elf screamed. “The bones are far too brittle. May I try to command it?”

“Do as thou wilt.” Something like an indulgent smile spread over Melkor’s face.

“Who is thy master? Speak!” Mairon commanded the elf. The elf opened his mouth, but only an undulating wail came out. “Does he know any language?”

“That has not been my focus.”

“Well, their intelligence need not be great, but much would be open to you if they could speak. They will need to be raised with kin; some kind of community is necessary. And of course the most important part is fertility. What of your original experiments remain, my lord?”

“They all still live. I first began these changes by happenstance; I found the Children in their original state could command their souls to leave their body, and would do so after only a little distress. I could hardly extract anything of value. I could then call those souls to me, but an unhoused soul has limited use. But now, their souls remain until their life is ended.”

“Most excellent. What will be the primary purpose of these creatures? Mining? Building?”

“No, for we have found the Children in their original state can serve in those pursuits. No, I will need an army made up of more than thy kindred who are allied to me. Create for me soldiers who can march for days, can eat even the meanest of food, and lust for battle with unquenchable hunger.” 

“It will be done,” Mairon said with a distracted bow, before striding over to the other cages.

“Very good. I expect I will be most pleased with the results.”

“Are you ever not?” A flame appeared in Mairon’s hand as he thrust it through the bars of a cage, trying to get a better look at the inhabitants.

“No, thou hast ever been a boon to me. I leave this task to thee, and I will tell Aþǭwenūz to resume gathering of the Children in thy stead.” With that, Melkor left.

Mairon started on his task immediately, opening the cages one by one and examining, poking, and prodding each prisoner. He took no notes but occasionally burned a mark onto one of the victims.

I think we have seen enough. Distaste colored Finrod’s thought.

But what did I do next? Miaulë felt like he had hardly begun to understand what he was watching.

I imagine you continued torturing these poor elves for quite some time.

Miaulë blinked a few times and slowly straightened. He tried to close the connection with Finrod as gently as possible, despite his uncertainty with the mechanics. Only when all traces of Finrod’s presence left his mind did he allow himself to think on what he just witnessed. Melkor’s name was familiar as part of a curse that a few of the household regularly used. Otherwise, he knew Melkor was some kind of enemy that some of the elves here fought in the distant past. Then there was also Mairon. He knew the meaning of both names — Melkor, he who arises in might, and Mairon, the admirable. Both sounded like names of power and prestige, but the thought of his past self’s ease with hurting the twisted things in cages made him uneasy. Reading Finrod’s face, he suspected he should feel more than unease.

“That was interesting,” Miaulë said carefully.

“Interesting? I suppose it was in a way. Long had I suspected you were the chief architect of one of the greatest woes that was done to us and against us, but now I have confirmation.” Finrod’s lips pressed into a flat line, and a guarded expression slipped over his typically open face.

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand. Greatest woe? Whatever was done to those elves was bad, but I didn’t see too many of them.” Miaulë had a feeling that the last statement would not be received well by Finrod, but he only sighed.

“So I take it this has not woken any part of your memory?”

Miaulë shook his head. “Nothing.”

Finrod looked down at the basin for a moment before meeting Miaulë’s eyes. “I believe we were given a glimpse into the creation of orcs. You asked what happened next — what happened was you were successful in all your goals, creating a hardy race that multiplied faster than either Edain or Edhel, that made war upon my kindred until this day.”

“Oh.” Miaulë wondered how he had done it; the creatures he had seen were so hurt and pathetic. He did not ask Finrod that, though.

“But even worse than the lives the orcs took was what was done to them!” Finrod pushed back his hair as his voice rose. “Their souls bound to Morgoth’s, not for their lifetime, but until souls cease to be! And the corruption passed down generation after generation. I had suspected, but if I had known — never mind.” Finrod sighed. “That was very long ago, before the awakening of the first elves. I have wondered if it might be more potent to view scenes where we were both present, but I am still reluctant to open that door.” He sat back in his chair. “We will do what we must next time we meet. I think Galadriel will meet with you tomorrow.”

Miaulë left the room, at a loss for  what to do with himself for the rest of the day. Back in his room, he cautiously set his hand against the wick of a lamp. He tried to summon flame like he had seen Mairon do in the Mirror. Nothing happened though — the wick didn’t even get warm. Miaulë fell back onto the narrow bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what he had seen.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Ithīr - (Valarin) Light

Secrets Kept

Thanks again to Visitor (LonelyVisitor on SWG) for Beta-ing this chapter!

Celebrimbor | Tyelperinquar
Galadriel | Artanis
Aredhel | Írissë
Maeglin | Lómion
Maedhros | Nelyo
Gandalf | Olórin

Read Secrets Kept

Galadriel found Celebrimbor as he was packing a leather satchel in his study. 

“Are you going to visit your grandfather?”

“Yes, I think it’s time,” Celebrimbor answered. “I have no reason to avoid him.” He paused for a moment and made a face at the book he held. “Well, no more reason than most people here.”

Galadriel tilted her head to read the title. “Are you bringing Fëanor his own writings?”

Celebrimbor gave a short laugh. “Yes, I thought it might be nice to have a topic of conversation at hand. Not that I ever recall Haru being at a loss for words, but I may want to change the subject.”

Galadriel held some skepticism that Celebrimbor would be able to change the subject with Fëanor, whose legendary tenacity certainly extended to steering the course of a conversation, but she knew he wouldn’t be dissuaded from the attempt. Celebrimbor could be forgiven for having a softer view of his grandfather than she did; he had not even been of age when Fëanor died, and had many fond memories of being doted on as Fëanor’s first and only grandchild.

“Do you need something from me?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I’d like to come with you.”

Celebrimbor’s hands stilled, and he looked up at her with raised eyebrows. “You wish to visit Fëanor?”

“Yes,” said Galadriel crisply. “It has been many ages since I saw him, each age longer than the last, and perhaps the time has come for resolution. I do not know if I have forgiveness within me, and I certainly do not expect him to apologize, although it is owed, but I would like to at least see him again.”

Celebrimbor tied his satchel shut. “I was hoping to have a friendly conversation with my grandfather, whom I miss.”

“And I won’t hinder you! I just wish to see him again. I feel off balance knowing he is at Áremar without having seen him.”

Celebrimbor’s face still showed his skepticism. “Very well, you may come with me if you’d like.”

As they exited the main doors, Galadriel drifted towards the stables.

“I was going to walk,” Celebrimbor said.

Galadriel sighed. The trip to Áremar didn’t worry her; it was only a handful of miles, and she enjoyed Celebrimbor’s company, especially as they were not now attempting to co-rule a city. She worried more about the slower escape should the need arise once she arrived. 

“Very well.”

Írissë’s hall retained the spirit of a rustic hunting lodge mixed with the grandeur of the ancient Halls the Noldor built during the Years of the Trees. The sloped roof shone gold, as did the magnificent doors to the main hall that Celebrimbor had crafted years ago. It had grown since its founding — wings were added as more people decided to make Áremar their permanent residence — but it had a symmetry Ondomar lacked.

Celebrimbor went straight to the smithy in the back of the yard. It would be more polite to greet the lady of the hall before going to find Fëanor, but Celebrimbor visited frequently — he had his own room and stayed here often enough that he needed no introduction. 

Galadriel considered making her excuses and finding Írissë before she spoke to Fëanor, but she knew that the urge came from nerves. Írissë would not be offended that she had come to see their uncle as long as Galadriel greeted her at some point.

As they approached the smithy, a blinding light flashed from the doorway; Galadriel and Celebrimbor reeled back. Without a word, Celebrimbor rummaged in his bag and pulled out two pairs of eye shields. Galadriel put on the smoked quartz lenses, not surprised in the least that Celebrimbor had decided that they were needed to visit Fëanor. It would also not surprise her if Celebrimbor usually carried eye protection — her cousin had a streak of recklessness that tended to pop up at inopportune moments, but no one could accuse him of neglecting forge safety.

Celebrimbor rapped on the doorframe before entering.

“It’s Tyelperinquar and Artanis,” he called.

“It’s safe,” came Lómion’s voice from within.

Galadriel took a deep breath, arranged her face in the most serene expression possible, and walked into the forge.

Írissë only had the one smithy, small but serviceable, with an efficient bellows system, a wide range of tools, several anvils of different sizes, and a few heavy duty tables. She suspected Lómion had made improvements of his own; Írissë’s son lived and worked at Áremar most of the time and had a love of complex smithing of all kinds. 

Fëanor and Lómion were standing at one of the tables, both with their dark hair plaited back. Galadriel hadn’t seen the particular style in Fëanor’s hair for millennia. 

Fëanor slowly straightened, studying Celebrimbor. 

“Tyelperinquar, it’s good to see you.” 

His voice sounded warm in a way that Galadriel had never heard before, and his smile held no bite. The Fëanor burned into her memory had ever shifting moods, a thunderous voice, and brought a suffocating feeling into any room he entered, as if he were a flame licking up all the air for himself. Fëanor still emitted a bright energy, but she detected none of the madness that had frightened and repulsed her before. 

“Haru,” Celebrimbor said. “I’ve missed you.” He stepped into his grandfather’s open arms.

When Fëanor finally let go, he held Celebrimbor’s shoulders at arms length and studied him. 

“You are taller, or else I missed the last few inches in the accursed darkness! I will not exclaim over how tall and handsome  and talented you have become as if you just came of age, although all that is true. Perhaps what I should say is that you have brought more pride to your family than I ever hoped to see. When I saw what you had achieved, I knew our curse was well and truly broken.”

Galadriel shivered. Whether he intended it or not, Fëanor’s words held power — she knew doom came from without and within all too well. Something dislodged within herself. A portion of the grief and bitterness she held through long years of exile dissolved, a quiet ending to an ancient curse. 

Celebrimbor started crying into his grandfather’s shoulder, and tears began blurring the edges of her vision even as Fëanor’s blazing attention settled on her. 

“Artanis, I am surprised you wished to see me. Nonetheless, it gladdens my heart to see you, and to know that you survived the woes of the First Age to serve as a beacon for our people in Middle-earth for long after.”

“You have dwelled in my mind as a target for ire longer than we knew each other upon this earth,” Galadriel said. “Any anger that is still there serves no purpose, and I hoped to put it behind me through seeing you again.”

Fëanor nodded, pain pinching at the corner of his eyes. “Anger has its use as a spark to move what is stagnant, but clinging to it can only harm. That I know too well.” He paused for a moment, his mouth twisting as he moved his jaw. “I am sorry for the theft and destruction of your people’s ships, and I am sorry for the bloodshed I began. It is my deepest regret that the first blood my sword tasted was that of those who should have been my allies. I have barely begun to think how I can mend a hurt that my people have already worked for many years to heal, but I will do what I can.”

For a moment, all speech fled. Galadriel had not expected an apology; at most she had expected to trade some stiff words with Fëanor before leaving to find Írissë. Finally, she was able to shake off her surprise, the path forward suddenly clear.

“I forgive you, for the harm you did to myself at least. I can grant no more than that, yet it is still more than I have thought I would be capable of.” Fëanor’s dismissal of the curse had dissolved a long held darkness within her, and the true forgiveness she spoke made her feel lighter than when the Trees had shone over Valinor. No, she felt better than she had then, the wisdom of ages striking out the uncertainty and striving she had lived with during her younger years. 

“I can ask for no more, and I thank you,” Fëanor said gravely, before looking north. “You do not happen to know if Nerdanel is planning to visit soon?”

Celebrimbor straightened, wiping his eyes. “I’m afraid she has voiced no such plans to me.”

“Ah, well,” Fëanor said. “We have plenty of time, there is no need to hurry.”

Galadriel squinted at him, startled by his uncharacteristic patience. She recognized sadness and uncertainty in him, and it seemed odd for a man who had often seemed incapable of doubt before. An unexpected pang of sympathy rose within her as she recognized the unsteadiness that being at odds with a spouse could bring. 

“What were you and Lómion working on?” Celebrimbor asked, baldly changing the subject.

“Centerpieces,” said Lómion with a wry grin. He gestured at the mess of wire and gems on the table, some pieces haphazardly glowing.

Galadriel raised an eyebrow. “I think Írissë will not thank you for centerpieces that introduce any sort of instability into the wedding.”

Fëanor waved a hand. “They will not be unstable by the time we finish. We’re just having some fun. I suspect I have been asked to do this in an attempt to keep me distracted. I will acquiesce for now.”

“I know Nelyo will greatly appreciate it if you do not ruin the wedding,” Celebrimbor said, idly examining one of the beaten metal sheets on the table. 

The worried expression passed over Fëanor’s face again. “I am trying very hard not to disturb the upcoming events. In my past life, I was at the center of things, although that was never my aim. I only wished to pursue learning and craft to whatever end they would lead me, but neither did I reject recognition when it came. Now, I am attempting to stand to the side; it is more difficult than you would expect.”

“Please keep on attempting,” said Galadriel.  

Despite the dig, unexpected sympathy was rising  within her. She had gone from being the most revered of all the Eldar to one among many figures of legend. Most days she welcomed the change. As the Lady of the Golden Wood, and an integral part of the safety of Lothlórien, she could not have chosen to stay with relatives for an indeterminate amount of time, nor could she follow wherever her whims might have taken her. On the other hand, life towards the end of the Third Age had been full of purpose, her objective a guiding star in all of her decisions: defending her people against the encroaching darkness. The hidden power of Nenya allowed her to create the fairest realm in Middle-earth, and many sought her wisdom as they battled against the Dark Lord and his minions; if she advised a course, it would likely be followed. Now, with a number of the powerful and contentious Noldor reborn, her opinion was not sought out more than that of anyone else in her family. She knew her political acumen could not come close to the tactfulness of Finarfin and Gil-galad, and their delicate maneuverings that ensured that the governments in Tirion and Tol Eressëa remained unified. Ondomar’s remote location had appealed to her just as much as its clever inhabitants. 

“Will you let me see your ring?” Fëanor asked, startling Galadriel out of her thoughts. She ran her thumb over Nenya, which she still wore every day despite its depleted power. 

She glanced at Celebrimbor. He shrugged. “He has already seen Narya, I believe. Olórin walked to Áremar with him the first night he arrived.”

Galadriel rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.” She slid Nenya off her finger and handed it to Fëanor. She had made the trip, and she had forgiven as much as she could; she might as well satisfy the legendary curiosity.

Fëanor held the ring up to the light streaming from the window. Silver petals unfurled, revealing the white gem. 

“It is beautifully wrought, Tyelperinquar. You used a very different style on this ring.”

“I always meant this ring for Artanis. Unlike Narya, which was crafted more in opposition to the dark fire but not for any wielder in particular,” Celebrimbor said.

Fëanor closed his hand around the ring and shut his eyes. “No, I can feel no spark of power within this ring either.” 

Celebrimbor shook his head. “It is as I said. Although I specifically created it without Sauron’s will or power, I still used the same method of operating on the Song that we devised together.  When he created the One, the same...hm, strings were bound up in its making. When the One was destroyed, all the threads we had so painstakingly identified were loosened, and the Three lost all their power.”

“Tyelpë, you’re going to need to devise a more specific language if we’re going to build upon this technology,” Fëanor said.

“What?” Lómion asked, his eyebrows shooting up. Galadriel mutely shook her head at him, trying to convey how utterly unsurprising Fëanor’s line of inquiry was to anyone who knew him.

Celebrimbor only shook his head, his face pensive. “Absolutely not. I will never undertake ring-craft again, by choice, and by ability.” Fëanor shot him a disapproving look. “Would you craft the Silmarils again, even if you could?”

Fëanor looked off in the distance, disregarding various levels of concern on everyone’s faces. “No, but only because I am reluctant to tread well-worn paths. If it has been done, what is the joy of it? You cannot mean that you are content to dwell here and never try to match your greatest achievements.”

“I still make things,” Celebrimbor crossed his arms. “But I no longer create with an eye towards besting what I made last, or comparing my achievements to your own. My days of constant striving are done.”

“Hmph,” said Fëanor, surveying Celebrimbor with narrowed eyes.

“I have actually picked up my old skills recently,” Galadriel said. She wished to change the subject from fated works of power. She did not trust the calm demeanor Celebrimbor had worn since Sauron showed up, and wanted to avoid any encouragement towards ring making or reminders of wasted potential. She doubted that Celebrimbor would do something rash, but the possibility still lurked.

“Oh, and what have you made?” Fëanor’s focus turned fully upon her. His eyes were not as bright as they once were — they all had faded a bit as the years wore on — but they were still piercing.

Celebrimbor sagged a little in relief as she began explaining her lens and how it worked. She allowed Fëanor to question her with the curt style she had always disliked. When he began to find fault with the range of the focal length she had used, she made her excuses and left to find Írissë. The more she thought about the potentially explosive mix of people they had at Ondomar and Áremar, the more she wanted to be sure her cousin knew her concerns.

~

“Brim, let’s discuss your progress with the invitations,” Fingon announced — in a voice only a hair softer than a battle cry. Fortunately, Galadriel had left for Ondomar, and the return of a hunting party preoccupied everyone else, so no one noticed as Fingon dragged Celebrimbor into the study with much more urgency than invitations required. 

Fingon shut the door with exaggerated slowness. “So?”

“So, I just sent out the last batch of invitations last week; there’s no response yet. How many more rounds are you planning to send? I don’t know where you’re getting these names.”

“My mother sent them to me — apparently she ran into a long-lost cousin and invited that whole side, but that was not what I was talking about!” Fingon threw himself into a chair and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Celebrimbor crossed his arms.

“So.” Fingon leaned forward. “How are you?”

“I think the real question is, how are you?” Celebrimbor leaned his weight on the back of a chair, mirroring Fingon’s posture. “I cannot imagine what it’s like to be living with my grandfather and somewhere between two and four of my uncles. I’m surprised you haven’t called off the wedding altogether.”

“He came here for the wedding.” Fingon’s leg began to bounce.

“Who, Fëanor?” Celebrimbor asked. Fingon nodded. “What? Are you saying he returned from the dead because he heard Maedhros was getting married?”

“Married to me, yes! He humbled himself, swore to make amends, and agreed to hold the Oath fulfilled, all to see his eldest son’s marriage.” Now Fingon’s index finger had joined in and tapped furiously on the desk.

“He is aware that this is entirely ceremonial, and you both bonded while the Trees still stood, right?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I actually don’t know, but you have skirted the question long enough! Really, how are you doing?”

Celebrimbor huffed, his attempts at distraction thwarted. “I don’t know.”

Fingon leaned his chin on his hand and smiled encouragingly.

Celebrimbor tried his most dissuading glare — Fingon’s smile was unrelenting. “I truly don’t know. I think I am beyond feeling. Can’t I be finished?” 

Fingon’s smile faded. “I never found my heart so obedient to my will, but if you can be finished with any emotional attachment, I’ll be glad of it and say no more.”

Celebrimbor fisted a hand in his hair as Fingon’s words struck home. “Have I not mourned enough times for him? Even when I realized I had been lied to for centuries, and that to the man I loved I was some sort of experiment, a variable he could manipulate that would prove him better than his master, I was still devastated and grieving when he left at my behest! And even when he hurt me so badly my body still remembers the pain sometimes after its remaking, I mourned for him again when I realized he had killed the best pieces of himself long before he came for me. And then, when I was reborn, still I grieved to hear how far he had fallen. I thought at last all my mourning for him was spent, but no, because when the news reached us that he was utterly destroyed, all I could feel was loss.

“So, tell me, how am I supposed to feel when one who has caused me so much grief shows up beyond anyone’s understanding, smiling and sunny and professing to want my friendship yet again?” Abruptly, Celebrimbor snapped his mouth shut, cutting off the last angry word, and slumped against the wall.

“You don’t have to see him at all if you don’t want to.” Fingon smiled, but his eyes were worried. “No one would blame you. Stay here, or go to Tirion; you know Turgon and Elenwë would always be happy to have you. Hey, everyone’s about to head here for the wedding, I’m sure Uncle Finarfin would be happy to make you High King of the Noldor for a few weeks.”

Celebrimbor shot Fingon an incredulous look. “I would rather be flayed alive again.”

Fingon deflected his response with a raised hand. “I thought you should know it’s an option.”

Celebrimbor shook his head, returning to the problem at hand. “But yes, Írissë was very clear that I am welcome here. Yet  if I go elsewhere, all I will be able to think about is what he is doing. I think I’ll have more peace staying where I am.”

“That’s also understandable. Between you and me, I don’t imagine Áremar will be a haven of rest in the coming weeks. Both of your parents have installed themselves here ever since Sauron appeared, and they are up to something.”

“Oh no. Are they actually crafting together again?” He had not thought much of his parents’ absence until this point, but now it began to worry him.

“Yes, whenever they can wrest the smithy from Fëanor and Lómion.”

“You could ask Fëanor to build another smithy. It would distract him for less than a week, but that might work out better than whatever decorative work you’ve set him at.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

Celebrimbor gnawed at his lip. “I’ve decided I don’t want to know what my parents are making; sometimes it is better to be ignorant.” Curufin and Ornéliel were rarely in accord, they were both too opinionated and volatile to work together for long. 

“If I can do anything, please tell me. You were such a help when Maedhros returned, if I could but provide a part of that comfort, I would.” Fingon spoke earnestly. 

“I will.” Celebrimbor was casting about for a topic of conversation other than himself when voices began pouring in from the hall outside the study.

“Now, at least I can try to distract you tonight. There hasn’t been a dull moment in days.” Fingon’s nervous tapping started up again.

“I’m not surprised.” Celebrimbor pushed himself off the wall. “Let’s see what the fuss is about.”

~

Galadriel walked back to Ondomar that afternoon alone, leaving Celebrimbor to stay the night at Áremar. She had to leave, although the idea of an evening of merriment with Fëanor, his oldest son, said son’s fiancé, Írissë, Lómion, and Celebrimbor had tempted her to stay. Curufin and Celegorm were around somewhere as well — entirely too many Fëanorians upon further reflection. Even if that hadn’t been the case, Galadriel had pressing business back at Ondomar. 

She paced around the basement room a bit after she had prepared the basin, trying to rid the space of any strange energies while she quieted her own mind. Earlier that day she had forgiven someone whose actions at one time she had thought unforgivable. She did not think she would have a sudden change of heart with this particular monster.

By the time Sauron entered the room, Galadriel had stilled herself. She sat in the deep chair on one side of the Mirror, her hands resting lightly on the arms.

“Good afternoon,” Sauron said, as if his presence did not make every afternoon worse. At least he did not try smiling at her.

“Sit,” she ordered. He sat, but his bright eyes remained trained on her, full of curiosity, and irritatingly devoid of any malice she could detect. 

“So, you gazed upon your past yesterday with my brother. You looked into the depths of time, and saw a previous incarnation of yourself, yet you still remember nothing. I will do the same today. Do you consent to open your mind to me?”

“Yes,” Sauron said immediately. Galadriel resisted clawing her hands into the arms of the chair, and looked upon his thoughts, or at least the window he had opened to her. 

She suppressed a shudder at the familiar touch of his mind as years of mental warfare returned to her. His thoughts were the same shape and pattern as before: fast, percusive, and angular in their motion. Yet the sickly brightness had vanished. The spark of light that all minds have still glittered through their connection, but only a degree brighter than the mind of a typical elf. When she had encountered his mind before, there had been a heavy feeling, like a poison-soaked rag; that too was gone. Rather than gaze into the past with him, she had the sudden urge to follow his thought as he mused on the reflection of light and the paths it took, and she had to force herself to refocus on the task at hand.

“It is time. Look into the mirror.”

Sauron leaned forward. For several minutes, only candle light reflected off the surface of the water, but at last the flickering brightness shifted and tall shapes began to solidify. She was not surprised when the corrupted towers of fallen Minas Tirith appeared, but the sight still filled her with loathing. Galadriel’s bile rose as the profaned walls of her brother’s keep came into view. She had traveled to Minas Tirith a few times in happier days, and the towers looked much the same as it did then. The battlements still gleamed, no physical dirt clung to the walls, but she could tell, even through the reflection of a reflection, that it had been bound about with spells meant to compel and enthrall. The denizens were just as abhorrent; they passed slavering beasts, jeering orcs, and the animated corpses of those unlucky enough to come near Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

They plunged deeper into the tower, until a large circular room came into focus. The figures in front of the dull red throne were difficult to see through their own obfuscation and the confusion of viewing them through another’s perception, but Galadriel knew who they must be. The person seated on the throne shone in sharp relief. The bright gold eyes and hair were very familiar, but the face’s design imparted fear rather than trust. Mirror-Sauron smiled, sharp teeth framed by red lips. 

“Glad I am that ye have come, for I much desire tales of the rebel elf lords and their feeble attempts to obstruct Lord Melkor’s will. Come, where have ye been and what have ye seen?”

The flickering shape of her brother responded. “We have been about Lord Melkor’s business, thirty rebel elves we did slay, and cast their bodies in a pit.”

“Thirty elves! Your industry astounds me. Surely ye have news of Nargothrond then, for in that realm ye must have been to encounter a force so strong.”

“Only to the borders,” replied Finrod. “We feared the wrath of King Felagund the fair.” 

Amid her consternation at knowing what must be coming next, Galadriel almost snorted. 

“Oh? Have ye not heard? Felagund is gone; Nargothrond is ruled by Celegorm, son of Fëanor.” Sauron radiated concern and solicitude, but she could feel the searing gaze looking for any chink in the glamours woven about Beren, Finrod, and his faithful men.

“Celegorm? Should it not be Orodreth who rules in Nargothrond?” Galadriel wanted to kick Finrod through the vast distance of time and space.

“Such opinions on the line of succession within a realm ye feared to tread!” Mirror-Sauron tilted his head, his inquiry soft even as Finrod’s party shifted in response to the growing aura of menace. “What is your name? I would know what bold captain I speak with.”

“I am Dungalef, and this is Nereb,” replied Finrod motioning at Beren. “You honor us, but we cannot remain long. Our captain Boldor awaits us.”

“Oh does he?” A quick, viscous smile darted over Sauron’s face. “Your news stale yet again, for Boldor was slain by the cringing outlaw folk of Thingol.” Finrod and his company shifted uncomfortably. 

Sauron’s toying demeanor abruptly dropped, and he seemed to grow larger as the gold of his eyes turned to fire. “Your tale is full of holes, and I seem to be giving more tidings than I am brought. Whom do ye serve, orcs of Bauglir? Repeat your vows to the maker of mightiest work, the king of earthly kings, and the master of the wide earth! You know what you must swear; curse Tilion and Arien, spies of the grasping West. May darkness everlasting end Manwë, Varda, and their simpering brethren.”

Finrod and his faithful stood stock-still, their faces blank. Beren muttered, “We are not servants of Him, let us leave.” Galadriel would have laughed at his boldness if her throat wasn’t tight with tears.

Sauron threw back his head with dark mirth. “Patience! I do not intend for ye to abide here long. But first, a song for your coming.”

Then Sauron stood, arms outstretched, and began to sing in a voice both deep and high, with all the power that Galadriel knew his kind were capable of, every word meant to compel, to pierce, to reveal. The corruption of the song made her mind feel oily and unclean, but its power equaled what Melian had employed on the rare occasions she had seen her weave the enchantments of the Girdle.

In the face of that power, mighty, foolish, beloved Finrod stood, matching every dark spell and evil wizardry with a song of resistance and freedom.

The battle raged with more ferocity than even the bards sang. Sauron betrayed no hint of dismay in the sharp lines of his face, but the way his supreme focus bent entirely on Finrod showed the tax the battle extracted from him. Galadriel’s heart rose as Finrod’s song brought light that had never been seen on those shores into the dark tower; the birds of spring sang with him, and Ulmo’s waves beat under all, as the glitter of his words shored up their masks and pushed back against Sauron.

Then Mirror-Sauron surged forward, eyes blazing, as he caught the note of the sea, and suddenly a song of white ships and sands drenched red poured from his mouth. 

He has no right to even think of our ships. She looked up. You had no right!

Sauron remained bent over the mirror, enthralled with what he saw. 

Finrod did not bear the title of kinslayer, but the betrayal lurked too close to his interests for the song of faithfulness and strength through friendship to stand. The end came quickly after that, Sauron’s song ending in a note of triumph as Finrod first fell to his knees and then collapsed on the ground.

The haze abruptly fell from them, and Finrod, Beren, and their ten companions were revealed to Sauron. 

“Strip them,” Sauron commanded — and the withered forms of his undead servants, who had been waiting on the edge of the room, surged forward and began to tear the armor and then the clothing off their bodies. They meticulously picked through every article, examined every weapon, and left them in neat piles in the throne room. Beren and the others remained frozen throughout, Sauron now able to easily compel them to stillness.

After picking through their gear, chains were brought and fastened to their ankles, wrists, and necks. Sauron stepped forward and drew Finrod to him, tilting his head this way and that, trying to figure out his true identity. Finally, he huffed in annoyance and cast him on the ground.

“They will reveal their full purpose soon enough. Take them to the dungeons, in a cell large enough to hold them all together.” The thralls dragged the bodies away as Beren and his companions woke from their stupor and began to yell. Mirror-Sauron took no notice of them, sitting back on the stone throne, deep in thought.

Galadriel abruptly loosened her power over the Mirror, causing the water to ripple and Sauron to start back, clearly disoriented from being pushed out of the vision so fast. The whole thing had taken less than an hour. Galadriel knew she should try to delve into the depths of Sauron’s past further that afternoon, but she had no desire to see what happened next to her brother and his company, and knew her thoughts were too fixed on that time for anything else to be shown.

She tried to discern Sauron’s mood from his rapidly flickering thoughts, but could detect nothing beyond the whirling activity. 

“So that is how Finrod knew me,” Sauron finally said, his face pensive.

“That and what happens next.” Fury boiled up in her as inquisitive gold eyes stared back. “You killed him. After weeks of torment, you had him torn limb from limb, slain by your foul wolves, after his friends were killed before him one by one, save Beren.”

“And I still remember none of this,” Sauron said, frustration lacing his voice. “That battle was a thing of incredible power; how could I have forgotten it? And how could I command such might? Now I have nothing.”

Galadriel clutched the table, her fingernails carving furrows in the wood. “You threw away your power! You decided a gamble for greater might and control was worth corrupting your very being, and you lost! Any right you had to complain is forfeit. You should not even be here; you should be a cringing speck of malice, endlessly railing against your betters in the Void!”

Sauron barely reacted to her anger, only furrowing his brow with mild concern. “It may be as you say. I still know so little. I am sorry for the distress I am causing everyone. Many days I wish I had remained Miaulë the cat.”

Galadriel sat back and closed her eyes. The heartache of reliving every foul thing that had happened to her and her family overshadowed any benefit to discovering the mystery of what had happened to the fallen Maiar. Discovering the series of events that led Sauron to Ondomar held even less appeal, but here he sat, more innocent-seeming then when he had been Annatar in Ost-in-Edhil. His guilelessness poised like a knife above their heads, the Sauron of old threatening to manifest at any time and destroy them all again.

---

Chapter End Notes

Haru - Qenya, Grandfather (A disreputable early period word, but which elfdict.com also informs me is the fan neologism for the Quenya word. I'm sure whatever fans decided that it could stay without any phonetic shifts were smarter than me, so I'm using it)

Poetry and Logic

Read Poetry and Logic

Unlike the past two times, when Miaulë arrived in the cellar room Gandalf was not there first. He gave serious thought to sitting in the larger, more comfortable chair in which Finrod and Galadriel had sat previously, but decided against it for now. He waited, the minutes crawling by. Bitterly, he thought that neither Miaulë the cat, nor Mairon the lieutenant, nor the sorcerer he had seen yesterday would have thought twice about taking the better chair, nor would they bother to wait for anyone else.

Just as the temptation to take the best seat anyway almost overcame him, Gandalf strolled into the room.

“Good morning Mairon. How are you on this fine day?” Gandalf settled himself into the chair — apparently in no hurry to set up the Mirror.

“I am well,” Miaulë replied. In truth, boredom and anxiety gnawed at him. He had done some research yesterday, but he’d read the book he found quickly and found himself with hours left in the day and with nothing else to do. He missed being able to go where he pleased, unnoticed by most, able to be alone when he wished and seek out company at other times. His favorite companion in particular had been taken from him; his mind kept poking at Celebrimbor’s sudden removal from his life like a tongue seeking a missing tooth. Celebrimbor’s absence from the grounds yesterday had been a relief in some ways, but it also made Miaulë aware of just how closely he tracked Celebrimbor’s whereabouts. He didn’t recall being as conscious of his movements before his transformation.

But if Gandalf wished to talk, Miaulë had more than enough questions for him.

“Why are you using ‘Mairon’? It seems everyone else relishes calling me Sauron,” Miaulë asked.

“Names are powerful things. I liked Mairon a good deal more than Sauron, so it seems to me an altogether better name to use.” Gandalf sat up straighter and reached for the pitcher. “So now, what would you like to see? Yesterday you viewed your famous battle with Finrod; there is more yet to that story, although it is terrible.”

“No need. I found a book with the rest of the tale,” Miaulë said with a wave of his hand. “I begin to understand why Galadriel hates me so, although I would expect more bitterness from Finrod in truth.”

“Finrod battled, and suffered, and died in rather quick succession. Galadriel fought you for ages upon ages,” Gandalf said.

“I suppose that is reason enough,” Miaulë mused. “Anyway, we need not revisit it; I read the whole story, such as it was, and I still remember nothing. It is rather strange though, that I should have been destroyed even temporarily by a dog after I withstood Finrod using his full might,” Miaulë mused.

Gandalf hummed. “I think you are not accounting for Lúthien’s spell, which allowed Huan to pounce. I also think the whole tale shows your tendency to underestimate your opponent. I found that whole bit very instructional in later years.” He glanced quickly up, his eyes going from thoughtful to piercing in an instant. “So! What would you see? There is torment after torment we may view, the wanton twisting of all things good to evil purpose, and blood and misery enough to keep us busy for an age.”

Perhaps here I should also not underestimate my enemy, Miaulë thought, and then wondered that he so quickly fell into their trap of opposition. He had no quarrel with Gandalf, and he would not be goaded into one. 

“Maybe if we again saw more of who I was working with, that would spark some memory.” Miaulë had no real designs, but curiosity about Melkor drew him to the suggestion. “Who was this Bauglir I served? He must have been great indeed to withstand the opposition of all for so long.”

“Great, yes, the greatest of the Valar at first!” Gandalf began to pour water into the basin. He snapped his fingers, and several candles that had been unlit flamed to life as other lights in the corner of the room were snuffed out. A sphere of candlelight now centered on the Maiar. “Let us see what may be seen. Open your mind and look into the Mirror.”

Gandalf’s silvery-grey presence entered his mind like a cool mist. Miaulë gazed down at the Mirror. The dark surface began to gain texture, and then the red glow of torches filled the bowl. The colors mixed in a way that was strange for a firelit cavern — occasionally a beam of clear shimmering light glanced across the surface. The scene suddenly swam into focus.

Mirror-Miaulë, Sauron, Mairon, stood tall in a form similar to what he had seen yesterday during the battle with Finrod. He didn’t smile, but the alien, golden flame of his eyes held something like joy. Gone were the black robes, and instead he wore armor of what appeared to be some black metal inlaid with gold. 

“And how could I praise our forces without lauding the designs of my most loyal lieutenant.” A roar sprang up and the Mirror shifted to show Miaulë the speaker, a familiar towering figure whose skin appeared more like stone than flesh, whose black hair held glimmers of iridescent light, and on whose brow was bound three flaming white gems.

Miaulë gasped aloud at the sight of the Silmarils; within his mind Gandalf shared his awe. 

“Without his invention, without his schemes, we would still be trapped within Angband while the usurpers flitted about the land fencing us out and stealing what should be rightfully mine!” At the thought of Noldor, Morgoth’s face contorted in rage and his eyes gleamed with a cold light. 

Quickly his features smoothed out. “But no more! We have broken their leaguer, their corpses lie charred and broken on the earth; our mines are filled again with slaves, and there is sport for all who crave it!” 

Miaulë suddenly noticed that along the sides of the room were the bodies of elves. He looked closer. Some were just heads, severed from their bodies, gore dripping from their necks. Others still moved, their broken bodies feebly twitching as their still-attached heads tossed in agony. Their mouths were filled with cruel devices; apparently screams of torment were not musical to the forces of Angband at the moment. 

“But this is only the first step. Tonight, we celebrate! Tomorrow, ride out into the lands. Go where ye wish, take what ye wish, spread the terror of my name through Beleriand. Let not the weakened elf who calls himself King forget the might of Melkor ever again!”

The captains roared again. The host was a motley crew. Maiulë saw several tall flaming figures, others with grotesque and twisted faces like those long dead, others still with animal features, and some who wore their beauty like armor, sharp and glittering in the torchlight. 

The celebration started in earnest. There was feasting and further toasts. Even in Angband, music of a kind rang through the cavernous hall in celebration, as denizens danced after their fashion. Captives were brought up for sport and forced to fight one another or race, goaded by whips, as wagers were made and Morgoth’s captains laughed uproariously. 

Mairon stayed seated at Morgoth’s right hand, with a strange, small smile on his lips and his eyes fixed on a distant point. 

Morgoth leaned towards him. “Come now, wilt thou join in the revelry? Tonight of all nights celebration is deserved.”

“My lord gives me too much credit; I helped with the plan, yes, but it could not have been done without a great outpouring of power from you.” Despite the innocuous complement, Mairon’s smile sharpened.

Morgoth drew back a little, a dangerous glint in his eye. “It was but a small effort on my part.”

Mairon shifted towards Morgoth so that he fully faced the Vala, turning his back to  the feast. “A small thing? So small that you avoided doing so for hundreds of years while we remained trapped in your lovely halls?”

“Watch thyself, lieutenant.” Morgoth’s voice turned threatening, although his face remained calm for the benefit of the room. “The appointed hour was not at hand and I would not waste my resources needlessly. Is not that what thy counsel always is, in unceasing repetition?”

Mairon appeared unperturbed by Morgoth’s displeasure. “And you always heed my counsel well! As with this display.” His eyes darted back towards the party where a one-eyed bipedal creature unravelled the guts of a screaming captive.

“They are all restless, and some enjoy sport rather than tallying numbers.” Morgoth’s arm darted out; he pulled Mairon next to him so that he stood by his chair facing outwards, forced to hide his displeasure again. “I allow much impertinence from thy lips, Mairon, for thy service has been great, but do not forget thyself. Beleriand is open to us again, and it will be good to establish a fortress amid the insolent Firstborn again. The sooner thou leavest and begin to work my will across the land again, the better.”

“But of course, my lord,” Mairon said smoothly. “I dream of nothing else.”

Morgoth shoved him away. “Now go, rejoice with the other captains.”

Mairon bowed and walked towards the viscous festivity. He did not join in the revelry and instead stood to the side, mostly talking with a red-eyed woman with large twitching ears, his hand fisted in the fur of a large wolf-thing that had slunk out of the shadows.

No conversation eclipsed the one the evening started with. Mairon occasionally spoke with other captains. Excited talk about the days ahead sprang from everyone’s lips mixed with bluster over their recent victories.  Yet Miaulë could see the disinterest in his other self’s movements — he itched for when he could leave without offense. 

When Mairon finally left and began what appeared to be a series of checks of various mechanisms around Angband, Gandalf gently prompted him to look up. Miaulë blinked several times to readjust his eyes to the dim basement room.

“Well?” said Gandalf, leaning forwards in his seat.

Miaulë turned each thought over, trying to see if new memories were there. “I remember nothing new.”

“It didn’t seem so, but I thought I would ask.” Gandalf sighed. “I can’t help but wonder if this is worth all the unpleasantness.”

“What unpleasantness?” Miaulë felt fine; during each session with the mirror his expectations lowered and his disappointment lessened as no new memories appeared.

Gandalf’s eyebrows shot up. “The torture? The disemboweling? The wanton cruelty? The rape? I was speaking of that unpleasantness.”

“Oh yes, very unpleasant.” A vague sense of unease crept over him — the right words eluded him.

“Did it not bother you?” Miaulë could sense watchfulness lurking underneath Gandalf’s mild tone.

“Not really,” Miaulë said carefully. “I don’t think decorating with corpses is a wise move, but it was good to see that I at least improved on Morgoth’s methods. For what I saw with Finrod was after what we saw today, if I am not mistaken.”

“Ah yes, of course. You did not strew bodies around for effect; everything has its place in your realm. Even the dead do not rest and are instead put to work with necromancy!”

Miaulë sensed they were entering dangerous waters. “Of course, that was certainly bad.” He cast about for a reason to give that showed he understood the evils of his past self. “Because the bodies were clearly decaying, which would be most foul,” he guessed.

Gandalf stared at him bleakly. “It is bad because you desecrated the hröar of the Children of Ilúvatar after you murdered them, forcing their unwilling limbs to do your bidding.”

“Yes, of course, that is a terrible thing,” Miaulë nodded, eager to put the conversation to rest. He did not think further comparisons of his and Morgoth’s methods would yield a fruitful discussion.

“Did you understand all that you saw?” Gandalf asked.

“I think so.” Miaulë spoke slowly as he thought over all he had seen. “Except what did I mean by saying that we had won due to a great outpouring of power? It seemed obvious, but the way I said it made it sound like I meant something more.”

Gandalf sat back, felt in his pocket for his pipe, and then seemed to decide against it. “I believe you were talking about the process by which Morgoth built up an army filled with beasts and machines powerful enough to do his will. I believe he did it by imbuing the world with his power, and therefore lessening his own innate power. A rather funny thing for you to criticize!”

“What do you mean by that?” Miaulë asked.

“I mean you went down a similar path to increase your own power — one that was  even more foolish if you ask me.” Gandalf planted his feet on the ground.. “But that is a tale for another day.” He stood. “I hope you’re paying attention, Mairon. The more we talk, the more anxious I become for an answer to all this.”

 

 

~

“Does logic ever become more interesting?”

Coroniel shot Merillë a mystified look. “Logic is incredibly interesting. It's the means by which every answer in the world is derived.”

Merillë frowned. “I don’t find that to be true. Have you ever read a really beautiful poem? There is no logic there. Sometimes the words fulfil a regular meter, but that is not always the case. They’re placed together through instinct and emotion, and somehow they become something true.”

Coroniel raised her eyebrows, skepticism evident. “If you say so.” She suddenly stiffened.

Merillë noticed Sauron following them towards the library. Her heart rate increased, not from fear, but from excitement. Her whole life she had been fascinated by stories from Middle-earth, and now one of its chief villains was here. She knew he had murdered her father and many other family members; she also knew he had destroyed everything her friend and tutor Coroniel had loved in Middle-earth, yet she found Sauron fascinating nonetheless. 

“Hello Lady Merillë, Lady Coroniel,” Sauron said with a tentative smile. 

“Hello, um, hello,” Merillë replied awkwardly, realizing that she did not know what to call the being in front of her. Her father had called him Gorthaur, as he paced back and forth going on about the ethics of dealing with evil, amnesia, and the reality of being bound to Arda. Aunt Galadriel called him Sauron, with a hissing anger that made the word sound like poison in her mouth. Coroniel avoided the topic altogether, only once starting to say another name before spitting out ‘Him’ with sudden fury. 

But Finrod, Galadriel, and Coroniel’s experiences were just stories, circling around the beautiful figure in front of her, not quite able to land. She found herself wondering why she found his perfectly symmetrical face so appealing — surely something so flawless should look unnatural? She couldn’t help notice the way he lit up when she had greeted him; surely nothing completely evil could smile with such warmth. 

Amid her musings, Merillë could practically feel Coroniel’s glare from behind her.

“You can call me Miaulë, you know; that is my name.” Sauron looked at her sidelong, guessing her plight.

“You do realize why we’re having difficulty calling you that, right?” said Merillë, falling into step beside him. Coroniel walked stiffly some paces ahead. “It’s a cat’s name, and you are very clearly not a cat. It would be like calling Tyelkormo Mister Whiskers or something similar.”

“No, you’re right, I am not a very good Miaulë, but I see no other option. It seems that all my other names are either very unpleasant or too pleasant, and I dislike the former and many seem to have great trouble with the later.”

They entered the library. Merillë turned to Sauron. “What were you looking for today?”

“I think I’d like to read about astronomy,” he replied.

Coroniel spun, fury on her face. “Absolutely not.” She jabbed a finger towards him. “I know what you’re doing.”

Sauron took a step back, his brow creased with concern. “I just want to help Celebrimbor with his project.”

His openness seemed to infuriate Coroniel further. “Exactly, and you are not doing that again! You, sit there, and I will find you what you should be reading.” Sauron obediently sat at the table she had pointed to as Coroniel seized Merillë’s elbow and dragged her into the stacks with surprising strength.

Surrounded by books and out of Sauron’s sight, Coroniel finally released Merillë. “You are young, and you have only known Valinor, and you may see my actions as unreasonable —”

“No, no, I understand. Many people would say you are acting quite reasonably,” Merillë reassured Coroniel, feeling guilty for the position she had put her in. “I just —” She tried to find the right words. “I just feel I must talk with him. He is so fascinating, and if I did the sensible thing and avoided him, I know I would regret it forever.”

Coroniel rubbed her hands over her face. “I know, and believe me I understand, but that is what makes me so worried. It feels like the same thing that happened in Eregion playing out again.”

“But this time, we are under no illusions as to what we’re dealing with,” Merillë pointed out.

“Aren’t we?” Coroniel asked sharply. “It seems we have needed to make some assumptions on the level of threat he possesses, and whether his memory loss is real or feigned.”

“My father seems to think helping him is a worthwhile endeavor.” Merillë bit her lip. She did not think Finrod was always right, but she did think he should be accounted among the experts they had on hand in dealing with dark lords.

“You should make sure your father is truly comfortable with this arrangement,” Coroniel said with a grimace. “No matter what he says, or how he acts, it would be good if you checked in on him.”

“I — I will.” Merillë knew well at this point that her father could be wrong; she had seen him be wrong about many things over the years. But the realization that her father might be hiding something from her struck her hard. In public, as the son of High King Arafinwë, Finrod was politic and discreet, serving as a go-between for his father and the many factions of Noldor, many whom had previously rebelled, some of whom had been born in Middle-earth, and all less than happy with any reasoning that could be reduced to “because the Valar said so.” But at home, Finrod’s courtly face vanished and he spoke openly of his fears and suspicions, plying his wife and daughters for advice. She had never worried for her father before — now the seed of concern was planted. 

“So, what books are you going to actually get him?”

“What?” Coroniel looked mystified.

“You said you would find what he should read instead.”

Coroniel looked over her shoulder as if Sauron might appear behind her. Merillë looked too. They were alone.

“I was just going to leave him.”

“What? But you said —”

“Fine, fine! I will find some books.” Coroniel looked around. “We are in the medical section. That would be a bad idea.”

They moved to history, finding the section for the Second Age. Coroniel tugged a hefty book out. 

“Here we are! Galasson has one of the best histories out there as far Eregion is concerned. He didn’t live there the whole time, but he truly understood how advanced and cosmopolitan we were. He really spends a lot of time describing all the different groups that we managed to make work together in Ost-in-Edhil, and he really does the description of the city justice. And the way he writes the fall is just so spare — no moralizing, no gratuitous carnage, but the tragedy really hits.”

Coroniel handed Merillë the book as she grabbed a second tome from the shelves. “Now Raithril’s, on the other hand, is entirely designed to shock sensible Valarin audiences. I find it rather exploitative personally, but it does not shy away from placing the blame for all the carnage during the war on Sauron personally. It also goes into explicit detail into all the torture Celebrimbor endured. Although Raithril couldn’t have actually known what happened, I have been assured the details are surprisingly accurate, even if the dialogue is completely false.”

Merillë frowned. “Did Celebrimbor actually read this?” Her father avoided retellings of his own death — she could not imagine her more reserved cousin was any different.

“Someone actually cornered him once and asked if it was true.  Then when he said he had not read it, instead of taking the hint and going away, he pulled out the book and had Celebrimbor read the relevant portions aloud.” 

“I would say I’m surprised, but from what my mother told me of how people behaved when Adar was first reborn, I’m actually not.”

“Some people,” Coroniel muttered as she continued to look for titles. “A First Age history would not be bad either. Here’s Pengolodh’s.” She pulled the book out and placed it on the stack Merillë clutched. “Many folk here complain about his treatment of the Fëanorian faction, but as someone who has also survived being stabbed by an invading Fëanorian, I think on the whole he is rather fair.”

“Don’t you think we should pick something other than history books?”

“Like what?”

“Well, he said he wanted to learn about astronomy —”

“That is only because he is trying to worm his way into Celebrimbor’s good graces again, and I am not helping with that!”

Merillë’s arms were beginning to tire. She ploughed on anyway. “Is it true what they say about their relationship?”

“They say a whole lot of shit,” Coroniel snapped. Merillë almost apologized, feeling like one of those awful voyeurs Coroniel had just complained about, when she continued. “But no, they were incredibly close. And I, fool that I am, thought it was a good thing that Brim finally had someone who could match him in intelligence and passion and vision. It was always a very intense friendship, and one that I suspected was something more for a long while, although I did not find out for certain until Brim was reembodied. They both seemed to want to keep their relationship a secret.”

“Mm. I was just thinking that maybe he could use something to focus on other than whatever it is he is doing with my father.”

“Are you worried that Sauron is lonely?” Coroniel’s face showed just how ridiculous that concern would be.

“Yes, and maybe bored too.” Merillë shuffled the books, trying to relieve a cramp developing in her arm. “Maybe I could lend him my copy of Analytics. You did say logic is the basis of all reasoning. It might help him find some answers.”

“If you say so. It wouldn’t do any harm.” Coroniel sighed. “I’m going to find us a table on the other side of the library. Meet me over there after you drop off the books.”

Merillë nodded and went to grab one more volume. She doubted Coroniel would actually get to the logic lessons today. Sauron’s presence seemed to agitate her too much for her to focus on teaching. With any luck, though, Merillë would hear some more stories about Ost-in-Edhil and Middle-earth in general, which in truth she looked forward to just as much as the lessons. 

She found the book she searched for and headed back over to Sauron. He sat where they had left him, writing something on one of the erasable boards the library had available. As she drew closer, she saw that he was sketching rather than writing — an intricate pattern of interlocking shapes bloomed from one corner of the board. He looked up as she approached.

“Oh, I thought you’d left.”

“No, Cori just wanted to make sure we picked out the right books.” She dropped them on the table with a thump. She fished Analytics out of her bag and set it on top of the slim volume of poetry she had grabbed after Coroniel left. They blinked at each other. 

Sauron picked up the top book and ran a finger along its spine. “Analytics?” Before Merillë had a chance to explain, he picked up the book of poems. “The Collected Works of Tindawë? It’s so short; it will only take me an hour to read.”

“An hour? That’s fast.” Merillë shook her head slightly, willing herself away from what would turn into endless inquiries about Sauron. “It’s poetry — you should not read it like you would a book of information.”

“There are different ways to read?”

“Yes, many. And with poetry, especially Noldorin poetry like this, you should read it aloud — Tindawë is always thinking about how the words sound and even how they feel in your mouth as you say them. You should also read each poem several times, preferably non consequitively. Let it live in your mind.”

“And then what happens?”

“You might begin to understand something you previously were unable to know.”

Sauron opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it. “Thank you,” he said absently; he looked deep in thought.

“Well, enjoy!” Merillë hurried off, refusing to indulge her curiosity any further.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks again to Visitor (LonelyVisitor on SWG) for Beta-ing this chapter! His edits, encouragement, and ideas made this chapter much better than it was before!

Adar - Sindarin, Father

The Night We Met

Read The Night We Met

The days fell into a pattern eventually. Every morning Miaulë would wake, eat breakfast, frequently with Sam, and then go to the cellar room and look into the Mirror with Finrod, Galadriel, or Gandalf. Afterwards he would go to the library. Sometimes Merillë would talk to him; most days she would not, but he would still select a few books and read in the afternoon. 

The time passed in a strange mixture of dullness and tension. His past life was interesting, if frequently violent and disturbing, but he was growing to dread the expectant silence afterwards when he had to admit he still remembered nothing. The books he read usually led to some insight, yet he could do nothing with his newfound knowledge, and the disconnected story of a being named Sauron rattled around his head with no purchase on any real feeling or insight. Over and over again he found himself reading the volume of poetry Merillë had slipped into the books she’d left him. These words at least seemed to grip him in a new way every time he read them, connecting to something deeper.

One day, he finally decided he should try to return her book to her. He found her in the library and waved her over.

“Here, I think this is your book.” Miaulë held the volume out to her.

“Are you finished? There is no rush in returning it.” Merillë’s eyes darted around for a moment. Once she seemed confident that no observers lurked, she sat down at the table. 

“Ah, well, I’ve read it several times, but it seems like it means something more every time I read it.”

Merillë smiled. “It is like that for me as well. You know, if you like poetry there are many more books of it here. I could show you where they are,” she offered. 

At his nod, she guided him through the shelves and pointed out a few more favorites before vanishing to continue her studies elsewhere.

If he was always glad to see Merillë, his feelings were confused when Celebrimbor appeared. No, that wasn’t quite right. He knew he wanted to see Celebrimbor, but clearly Celebrimbor did not want to see him. Every encounter left Miaulë with a sinking feeling that remained for the rest of the day. It did not help that he seemed to have developed an additional sense specifically designed to detect Celebrimbor. Frequently, he would see the heel of his boot leaving the room or the top of his head as he passed by a window. Then he would have to decide whether or not to try to be at the same place at the same time the next day for the chance to see Celebrimbor again for a moment. Despite knowing how he would feel afterwards, Miaulë almost always caved, making sure to be in the same hallway at the same time as before. 

For all his efforts, he was occasionally rewarded by a strange cold look from Celebrimbor as they silently passed each other.

If half of what he had read in the books Coroniel had picked out were true, Miaulë  could not blame him. He had apparently gone to Celebrimbor’s city, spent many years befriending and teaching him and the other Gwaith-i-Mírdain, created many wonders with them including magic rings (both books agreed these were important but left out exactly how they were magical), left for some reason that all sources he read left unclear, and betrayed the Mírdain by creating a ring that was somehow designed to control all else they had made together. This by itself would explain why Celebrimbor did not want to talk to him; all of his work was very personal to him, and any attempt to undermine it would be seen as an affront. But his past self had gone even farther in his enmity — he had returned with an army, destroyed Celebrimbor’s city, killed him, and then proceeded to try to wipe out his remaining friends. Miaulë was beginning to fear the damage was irreparable. 

His thoughts were wearing this same tiresome path when he sat down with Galadriel one morning about a week into their experiment.

“I think we should try something different,” he suggested.

Galadriel veiled the simmering anger she held against him most of the time, but her tone still bit. “Do you?”

“Yes. It seems these early years will not stoke my memories, and if you’ve seen me executing a slave once, I really don’t think the fifth time adds much.” It seemed every time he looked in the Mirror he was doing something awful, even if at first Miaulë did not realize it himself. He had on a previous occasion thought they had finally happened on something of a neutral scene, but Finrod had explained that the large lizard-like thing would go on to slay countless Elves and Men and be implicated in the destruction of several cities. They also eventually realized that the meat Sauron prepared and fed to the dragon was human in source. Miaulë by this point knew better than to point out that the victims were already dead by other means — being fed to a dragon was one of the least objectionable uses for a corpse in his opinion, but Finrod had been clear on previous occasions that the only acceptable course after death was an honorable burial.

“What, in your enlightened opinion, should we be searching for?” Galadriel asked.

“I think we should look for a time when we actually knew each other.”

“Is that what you wish to see? Very well!” Galadriel began to fill the basin. A jolt of apprehension ran through him; he had not expected Galadriel to acquiesce so quickly, and he suddenly suspected that they were in for more unpleasantness.

As the water stilled, daylight seemed to fill the bowl at first, before solidifying into sunbeams streaming through tall arched windows and gleaming off of the richly carved wooden doors. Someone stood in front of the doors, and Miaulë realized the figure looked exactly like himself, although his dress and carriage were completely different. His mirror-self wore elegant white robes — plain at first glance, but revealing layers of rich embroidery and fine cloth on the second. His face also looked a little strange; his expression was oddly stiff, and a pleasant smile was set upon it like a mask. Opposite him stood a thin elf nervously wringing his hands.

“My Lord Annatar, I am dreadfully sorry, but the council meeting has already begun.”

“Worry not.” Annatar waved his hand and smiled beatifically at the clerk. “I can wait here for the council to adjourn.”

“But it is several hours long. And, and, you are an emissary of the Valar! I do not think that would be proper.” The clerk’s face shifted from anxiety to relief. “Master Celebrimbor, perhaps you can advise?”

The focus changed, and Miaulë noticed the man who had hurried up was Celebrimbor. At first glance, he did not look like the Celebrimbor Miaulë knew, who only ever wore his hair in a single braid or down, typically dressed in black, and never wore more than one piece of jewelry at a time. This Celebrimbor had intricately braided hair entwined with jewels and delicate ornaments. Further adornment of necklaces, rings, and earrings sparkled in the morning light, and his clothes were richly colored and well tailored. 

“I’m dreadfully late, Thrandirion.” Celebrimbor turned towards them anyway. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed Annatar for the first time.

“Lord Celebrimbor.” Annatar bowed slightly. “I am Annatar Aulendil.”

“He was sent by the Valar,” the clerk interjected.

“Yes, I know who you are.” Celebrimbor looked at him for a long moment, his previously hurried movement completely stilled. A smile broke across his face. “Welcome to Ost-in-Edhil. You may as well come in with me; perhaps my tardiness will be forgiven if I bring such an auspicious guest.” He pushed one of the doors open and beckoned Annatar to slip inside after him.

In the center of the room, twelve seats were set around a circular table. All were filled except for one — the second from the end on the left. A familiar face sat next to the empty seat — Coroniel looked torn between amusement and annoyance as she clearly mouthed “Glad you could make it,” to Celebrimbor. She also looked quite different from how Miaulë saw her most days. Her hair, usually covered by a scarf, rose uncovered in a braided crown bound with silver wire. She also wore an ornately embroidered robe in a similar fashion to Celebrimbor’s.

Celebrimbor appeared to be about to say something to him when a voice rang out. “Master Celebrimbor, so good of you to join us, and right when you are needed.” Galadriel, seated at the center of the table next to a silver-haired man, was dressed more simply than Celebrimbor and Coroniel, but she drew the eye nonetheless. Her golden hair flowed loose underneath a circlet of white stones, and she wore no other jewelry. Her gown was simply cut, but appeared to be of shimmering gold. 

There were two elves in the center of the room, bringing their business to the council. Their faces lit up when they noticed Celebrimbor. He shot Annatar an apologetic look and started towards the empty seat.

“Lady Galadriel, my apologies. I lost track of time.”

Galadriel pressed her lips together before speaking. “These two men from just outside the city limits arrived here with a leasing proposal. Unfortunately, we have come to realize that said  proposal is not for the city of Ost-in-Edhil, but for the Gwaith-i-Mírdain specifically. Apparently you have been searching for temporary storage outside of the city.”

“Ah yes!” Celebrimbor settled into his chair. “What rate were you looking for?”

“I am glad you’ve arrived; you can take down their names and conduct your business together at a later time,” Galadriel spoke over him. “As we are now conducting city business. The Gwaith-i-Mírdain manage their affairs separately, as you have noted several times in the past.”

Celebrimbor gave Galadriel a look before smiling at the two landlords. “Yes, of course. Please set up some time with our secretary.” He nodded at a man seated along the side of the room, quill poised for note taking. “We will be glad to hear your offer.” The men bowed and hurried over to the secretary. 

Annatar remained at the center of the room where Celebrimbor had left him, face impassive. “Next item,” Galadriel started. Celebrimbor looked up from where he and Coroniel had been discussing something in low voices.

“Wait, I have an introduction to make,” Celebrimbor cut in.

“We have a full agenda,” the silver-haired man said.

“This is important.” Celebrimbor nodded at Annatar.

“Greetings my lady, my lord,” Annatar said. His voice was not loud, but it had a resonant quality that drew everyone’s attention. “I am Annatar Aulendil, an emissary of the Valar to the people of Middle-earth. I have come to lend what aid I may to the Eldar who remain in the Hither Lands.”

The silence echoed for a moment. Then a woman wearing a dark blue gown studded with silver stars stood with authority from a position near the center of the half circle.

“Lady Galadriel, this Annatar is known to us in Lindon. The council of High King Gil-galad is that we reject his offer.”

She appeared about to say something further when multiple council members, from various spots around the table, turned and shot her a quelling look.

“We know,” said the silver lord; his flat tone spoke more for his opinion on Gil-galad’s council than his words did. 

Galadriel almost smiled. “Thank you Lady Echadril, but indeed, the High King’s opinion on this emissary is already known. What the High King thinks, however, does not dictate what Eregion does.” She faced Annatar. “Lord Annatar. Your coming is unanticipated. Many of us spoke to emissaries of the Valar at the end of the last age, and it was made quite clear to us that we could choose to dwell in bliss with them in Aman or forge our own path in Middle-earth unaided. You see why your arrival is…complex for us.”

Annatar nodded, acknowledging her point. “My lady, that was indeed the choice that was given to you over a millennia ago, but as you may know, the Valar do not all think with one mind, and they hold debate and council not unlike you do here. There are some who recall what was shown to us in the first strains of Music, before time began. Middle-earth is for the Children, and it is for the Valar and their servants to aid them. Some of us have noticed your own attempts to make these lands fair, to diffuse the desolation and darkness. For why should you not love Middle-earth? It was given to you to rule as you might. I was sent here to lend what aid I may to that task.” 

As he spoke, Galadriel had remained impassive, her only movement an almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes. Next to her, the silver-haired lord looked skeptical. Other faces around the table shared the skepticism, but some did not — more than one council member displayed curiosity and eagerness. Celebrimbor’s expression did not change as Annatar spoke, but he leaned forward in his chair, and his eyes burned with an intensity that made the hairs on Miaulë’s arms stand up.

Galadriel tilted her head to the side. “Aulendil? A Maia of Aulë? You know, I studied with Aulë in my youth. I learned much from him and his Maiar. Yet, I do not remember you.”

Annatar smiled. “You may not remember me, but I remember hearing of you. In those days, I was not among those who wore forms like the Children, preferring rather to explore the depths of the earth and harvest the gems made there. It is a great regret of mine that I missed the golden years of Valinor when all the Eldar still lived in bliss.”

“Not all.” The silver-haired lord frowned.

“You are quite right, Lord Celeborn, not all.” Annatar’s voice rose, Celeborn’s reminder seeming to set off some fire within him. “Some have always remained in Middle-earth, devoting themselves to its betterment. It seems unjust to me that those who remained should lack knowledge that was freely given to those who dwelled in Aman.” The woman to the left of Celeborn stirred at this, but Celeborn did not appear swayed.

Galadriel smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Your offers are noted, Lord Annatar, but at this time Ost-in-Edhil has no need of your gifts. We have knowledge of all the kindreds gathered here, and have brought greatness to Eregion without any divine assistance. You may stay in the city for a time, but afterwards —”

“My lady.” The only dwarf on the council cut in from her place next to Celebrimbor. “This seems like a matter which should be discussed. I do not think we all are of like mind here. The Gwaith-i-Mírdain did not become the greatest masters of lore and craft by turning folk away.”

Galadriel gave the dwarf a long look before glancing at Celebrimbor. “Very well, Lady Thaid, you may open the floor to debate.”

Thaid smoothed down her blue beard as she stood. “Lord Annatar, I find your proposition intriguing — the Gwaith-i-Mírdain are slow to reject offers of teaching. I must ask though: why were you sent to the elves? For although I and others not of elvenkind make our home here, still, Ost-in-Edhil remains largely an apt descriptor. For many ages, my brethren in Khazad-dûm strove with a similar aim to build up a better world for us and our descendants, yet we have never received offers of aid from the Valar.”

Annatar spread his hands and stepped towards the dwarf. “In truth, Lady Thaid, I was not sent to any one people or nation in particular. It was given to my discretion to find those who most enriched Middle-earth, whatever their race may be.”

“I am sorry Lord Annatar, but I still mistrust your offer.” The woman who spoke was one of the plainest dressed at the table. “Long have I worked the land in what is now known as Eregion, and never before has one of the Holy Ones deigned to come and assist me. Why now? And as I think I share the opinion of Lady Galadriel and her folk, as well as Lady Echadril, I think we may put this matter to rest, as we have half with Galadriel serving as a tiebreaker. We have much else to discuss.”

“I will vouch for him.” Celebrimbor spoke for the first time since he had sat down, his eyes still fixed on Annatar.

“Master Celebrimbor, you are outvoted —”

“Redhor Malendis.” This speaker dressed all in green and wore an elaborate necklace made of wood and bone. “If Master Celebrimbor has vouched for him, Lord Annatar is welcome in this city. We pledged long ago that the days of mistrust and barriers of magic and stone were behind us. If one of the council bids him welcome, he is welcome. This law is very important to me and my people.”

Galadriel seemed to freeze for a moment as her eyes focused on something unseen. After a moment, she blinked and looked around, her face suddenly sad. “Tyelperinquar, are you sure?” The commanding leader of the council had vanished; her voice was barely audible as if she and Celebrimbor were the only two people in the room.

Celebrimbor met her gaze. “Yes.”

“Very well. Lord Annatar, Celebrimbor is willing to vouch for you, and so by our laws you are granted access to Ost-in-Edhil. You may stay as long as he permits. Welcome to the city.” Despite her words, a line appeared between her brows. Annatar bowed slightly, and moved to the side of the room as the rest of the meeting proceeded. 

The council members continued with  the business of granting licenses, listening to complaints, approving and denying proposals, and discussing city improvements. Miaulë found the details of city life fascinating, as were the reactions of Galadriel, Coroniel, and especially Celebrimbor as they occupied roles he hadn’t imagined them in before. 

Eventually though, the meeting began to drag, and Miaulë almost asked Galadriel when they would stop for the day when Mirror-Galadriel called the council to a close. 

Celebrimbor, Coroniel, Thaid, and one other elf hurried over to Annatar. 

“Lord Annatar, I am sorry you had to sit through that whole meeting,” Celebrimbor said. “Also, many more apologies: I must leave you in haste — I am already late to my next appointment. I very much look forward to speaking with you soon.” With a smile, he hurried off. 

Thaid looked after him. “How is he late already? The council ended on time for once.”

“Because he stacks all his meetings up in one day so he only has to get dressed up once. And because he does not make use of our wonderful secretary.” Coroniel shook her head, smiling as she bowed to Annatar. “But welcome, Lord Annatar. I am Coroniel, this is Thaid, and this is Rivaldir. We and a few others lead the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and are glad to have you for however long you choose to stay.”

Annatar nodded at them. “Thank you for your welcome.”

Thaid looked around. “I’m actually going back to Guild quarters. I can lead you there and help you find a steward, as well as someone who can get you time with Celebrimbor.”

“Thank you, my lady. I will follow where you lead.”

The water began to ripple. Miaulë finally looked up, his neck stiff after bending for so long. Galadriel sighed; she had the same sadness in her eyes he had seen in the Mirror. 

“They say our memories are perfect, but I find that claim is greatly exaggerated. I had thought I did not insist with enough vigor that you be turned away. I also misremembered who spoke for you, giving Celebrimbor several lines he never said. Looking back, I made my position clear, but I could do nothing else in the face of Celebrimbor’s invitation. And he was not the only one who was glad to see you in our city.” She looked at Miaulë, and her mouth twisted with bitterness. “And though I could feel you were not of Aman,  I could not sense any evil in you. When I looked at you, it seemed the smell of blood wafted through the air, but I had felt the same many times when gazing at my own brothers. I suppose you still remember nothing?”

“Nothing,” Miaulë replied.

“Would that I could forget your deeds as well as you have. You may go.”

Abruptly dismissed, Miaulë left without another word.

~

 

 

Miaulë decided against going to the library and instead went to the back porch. He sat on the steps, watching the small bursts of life around the kitchen garden. For once, he did not notice Celebrimbor’s approach. 

“You seem bored.” Celebrimbor sat down on the opposite side of the steps, with arms clasped around his knees. Miaulë tried not to react; Celebrimbor had not spoken to him since the first day his form had changed, and he had had no hope that it would be otherwise today.

“I don’t know if I am bored so much as my mind seems unable to leave the same loops it has been in for days.”

“Sounds boring.” The corner of Celebrimbor’s mouth turned up. “Come on.” 

Miaulë followed Celebrimbor, half expecting him to suddenly stop, send him away, and head in the other direction. Yet Celebrimbor led him all the way to the smithy at the south end of the grounds. Despite its several forges and furnaces, the workshop was cool and free of smoke, the temperature controlled by a clever series of water pipes and the air circulated by a system of flues and vents. The forges here were not the hottest in all of Aman, but Celebrimbor maintained they were hot enough for anything reasonable one could wish to make — if someone wanted a forge that went out of the range found at Ondomar, well, the workshops of Aulë and Mahtan were not that far away. 

Miaulë’s excitement began to grow as he realized they were heading towards Celebrimbor’s workbench. Officially, everything in the workshop was shared, but he knew that in reality Celebrimbor had a corner to himself. The other smiths held him in high esteem, and insisted on giving him his own space however much Celebrimbor protested.

Celebrimbor offered no explanation on his sudden willingness to speak to Miaulë, but instead laid out an ingot of iron, a coil of silver wire, and a coil of gold wire. “Which do you want to learn?” he asked.

Miaulë found himself reaching for the gold wire before Celebrimbor snatched it away. “Nevermind, I think the silver will be best to start with.”

Miaulë blinked a few times. “If you think that is best.” In truth, he would be happy if Celebrimbor wanted to teach him how to weed or clean clothes. Learning anything from him, much less metalwork, was an honor.

“What should we make?” Celebrimbor grabbed a leather apron as he spoke.

“Something simple, I would think.” Miaulë frowned. “Don’t I get an apron too?”

Celebrimbor’s eyebrows shot up and he briefly covered his mouth with his hand. He declined to share the joke. “Yes, of course. It’s always a good idea to wear something over your clothes.” He grabbed two pairs of gloves from a hook and slapped them down on the table. “I don’t think we will actually be working with anything hot enough to need these, but just in case.” He still looked as if laughter would burst out of him at any moment. “So, something simple.” He tapped his fingers on the table.

“How about a ring?” Miaulë suggested.

Celebrimbor looked up at the ceiling and pressed his lips together. Miaulë could not tell if he was on the edge of hilarity or tears. “Annatar. Miaulë. No, Annatar. I will not be teaching you how to make rings, although they are indeed very simple to make.” He covered his eyes for a moment. “Spoons. Spoons are also simple to make, and we can always use more of them for the wedding.” He quickly walked off to find the materials.

Celebrimbor returned with molds and an ingot of silver instead of the wire. “This ingot is already cast, so you can start with the best part: hammering.” He selected a hammer from the wide array he had arranged on the wall. “This one is good for the initial pounding, when the shape you want is still far from the shape you have. You will need to strike hard, but start lightly and increase the strength of your blows as you go until you start to see the metal move in the way you desire.”

Miaulë started hammering. He soon became absorbed in the shaping of silver, carefully striking it so that it spread to the exact thickness he desired. Next, Celebrimbor taught him when to anneal the silver so it did not grow too brittle, and gave him a file to trim the shape of the spoon. Celebrimbor created his own spoon alongside Miaulë, although it took him a fraction of the time to get the results he wanted.

Finally, they had two simple silver spoons. “Now all that remains is the polishing,” Celebrimbor said.

As they started on the coarsest polish, Miaulë darted glances at Celebrimbor as his hands continued to work the grit over the spoon with a cloth. He looked so much like the Celebrimbor he had seen in the Mirror today, but his energy had changed. The Celebrimbor there had been bursting with life, even viewed from a watery frame with thousands of years and miles between them. This Celebrimbor still had a restlessness to him, but in a way that felt tense and dark. He thought this energy was new. Miaulë as a cat had watched closely to understand what the body conveyed when conversations took place above his head between obscured faces; he could tell that Celebrimbor now held himself in a taut posture that others might not notice, but was clearly different then what he remembered when he walked on four legs instead of two. 

“I saw you today,” Mialuë said. “In the mirror.”

“Oh.” Celebrimbor didn’t look up.

“I think it was the first time we met. I arrived just in time for a council meeting, and you walked me in.”

Celebrimbor stopped polishing and looked up. “You viewed that with Galadriel?”

“Yes. I thought it was one of the nicer things I have seen so far.”

“How much did you see?”

“I saw how you were the one who invited me to stay in Ost-in-Edhil, and then I saw the full council meeting. It ended with Lady Thaid guiding me to where the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were headquartered.”

Celebrimbor looked amused. “Galadriel willingly sat through that whole council meeting again? And made you watch along! I am sorry for that.”

“I thought it was interesting.”

“So you did not see that evening?”

“No, what happened?” Miaulë asked. “I think someone said I should schedule time with you.”

Celebrimbor laughed out loud at that. “I am sure that’s what they told you to do. Instead, you showed up at my room after dinner completely unannounced. I was already dressed for sleep, with my hair half down, trying to shake off one of those days where I met with person after person who wanted some piece of me. I believe I was already halfway through a bottle of wine. No, it was not wine; back then I drank these dwarven spirits that the eastern Khazad made. Anyway, I was completely unprepared for you to show up in all your pristine, shining glory.”

“So you sent me away?” Miaulë guessed.

“That would have been very sensible of me. How is your spoon looking?” Miaulë held up his creation. “Looks like we can start with the pumice.” Celebrimbor rummaged around and pulled out a jar of tan powder. He poured some out for himself and handed the jar to Miaulë. “No, I did not send you away. I invited you in, of course.”

Miaulë found himself smiling as he imagined Celebrimbor, rumpled and beautiful, deciding to welcome in the imposing visitor he had seen in the mirror that day. 

Celebrimbor took up his rag and started polishing his spoon again. “And then we went out onto my porch and ended up talking all night.”

“That sounds nice.” Miaulë thought it sounded much more than nice; he could not think of a better way to spend an evening. When he had first changed into his current form he had imagined Celebrimbor inviting him to spend time in a similar fashion, and still yearned for that level of friendship. He tried to mask his longing; he worried that if he sounded too enthusiastic Celebrimbor would start frowning again and leave.

“I think you were rather annoyed. At first you just asked me question after question, and I happily told you everything I was working on, and everything about Ost-in-Edhil that you could wish to know, but eventually I started asking questions of my own. I’m afraid I was rather insistent.”

“Did you suspect that I was not who I claimed to be?”

“No — or rather, I did not much care where you had come by your knowledge, so I didn’t ask. I asked every other question imaginable though. You said you were Maia of Aulë, so I asked about ideal forging techniques, how you would plate various metals. And then I moved to more abstract subjects, trying to get an answer from you to every question I had ever had on the properties of metals and minerals, and then even further still with all the questions I had on how the world worked, and the laws that governed it.”

“I doubt I was truly annoyed.” Miaulë had no idea of course, but he couldn’t imagine that he would hate talking about such things in any form — not with Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor tilted his head at him. “No, perhaps not. I think it was still not what you expected, though.”

“I sometimes think Galadriel, Finrod, and Gandalf are trying to find the worst memories for me to relive. I wish I could remember that first night,” Miaulë said wistfully.

Celebrimbor looked at him with profound sadness. “I have thought to myself recently whether I envy you or not. To forget everything — the good, the bad, the mundane — and start anew with a fresh vision of myself.” He looked at their spoons. “Time for the rottenstone.” He reached for another jar of powder. “Do you really wish to remember it all, Annatar? The bad is very bad. Didn’t Coroniel give you Galasson’s A History of Eregion?”

“Yes, and she also had me read Downfall by Raithril.”

“She gave you that? Coroniel hates that book — she has a whole rant about the commodification of suffering.”

“It was,” Miaulë sought for the right word to describe the gruesome scenes it had depicted. “Vivid,” he finally settled on. “But she could not have known what actually happened?”

“No, I can assure you I did not sound quite as lofty and heroic as she makes me sound while you were peeling my skin off.” Miaulë startled at the answer; he couldn’t tell if Celebrimbor was joking. 

He squinted at Miaulë. “It has some accuracies, though, and the timelines are correct. Raithril fought with Gil-galad’s army and saw my corpse for the weeks it was displayed. She also apparently interviewed a great many people for the book, so while it is a bit fantastic and not how I would prefer to be remembered, it’s not the worse account.”

They were quiet for a moment, focused on their spoons. “So, I ask you again, if I tell you that there is foulness in the later ages beyond anything you did in the First, do you still want to remember it all?” Celebrimbor asked.

Miaulë was silent for a moment, although he knew what answer he would give. “It seems clear that I do not fully understand what I am speaking of, regardless of what I read. Nonetheless, I would rather remember if it means all the good comes with the bad.” 

If he could remember a time when he had more than a small piece of Celebrimbor’s heart, he was sure he could make things a bit better. At the very least, he thought he could return to a place where he’d had some place in Celebrimbor’s life, like when he was Miaulë the cat. Anything would be better than the current reality of having none of him at all. Maybe I cannot not fix everything, but surely we can be more than this, he thought.

“One last polish.” All things must come to an end, even polishing spoons. “After the lith mírdain it will truly shine.”

“Did you invent this polish?” Miaulë tried to betray nothing in his face, but Celebrimbor’s lack of response to his last statement was making his ears ring; a ball of anxiety grew in his stomach. 

“No,” he finally said. “It was actually invented by a friend of mine.”

“Someone I killed too, I suppose?” The bitterness slipped out before Miaulë could stop it.

“No; he died before you ever came to Ost-in-Edhil.” Celebrimbor’s hands moved impossibly fast as he finished polishing. Setting the spoon down with a harsh clank, he stood. “I am going to put these molds away. You can bring the spoons to my grandmother.” 

Celebrimbor started putting away the tools and collecting the silver scraps in a bag. Just as he was about to leave he glanced up. 

“You can use my workbench whenever you would like, you know. Whether I’m here or not.” He left with a last, sidelong look at Miaulë.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks again to Visitor (LonelyVisitor on SWG) for Beta-ing this chapter!

Redhor (Sindarin) - fan invented word for farmer, used here as a title.
lith mírdan (Sindarin) - Jeweler’s Sand

Chapter's title is from Lord Huron's "The Night We Met" because I am an unapologetic cheeseball. Please yell at me on tumblr if you are also obsessed with the new album!

Starting Over

Read Starting Over

“Gandalf, you shaved.”

Galadriel stifled the involuntary laugh that rose up at Sauron’s comment. Maybe that was a mistake — the sarcastic humor could be part of the charm that unlocked understanding of his appeal. She remembered having to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing occasionally when they had been forced into each other’s company in Ost-in-Edhil; how disconcerting to think that the person in front of her bore enough semblance to the monster who had destroyed her city that she could recognize his humor. 

“Why are you here?” Sauron asked as he sat down. 

Galadriel wanted to snap and say that it was not his place to know, but instead she responded evenly. 

“I am trying to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“You, and whether you are worth all the effort.”

Sauron held her gaze “It’s been almost two weeks — seems a little late to be asking that.”

“I disagree — I think we should be asking that question constantly. This experiment could end at any time. If just one of us lifted our voices to Taniquetil, we could be done with you forever. Now,” Galadriel began to fill the basin with practiced motions. “I think we should return to Eregion, if you have no objections.”

Sauron visibly brightened. “None.”

As they establish the mental connection, Galadriel tried to distance herself from the skin-crawling feeling that usually started immediately by analyzing Sauron’s thoughts instead of dwelling on how close their minds were. Despite his cool behavior, excitement thrummed through him. Whatever her feelings about the process, she knew Sauron was invested in trying to reconnect with his memories. She felt him running through things he had learned recently and scenes they had viewed, trying to spark any connection he could.

As soon as the surface of the water stilled, Galadriel recognized the room the Mirror showed. She could only see the corner they were in, but the textured walls, high windows, and elaborate system of pipes framing the room clearly indicated that they were in the Greater Workshop of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Celebrimbor was there, naturally, doing at least two entirely separate things at once as far as she could tell. If the many different sizes of coiled wire he was making and the minerals he was dissolving had any relation, she could not discern it. His hair was bound back and covered with a scarf, and he wore battered work clothes. To the side, quietly watching with an expression of calm wisdom that she had grown to despise, stood Sauron, as thoroughly inhabiting the persona of Annatar as she had ever seen. His white robes gleamed, and he seemed to emit a golden aura of holiness.

They both watched as the afternoon in question progressed. Celebrimbor alternated between treating the coils and observing the minerals in their solution, taking notes in his impeccable handwriting, neat lines marching across the page. Annatar stood to the side, taking in everything: Celebrimbor working, the stone fizzing away, and the other Mírdain moving around the great room. 

Frequent interruptions peppered the afternoon. Mani, Narvi’s nephew and the closest to his heir in terms of interest and ability, was visiting, his hair still jet-black and his beard strung with gold ornaments. The dwarf was clearly enjoying a day of leisure and happy to bother Celebrimbor at his work. He and Celebrimbor argued about some property or other of the minerals, dipping pieces of paper in the solution and holding it up to the light. Finally Mani waved Annatar over, demanding his input. Mani was clearly still testing the waters with Annatar, firing off obscure questions only tangentially related to the solution they were assessing; the Maia precisely answered all queries put to him, but never expanded on a point without need. Celebrimbor listened as he worked, brimming with amusement over the interaction.

Finally Mani made his excuses, extracting promises of dinner that evening from Celebrimbor and even inviting Annatar; clearly he had passed the test. At the next interruption, Galadriel actually gasped. Celebrían ran in, the long limbs and chaotic energy of youth about her, and skidded to halt in front of Celebrimbor, something clutched in her hand. As she saw the sneaky look Celebrían shot Annatar, Galadriel remembered that she had early on forbidden her daughter from speaking to him. It was just like Celebrían to try to find her way around the rule. 

Celebrían stood up straight, before bowing deeply.

“Brí, what are—“

She cut Celebrimbor off. “Master Celebrimbor, through the years you have taught me well. Under your guidance you have instructed me in the ways of the forge, how to heat, hammer, and shape, the Song of silver, the metal most blessed by Aulë himself, and the path of discovery, how to uncover that which is still unknown.” Celebrían had the tone of one reciting a lesson, and she took a deep breath before continuing. Celebrimbor set down his tools and gave her his full attention.

“These are gifts which are without price, and will serve me as long as I nurture them, and so I will always be in your debt. But with the knowledge you have taught me, I have created this token of my gratitude.” Celebrían thrust her arms straight out in front of her, a silver arm cuff held in both hands. “Please accept this gift from me, your humble student, as payment for your teaching.”

Celebrimbor took the cuff from her and held it up admiringly. “Oh, Celebrían, this is beautiful, I—“ Seeing her frown he stopped and bowed, taking on a more formal tone. “I accept your gift. You have used your knowledge well and your skill is a credit to me and my brethren. May you continue in light and wisdom, bringing beauty to the world with your hands.”

“You did it right!” Celebrían exclaimed before frowning. “Did I do it right?”

“You did it perfectly,” Celebrimbor said. “Although if you’d mentioned you wanted a real Ceremony of Payment, we could have done it on a feast day.”

“I thought it made more sense in the workshop.”

“You’re not wrong. Now, as I was saying before, this is beautiful work, Brí. The soldering is seamless and the design is unique.”

“Put it on!” Celebrían said, leaning forward a little as Celebrimbor slid the silver band up his arm.

“And it fits perfectly! How did you get my measurements?” Now Celebrimbor looked actually amazed.

“I measured you one night when you and Ada were drinking.”

“Really? I don’t remember that.”

“That’s because you and Ada were drinking.” Celebrían suddenly spoke to Annatar, her words coming out in a rush. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Annatar stepped forward and lifted Celebrimbor’s arm up by the elbow. He made a show of examining the delicate silver leaves and curling silver tendrils. 

“It is well made, my lady,” he finally said. 

Celebrían giggled nervously. “Thank you.”

Celebrimbor looked at her sharply, suddenly realizing the twofold aim of her visit. “Brí, don’t you have other things to do?”

“No, I have the afternoon off.” She looked at him with pleading eyes. “Don’t you want to hear how I made your gift?”

Celebrimbor sighed, glancing at Annatar out of the corner of his eye.  “Don’t tell your mother,” he muttered to Celebrían. 

Celebrían needed no further invitation, launching into a story that covered every detail about the making of the cuff. There were no further interactions between Annatar and Celebrían, but Galadriel could not help the sigh of relief that escaped her as Celebrían skipped out of the workshop at last.

The day continued through mundane moments — Celebrimbor had his questions, Annatar had his answers, and there was nothing suspicious in sight. If Annatar seemed to have some fascination with Celebrimbor, that was not so strange; Celebrimbor had always had a steady stream of admirers, some drawn to his work, some drawn to his vision, and some drawn to his notorious heritage. And if Celebrimbor seemed to hold Annatar’s opinion in high regard, that was also not out of the ordinary. Galadriel remembered the rumors that had reached her of the Maia’s exemplary insights, and Celebrimbor had always thirsted for knowledge.

As the Mirror grew dark, a longing for the past gripped her as strongly as it had during her last years in Middle-earth. The contrast of Sauron’s happiness over what he had seen only served to deepen the ache created by things lost that would never again be seen outside of memory.

Galadriel still came back the next day, and the day after, waving off Finrod and Gandalf’s offers to sit with Sauron.

It took two more days of looking in the Mirror until she thought she saw something more than a teacher and a student at work together: there, a touch to the back when it was unnecessary; here, an unconscious lean towards the other when they spoke. Throughout, there was an anticipation of the other’s needs beyond what was usual as they worked in harmony. Slowly they became the ‘Annatar and Celebrimbor’ entity that she remembered with apprehension from her days in Ost-in-Edhil, the pair that she blamed for the greater share of votes going towards the Gwaith-i-Mírdain during their frequent disagreements on the Council. Annatar had no position in any part of the politics of Eregion, but she remembered suddenly hearing Annatar’s words coming from Celebrimbor’s mouth, and all the suspicions and fears that arose from it. But now seeing all the parts she hadn’t been privy to, the change seemed slower, and she couldn’t detangle Annatar’s influence from the ideas she had known Celebrimbor held all along. 

Every day, Galadriel left with a nostalgia so intense it left a sour taste in her mouth, and Sauron left a little happier and a little more smug than yesterday. 

~

 

 

“Neth, you know I and Mithrandir would be happy to take your place.” Finrod’s brow furrowed as he spoke.

“No, I am fine.” Galadriel waved off her brother’s concern.

“You look exhausted,” Finrod said bluntly. 

Galadriel closed her eyes. “I only—” She grasped for words for a moment. “I only wish to understand, yet understanding means seeing a past that I have avoided thinking about for years.”

“Galadriel, I understand dark pasts, and many here do as well. You needn’t shoulder this alone.”

“This part of the past is not dark. It is the joy that troubles me, and the knowledge that we will never see its like again.” She drummed her fingers against the table. “It was said Valinor could heal these hurts, but they’re still here.”

“The grief never goes away for the things we lost.” Finrod’s eyes were faraway, as if viewing the filtered light in Nargothrond’s caverns once again.

“Yes, it seems that is the way of it. But don’t trouble yourself — I am well enough,” Galadriel said, but her heart was heavy.

~

 

She didn’t see what she had been fearing until over a week into her commandeering of the Mirror. Galadriel realized her past self had left Ost-in-Edhil in several of the visions the Mirror had granted; the style of clothing and jewelry differed slightly, a few work songs were new, and she did not recognize all of the dwarves who were in residence. The ring-making had likely begun, although they hadn’t been granted a window into that endeavor.

Today they were granted a look into Celebrimbor’s study, its colored glass windows and overflowing shelves familiar from personal knowledge and from frequent appearances in the Mirror. It was night — the fire was low and the lamps were shaded so that they lit the room with a diffused and golden light. Annatar sat at Celebrimbor’s desk, his focus consumed by a lump of metal and his notes sketched out on a board. Celebrimbor sat on the couch, squinting at what looked like a long letter in a bad hand.

Annatar’s head suddenly shot up. “I have it.”

“Hmm.” Celebrimbor didn’t look up from his letter.

“The solution to the casting problem.”

“Are you still working on — wait.” Celebrimbor twisted to look over the back of the couch. “You figured it out?” Annatar was already moving towards him with the board.

“Yes, move your legs. If instead of writing my own Song into the metal—”

“Which would be a bad idea.”

Annatar rolled his eyes. “Which would work, but you think is ill advised.”

“Because I’m right. It would limit—”

Annatar held a finger up to Celebrimbor’s lips. “If instead I write a reflection, like so, tied to my Song but using a new Thread, not casting in my own power but still linking—

Celebrimbor snatched the board out of his hands. “Yes. And it could be cast in combination—”

“With what you have perfected—”

“Yes. Yes!” Celebrimbor looked up from the board. “With this we could preserve everything we have spoken of, arrest time itself, allow us to build upon each passing year rather than have decay destroy all our progress. And the bearer would have enhanced knowledge; their own strengths would be supplemented through the same process.” He leaned forward and lightly kissed Annatar. “Thank you.”

Galadriel heard an intake of breath across from her. She somehow wanted to suppress the whirling thoughts she could sense, but didn’t know what she could say. Perhaps there would only be that kiss of friendship.

Mirror-Annatar also breathed in sharply.

“I’m sorry, I only—” Annatar cut off Celebrimbor’s apology with a kiss that was anything but delicate.

This is it, this is what I felt. Galadriel’s stomach dropped in response to Sauron’s triumphant thought, repeated over and over as he stared raptly down.

In the Mirror, Celebrimbor fisted his hand into Annatar’s hair, mouth parting as he drew him even closer. As they kissed like they were the first two beings in the world to discover the joy of another’s mouth, Galadriel thought for the first time that perhaps this experiment with Sauron would be too invasive. It was putting what should be private on display. And there is worse to come, she thought.

Sauron paid no heed to her, fascinated by the desperate embrace in the mirror.

“I did not think—” Celebrimbor gasped, alight with pleasure.

“You’re often wrong—”

“Please be quiet.” Celebrimbor cut off any response by kissing Annatar again.

I think that’s enough, Galadriel spoke to Sauron’s mind. The Mirror responded to her will, the scene rippling and fading away. Suddenly, Sauron tried to wrench away her hold on the Mirror.

No! What have you been hiding? Sauron looked up, anger shining in his eyes.

No one has hidden anything! Galadriel kept control, the water swirling as it maintained its liminal state.

Sauron began to pant, his face twisting in pain. Galadriel paused. She could feel the edges of his power — she could wrench back control, disrupt the vision, and put an end to this, but that would only convince him further that they were hiding something from him.

We have opened our doors to you, our minds to you, you ungrateful, grasping creature. Sauron did not respond, still engaged in the painful battle to scrape together what little control of the Mirror he still held.

“Fine. See what you will, and do not come to me if it is not to your liking. “

It was night again. The location had moved the short distance from the study to the bedroom. Annatar and Celebrimbor were twined together once more, this time in Celebrimbor’s bed. Galadriel breathed a sigh of relief. Celebrimbor appeared to be sleeping, and although a trail of his clothing led to the bed, suggesting a previous urgent intimacy, she had not yet intruded on the most private of moments.

Annatar’s hand was stroking Celebrimbor’s head where it lay upon his chest. The moment was as familiar as it was intimate. How many times had she seen the same expression of pure adoration on her own husband’s face and had felt herself reflect that love? Celebrimbor was asleep and they were alone in the room. There was no one to fool and nothing to hide.

Confusion and rage rose within Galadriel. She snapped the connections between herself, Sauron, and the Mirror with a ferocious burst of will. Sauron reeled back, clutching his head.

“You have no right,” she started, though she did not know of which right she spoke. “I still do not understand.”

Admitting failure at the last, Galadriel shoved her chair back and left the room. She would not be returning tomorrow

~

 

After the spoon, Celebrimbor began speaking to Annatar more, avoiding him no longer. Before, Annatar had seemed to always lurk on the edges of his vision, almost as if his cat-stealth had transferred over to his new form. But now that he had opened up his workbench to him, Annatar’s schedule seemed to become more regular. Annatar tended to go to the library in the early afternoon, to the workshop later, and then disappear into his room some time after that.

Celebrimbor told himself that he was only concerned that Annatar would cause some mischief in his boredom. That was the only reason why Celebrimbor slipped him books when he saw him in the library, or would sometimes visit the forge to comment on his work or suggest a new project; Celebrimbor refused to interrogate his motivations any further.

The books were read the next day, and the suggested projects were created as specified. He remembered how astonishingly intelligent Annatar had been, picking up complex concepts in a heartbeat, and always pushing Celebrimbor’s own ideas and abilities further than he thought possible. There was a key reversal though: now Annatar looked to him for validation, lighting up with joy at the slightest praise. In Annatar’s mind, Celebrimbor held all the answers. The few times he had allowed Annatar to ask questions they had seemed to spill out of him, one leading to the next until they were far from their starting subject, and still his endless curiosity was not sated.

The first time Celebrimbor found himself thinking, I could get used to this, he flung the thought from his mind. He stopped himself from walking to the library, where he knew Annatar would be reading, and avoided him for the rest of the day.

The next time the thought crossed his mind, Celebrimbor went to the workshop through a side door. He had guessed correctly; Annatar stood at the forge, carefully watching a crucible.

It’s not like it was, he thought. Annatar still wore someone’s borrowed clothes, dark and sensible; completely different from the billowing robes he wore in Ost-in-Edhil or the glittering armor he had arrived in as its conqueror. He had his hair tied back in a simple tail, and he wore gloves and an apron as he pulled the crucible out of the forge and began to cast an ingot. Annatar as he knew him in Ost-in-Edhil would never deign to appear so mundane, and it was beginning to grow on Celebrimbor.

Annatar turned and looked straight at him, a small hopeful smile on his lips. Celebrimbor found himself returning the smile as he walked to him, his body moving before his mind had decided on the best course of action.

“I could feel you watching me.” Annatar tilted his head to the side, still smiling.

“I wanted to see if you had any questions.” Celebrimbor was the one with questions, but this sounded better.

“Yes!” Annatar pulled out a strange utensil. “I heard Nerdanel complaining about preparing for the wedding feast, and I remembered that you said we could always use more spoons. Now, I have realized there are actually many kinds of eating utensils. I thought, what if instead of needing six different types of tools for this dinner, I created one that could be used the whole time?” He looked up, eager for validation.

Celebrimbor nodded — and worried, not for the first time, what would happen if Annatar regained his memories, only to realize that not only were most people calling him ‘Miaulë,’ he also had become very invested in flatware production.

“So! Here I have combined a spoon and a fork.” Sauron held up the tool. Celebrimbor tried to keep his face neutral. “I think it will work rather well, but I would still like to include a knife for the most efficient construction.” He searched Celebrimbor’s face. “You don’t like it.” As Annatar’s smile fell, the urge to comfort him almost overwhelmed Celebrimbor.

“I think,” Celebrimbor said carefully, “I think while the two together may use less silver and be more portable, they are not as good for their central duty as they are separately.”

Annatar looked carefully at the utensil. His mouth crumpled in distress. “I see now. You are right.” He held the utensil over the crucible and it began to droop. His breathing sped up as the metal liquified.

Celebrimbor grabbed his wrist. “Stop! What are you doing?”

“Destroying it.”

“Why not use the forge?”

“This feels better.”

Celebrimbor slowly released his wrist, ready to grab it again if need be. “I could tell that was hurting you.”

“Yes, I meant that it was satisfying, and—” Annatar hesitated and looked away from Celebrimbor. “And I am getting better at it.”

“At what?”

“Changing the state of materials.”

A faint sense of alarm began to grow in the back of Celebrimbor’s mind. “You’ve been practicing?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?” Annatar was the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes at Annatar. “No problem in particular. I’m just surprised it’s possible. But I suppose even I was guessing at the effects of what you did to your power.”

“About that—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The warm feeling began to fade, replaced by a familiar dull anxiety that he’d been living with for the past few weeks.

“Very well.” Annatar put the mangled utensil in the crucible, silver flakes falling off his hand, which appeared unharmed. “I only wanted to help.”

“I know.” You only ever wanted to help. “The utensil,” he tried again. “Might be good for traveling, as I mentioned before, but then silver is the wrong material.”

“Don’t try to placate me.”

The familiar pout appeared, although he wouldn’t have dared to name it as such in a previous life. “I am not. Annatar, you like to create, and creation is better in concert with peers, but the only way forward is if you share ideas, consider the ideas of others, and then use them to make your own ideas better. Nothing is so perfect it can’t be made better, no matter how vexing that is.”

Annatar still frowned at the utensil. “I don’t like that.”

“Neither do I. If I could, I would make everything perfectly the first time, but if you let that desire rule you will never make anything.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever made something poorly.”

“Then don’t, but it’s true. Here.” Celebrimbor waited until Annatar looked up again. “You should speak to Nerdanel, or Írissë if you see her. They’ll tell you what is still needed.”

Annatar sighed. “It just seems so foolish to have six tools when one would do.”

“I know — there are many parts of this wedding that are foolish.” Celebrimbor straightened. “You should keep trying.”

“Where are you going?”

Celebrimbor realized he didn’t know. “For a walk.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Yes,” Again, Celebrimbor found himself responding before his better judgment kicked in.

Annatar’s face lit up. “Let me just clean up.”

Some time later they set off southwards. Annatar walked next to him, an eager smile on his face.

“So, where are we going?”

“We’ll take the path towards Áremar, I suppose.”

As they walked, Annatar kept on sneaking glances at him. Most of the time, Celebrimbor did not take long contemplative walks in the woods, and the tense silence disrupted the peace. He was on the cusp of offering some excuse to turn around when Annatar finally spoke.

“I have seen us in the Mirror, you know.”

“Oh?” That could mean just about anything.  Celebrimbor suddenly realized many people would advise against walking out into the woods with his murderer.

“We were very good friends weren’t we?”

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows, considering what Galadriel could have shown him. “That’s one way of describing it.”

“Did you not think we were friends? We spent so much time together.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. Yes, we were good friends. You were one of my best friends.”

“Why did we stop being friends?” Annatar frowned. “None of the histories say why I left Ost-in-Edhil, just that I did.”

“I found out you had lied to me about who you really were.”

“That was all?”

“All? By this point you know who you are and how you harmed many whom I loved. You enslaved my people and slaughtered us by the thousands. And I let you into my city, into my guild, into my—” Celebrimbor stopped yelling; the woods buzzed in the sudden silence. As he’d spoken, he had backed Annatar against a tree, and his eyes were wide with alarm. Celebrimbor looked away. “If you still do not understand—”

“No, I do. Or rather, I’m trying to.” Annatar threaded his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t fully understand why some things are so frowned upon, but I understand why you would be angry that I lied to you for so long.” He cast about himself. “Let’s not talk about this.”

A rustling sound grabbed their attention from a half-made path that branched off the main trail.

“Oh.” Nerdanel emerged from the brush looking disheveled and shifty. Her face quickly became concerned. “I heard yelling. What’s going on, Tyelperinquar?”

“We’re walking,” Celebrimbor said, the air still crackling with tension. “What are you doing, Haruni?”

“Nothing,” Nerdanel quickly replied. “Walking.” They stared at each other for a moment before deciding in tandem to leave questions unspoken. “I’ll just be going to Ondomar then.”

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Celebrimbor responded.

Nerdanel snuck a last glance at them before walking back the way they’d come.

Celebrimbor sighed. He wanted to walk back too, but he didn’t want to catch up to Nerdanel. Things were already awkward enough. He jumped when Annatar put his hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s talk about something else. How is your project with the stars going?”

“I had to disassemble the models. I’ve needed my desk for tracking all the responses to the invitations.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” They walked in silence for a few minutes.

Celebrimbor stopped, recognizing they were about halfway to Áremar at this point. “Let’s go back.”

“Wait, I wanted to give you something.” Annatar reached into a pocket.

“Whatever it is, you can give it to me when we get back to the house,” Celebrimbor said warily.

“I wanted to give it to you out here, in case you didn’t want it. And I know you don’t like people watching you; I thought you’d appreciate privacy.”

Curiosity overcame wisdom. “Fine, what is it?”

Annatar held out a silver bracelet, a simple circle with minimal etching on the top and bottom. At first Celebrimbor thought it was studded with gems, and he wondered how Annatar had obtained them. As he took a closer look, he saw that they were actually common stones, types of feldspar, quartz, and obsidian, polished to reveal their deepest colors and uniform in size and shape.

“I’m not accepting any gifts from you,” Celebrimbor said, apprehension pricking across his scalp and down his neck.

Annatar did not seem bothered by his refusal. “But this is not a gift. It’s payment.”

“For what?” Celebrimbor did not move to take the bracelet.

“For teaching me the ways of the forge, the Song of silver, and the path of discovery. The gift of knowledge and skill is priceless, but nevertheless, I have created this token of gratitude as payment for your teaching.”

Celebrimbor slowly reached out and took the bracelet from Annatar, the echo of the Mírdain’s Ceremony of Payment still buzzing in his ears.

“I accept.”

Annatar smiled, his whole face lighting up with joy. “Do you like it?”

“It’s well-made.” Celebrimbor turned the bracelet over in his hands. “Finding stones so regular in size of the type you wanted must have been difficult. I haven’t seen you polishing them — did you do that in secret?”

“Oh no, I made a machine for that.”

Celebrimbor blinked at him. “How — never mind.” He put the bracelet in his pocket, ignoring the disappointed look on Annatar’s face. “Let’s head back.” Before I do something more ill-advised than accepting a piece of jewelry, he thought.

~

 

In the library several days later, the prickling feeling of an unseen gaze washed over Celebrimbor. He turned, expecting to see Annatar watching him from the doorway this time. Instead, he lurched back; Annatar was standing directly behind the couch.

“What are you doing?”

Annatar also flinched back, startled by Celebrimbor’s surprise. “Smelling you.” Celebrimbor did not know how to respond to that. “I miss some of the heightened senses I had as a cat,” he offered.

Celebrimbor hesitated for a moment, uncertain how to respond, then patted the couch next to him. “Sit here.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Annatar climbed over the back of the couch and sat down right next to him. Celebrimbor took a steadying breath.

Annatar looked down at the book. “What are you reading?”

“It’s a copy of an account of the stars as they appeared over Cuiviénen written by foremother, Míriel. She gave it to Caranthir, and Caranthir brought it with him when he arrived. He also translated it from early Quenya using Sarati to current Quenya using Tengwar. I don’t know if it will uncover anything, but it’s interesting regardless.”

“Yes, it’s very interesting.” Annatar paused for a moment studying the page. “Can you read both sides?”

“Yes.” Celebrimbor made a note on a sheet of paper he had on the table in front of him.

“Are those corrections?”

“Yes.” Celebrimbor was reminded of nothing so much as the particular stage of childhood development when every other word out of a child’s mouth is ‘why.’ “Not everyone sees the purpose in translating the old texts — after all, there are some contemporaries of Míriel still who could easily read this, and she herself could give an account, but I agree with Caranthir that it’s important to make these ancient documents easily accessible. But some meaning is always lost in translation, and there is some debate over what is even the most widely used mode of Tengwar now. Caranthir is using the Mode of Beleriand, while I think he should use a more general mode.”

Annatar nodded along to the explanation as he read. “Are you done with this page?”

Celebrimbor hid a laugh behind his hand. “No, I have hardly begun. Give me a moment.”

They remained like that for some time, quietly absorbing Míriel’s ancient notes. The love of the stars that the first generations who made the Great Journey possessed permeated every word. Through Míriel’s eyes, the heavens were more brilliant and beautiful than any night sky Celebrimbor had seen. The notes were also remarkable in their precision; the joy of seeing their light had not distracted from her task of recording the exact configurations she observed. He knew her careful attention had borne fruit — the tapestries Míriel had woven of the stars above Cuiviénen were still preserved, although even in Valinor the ancient tapestries were very faded and could not be handled without fear of damage. 

If it hadn’t been so familiar, Annatar’s intense concentration would have been disconcerting, but Celebrimbor knew that his focus swung from disregard and total absorption with no moderate state in between. As the notes changed from the stars to the hunting practices of the first elves, Annatar sat back.

“I did not read anything that shed light on your questions about the changes observed between the Second and Third Ages.”

“Nor did I.” Celebrimbor shut the book, and wrote down another note for Caranthir. “But I didn’t really expect to — I’d read similar sources before.”

“If I had my memories back, maybe I would have observed something that would help you understand.”

Celebrimbor sat quietly for a moment. He doubted that if Annatar actually remembered the past he’d be content to sit here quietly reading or hold any interest in Celebrimbor’s research.

“Sometimes I consider whether or not it is advisable for us to try to recapture your memories.”

“Why?”

“Surely by this point you see how much ugliness and anger they must hold. I wonder if you could be as happy as you are now remembering all your old grudges.”

“I don’t know if I am happy now.”

“Do you think your memories would grant you happiness? It would not change anyone’s history with you,” Celebrimbor said.

“Nonetheless, I’m tired of lurching around the dark room of my past. It’s disconcerting to feel that everyone knows more about my history than I do.”

“I only wonder if it’s no accident that you don’t remember anything. Maybe it’s a chance for us to start over. I mean, for you to start over, unburdened by the past.”

Annatar looked at him with guarded hope. “I did not think such a thing would be permitted. It seems everyone is rather eager for me to remember what I did.”

“I didn’t think Galadriel, Gandalf, and Finrod thought it would take this long.” Celebrimbor didn’t know what exactly they had thought would happen; very likely all three of them had a different theory in regard to Annatar and what it would take for his memories to return. He doubted, though, that they’d wanted to spend as much time as they had prying into the past.

“What do you suggest?” Annatar asked.

“Continue using the Mirror as you have, but perhaps, after the wedding, I will mention that if it hasn’t worked so far, it may be that the amnesia is something you will have to live with.”

“And then?”

“And then, you start over.”

And I will have to figure out what that means.

~

 

Celebrimbor was just starting a second read of a particularly long-winded letter when Galadriel walked into his room.

“Do you ever correspond with Aunt Findis?” he asked.

“I do not understand.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if she’s coming or not.”

“I think it was real.”

“Well, yes, it’s an actual letter, I just don’t think she—” Celebrimbor finally looked up. Galadriel looked agitated. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

“You were right. What you had. With him. I think it was real.”

“What do you mean I was right? We’ve never spoken of this before.”

Galadriel waved a hand, still frowning resolutely past Celebrimbor. “I know your thoughts.”

“You know my thoughts?” Celebrimbor sat back, exasperated. “Galadriel, explain yourself or let me get back to the endless list of requests Fingon has for me.”

“I have been trying to understand why you were so taken in by Annatar, despite my warnings.”

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows. “I thought we were quite finished with that discussion; It ended rather conclusively, and in your favor.”

Galadriel glared at him. “The only person whose favor it ended in was Sauron’s, and I’m not even sure about that any longer.” She shook her head, clearing away the previous conversion. “It seems to me that we are engaged in some sort of rehabilitation effort, and I wished to try to understand if there was ever anything worth saving.”

“And?”

“I think he truly loved you.”

Celebrimbor briefly covered his eyes. “I still don’t understand why you had to come into my room now and inform me of this. It’s a little late for the realization.”

“I thought it was all a false face, planned from the beginning.”

Celebrimbor looked at her tiredly. “I know.”

“But if it did not start falsely, and it still ended how it did, is that not so much worse?” Galadriel gripped the desk, her knuckles turning white.

“Galadriel,” Celebrimbor said tightly. “I do not need you to remind me of the magnitude of what I lost. There were the lives lost, some of whom we have still not seen this side of Mandos and may not have followed Namo’s call. There was our city, whose loss I know you are conscious of. I also lost the mirror of my own heart, the person who I wanted to spend the rest of eternity with. But most of all, our vision of a new world was destroyed, where the promise of Middle-earth gifted to the Children as intended would have been born out through our hands. Instead our people dwindled, and you spent Ages fenced in again in a lesser copy of Valinor.”

Galadriel’s face went completely still. “Much that was good was wasted — the best of us poured out on barren ground, all for some minor god who never even neared his purported goal of an ordered world. I am only now realizing that he was a casualty himself, for all that it was self-inflicted.“

“You pity him?” Middle-earth had changed Galadriel more than he had thought.

“Yes, in a way — don’t you?” Galadriel pursed her lips. “Mithrandir was right — don’t tell him I said that. Sauron is a wise fool, and very dangerous.”

“And water is wet — we knew he was dangerous when we still thought he could be an emissary of the Valar.”

“But I had hoped that now that we hold all the information and he has no secrets, we could at least have some assurance of safety,” Galadriel said. “Now I am not so sure. He loved you! And yet he still tortured and killed you. So much for Mithrandir’s theories on the regenerative power of love.”

“I do not think even Mithrandir thinks love alone can fix something as broken as Sauron. After he chose to bifurcate his soul and externalize the greater portion of his power, I do not think it was possible for him to love as I would define it. He created an object that would bend any bearer towards desiring control over every aspect of the world and all that was in it — there was no room for caring for someone else. Nothing remained but his desire for power, and anything that obstructed him must be destroyed. He would have said that he cared for the various peoples he had dominion over, at least at first, but he only cared in so much as they reflected his own glory.”

“But the ring is gone, so what is left? And is that remainder worth saving?”

Celebrimbor threw up his hands. “I thought that was the whole point of this exercise with him and the Mirror! There is no hurry — we have all thought of the wedding as the end point, but it’s an artificial date. There’s nothing stopping you from running this experiment with him for an în or longer.”

Galadriel drummed her fingers on the table. “I don’t know if I have the stomach for another month of sifting through his abhorrent past.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not it; I don’t have the stomach for remembering what could have been. Now that I am seeing a version of events where his betrayal was not planned from the beginning, the potential you held, the potential we held, is all the more painful.” She straightened and released her hold on the desk. “I’m sorry, I’m overstepping. I am just rewriting my own history in my head and it unsettles me.”

She gave Celebrimbor a last look as she left. “Aunt Findis is coming — she wouldn’t have replied otherwise.” Galadriel left the room, leaving Celebrimbor disquieted and annoyed.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Visitor (LonelyVisitor on SWG) for Beta-ing this chapter and assuring me that long chapters are a good thing.

Fun fact: not only did Sauron invent the spork, he also invented the flavorless cafe salad. In fact, Tolkien wrote that if not for the widespread use of disappointing salads with ineffectual utensils as rations during the War of the Ring, Sauron would have been able to muster a much larger army of Easterlings and the battle for Minas Tirith might have gone in another direction (Letter 355).

Neth (Sindarin) - sister (diminutive)
Haruni (Qenya) - grandmother (controversial to use as the 'modern' Quenya word I'm sure. lmk if you have strong feelings about this AND have a better word)
În (Sindarin) - year, used here in the Elvish long year (144 solar years) sense.

The Fait of Traitors

If you couldn't guess already, the  "Torture" tag becomes relevant during this chapter.

Thanks to Visitor (LonelyVisitor on SWG) for Beta-ing this chapter!

Read The Fait of Traitors

Miaulë was not surprised to see Gandalf sitting by the Mirror when he entered the cellar room, but he still suppressed a shiver of apprehension. He found Gandalf difficult to read and confusing. Below the surface, Miaulë could feel great power within him, yet on the outside he looked old and plain. Maybe his outburst at Galadriel had been unfair yesterday; if he could accuse anyone of hiding the truest culprit was the veiled power before him.

Regardless, Miaulë was still determined to steer the Mirror this morning. A curtain had been lifted, a cypher decoded, and if Gandalf would just let him see what he wanted to see, he knew he could win back Celebrimbor. Once, they had been as close as two people could be, and if that had been true in the past, Miaulë was determined to make it so in the present.

“Did Galadriel tell you what happened yesterday?” Miaulë asked as he sat down.

“Yes. She said you are most desirous to view what you will, with no direction from us.” Gandalf began the familiar motions of filling the basin. He reached out with his mind. If that is what you truly want, I will not hinder you. Look! See what you will.

Miaulë eagerly bent over the mirror. He was disappointed at first to see the familiar spaces of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain’s central workshop, but he shook it off. If the mirror showed him more of what he and Celebrimbor were making, that might also clarify what still remained confused. 

He frowned. There were tables and chairs overturned, ingredients spilled, and sooty marks stained the walls. It didn’t look like the familiar mess of a dozen projects all in progress; it looked like someone had searched through every inch of the room by pulling it apart. 

Miaulë saw himself dumping out a container of powder. Annatar had discarded his white robes for black armor that gleamed at the edges with a fiery light. He quickly ran his fingers through the powder before setting down the container with a sigh. 

“I did not think it would be quite this simple, but I had to make sure.” Annatar’s armored feet crunched through the glass strewn over the floor towards a heap of splintered furniture. A pair of chained feet and a blood-stained leg poked out of the pile.

Oh no, thought Miaulë.

Annatar picked up Celebrimbor, who appeared unconscious. He carefully lowered him into a kneeling position on the ground and surveyed the damage while holding him upright. In addition to the leg injury, another wound seeped blood underneath Celebrimbor’s arm and red marks bloomed along one side of his face. His hands were chained together as well. 

Annatar pulled out a knife, and Miaulë began to panic. Celebrimbor’s eyes snapped open and he suddenly head butted Annatar as hard as he could. Annatar lurched back but didn’t let go of Celebrimbor, more surprised than hurt.

“Calm down,” Annatar said. “And hold still.” He lifted the knife and began slicing the seams of Celebrimbor’s quilted shirt and hose. Finished, he tucked the knife back in his belt. Relief flooded Miaulë. “Was that so bad?” 

Celebrimbor looked at him warily as Annatar peeled down the shirt and placed his hand on the wound. Celebrimbor swore as his face twisted in pain.

“There,” Annatar said, satisfied. “Now your leg.” He parted the fabric by Celebrimbor’s knee.

“Iron hells. What are you doing?” Celebrimbor panted.

“Healing you. I think we need to start fresh.” The wound did seem to be knitting together, although from Celebrimbor’s wild expression it was far from a comfortable experience. “Now, Celebrimbor, please be reasonable. You fought bravely — no one could accuse you of simply turning over the city to me at this point. In fact, I can arrange for some of my men to be captured who can attest to that fact.”

Celebrimbor did not say anything and fixed Annatar with a hard stare.

Annatar leaned in, his hand still on Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “Tell me where the rings are, Brim. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Celebrimbor glared. “You don’t want to hurt me? You stabbed me.”

Annatar smiled. “You did come at me with a sword.”

Celebrimbor did not return the smile. “You came to my city with an army and killed my friends.”

Annatar’s smile vanished. “You thought to deceive me.” He stood, looking down at Celebrimbor, face cold. “Did you think I didn’t know? You tried to hide it from me, but I felt them — Three that we did not make together. You tried to craft them apart from my power, but you failed, for the source of our Art is patterned from my very being.” Annatar stopped for a moment, flexing his hands, and staring at a point just past Celebrimbor. “I was so angry, so very angry when I felt your betrayal.” He turned back to Celebrimbor and smiled, almost tenderly. “But I will forgive you, for I am merciful. Wielding the Rings, there is nothing that can stop us. We could build. I could remake Ost-in-Edhil in a moment, but greater and more beautiful than she was before. We could build cities whose like have never been seen in Middle-earth. And all people within our domain will be able to reach their full potential.”

Celebrimbor glanced up; he almost looked like he pitied Annatar. “Us? I see but one Ring.” 

“There must be one, indisputable center. All will fall to disarray without it. But I also need a lieutenant, who I trust as much as myself.” Annatar knelt down behind Celebrimbor, still smiling softly, and began to plait the small braids and loose hair into a single tail.

Celebrimbor closed his eyes. “Did you ever know me at all?”

Annatar leaned his forehead against Celebrimbor’s back. “Tell me where the Rings are. Please.” Celebrimbor remained silent. “Why are you choosing this path? It need not be like this.”

“No, it need not. What did you say when you arrived? Now there is no obstacle between us and our vision? If the Ring is truly not just a tool of destruction and mastery, prove it. Leave this place and order your realms. Show the peace and prosperity you promise; then return to me and I will listen.”

“I need the Rings. There is no other option.” Annatar knotted Celebrimbor’s braid into a bun at the base of his neck before standing. Celebrimbor’s hands tensed on his thighs, the only outward sign of his apprehension. Annatar began walking around the workshop, returning with a jar with pale yellow liquid, a chisel, and a hammer. He pulled out the knife he had used earlier. 

“Now, if you will not tell me where you have hidden the Rings, I will give you a second choice.” Miaulë did not understand the offered choice, but he did not like the blank expression on Annatar’s face. “Which will it be, Celebrimbor? I’ll even offer you a fifth option — one of my officers is just outside with a whip.”

Celebrimbor’s hands flexed. “You once told me you loved me.”

“And I am offering you a path back.”

“I cannot deliver to you tools to enslave my people.”

“Enslave!” Annatar’s hand tightened on his knife. “Only someone blind to progress would associate my creation with slavery. I thought you were different, but now you’re parroting the words of your cousins. Choose.”

“The whip,” Celebrimbor said. They stared at each other for a minute.

“Fine.” Annatar helped Celebrimbor stand up, pulled off the rest of his clothing, and walked him over to some empty scaffolding in the corner of the workshop, built to support the occasional massive works the Gwaith-i-Mírdain would make. Annatar separated the chain between Celebrimbor’s wrists like it was paper and rejoined it around a support, then did the same for the chain between his ankles. 

Annatar left and returned with a large man wearing bronze armor. He took a many-tailed whip with metal tips from his belt.

“Give him one hundred lashes. I’ll be back momentarily.” 

“Yes, my lord.” The man bowed. He paced around Celebrimbor a few times before taking  the whip from his belt. His eyes darted over to Annatar, who despite what he had said still stood by watching. The man squared his shoulders. The crack of the whip rang out. Celebrimbor shuddered, and he dug his nails into the wood of the scaffolding.

“Harder,” Annatar snapped. “He’s an Elf, born in the cursed West under light brighter than you can comprehend. He can withstand four times what one of your kind could endure.”

The man shook out his arms, planted his feet, and brought the whip down again. This time Celebrimbor’s whole body jerked. 

Let me leave, Miaulë thought.

“I am not holding you,” Gandalf said aloud.

Miaulë tried to pry himself away, but he couldn’t unwind his fingers from where they clutched the basin. Stop, he thought, when the first line of blood trickled down. For a moment he thought Annatar heard him across the millennia, but no, he was only leaving the workshop at last. Annatar removed his armor in a nearby room and donned red and gold robes. Miaulë became aware of his own loud breathing. It should have moved the water with its force, but the surface of the Mirror remained smooth as glass.

Annatar returned to the workshop, bearing a stack of papers and a quill. He walked back over to Celebrimbor, who sagged against the support, blood running down his back. Annatar surveyed the cuts impassively. He ran his fingers over the damaged skin; his light touch still sending shudders through Celebrimbor.

“How do you feel?” Annatar asked, leaning against the support. Celebrimbor turned his face away. “Where are the Rings?” Celebrimbor remained silent. “If you tell me but a single hiding place, I will not ask Ilînd to continue.”

When Celebrimbor still did not respond, Annatar straightened and nodded at Ilînd. “One hundred more.”

Stop, Miaulë thought, as the whip came down again. Annatar walked over to a nearby table, and began writing something.

“Stop!” Miaulë reeled back from the mirror, his heart racing wildly.

“You saw what you would,” Gandalf said. It would have been easier if he were smug, but Gandalf only looked sad.

“Why?”

“You heard your reasons today. You hurt him for order, for prosperity, and for a better future.”

“How could I think that would work?” Miaulë stood. “I did not think—”

“What do you think was meant when the histories spoke of your ruin and devastation?” 

“I did not think—” Yet Gandalf’s solemn face was unbearable. Miaulë ran from the room.

~

 

Merillë peered into the kitchen. It was oddly empty; someone stood at a table canning, and Ornéliel had notes spread out before her as she ate from a plate of fruit and cheese.

“Ornéliel, have you seen Miaulë?” 

Ornéliel looked up and puckered her lips like the cheese had turned sour. “Do you mean Sauron?”

“Well, yes, but it feels strange to call him that.” Merillë also found she could not call him a name that he clearly hated, but she doubted Ornéliel would be sympathetic to that.

“It feels strange that we’re entertaining my son’s murderer, but here we are. Why are you looking for him?” Ornéliel had not been spending much time at Ondomar recently, staying instead with Írissë. Merillë began to suspect that it was not a coincidence.

“Well.” Merillë anticipated a less than pleased reaction from Ornéliel. “Well, we’re discussing a book this afternoon.” At Ornéliel’s incredulous look, Merillë hastily added, “I’ve studied Middle-earth all my life; if I didn’t talk to him at least a little bit, I think I would regret it forever.”

“Your family is far too curious for your own good.” Merillë didn’t know if Ornéliel meant Finrod or the whole house of Finwë. She gave Merillë a sidelong glance. “I saw him going out back not too long ago. Be careful, child.”

“I am.” Merillë mustered up her sweetest smile, internally bristling. She was one of the youngest elves here, but she was an accomplished scholar and a pioneer in her own way, and she didn’t appreciate the condescension that she encountered all too often. Maybe that was what drew her to Miaulë, who seemed to be one of the few people who did not treat her like she was young, and even sought her out for guidance.

She didn’t see Miaulë in their regular meeting place. She walked along the winding back porch until she spotted a familiar golden head facing north.

“Miaulë, I thought we were going to discuss Varyar’s works.” She stopped short. Miaulë was always disconcertingly beautiful, beyond even what life in the courts of Tirion had inured her to, but now his anguished expression stole her attention instead. “What’s wrong?”

“I have done terrible things.” He spoke barely above a whisper.

Merillë glanced around. She could see Sam working in a small garden along the side of the house, but no one else was near. “Yes, so I’ve gathered,” she said, trying to figure out what brought about this statement of the obvious.

“I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”

“Who?” Merillë asked, feeling quite out of her depth.

“Celebrimbor.”

“Oh well, I don’t know about that.”

“He will never forgive me, and I will live forever with an absence in my soul.” Miaulë’s voice tightened at the end.

“Oh.” Merillë was beginning to understand.

“Is everything alright?” Sam peered up at them from beneath a wide straw hat, a basket of vegetables at his hip.

“Nothing will ever be alright again,” Miaulë said.

“Oh my,” Sam said, looking at Merillë with concern. 

“He is lovelorn,” Merillë explained.

“Oh?” Sam still looked puzzled. “I was not aware you had a, erm, sweetheart.”

“Yes, and he’s lost forever.”

“It’s Celebrimbor,” Merillë said, trying to communicate to Sam with her eyes that she also had no idea what was the true cause of Miaulë’s grief.

Sam scratched his nose, still quite puzzled. “It was my understanding that you’ve been separated for quite some time. Ages, in fact.”

“I only understood my heart a few days ago.” Distress crumpled his lovely face. “You wish to discuss Varyar? It is as he said: ‘I would open my soul and bury you so deeply that we may never be parted.’”

“Ah, it’s like that.” Understanding dawned on Sam’s face. “I suppose it would feel quite fresh to you.” He motioned to them. “Follow me.”

Sam led them both to the kitchen. Thankfully Ornéliel had left, and Merillë did not have to explain why she was following a hobbit with a devastated Maia in tow. Sam dropped off his vegetables at the canning table, grabbed a towel-wrapped bundle, and looked around. “Let’s find some place out of the way.”

They ended up back outside, but this time on the second floor, squeezed onto a makeshift balcony that Merillë suspected was actually just a wide flower box. Merillë and Miaulë sat with their knees drawn up, their backs to the balcony as Sam uncovered his bundle. 

“Here, have a biscuit.” He passed them both a golden wafer and pulled out one for himself.

“I could not eat,” Miaulë said.

“Just a few bites. It will help,” Sam encouraged. Miaulë tentatively nibbled on the biscuit. “Why don’t you tell us what’s the matter?”

“Celebrimbor will never love me.”

“Ah, because of the murder?” Merillë appreciated that Sam did not dance around the subject.

“I hurt him very badly.” 

Merillë remembered a particularly awful sculpture she had seen in Tol Eressëa. Now that Celebrimbor was widely known to have returned from Mandos, it was considered in poor taste to depict his corpse in quite so much detail, but there had been a time it had been a frequent subject for heartsore and traumatized immigrants from Middle-earth trying to make sense of all they had lost amidst the bliss of Valinor.  

“I’m sorry, Miaulë, but didn’t you know that? Coroniel gave you those books—”

“Reading is very different from seeing.” Miaulë finished the biscuit. Sam wordlessly handed him a second one.

“I imagine so,” Merillë said.

“And I had begun to think that the histories were mistaken somehow. Not completely, but in some way. The people who wrote them weren’t there, after all. I don’t think anyone could have truly known what happened.”

“They do sometimes get things wrong,” Sam said. “Leastways hobbit histories do.”

“But they are not wrong, at least not how I wanted them to be. Instead, it is like I forgot everything I loved about him. How could I have thought I would bring him to my side through destroying the city he helped build?”

“That does seem like a exceptionally bad way to try to patch up a relationship.” Merillë patted Miaulë’s knee awkwardly. “Sometimes the problems remain insurmountable, but—”

“Is that true? There are problems that cannot be solved?” Merillë’s stomach lurched at the naivety of the question. 

“Yes, sometimes you both change too much, and you separate, and it needn’t be anyone’s fault.” In Miaulë’s case, the fault lay clearly with one party, but Merillë thought acceptance would work better than blame. “I once had a lover, and we meshed together so well. He loved all the same things I did, he was so driven and passionate, and he was beautiful besides.”

Miaulë started his third biscuit. “And what happened?”

“He wanted me to be someone I’m not. Or rather, he did not see the person I always was, and could not comprehend why I insisted on being that person, even when it was very hard. I think in the end, he just wasn’t able to understand me.”

“I think it is much the same with me.” Miaulë pressed his face against his knees. Sam and Merillë shared a look.

“Listen, Miaulë, or rather, Sauron.” Sam set aside his plate so that he could lean towards him. “You know you hurt me some and someone I love even more. Yet, I’m here with you sharing some freshly made biscuits.”

“Why? Why would you share biscuits with one such as I?” Miaulë’s knees muffled his voice.

“In truth, it is because it is a bit hard to connect you with the enemy I fought. He was — you were — quite dark,” Sam said. Merillë agreed, Miaulë shared very little with the lidless burning eye, the sleepless malice, or the brooding dark that she had read in accounts of the Third Age and heard from those who had lived it. But then again, they also told tales of the disguises he wore. She suppressed a shiver despite the warm afternoon. 

“But it’s also because I’ve learned something about second chances,” Sam continued. “I gave quite a few people that chance back home, and I did not regret a single one. And if all these Elf Lords, and Gandalf too, are willing to let you stay for a time, who am I to refuse you a chance?” Sam patted his jacket and pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it to Miaulë. “It also seems to me that you may have seen some nasty stuff today, but Celebrimbor remembers it too, and he’s still willing to speak to you. I’ve seen you two talking recently, so it seems to me he’d like to be friendly at least.”

“That’s true.” Miaulë dabbed at his eyes and sniffed.

“Maybe you should just try to be friends again, and then see what happens?” Merillë suggested. “This is all very new for you, but for him it all happened a long time ago.”

“I suppose I could try that. I don’t think I could look at him today. I would only see the way he looked at me in the Mirror.” Miaulë let out a shaky breath. “How can I look tomorrow, knowing what I might see?”

“Maybe try to think of happy things?” Sam suggested. “I looked into a similar Mirror once, and it showed me what I had been thinking of.”

Merillë quickly grabbed the last biscuit before Miaulë could get to it. “And think, you saw something awful today, but from what you told me, the Mirror does not repeat its visions. What are the chances it shows you something worse tomorrow?”

~

 

The Mirror showed Miaulë something much worse the next day.

Finrod gave him every opportunity to avoid seeing where his thoughts inevitably traveled, offering to guide the Mirror himself, perhaps to the First or Third Age. Miaulë had stubbornly insisted on steering as he had yesterday, even though he knew more or less what it would show him, whatever Merillë said. Perhaps just one more day and he would understand what had changed. The gleam of gold on his finger in the mirror made his skin prickle and his thoughts feel like they itched in his head.

And so he watched Celebrimbor bleed and scream for several hours, as he knit him together and ripped him apart again. The next day, he and Gandalf saw much of the same, although they also saw a short conversation about provisions with some captains that provided some relief for them both. Annatar might have been relieved as well, but Miaulë was most likely projecting. Celebrimbor, hanging from shattered arms, was probably not relieved, but they had moved far enough away that he couldn’t be heard. 

As the days passed, Miaulë learned exactly how Annatar had planned to use the knife, the hammer, the acid and the chisel, and hated his new found knowledge. There was a pattern. First, Annatar would break Celebrimbor down until between the pain and blood loss he could barely respond. Then he would put him back together and leave him for a few days chained to the large bellows frame in the corner, before repeating the cycle. It was shocking how quickly Celebrimbor shifted from angry defiance to bitter endurance to a cringing shadow. Yet some spark of resistance must have still been buried deep. He remained silent in regards to the Rings and would sometimes still plead with Annatar to remember their former shared ambitions — when Annatar had spoken of repair instead of mastery.

The third time Miaulë sat down with Finrod he couldn’t help but say, “He must die soon.” He had no idea how much time had passed in the nightmare the Mirror took them to daily, but it seemed like weeks at the very least.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I was reincarnated in Valinor by this point, but I had no idea what was happening in Middle-earth. You could ask someone. My sister knows exactly how long you held Celebrimbor, as do many others who live here.” 

Miaulë pressed his lips together. He somehow doubted that conversation would go well. 

“Anyway, he eventually told you where to find many of the Rings you created together, only keeping the Three hidden until the end. I don’t think we’ve seen you recover a single Ring, so I’m sure there’s quite a bit more.” Finrod paused, frowning. “You know Gor—, Miaul—, Annatar, if seeing this has brought up no new memories, I’m not sure more of the same will help. I believe you even made that argument in the past.”

Miaulë pursed his lips. He did not like that Finrod had landed on the name that Celebrimbor still sometimes called him in the mirror. The name reminded him that no matter the face he wore, nor how he acted, the past would cling to him like a poisonous film.

“Even if I cannot remember anything, it seems I will know more this way than what books will tell me.”

Finrod sighed. “Very well.”

Miaulë bent back over the mirror. For a moment, he thought Sauron held Celebrimbor’s hand across the table. Relief flooded him, despite the chains on Celebrimbor and his slumped form. Then he noticed the crooked shape and discoloration. Sauron pushed on something in Celebrimbor’s hand, a look of fierce concentration on his face. 

Celebrimbor cried out. “I told you,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Where to find them.”

“I know. And that’s why you get your hands back.” Sauron fiddled with a finger. Celebrimbor gasped. Miaulë thought the finger still looked wrong. “Besides, you know that wasn’t all I asked you.”

He tried to lay the hand flat on the table. Celebrimbor began making a horrible coughing sound. Sauron looked up, alarmed. Miaulë suddenly realized Celebrimbor was laughing.

“You can’t—” Celebrimbor squeezed his eyes shut, overcome by the agony of bones grinding against each other. “You can’t heal it.”

“Of course I can.”

“No, you can’t.” Celebrimbor almost smiled. “All the threads you gathered, all the words you wove in that—“ another gasp “That thing, they were all for the purpose of power and domination. Did you even identify a single Song of healing? Maybe you can preserve me like some dead thing is embalmed, perhaps you can even keep me here forever, but you have reached the end of its restoration.”

“My Ring is more powerful than anything we ever created together.” The fury in Sauron’s eyes belied his level voice. 

Celebrimbor shook his head back and forth. “You never listen to me. I told you it was a bad idea. I told you.” The heaving laugh started again. “And now you can’t undo what you’ve done.”

Sauron went still. Miaulë didn’t think he drew breath for several moments. “It matters not.” He picked up the hammer. A riveting hammer, Miaulë thought. Celebrimbor had taught him that a week ago. That end can be used to texturize metal. 

“As you say, there is nothing you can do to escape.” Sauron took hold of Celebrimbor’s wrist and firmly held his hand as flat as it could go against the table. “You will tell me what I wish to know eventually, I needn’t bargain. And I can make anything you can, in fact, my skill is greater than yours. And so—“ The hammer struck the outside metacarpal. Sauron didn’t seem to use much force, but it was enough. Celebrimbor had stopped laughing. Again, the hammer came down and the next bone shattered. Celebrimbor did not exactly scream, but the ragged sound was still horrible. The mirror began to ripple, darkness encroaching around the edges. Miaulë looked up blankly. 

“I think that’s enough,” Finrod said.

“I’m not doing anything else today.”

Finrod sighed heavily. “Perhaps what I meant was that’s enough for me.”

“You said you’d help me remember.” Miaulë’s head spun as it never had before. Maybe he was about to recover his memories.

Finrod took in the mulish set of his mouth. He grimaced. “Fine. Look again.”

Nine Rings lay on a table. The gemstones and bands on each Ring were unique; amethyst, emerald, garnet, and topaz set on twisting bands of mithril and gold. Sauron gazed down at his own hand and the gold Ring that adorned it.

“You are right, at this range I can feel the Nine. If the Seven are in the city, I can likely find them unaided.” Sauron seemed to speak to his Ring, musing aloud. He moved his hand closer to the Rings. “Yes, the tuning between them is perfect; they will work exactly as intended.” He sat down at the table and drummed his fingers on it. “As you say, the thief is no obstacle, but I am beginning to realize it is not the theft that angers me most.”

He looked up. “Brim, we should talk.” There was an unintelligible sound, and Sauron cocked his head as if trying to decipher the words. “You’re not making any sense.” As Sauron walked over, Miaulë saw Celebrimbor’s slumped figure on the floor, propped against some cabinets and the wall. Sauron picked him up, cradling him in his arms as he walked back over to the table. Celebrimbor might have said something like ‘please,’ or maybe it was ‘dear,’ or ‘blood,’ but it was too faint to make out. Sauron set him on a chair at the table, and swept the Rings into a pocket.

“No.” Then a whimper, as raw wounds rubbed against the wood as he slid down. Sauron frowned at him before crossing Celebrimbor’s arms on the table and leaning him forward until his head rested on them. Sauron pressed against two spots on his back. Celebrimbor stirred and mumbled, “Stop.”

“Shh — you need at least one functioning kidney.” Sauron frowned, but then his face smoothed. “Really, I think most of the damage can still be fixed. You’ll be fine.” He moved his hands a half an inch upward and pressed lightly. Celebrimbor sat upright with a scream, hands spasming on the table and eyes wide. He looked down at himself and began to hyperventilate, horrified at all the parts that should be hidden but were instead exposed — muscle and sinew and blood.

“You’re going to pass out,” Sauron scolded. He lifted his hands to Celebrimbor’s temples and pressed again. Celebrimbor’s breathing slowed, and he began to cry, gasping sobs that seemed to cause him even more pain.

Sauron sat down across from him and waited. It took a long time, but eventually Celebrimbor stopped crying and sat still, eyes fixed on the center of the table.

“Now that I’ve found the first series of rings, I’ve realized that I will likely be able to find the rest without your help — if they are in the city, that is.” Sauron tapped on the table. “Brim, look at me. I want to talk.” Celebrimbor slowly raised his red-rimmed eyes, his face expressionless.

“I now see that this setback, this theft of yours, is temporary, but even with the goal so near I am not happy. Even with the original wrong righted, the lies you told cannot be unsaid.”

“Lies?” Celebrimbor asked in a rough voice. He blinked as if to clear his vision.

“Yes, you lied to me.” Sauron leaned towards him. “You promised to live in truth with me. You said you gave me your hands and your heart. You pledged your love.” He motioned at the makeshift torture chamber. “Yet you’ve stolen my works, hoarded your skill and knowledge, and rejected me at every turn.”

“Lies,” Celebrimbor repeated.

“Lies! Lie after lie. And that is what hurts me more than trying to hide the rings. I will find the rings with or without your help, although of course it would be better if you told me.” Sauron paused for a moment, waiting for a response for Celebrimbor. When no answer came he continued. “Nonetheless, what I want most is for you to apologize.”

“For what?” 

“For swearing yourself to me falsely! I thought we were joining our lives together, but at the first setback you rescind your love. That is the lie at the root of your deception over our rings.”

“I am the liar?” Celebrimbor had shed his confusion, but Miaulë couldn’t tell if he was moving towards fury or panic.

Sauron seemed to recognize the look. “Brim, be reasonable. I am only asking for words acknowledging the hurt you did me. And then—“ Sauron’s voice grew softer. “And then, I will bring you water, feed you, heal you, clean you. I will get your favorite robe from your room and give it to you, and then you can rest as long as you’d like. Only, apologize.”

“Liar. Liar!” Celebrimbor’s ragged voice broke as he leaned forward, furious. “You lied to me from the instant we first met. You have done nothing but lie for centuries. You say I swore falsely? I meant every word, but it was a promise to someone who never existed. I cannot be held to a vow given to a phantom. And even if I had known in full who you were, now there is another, brought in without my consent. Your lies render our bond void, as does your corruption of yourself. I will have no part of you.” Celebrimbor’s chest heaved, his sunken eyes shining with rage, useless hands shaking on the table. “And I will never apologize.”

“Very well, I see you are beyond reason.” The façade of calm fell suddenly. “False friend! Traitor! How could you? How could you?” The light in Sauron’s eyes seemed to shift, gold spoiling into chartreuse. Celebrimbor’s entire body now shook, but he had set his mouth in a tight, stubborn line. 

The fell mood left Sauron as quickly as it had come. “I will leave you for today.  Perhaps a few days apart will help. I wish you would see reason.” As Celebrimbor descended back into incoherence, he blocked Celebrimbor’s ears with wax, blindfolded him, and stood him up in one of the supply cabinets.

“And now I am finished,” Finrod said, the Mirror quickly darkening in response to his will.

Miaulë slowly raised his head. “One more.”

“No.” Finrod’s voice held a note of warning, and his warm expression had become dark. “You may have forgotten, but I too have loved Celebrimbor for many ages, and to watch what you do to him is like a knife carving my own flesh.”

“Then let me look without you!”

“No! Given who you are, the latent memories within, and the power of the Mirror, it would be most unwise for you to attempt looking alone. Why do you want to continue immersing yourself in this horror? You have seen enough to know who you were and what you chose.”

“But I still seem to care, in a way.” Miaulë’s excuse sounded weak in his own ears. Yes, Sauron still did seem to care, but what remained of his love was monstrous.

Finrod stared at him for a long moment. “Very well. One last vision.” His mind touched Miaulë’s. Try to find a moment of kindness.

This time Miaulë’s stomach remained in knots despite no immediately visible blood. The workshop had been put together, but now it was too neat. If he had traveled further back in time, the containers would be open, tools would be out, and the light coming in through the tall windows would not be dimmed by smoke.

Sauron’s hands brushed lightly over Celebrimbor’s head in his lap, a blanket draped over him. Celebrimbor’s matted hair would have also given away that all was not right, as would his sunken eyes and misshapen mouth, too many teeth missing to hold its usual shape. Yet  Miaulë first noticed his own immobile face, the mask returned.

“You’re doing the right thing. Your only mistake was giving one to Durin. It will not go well for him, for I doubt he will part with his treasure willingly. Perhaps you can convince him that the fight is pointless.”

“No.” Celebrimbor’s voice was hardly audible.

“The Khazad respect you, it’s one of the many reasons you’re going to be so helpful. I find the Men insult them easily; they do not care to notice the significance of patterns, jewelry, and beards. If they just paid attention, they would be less offensive. I’m sure you can teach them.”

“No.”

“You will like many of the Men though. There are many primitive ways I am trying to correct, but the Adgî have very interesting weapons. Their swords are almost Sindarin, curved, made for quick cuts, and almost as sharp as your kind can make them.

“And the food of the I'ni reminds me of Gondolin dishes as you made for me, but with a wider array of ingredients. Of course, it cannot be made here, but when we travel east you will like it.”

“No.”

Sauron looked down, still impassive. “Yes, you will.” 

Two men entered the room, and knelt, heads lowered.

“Rise,” Sauron commanded.

“We have enemy movement to report. If you would follow us—”

Sauron cut him off. “Anything you can say to me you can say to him.”

The man blinked once, but continued. “The north-east and north-west hills each hold several thousand troops. When we give chase they vanish.”

“There are caves. Collapse them and they will find it harder to flee.”

“No.”

The response from Celebrimbor startled the man, and he glanced nervously at him, afraid to let his eyes alight for more than a second. “Should we not—” But his voice died as Sauron stared at him.

“It will be done, my lord.” The first man knelt again, and the second hurriedly followed.

“Dismissed.” They both hurried out. “A moment, Captain Nisha.” Nisha returned, back straight, his left hand only shaking slightly. Sauron flicked a hand preventing more kneeling. “Captain Suldos is not up to the task. Take care of it.” 

Nisha’s eyes hardened. “It will be done.”

Sauron’s hand dropped back to Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “Some of them are very capable, as you well know.” 

Miaulë could not look at his own frozen face a moment longer. He fought to untangle his mind from the pull of the Mirror. Finrod suppressed the strange draw the water had and Miaulë sat up, his stomach lurching from distress, dizziness or both.

“Now are you finished?”

Miaulë only nodded.

~

 

The next day, Galadriel was sitting in front of the Mirror instead of Finrod or Gandalf. Apprehension crept over Miaule.

“Finrod told me this matter was too close to you,” he said.

“You seem to know what we shall see already. That is surprising. The Mirror cannot be completely controlled even by one with greater skill and practice than you.”

Miaulë sat down. “I only suspect, for I know what occupies my thoughts.”

“It is in my thoughts as well. If avoidance does nothing, staying away has no purpose.” They stared at each other for a minute. “Very well, let us begin.” Galadriel picked up the pitcher and poured.

When Miaulë looked into the mirror, at first the scene seemed mundane. Sauron seemed to be cleaning, picking up tools one by one, cleaning them of dried debris with a gesture and hanging them on the wall. From the armor he wore, and the otherwise empty workshop, he knew he was not further in the past than he had anticipated. 

“I cannot believe what a waste this was.” Miaulë thought Sauron might be talking to the Ring again. “I have wasted months here when I could have begun besieging Khazad-dûm. One of the Rings is undoubtedly with that interfering cunt.” A flare of appreciation reached Miaulë from Galadriel’s otherwise troubled mind. “The other is with the king, and once I have two, the third will prove no obstacle.”

The last table cleaned, Sauron sharply turned. “All your resistance for nought. We could have done so much together; I could have given you everything you ever wanted. But you chose treachery and stubbornness, and now, you have nothing left to give me. Your beauty is gone, your mind is gone, your skill is gone — all to delay me, and in the end I will win. It is inevitable.” Sauron shouted the last word, as his facade of calm fell and his eyes blazed with fury.

As he spoke, Miaulë finally saw Celebrimbor’s body. His crumpled form was hardly recognizable, misshapen and shrunken as it was. His hands and feet were mangled beyond recognition as appendages. His eyes had been gouged out and the bones of his face broken. Despite the horror of what he had done, Miaulë sagged with relief. It was over; Celebrimbor was dead, beyond Sauron’s reach.

“Are your troops assembled?” Sauron called. A man walked in and knelt. Sauron motioned for him to rise

“They are. We have three battalions ready to strike the north eastern camp from the south, and two mixed battalions of foot and archers ready to approach from the west. The orc troops outside the city are prepared for battle as well.”

“Good. It is finally time to show them the consequences of resistance.” Sauron glanced around. “There is nothing remaining here of worth.”

“Shall I dispose of the body?”

Sauron glanced over at Celebrimbor. “He’s not dead. I will know when he dies,” he said dismissively. The captain swallowed, but otherwise remained impassive.

Sauron abruptly stopped and smiled, becoming visibly more radiant. “In fact, I think he can serve a last purpose. Chain his body to a banner pole and raise it in the central courtyard. I will be down soon.”

Sauron spent a last moment cleaning the blood from where Celebrimbor had been lying, and neatly winding a length of chain on the ground. He glanced around. His fingers brushed over the tools hung on the wall. His hand hesitated over a hammer, about to grasp it, but the Ring caught his attention instead, and he held his hand up to a smoky beam of light. He stared at the gleaming gold, still smiling to himself.

A bolt of anger shot through Miaulë. Why didn’t you do anything?

Galadriel’s rage swept over him. Why didn’t I do anything? I fought you for millennia, trying to prevent your destruction, your corruption, your foul presence from overrunning the world! 

You didn’t save Celebrimbor. The water in the basin churned, obscuring Sauron making his way to the courtyard.

“I tried!” Galadriel’s mind recoiled from his own. “You will never understand how much I tried.” She seemed too stunned by his accusation to say any more.

“He gave you a Ring! Did you even use it?”

“Ignorant fool, did you think Celebrimbor’s rings were anything like your own? He didn’t make me a weapon; his goal was not to obliterate you, make you bend to our will! He made what you talked about but failed to create. Tools to preserve the world, though you would have stamped out all beauty in the name of order. A way to heal, though the wounds were grievous. And still you don’t understand.” 

Miaulë fell silent in the face of Galadriel’s incandescent rage. “Did he die? That day, I mean.”

“Look.” At Galadriel’s command Miaulë was drawn to the mirror, as if a string pulled his face towards the surface. The disrupted water smoothed with unnatural speed.

Amidst the shattered walls, ruined mosaics, and silent fountains, ranks of soldiers stood. As he walked, Sauron seemed to shine more than usual, a brighter beacon than the smoke covered sun. He stopped next to the body on the pole and glanced up. Celebrimbor’s head moved slightly. 

He stepped to the side and motioned to three soldiers. “Shoot him.”

Black-feathered shafts hit their target. Celebrimbor’s head stilled. 

Sauron froze for a moment before his brows drew together. “You have missed every vital organ. He’s not dead. Shoot again!”

The arrows hit their target. Sauron’s face smoothed. “Now we shall show the foul magicians, the evil elves, the fate of traitors!” he cried. “Prepare to march.” His captains approached. “As discussed. When the time comes to strike, you will know.”

Darkness encroached on the Mirror. 

“Are you happy? Do you remember? Do you understand?” Galadriel’s low voice sent shivers of dread up Miaulë’s spine.

“No.” 

“Then let me be rid of your presence for today at least.”

Miaulë left silently.

Change

Thanks as always to Visitor for Beta-ing this chapter and providing much needed assurance.

Caranthir | Carnistir
Gil-galad | Ereinion
Fingolfin | Nolofinwë
Finarfin | Arafinwë
Fingon | Findekáno
Finrod | Findaráto
Amrod | Pityo
Amras | Telvo
Saruman | Curumo
Gandalf | Olórin

I am reminded of when I first read Lord of the Rings, and spent a bit of time convinced Strider and Aragorn were different characters (to be fair, I was very young). I don't think anyone has faced a similar problem, but maybe it would be a good time to put a note on Sauron's names.
Sauron | Annatar | Miaulë | Gorthaur | Mairon
Sauron - The default name in my mind. In the character index to the Silmarillion, it says that Sauron is the Quenya name given to Melkor's lieutenant meaning 'The Abhorred.' The name Sauron has quite a few other potential translations and etymologies, which Parma Eldalamberon No. 17. (2007) The more you know.

Read Change

“There’s no need to continue — I think I’ve learned enough for today.”

“Hm?” Celebrimbor glanced down at the board, taking in the unnecessary number of circles and arcs he had drawn with the compass.

“You seem distracted,” Frodo said. “Maybe we can continue another day.” 

“Sorry, sorry, there’s no need. I can focus.”

Frodo cleared his throat. “This is the second time I’ve mentioned it.”

Celebrimbor scrubbed his hands over his face. “You may have a point. I will be more myself after this cursed wedding is over.”

“I’m sure you will be. And it’s soon. What, less than a month now?”

“Yes, only a few weeks now,” Celebrimbor said. “We can try more geometry tomorrow.”

In truth, the wedding was the least of his problems. He had thought that he had reached a place of equilibrium with Annatar. He would sometimes see him in the library or sometimes in the workshop. He could teach him if he wished, or they could have a friendly conversation, and then he could spend the rest of the day thinking about his projects, his research, or the never-ending series of requests from Fingon. 

Then Annatar had vanished, and now Celebrimbor thought about him constantly. He remembered a thousand facts and techniques he knew Annatar would want to learn in the forge. He found books he knew he’d like and art to point out. And as he imagined the countless conversations they could have, all he could see was the almost shy smile — an unfamiliar guest on features he knew as well as his own.

After Frodo left, Celebrimbor stuck his head out the window. “Are you still up there?”

“Yes, want me to send the ladder down?” Coroniel’s voice came from above.

“Yes.” A rope ladder dropped in front of his window. Celebrimbor scrambled up.

“I thought you were fixing the chimney?” He sat down next to Coroniel, who appeared to be enjoying a mid-morning snack.

“I finished a while ago. I’m just enjoying the peace and quiet. There are far too many people here.” Coroniel squinted at him. “You didn’t come up to help with the chimney, did you?”

Celebrimbor put his head in his hands. “He’s slowly killing me. Again.”

“Figuratively this time I hope. Can you avoid him?”

“That’s the problem. I haven’t seen him in days, and now he’s all I think about.”

“In the past, I have solved similar problems by sleeping with the person in question and so getting it out of the way. It’s very effective when someone has an unfortunate personality — if their mediocre in bed then it’s easy to quash any budding attraction.” Coroniel dispensed this wisdom with reluctance.

“I don’t think that will work for me.”

Coroniel shrugged. “You have been tight-lipped about what he is actually like in bed — I had to at least suggest it. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know what I want.” Celebrimbor looked up. “You’re supposed to be advising me to keep myself as far away from him as possible.”

Coroniel sighed. “Maybe I should. But you’re bad at taking advice, and as I never secretly married an Umaia, I don’t know if I have good advice to give. He is different now — so much of what he did in Ost-in-Edhil was to serve as a teacher, lead discussions, and answer questions. Now he barely understands intermediate trigonometry—“

“How do you know that?”

“I may have tested him.”

Celebrimbor looked askance at her — apparently he was not the only one who had been spending time with Annatar. “You tested him? Why? Of course he doesn’t know trigonometry; he thought he was a cat up until about a month ago.”

Coroniel raised an eyebrow. “I was testing that he didn’t know the answer. I showed him a building design with some new support schematics with an obvious error and he did not notice or point it out.” She held up a hand. “Before you say anything! I know it’s not conclusive proof that he truly remembers nothing, but I simply cannot imagine Annatar not finding some way of letting me know I was wrong.”

“Then I will not mention that he is a rather famous liar, as I’m sure you also thought of that.”

“I have, that’s why I said it was inconclusive! Anyway—” she shot Celebrimbor a pointed look. “My point is, he seems different. Are you sure you still even want him?”

“No, that’s the problem.” Celebrimbor glared at her. “You’ve navigated so many complex relationships through the years — you’re supposed to give better advice.”

Coroniel glared right back. “You want advice? Fine – find him and ask him why he’s been avoiding you.”

“Do you really think it’s that simple? And if I wanted to still be his friend, would you truly be fine with that?”

“Be his friend? This is not the kind of conversation you have when considering potential friendship. But to answer your question, I would say nothing — I know you better than to think I could dissuade you from following a course once your heart is set on it. And I know you would not undertake rekindling your relationship lightly. I would attend awkward dinners with you both, smile blandly when asked about what was ‘really happening’ between you two, make sympathetic noises when you inevitably fight, and offer no complaints when he comes along with you for visits. I will say though, you only get one corpse heist. If your body ends up somewhere unfortunate, I’m afraid you’ll just have to live with it. Or not really live with it, but you understand my point.”

“And here I thought we were friends.” Celebrimbor spoke lightly, but the absence of the judgment he had expected flooded him with relief. “I must protest your point on my advice-taking abilities; I will speak to Annatar as soon as I can find him.”

“Can’t you just tell? You did decide that eternally joining your fëar was a good idea.”

“You know I consider our bond severed, even if it turns out it is not literally the case. I only opened it when he first appeared to make sure it was him.”

“You know how I feel about soul bonds,” Coroniel grumbled. “If you’re going to do something as invasive as that, you should at the very least use it so you don’t have to run all over the house.”

“Now I’m beginning to doubt the soundness of your earlier advice; I better leave before I’m back where I began.” Celebrimbor stole a piece of cheese from Coroniel’s basket of snacks.

“Tell me how it goes. If you marry again in secret I’ll be incredibly angry.”

“Cori, I’m only going to talk with him.” Celebrimbor slid down the ladder, ignoring Coroniel’s skeptical face.

~

 

Celebrimbor did not take the next logical step and go to Annatar’s room. Instead he took a circuitous route, passing through the workshops and studios along the edges of the grounds. Annatar was not there, absent like he had been all week.

Last, he wandered into Nerdanel’s studio, drawn by the sound of loud thwacking at odd intervals. His grandmother appeared to be hurling clay at what had been a wide sculpture of some beast he did not recognize. 

Nerdanel hurled a last clump. “Can I help you with something?” She sounded tense.

“I was wondering if you’d seen Anna—Sauron.”

“I have, though I wonder why you’re asking me. He was here a few days ago, or rather nights.”

“Oh?” Celebrimbor had not actually expected her to have an answer.

“Yes. I found him sitting on the porch late one night, looking rather disconsolate, so I asked him to come to the studio with me.”

“You took him here? What, to watch you work?”

“I taught him how to make a clay bowl.” She motioned to a bowl sitting on a side table. 

“Why?”

Nerdanel shrugged and picked up another clump. “It seemed we were both plagued by sleeplessness and I could use the distraction.” She hurled the clay. “Maybe if someone had taught him how to throw a bowl at an earlier point in his history, he would have gone down a different path.”

Celebrimbor let out a surprised laugh. “You think two ages of war could have been avoided if only Sauron knew the joy of pottery?”

“Perhaps. You know Carnistir was the only one who would learn sculpting from me.”

Celebrimbor could not decide how to respond to that, so he ignored it. “Can I take the bowl?”

“It still needs to be glazed.”

“I know.” Celebrimbor still picked up the bowl.

“When are we going to start telling people?”

“That we are currently housing an ancient enemy, responsible for many of our guests’ deaths? I have no idea,” Celebrimbor said. 

“Won’t Ereinion recognize him? And Elrond? And Celebrían?” Nerdanel asked,

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

Nerdanel rubbed her forehead, leaving a clay streak there. “It’s been hard enough to explain Fëanor’s presence and to ensure that news doesn’t spread. I have been avoiding the problem of our other guest.”

“Do you really think Fëanor’s return is still not widely known?”

“I have at least not received any letters, angry or otherwise. I think the only two that know are Nolofinwë and Arafinwë. Findekáno and Findaráto must have found a way to tell them that assured Fëanáro’s brothers that there was no need to rush here immediately.”

“How did he get from Mandos to here without anyone noticing? He’s not exactly discreet.” Celebrimbor could not imagine even this less fiery version of his grandfather successfully passing through the many towns that dotted the road to Ondomar without being recognized.

“I have not asked him that. You know, Pityo and Telvo successfully arrived here without anyone noticing, so it is possible.”

“I suppose.” Celebrimbor noticed that Nerdanel did not deny that she had been speaking with Fëanor. Nerdanel hurled another handful of clay at the sculpture — he was not the only one with an unexpected strain.

Resolved to take at least a portion of Nerdanel’s burden away from her, he offered a suggestion:  “I think the matter of discreetly communicating about our unexpected guest to those who should know would be a good task for Findaráto again. He’s been unusually affectionate recently, I’m sure I’ll have an opportunity to ask him soon.”

Nerdanel’s forehead uncreased slightly. “Would you?”

“Of course.” He squeezed Nerdanel and kissed the clay streak on her forehead. “Everything will be well.”

~

 

Armed with a reason to seek out Annatar, no matter how flimsy, Celebrimbor resumed his search. He wasn’t in his room, to Celebrimbor’s surprise. The first few people he asked had not seen him recently. When he wandered into one of the music rooms, Maglor and Merillë looked up from where they had been practicing a duet for the wedding, Maglor singing, and Merillë playing the dulcimer.

“Are you preparing a song for the wedding as well?” Maglor asked.

“No, I’m afraid my gifts were never in performance.” Celebrimbor held out the bowl, a flimsy excuse for interrupting a rehearsal with an unimportant question. “Have you seen Sauron? I was going to return this bowl to him.”

Merillë frowned. “You shouldn’t call him that. He hates it. And if we would like him to no longer be as foul, we shouldn’t call up past foulness.”

Celebrimbor moved further in the room. “You’re probably right. I still find it inadvisable to call him Miaulë. I’m not convinced he won’t regain his memories and kill us all for calling him by a cat’s name.”

“Do you think that’s a risk?” Merillë looked alarmed.

“Sorry, that was a joke in poor taste. I don’t think that is likely to happen.” There was still a chance that Sauron might regain his memories and decide to wreak vengeance, but it would likely be for larger offenses than ‘Miaulë.’

Merillë narrowed her eyes at him, as if she didn’t quite believe this. 

Maglor hummed. “Names are quite powerful, you know.”

“As to Miaulë’s whereabouts, I believe he’s heading back to his room right now. He just returned some books I lent him.” Merillë bit her lip. “I’m not sure he wants to see you.”

Celebrimbor opened his mouth, about to protest her assessment, but thought better of it. “I’ll be brief if that’s the case. Thank you.”

Celebrimbor hurried through rooms, using a few shortcuts he didn’t think Annatar would take, troubled by the confirmation of his avoidance. Annatar had obviously wanted some sort of relationship before; the thought that he had become disinterested bothered Celebrimbor more than he liked.

He left the warren of interconnected workrooms and stepped into the hall in front of Annatar’s room. At the same moment, Annatar hurried around a corner, almost running into him. Annatar looked at him like he’d sprouted an extra head.

“Hello, Annatar.” Celebrimbor tried for an easy smile. “I was just looking for you.”

“Don’t call me that,” Annatar bit out. 

Celebrimbor caught his arm before he could push past him. “What should I call you then? You didn’t object before.”

“Sauron, Gorthaur, any of the hundreds of foul names your people named me. All fit better than Lord of Gifts!”

Celebrimbor glanced around the hallway. “Can we speak in your room?”

“Why should you wish to speak with me?”

“Because a simple greeting seems to distress you and I want to know why.”

Annatar squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine.” He led them to his room just a few doors down.

Celebrimbor glanced around the repurposed storage room, apparent from both the size and the sweet smell of cedar that still hung in the air. Some of the shelves were still up but most of the contents of the room had been removed to make space for a bed and a side table. Annatar appeared to have lined the shelves with his own possessions; absent were the ingredients, tools, and materials that were previously stored here. Celebrimbor noticed colored stones, dried flowers, a new fork-spoon, and even some sort of machine. It was eerily similar to his room in Ost-in-Edhil, only smaller and with objects chosen for their beauty instead of their rarity. 

Annatar had stayed in the Mírdain’s guest house for an inordinately long time, with beautiful yet impersonal furnishings and none of his own things. It had been over a year since he had come to Ost-in-Edhil when Celebrimbor thought to ask how long he would be staying. After he found Annatar had no intention of leaving, he had quickly found him a place among the permanent members. Even that room had stayed austere and untouched by personal signifiers for a long time. Celebrimbor remembered sitting down for a glass of wine with Annatar, convinced that the red wine would leap from his glass despite his innate dexterity and stain the pure white rug and chairs.

Slowly, items of value had appeared. Dwarvish devices, strange skulls, and crystal ornaments appeared throughout the room. Then items from other members of the Mírdain showed up — sculptures, instruments, and a rather embarrassing amount of jewelry from Celebrimbor. By the time Annatar left, the room had been lined with shelves, the ceilings hung with plants and ornate lamps, and the floor covered by overlapping rugs, each more valuable than the last. He remembered going in after Annatar fled the city and turning in a circle, overwhelmed by the presence that had steeped itself into the room, a painful knot in his chest. He had entered with the intent of searching the room, but instead faced layered years of memories and the sight of every gift he had ever made Annatar. Celebrimbor found he couldn’t bring himself to touch anything. He had ended up asking some apprentices to go in and catalogue every item and given that list to a friend to analyze. 

Annatar had been at Ondomar for less than a month, and already he had made more headway in his collecting than he had in a decade in Ost-in-Edhil. Celebrimbor desperately wanted to see how the whirling brass machine kept its movement, but Annatar’s tense hovering demanded his attention.

Celebrimbor tried to project calm as he sat down on one end of the bed, the only available space to sit.

“Will you tell me what this is about now?” he asked.

“It would have been better if we never met.”

Celebrimbor tried to ignore the pain those words caused. “Many would agree with you I think. I was never able to bring myself to believe that, though.”

“Why?” Annatar’s voice broke. “I destroyed everything. I destroyed you. You shared everything with me and I repaid you with agony and death.”

Celebrimbor suddenly realized why Finrod had taken to hugging him every time they ran into each other. So, they are viewing those memories.

“Because that would mean throwing out everything — the good along with the bad.” Celebrimbor closed his eyes. “I have asked myself if it means that I would choose a handful of years with you over the hope of Ost-in-Edhil preserved, and all who loved it alive and well within it. I don’t know. I tell myself that there were dark things growing in the world without your help, but I don’t know that for sure either.”

“Even if something else had come for your city, I don’t think your end would have been as awful.”

Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow. “I would not change any of my choices, but I do wish you had made different ones.”

Annatar finally sat down on the opposite end of the bed, folding his legs up to his chest. “I am sorry.”

This moment was more gratifying in my mind, Celebrimbor reflected. “There’s no need to apologize,” he said. “Not because you did no wrong, but because you still don’t truly know what you are apologizing for.”

Annatar looked at him, haunted. “I saw so much. And in the end—”

“You saw it, but you still have not remembered it. You saw someone with your face hurt me, and you wish that hadn’t happened, but until you can remember your actions, and why you did them, it’s still only self-pity. And you were always capable of that.” His mouth twisted in a smile. “You were quite eager to tell me just how terrible you felt about the choices I made and your need to torment me into reason.”

Celebrimbor himself did not remember most of it, a fact he had felt oddly guilty about for a long time. When he had finally pinned down some of the former Mírdain who had escaped the city and lived through the first battles, he had been shocked to find out Sauron had held him for months. He could barely string together a handful of weeks from his memories, although he would be the first to admit his sense of time was warped. He told himself his absent memories were why he had adjusted so quickly after his reincarnation, even though many people seemed surprised by it. And he was fine, until one day everything fell apart. Without warning, ordinary sounds would evoke visceral memories, and the sight of something as simple as peeling fruit would send him into a panic. Worst of all were the dreams, more terrible than anything he experienced awake. 

He had tried to reason away his reactions, reminding himself of his good fortune, and that half-buried memories couldn’t hurt him. Yet the reactions came from some place deeper than reason, and only staying in Lórien for a time decreased the intrusive memories and unexpected panic. There he had finally accepted that minimizing what had happened to him was no more helpful than dwelling on it. For a moment, he balked at the idea that Miaulë knew more of the gruesome details than he did himself, but he was not about to comfort his former torturer, no matter how sad his eyes were.

“If you will not accept my apology, why are you here?” Annatar asked.

“I wanted to give you your bowl.” Celebrimbor held it out with both hands.

Annatar slowly took it, before arranging some of the objects on his shelves so that the bowl could be put in its right place.

“I need to take it back to the studio to glaze it.”

“I know,” Celebrimbor said.

“Is that all?”

Celebrimbor didn’t answer the question. “Maybe you should talk to Olórin. He knows much of fate and choice and all the ways they pull us.”

“Perhaps.”

They sat in silence for a moment. “It can’t be good to sit in this closet day after day, dwelling on evil times. You should return to Nerdanel soon. She would be happy to teach you more of the shaping of clay.” Celebrimbor smiled. “I think she believes it has healing properties beyond what most would say.”

“I feel like I don’t deserve this. Any of this.”

“You don’t, but the chance has been extended anyway.” Celebrimbor looked around. “I’m sure what you saw today was horrible, but I would be lying if I said it did not reassure me to find it disturbed you so.” Annatar did not respond. Celebrimbor stood. “Maybe I should allow you some grief for the two strangers you saw slowly dying — it was very sad after all. Will I see you outside this room soon?”

“I suppose.” 

That would have to be good enough

~

 

Miaulë was relieved when he saw Gandalf in front of the Mirror the next day. In truth, he didn’t want to go into the cellar room at all. He had considered whether he should give up and ask to be sent to wherever they thought he should go if he remained ignorant. For that matter, he now didn’t think his fate would change all that much even if he did regain his memories. Celebrimbor had asked if he truly wished to know his past life. He had thought he had understood at the time what remembering meant, but had not really associated himself with the creature he saw in the Mirror every day. 

But in the visions of Eregion he not only looked like his current self, he could also recognize some of the same impulses and desires he still had. That was well and good when he saw his own curiosity mirrored while Annatar had worked with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, but less so when he saw his grasping possessiveness on display in the worst possible way.

Gandalf looked lost in thought when he entered. Miaulë sat down. “What are we looking at today?”

Gandalf bestirred himself, but did not seem amused by Miaulë’s glum tone. “What would you like to see?”

“Nothing. I am tired of seeing.”

“Well, you’re here, I’m here, and we both agreed to participate in this task weeks ago. It seems to me we should try to look for something.”

Miaulë stared blankly at the Mirror. Finally he said, “Could it have gone another way?”

Gandalf stroked his beard. “There are many branching paths in the world. They say that the paths of the Children are obscured, and that when they are involved our own understanding of the Song is incomplete. However, I have found our own fates are also not clearly defined. I could have chosen to remain in Valinor, and someone else would have been sent in my stead. Maybe his deeds would be the same as mine, and there would be no difference to most that it was not Olórin who was sent to Middle-earth! But it would have mattered a great deal to me, and I would be nothing like I am now. I also do not think Curumo’s downfall was fated; he could have been other than he was.”

“Curumo?”

Gandalf sighed heavily. “An old friend, whose whereabouts I am very interested in learning. And so! Miaulë. Let us see what connections to your past we can make.”

Gandalf filled the basin and they opened their minds to each other. Miaulë looked into the Mirror, filled with foreboding.

The Mirror did not take them to Eregion. There were no green things here; smoke blackened the sky and Arien glared red amid the fumes. Two golden figures stood among the desolation. Shining and armored, their forms were crafted for awe and beauty. One knelt, falling first on one knee and then the other.

“I was mistaken, misguided, and for my deeds I repent utterly.”

“So you say, but repentance does not undo the vile twisting of the Children which will now never be undone. It does not bring back the slain. Your evil was great, as you yourself have become great.” Eyes like stars pierced at the humbled figure before him.

The kneeling one looked up. “Eönwë, do you remember none of our friendship? We once were the same, you and I. Can you not find it in yourself to pardon me?”

“I cannot grant you that,” Eönwë said.

“Cannot or will not?” The honey sweet tone took on an edge.

“Cannot. Mairon, You know this. We are but servants.”

“Is that all you would be? A servant?” Mairon’s face darkened. “You know we could be so much more. We were both there at the beginning, you heard the same as I. The world is not as it should be—”

“Because of thy master, and thy aid to him!” Eönwë seemed to grow brighter. “Thy repentance seems feigned, Sauron. Thou wouldst kneel to me, yet I am not the one who can stand in ultimate judgment. Come with me, stand within Máhanaxar, and repent truly.”

Sauron stood. “And then what? They will bind me, constrain me, set me to servitude until world’s end. That is no choice!”

“Would it not be just? The souls thou hadst bound and constrained number in the thousands, and thou forced thralldom on countless Children. You killed, tortured, and maimed. All of these deeds demand satisfaction.”

In the distance the breaking earth groaned. 

“I cannot.”

“And I cannot force you.” Eönwë looked west before glancing back at Sauron. “Do not let me catch you again, or else you will suffer the same fate as your lesser brethren.”

Sauron’s face twisted in rage and flames licked up his arms. It seemed for a moment he would strike out at Eönwë and they would battle. In a heartbeat, the moment passed, and Sauron fled.

What Arda lies along that other path? A brighter one I should think, Gandalf thought. 

As Miaulë slowly rose out of the vision, he did not dispute this. “When do we stop?”

“We cannot stop. We have become a part of this world for better or worse. We can only go on.” Gandalf chuckled in response to Miaulë’s pained look. “We can stop right now for today, or end the exercise altogether and begin again to discuss what is to be done with you. But first, I would like to share something with you.” He abandoned words to speak into his mind again. We need not use the Mirror. It is a memory of us together I wish to show you.

Us? Miaulë’s curiosity got the better of him. Very well.

He could not tell at first what the Mirror showed. Darkness swallowed the vision, and seemed to lap up the edges. Then light, searing and beautiful, clear and then colored in turn. A blue disk hung in the vast dark. 

I know my harmony. Gandalf’s thought — here, Olórin. In the memory, a curtain of silver rippled, a vast presence and a single note all at once. Suddenly, the silvery form plunged towards the expanse of blue, the memory colored with joy. Sweeping into the atmosphere were other spirits, both separate and together. They slowly became distinct as they set the courses of the winds, wove the pattern of matter, and diffused minute specks of life into the sea and land. 

Olórin wished to see it all. He sailed through the heavens, scraping the dome of the stars. He sank into ferns and taught their roots the ways of joining and changing with the world. He mourned the ending of a life and celebrated the growth that sprang from it. 

Time flowed strangely. The memory seemed to take an instant and an age all at once. 

A confusion of rocks and mud tumbled from the shaking earth, burying the jungle Olórin had been tending. Miaulë sensed his consternation at the event; it had not been planned and green life and buzzing insects that should have had a full cycle were cut short. A pillar of fire with a searing white center appeared: another spirit like Olórin.

Your sight is short, Olórin. It is not the end. See! The spirits plunged into the earth. Olórin expected nothing but destroyed life and darkness — yet his companion (it’s you, Mairon) lit the way. Mairon reached out and plucked a stone out of the earth. It glowed gold in his hand like a drop of sunlight born from the ground.

Not everything was destroyed. Some of it changes, and through change becomes more beautiful than it was before. He picked up another stone printed with the perfect pattern of a fern. Even when they are gone, they leave their shape in the world.

Mairon had many more things to show Olórin. Rushing water carved fantastic shapes into the layered earth. Water rose to the heavens and left behind fields of crystals. Deep below the surface of Arda, pressure forged loose matter into gemstones, harder and more beautiful than before.

Gandalf reached out, the feel of his spirit more fiery than Olórin in the memory. Even we change. For better or for worse. We are not immutable, and I would not discard something before its time if there is still a seed of something different within it. 

It seems very unpleasant for the jungle to be buried alive and squeezed and heated until a small part of it is beautiful again, Miaulë pointed out.

I’m sure it is.

The memory ended, and Miaulë sat unmoving for a long moment. He finally looked up, and met Gandalf’s eyes. Very well. I will try for a little while longer.

Enough

Read Enough

It is truly astounding that the experience of trying to host a huge party is so universal , Frodo thought. He was watching the increasingly frazzled stewards argue over whether or not the wine was supposed to be delivered here or to Áremar. As he listened to their loud quarrel in rolling Quenya, the language still beautiful despite the angry words, he reflected on how his perceptions of so much of the world had changed. Before he had thought of Quenya as the language of lofty ideas and poetry, and would never have been unable to imagine it being spoken in such a mundane setting. Now he knew a litany of curse words and several highly inappropriate songs in the High Tongue.

The Elves were the same. He had known for a while that the air of ancient wisdom could be set aside in an instant for merriment, but it astonished him when he had witnessed those who had held great lordship in Middle-earth begin to act like hobbits in their tweens. He had seen with his own eyes wise, old Elrond leaping into the sea for the express purpose of dousing his wife with water. Galadriel seemed a bit more subdued then when she had first arrived at Ondomar, but just last evening she had been persuaded into a game of javelin throwing. She had cast off an outer robe, clad beneath in light linen underthings that would have shocked Frodo when he first arrived but now seemed quite modest after finding out what exactly elves wore (or didn’t) on their beach holidays. So dressed, she joined in a vigorous contest that involved much shouting, some boasts, and an astounding victory dance when she won.

As he listened to another argument breaking out over things that had been moved to the wrong place at the wrong time, he almost wished he had a part to play in the chaos. Sam had been swept up in an effort to brew enough beer to serve a pint to every one of the hundreds of wedding guests, a  project that was taking up most of his time. Frodo didn’t know how he could help. Besides, he had been feeling tired recently.

Tiredness in the Blessed Realm differed from what he had known in Middle-earth. It was less that his body was weary, and more a weariness of the mind. It was like the ache around the eyes after a long day at a sunny beach, exhausted from all the brightness.

Before Bilbo had died, he had tried to explain it to Frodo. “You see, we’re not like them, able to remember vast ages and still experience each day like a new gift. We’re built differently. Our minds can only contain so much before they weary of the world — even here. Things begin to slip. Not like how I saw the minds of the elderly go back home, but I do feel like I’m beginning to lose some of my me-ness here, like the old hobbit in me is being drained out and replaced by something that doesn’t quite fit.”

Frodo hadn’t understood at the time, but now he was beginning to see what Bilbo meant. He shook away the maudlin thoughts. Someday he would depart the circles of the world and discover what lay beyond, but it wouldn’t be for years to come. Discovery still called to him: all the places to see and people to meet before he could leave in peace. Indeed, he seemed to be in just the right place for some true excitement. Just the other day, he and Sam had travelled to Áremar to meet Fëanor himself. He had seemed as astounded by the hobbits as the hobbits had been by him. As they had shared old customs and stories from the Shire, Fëanor would exclaim “Elmendëa!” and then go down another branch of questions. He had been especially amazed when Sam shared that he had thirteen children, and had immediately demanded details, which Sam had happily provided.

And then there was their other unexpected guest. To Frodo’s surprise, he found he actually liked Sauron — or Miaulë, as he usually called him. Though ancient, he saw the world through fresh eyes, fresher even then Frodo’s at this point. He took nothing for granted and always wanted to help in whatever endeavor Frodo was engaged in. He could be a little thoughtless, though. Sam had once offered him a slice of freshly baked pie, and Sauron had proceeded to eat the entire dish, not once inquiring if anyone else wanted a bite. 

As if conjured by his thought, Frodo saw Sauron leaving the stables. Frodo waved him over. He also liked him simply because he was another person who seemed out of place in the increasing bustle of wedding preparations. Sauron smiled at him half-heartedly and joined Frodo at his place on the front porch.

“I am finding it difficult these days to find a place where I won’t be tripped over,” Frodo said by way of greeting.

“Have you considered putting a bell around your neck? It works wonders for alerting everyone in the area to your presence.”

For a moment Frodo didn’t know if he should laugh, the joke was delivered so dryly. Then he saw a glint in Sauron’s eyes and began to chuckle. 

“I’m afraid I’m not that desperate yet,” Frodo said. Sauron smiled, but it still seemed sad. “Miaulë, you haven’t seemed yourself recently, is something the matter?”

“What would it mean to be myself, I wonder?” Sauron shook his head. “My past has been lying heavily on me of late.”

“Your past?” Frodo sat up straight, faintly alarmed. “I did not know you regained your memories.”

“No, no, just the past as I view it through the Mirror. Frodo—” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “We have now spoken many times, always about the present. Yet I am given to understand that you were actually the one to end me at last. I don’t understand how such a thing is possible, and it seems it happened recently enough that I cannot find any sources on the matter.”

Frodo started at the realization that Sauron had gone all this time without discovering the details of his downfall. “It’s a rather long story, and I’m not sure I have the heart for it right now.”

“Never mind then. I’m sure I’ll see it soon enough.” Sauron looked disappointed.

“Perhaps I can tell you a short version.”

Sauron looked up hopefully. “Only if you really want to.”

“Alright then.” Frodo grasped for a place to begin. “It came to pass that I inherited your Ring. You know about the Ring at this point, yes?”

“Yes, I do.” Sauron’s lips thinned with displeasure. “But it seems strange that I could have been parted from it, much less that it would come to one such as yourself.”

“Well, I believe you parted from it quite forcibly, by someone cutting off your finger. And the Ring made its way through the ages to me. I did not know at first that it was an instrument of great power, but Gandalf discovered what it was. I was asked to bring it from my homeland to Rivendell, a place where many of the wise dwelled who could be trusted to know what to do with the Ring.

“However, the Ring… influenced people. Made them want it, made them want to use it, and in so doing made it dangerous for someone with power to hold it, even if they did not intend to use it. Thus, I remained its keeper, having little power and even less desire for power. It was decided that the only thing to be done with the Ring was to destroy it, but that was no simple task. To do so, we had to travel to Mordor itself, a place I knew was dark and fearful even with my limited knowledge, and cast it into the fires of Orodruin, where you originally created it.”

Sauron shuddered at the mention of the crafting of the One. Frodo looked at him closely. 

“And they sent you to do it? Alone?” Sauron asked.

“Not alone. I went with nine companions, so chosen to oppose your nine servants, Men whom you ensnared with the rings you and Celebrimbor created. Gandalf was among my companions, and Sam.” Frodo sighed. “In the end, only Sam was with me. You see, the Ring had already worked upon the heart of one of our party, driving him to try to harm me and take it for himself. I thought it would be better to go alone, but Sam—” Here Frodo smiled. “Well, you know Sam; if he gets an idea into his head there’s no talking him out of it, and he would not be parted from me.” Sauron nodded, a half smile on his face.

“Through much toil and hardship, we succeeded in entering Mordor, but not without the help of a creature called Sméagol. This Sméagol had also been corrupted by the Ring, for he held it for years, and he was drawn to it. He was also something like a hobbit — small in stature, though he had withered into something that looked more like a goblin.”

“It seems my Ring was held by everyone but me,” Sauron said wryly.

“Not quite. The only bearers were Isildur, myself, my Uncle Bilbo, Sméagol, and Sam for a very brief time. But that is more than I can tell this evening.” Frodo took a deep breath and continued to the most difficult part.

“We made it to Orodruin, but barely. I only have jumbled memories of the time. Always, I was aware of the Ring, and it felt like a great weight around my neck. As we drew closer to where it was created, I knew I drew closer to you, and it was terrible. At any moment I thought the Eye would see us, and all would be lost. It was all I could think about; it would consume me in but a little while.” Frodo paused. Even now, healed in mind and body, remembering the burning, grasping desire of Ring would fill him with dread for a moment.

“And you made it into the heart of my realm, beneath my notice. I still don’t understand how you were able to destroy it. That should have been impossible — I think I could never have destroyed it myself.” Sauron looked as if he were not fully present in the fine summer evening with Frodo.

“I did not. I claimed the Ring for myself, there in the heart of Orodruin. Sméagol, knowing what I had done, attacked me and took the ring from me, the very same way it was taken from you.” Frodo held up his four-fingered hand with a wry smile. “He was so overcome with joy at holding the thing which his heart had thirsted after for long years, he stepped too far back, and fell in.”

Sauron’s mouth dropped open. “That’s it? That’s how I was destroyed? After all the power of Men and Elves tried to end me for years, a small, wasted creature destroyed the Ring by accident?”

Frodo smiled. “I think Gandalf would dispute you on the accident part.”

“I’m sure he would,” Sauron grumbled.

Frodo grew serious. “I hate to tell the tale because in the end I failed. There are several here who would say otherwise — perhaps you should ask Sam to tell you his full story, he has a telling that is quite engaging — but it haunts me still that I succumbed to the Ring.”

“You’ve told me little, but it seems amazing to me that you made it as far as you did.” Sauron shook his head. “I have almost given up hope of regaining my memories, and I’m no longer sure I really want to.”

“What are you actually doing with Gandalf, Finrod, and Galadriel? It seems like no small thing; you and the others often leave looking drained and tired.”

“They have fashioned a window into the past, I believe it was mostly Galadriel’s doing, and each day we use it to see a portion of my history.”

“How does it work?” Frodo asked. “Elves are much freer with what I would call magic here than when I knew them in Middle-earth.”

“They have not shared its workings with me,” Sauron said, “but it is fashioned of a silver basin, filled with fresh water from a silver pitcher. No more, no less. I can tell the basin and pitcher are wound round with power though, and it can draw or repel with a strength that seems outside my own.”

“Really?” Frodo sat up. “That sounds much like the Mirror of Galadriel that I gazed into once while I was upon my quest.” He frowned, remembering the lidless eye that had peered back at him through the water. “It seemed like a thing of great power; I’m surprised that three such determined people have not found success.”

Sauron sighed. “It is the same every day. I go there, they fill the basin, we connect our minds, we look at whatever horrors they deem fit to show me, or perhaps those I’ve demanded to see, and we leave.”

“You connect your minds? I know many, perhaps all, elves seem to be able to communicate without words, mind to mind — is it like that?”

“Exactly. With such a connection you only speak what you choose to reveal. It’s not as if they can read my mind in full, nor I theirs, but it allows them to know what I’m seeing.”

Frodo frowned. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the preoccupation of knowing that your thoughts are being viewed is holding back old memories that would otherwise surface.”

A look of dawning realization crossed Sauron’s face. “Maybe you’re right. It seems at least that we should try something slightly different, since week after week we do the same thing with no results.”

“You should suggest that to them tomorrow — I know they must be as eager to be finished with this as you are.”

 

~

Miaulë left Frodo with something like hope. It would be wise to follow Frodo’s advice fully: tell the idea to Finrod tomorrow morning and try then. Miaulë did not feel particularly wise this evening.

He waited until most of the inhabitants of Ondomar were in their beds. The house never fully stilled — there was always someone working, a conversation or two, and people outside gazing at the stars — but most went to bed for at least a short rest around midnight. 

Miaulë left his room and tried to walk as if he were upon a normal errand. No one had ever said he must stay in his rooms at night, and in fact he had joined Nerdanel for a very late pottery lesson on more than one occasion. For that matter, no one had ever expressly forbidden him from using the Mirror alone. In spite of all this, he tried to move silently as he approached the cellar door.

No one spotted him as he descended the stairs to the cellar. He filled the pitcher from a tap in one of the workrooms. He thought that there was no greater blessing in the water than that which was innate to it, but he was beginning to realize he had no idea how the Mirror worked. Neither Gandalf nor the elves seemed to speak when using it, and while they poured the water slowly, he had not been able to divine a pattern. 

He returned to the room with the Mirror and softly closed the door behind him. It was very dark. He lit one of the candles with a thought, satisfied that this at least he could do with only the faintest twinge of pain. Several weeks ago that had not been the case.

He extended his awareness around the basin. Something hummed along the edges but it was faint. He began to pour the water in, mimicking as best he could the attitude and posture of his guardians. The basin filled; he reached out again. This time he could feel power licking around the edges, trying to draw him in. He had suspected that whatever spells were wrought here lay dormant until wakened by water, but he had also thought there would be some additional magical guard that would prevent some unwary person from using the Mirror. It seemed that was not the case; if he looked now he would be drawn into the past. He took a deep breath and leaned over the water.

It remained dark for a long while. Then a red light appeared in the distance. It bobbed up and down, slowly getting closer. He blinked and he realized he’d been watching the light from the perspective of someone else. “Better have a look at the worst,” someone muttered and suddenly Sam appeared — much younger, thinner, and more frightened than Miaulë had ever seen him. He tried to notice more details but the scene was already changing. The Mirror would show him what it wished without a stronger will to guide it.

There was another hobbit, one he did not recognize, his face as fearful as Sam’s had been. He began to run, barely visible in the dark. “What have I, I wonder?” he asked, and then vanished as a hissing noise began.

The water shifted and Frodo appeared. His gaunt face and filthy garments spoke of great hardship, but his eyes shone with purpose and he seemed filled with golden light. “The Ring is mine!” His voice rang out amid the thundering noise of the stone chamber he stood in. Then he vanished as well.

Miaulë glimpsed himself in the same stone chamber, wreathed in flame, staring at something in his hand with an all-consuming hunger. The vision shifted and he stood on a hill, golden and glorious, his armies below him fighting with fervor for their god-king. A ripple, and now he was looking at bowed heads as a priest garbed in red plunged a knife into the chest of a prisoner on an altar. The water began to churn and swallowed the vision in depths far greater than the shallow basin Miaulë gazed into.

A Man appeared, his face noble, though stained with soot and dirt. His eyes held the echo of something familiar. Tears cleared tracks down his cheeks, but his expression shifted from sorrow to wonder to desire as he stared down at something in his hand.

The face changed: the eyes bulged, the cheeks sunk, and the hair dissolved into wisps. The mostly toothless mouth opened and began to shriek. “Precious, precious, precious!” the creature wailed.  “Thief, thief, thief! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it forever!” The wailing went on and on, full of horrible, unbearable loss. The face shifted again, and became even more terrible as the skin shriveled like that of a dead thing, and the eyes merged into a single glazed Eye. The Eye rolled from side to side, ever searching, its hue a sickly yellow with a pupil that opened like an abyss into nothingness. The endless lament did not cease, an anguished litany of hate that made Miaulë’s head hurt and set his teeth on edge. 

Lost . The thought echoed in his mind and rattled him to his core. It was as if he had been staring outwards all this time standing on the edge of a pit, completely unaware of the gaping hole behind him. Where once had been vitality and power now was a profound absence. The Precious is gone. He was It and It was he and he was gone — he would never be whole again. Rage began to grow. He had been robbed, betrayed, by stinking thieves who would accuse him of their own crimes. He hated them — Baggins, Isildur, Celebrimbor — the architects of his loss.

As the shrieking voice threatened to consume him, the rest of his memories came rushing back. Ages of striving, ages of loneliness, ages of trying and failing to right a warped world. He tried to pull the edges of his being back together, attempting to be whole again, able to see and act in the world as he once had at the height of his power, but instead a bone-deep pain wracked him. The wailing would not stop. He tried to summon enough will to stop the screaming, but it only hurt worse. I cannot even stop that pathetic monster . He tried again to close the void within, but could not; the effort only made the shrieking louder. I am trapped! I will go mad again if I cannot stop this endless noise, he thought before white-hot agony enveloped him once more, 

~

“I think I shall become nocturnal,” Coroniel announced. “It’s much quieter; I can actually focus for once.”

Celebrimbor didn’t look up from his etching. They were sitting at opposite corners of Coroniel’s desk, engaged in a familiar ritual of working and complaining together. Celebrimbor was not particularly tired tonight and was glad to have the company. His last conversation with Annatar still played endlessly in his mind. They had greeted each other briefly in the workshop and when they saw each other in the hall, but Annatar was clearly reluctant to do more than say hello. Celebrimbor was trying to give him space, but the awareness that they would have to make a decision regarding him soon plagued him, and he as of yet didn’t know what the right decision was. 

“The additional staff are going to be arriving soon. I don’t even know where they’re all going to stay.”

“I suspect I’ll be asked to share a room,” Coroniel said glumly.

“Move into mine, that way Nerdanel can’t install someone more annoying there first.”

Coroniel opened her mouth to respond when a shriek echoed through the house. Celebrimbor dropped his stylus, his heart gripped with fear. He thought he knew that voice, no matter the distortion. For the second time, he opened the bond he shared with Annatar. A wave of fear, hate, and loss washed over him. 

“Annatar.” And then he was running, throwing himself around corners as he tried to reach where the screams originated. He tried to break through the wall of emotion that radiated from Annatar’s mind. You are not lost , he tried to imprint as Annatar fought for some kind of hold in the maelstrom. 

Just as he reached the cellar steps, Annatar seemed to recognize him. Traitor! We hate you! The thought knifed through him, as sharp as the cries coming from the room. Celebrimbor half-fell down the steps, clutching the wall, fear coursing through him as the last time he had heard those words came rushing back to him. 

I loved you. He gripped the silver bracelet, trying to anchor himself to something real, to not lose himself to the emptiness that echoed through their bond. For a moment the cries stopped. Celebrimbor tried to conjure up every new memory he had made with Annatar: the spoons, the bracelet, reading together, small moments Celebrimbor had realized he missed. He did not think it was love, not yet, but there was companionship, the beginnings of friendship, and something to stand against the absence that clawed at Annatar’s mind. 

Celebrimbor took a steadying breath before opening the door. He had faced worse things and hadn’t lost himself. He could face whatever Annatar was becoming in that room, even if it was that spirit of malice he had long feared would be his fate, and still remain whole himself.

Annatar crouched on the ground, his hands clawed and clutching the floor. His breath came in harsh pants, and Celebrimbor could sense another shriek rising. Smoke was coming from somewhere. He ran over and knelt next to him. Annatar reared up and stared at him, his face contorting between loathing, fear, and something he could not place. 

“Annatar, it’s me.” Celebrimbor did not let his own fear show. “Miaulë,” he tried when Annatar did not respond. He had no grand insight, no way to repair a soul in an instant that had eroded for millennia. 

“There is more.” Celebrimbor tried to convey with every scrap of his being how much more there was, even at the end of everything once hoped for. The future could not be the shape of the past, for that was gone forever. They would never be able to live unshadowed from the pain Annatar had wrought, but that didn’t mean what could be was worthless.

I can’t stop it . Annatar looked up and reached out a hand; his eyes seemed to plead for help. Then his hand tensed and the fear morphed into anger. “You thief!” 

Celebrimbor dodged as Annatar half lunged, half fell, towards him, but grabbed his hand anyway. “It is gone! You cannot have it and it cannot have you.”

Annatar bared his teeth, and Celebrimbor prepared to ward him off with his other arm. A green light flashed in his eyes as Annatar warred with himself. Celebrimbor could see the duality through their bond, parts that had been sliced apart and sundered for ages. There was a single ragged breath.

I’m so tired.

I know.

“It is gone. There is nothing to grasp any longer,” Celebrimbor said. “You have already survived the loss; there is more left than you think.”

“It is enough!” Annatar cried, his voice rough. He collapsed forward onto Celebrimbor. For an instant Celebrimbor didn’t know if he meant to strangle him or embrace him, but as his body sagged against his own, the conflict within Annatar settled; he ceased trying to recreate the loss of being that could never be wholly assuaged. Annatar’s eyes dimmed and his anger dissolved into grief. 

Celebrimbor wrapped his arms around him and looked up. Coroniel stood in the doorway, a candlestick clutched like a club in her hand. Nerdanel loomed behind her in a dressing gown, and behind her were several other Nerdanelië in various states of undress. He smiled. “The worst has been averted.”

“What happened?” Nerdanel asked, still alarmed.

“He remembers. And now, I think we should save the rest of the questions until the morning.” Celebrimbor reached up to loosen the arms around his neck, but Annatar only tightened his hold. He tried to stand, but Annatar remained a dead weight, pulling him towards the ground. Finally, fully aware of the many eyes on him, he threaded an arm underneath Annatar’s knees and picked him up, his weight lighter than the vise-like grip would suggest. Annatar did not protest, his face still buried in Celebrimbor’s neck. 

“You can talk with him tomorrow,” Celebrimbor told the still-shocked crowd, and carried Annatar to his room.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks you to Visitor for adding clarity to the writing and reassurance to the author!

Awake

Read Awake

He held all of his selves in his mind at once, the awareness after so long a sundering dissonant and strange. There was Miaulë, blissfully ignorant — and for all his longing, more content and balanced than he had been in ages. There was shrieking insanity, a vortex that threatened to swallow him whole if he dwelled on it for too long. There was the embattled Power, the self mostly gone, replaced by calculations and plots, the drive to reunite with his shattered soul stronger than any need before. There was Tar-Mairon, who should have been satisfied, but was not, unable to imagine loss or defeat, the world bending to his will. There was Annatar, myopic in his desire to start over, as blind to the past as Miaulë had been, somehow believing he alone of all creatures in the world could jettison the baggage of history. Finally there was Mairon, believing any means were worth his ends, seeing no difference from his bright beginning to the charnel pit of his present, for everything was reasoned and he could never be wrong.

And now he was nothing. Weaker than many in this very house, despite being an offspring of Ilúvatar’s thought, and with no one to blame but himself. No, you have been betrayed, they array themselves against you when all you would give them is goodness. They hate you and you hate them.

“No,” he spoke aloud, the better to silence the hissing voice that he might never be rid of. He could still scarcely believe he had decided to externalize his power in an attempt to enhance it. He had seen where it had led before — to the loss of self and the ultimate loss of power that occurred when the vessel or vessels were inevitably lost.

Celebrimbor’s hand tightened on his shoulder, the only sign he knew of the bursts of incomprehensible fury that still moved through Sauron. His heartbeat remained slow and his breathing even. 

Sauron propped himself up on an elbow and gazed down at Celebrimbor. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Celebrimbor’s lips curved in a smile. “In my own room? I beg to differ.”

Sauron began to carefully trace lines over Celebrimbor’s face. “I shouldn’t be here.” Celebrimbor’s eyes fluttered closed. 

“But you are.”

“Yes.” He declined to list all the further reasons he should be cast out of Ondomar, or at the very least out of Celebrimbor’s bed, but his selfishness knew no bounds and he could not argue against what he wanted more than anything else. 

“I—” A welter of conflicting emotions fought within him. Regret won out, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. It would never be enough; even the smallest step forward felt fruitless. He knew Celebrimbor could feel his remorse through their bond; perhaps that was enough.

Celebrimbor’s eyes opened again, clear and grey, dimmer than the last time he had gazed into them like this, close and without conflict. For a moment, a vision of bloody pits and dull sunken skin over shattered bone rose before his eyes. Sauron sucked in a breath and dragged a thumb over Celebrimbor’s cheekbone, erasing remembered horror with a touch. His hand drifted down over a whole, unbroken rib cage to feel easy breath move his arm up and down.

“I can’t believe you would truly want to be with me again.”

Celebrimbor stilled his hand by twining their fingers together. “Who said I wanted that? I’m still angry with you. Did you think I would take you back just because you’re sad?”

Sauron glanced down at their entangled limbs and tucked away the anguish that rose in his unsteady heart. “No, I did not think that.” He’d only hoped. Later, he would figure out where he really stood with Celebrimbor — when his sense of self was less fragile. He laid his head back down on Celebrimbor’s chest, and tried again to make sense of his splintered being.

~

“And so we’ve succeeded I suppose. Now what?” Finrod rubbed his face.

“Succeeded!” Galadriel straightened from where she’d been examining a singe-mark on the table. “He remembered himself without our guidance, and by going outside the guidelines we set. This seems like abject failure on our part.”

“I’m not sure if it matters how he remembered himself — just that he has, and he hasn’t killed anyone nor done too much damage.” Finrod glanced around the room where they’d spent so long sifting through memories.

“We haven’t succeeded in the slightest yet.” Gandalf brought his staff down with a resounding thump. “I know no more of how he came here than yesterday, and that was the object of our endeavor, or mine at least.” He tugged at his beard, which was looking unusually brown.

“Well, he wasn’t exactly sensible earlier. Perhaps he has recalled how he came here,” Finrod said.

Gandalf sighed. “Perhaps. I’ll try to interrogate him once he’s regained some composure.”

“If that happens.” Galadriel glanced up darkly in the direction of Celebrimbor’s room. “I heard a bit of what he was saying. It sounds as if he still remembers all of his old resentments.”

“But Celebrimbor seemed to soothe him. Maybe therein lies the key,” Finrod suggested.

“Soothe!” Galadriel exclaimed. “I am not sure how much I will be able to endure them soothing each other. I may have to leave Ondomar at the very least, although would that I could put a mountain range between us again.”

Gandalf also glanced up. “I think it's sweet.”

~

Sauron could feel Celebrimbor waking up. The strange flickering emotions and thoughts that came with dreams became steady and his breath became more shallow. After Sauron had quieted the raving part of his mind, he had spent the night weighing his options. He knew that this was only a temporary reprieve; the residents of Ondomar and Áremar would not allow him to remain among them living the simple life he had known. There was still a kernel of suspicion in his mind — perhaps not of Celebrimbor, but certainly of others at Ondomar. He could conceive of no reason why those who had been his enemies for ages would allow him the freedom he had been granted. Was there some trap he could not detect, some web being woven around him ready to imprison?

But he had not been ensnared as far as he could tell, unless they considered him regaining his memories as some sort of trick against him. What exactly they would do next remained in doubt. They could just cast him out, forbid him from entering the grounds of either hall, and leave him to fend for himself. Yet Sauron found it more likely that the Ainur would be summoned, and they would finally disclose his presence to the Valar

And then what? Would he stand in the Máhanaxar, and finally receive Manwë’s judgment? Would he be imprisoned in Mandos until the end of time or be sent to join his former master in the Void? Perhaps none of those options — he could very well be returned to whatever strange space he had been restrained in before he had become Miaulë. He shuddered to remember the constant alertness he had been held to and the exposed feeling of observation. It was like being at the point of greatest stress right before a battle, but the battle never came. He had thought he had been in that place for an Age, maybe longer, but he realized now that it had been little more than a hundred years. No, he would do anything in his limited power to avoid returning there.

All this led to the conclusion that he should run — vanish before anyone else discovered him. But where to go? The fences of the Valar kept the residents of Aman in just as surely as they kept everything else out. Perhaps he could hide for a time in the far north or far south, but he did not know how long he could stay hidden.

“Good morning.” Celebrimbor smiled at him, more with his eyes than with his mouth. 

Then there was this additional complication. Somehow, though he had lost his realms, his armies, his Ring, and his power, he had landed exactly where he had meant to land all those years ago. How he had believed before that he could win Celebrimbor back through force still mystified him. He could remember the rage and pain of rejection, and his single-minded focus on fixing what his lies had broken. Still, he should have realized that Celebrimbor, for all his virtues, could not be forced to use the back door when he meant to use the front, much less agree to a design he hated, or return to someone who had betrayed him. 

“Good morning.” Apparently getting the choice of his heart back just required losing everything Sauron had, becoming a powerless husk, and shaming himself in front of all of their acquaintances and Celebrimbor’s family. If you had known that, would you have given it all away? a voice within him whispered. He somehow doubted it. Even on the other end of utter failure, the thought of throwing away the peak of his power rankled him — there had been potential there, even if in the end it came to nought. The Ring had been executed in perfect accordance to his designs — the flaw lay in the weakness it had exposed in himself, not in the Ring itself. Even as he thought about the Ring in the most abstract of ways, the emptiness came rushing at him, and the frantic need to patch what couldn’t be patched almost overcame him.

Sauron ran his thumb over the familiar callouses of Celebrimbor’s hand to anchor himself firmly to the physical world. The painful awareness that he did not precisely have Celebrimbor back stabbed at him, for all they were laying in bed together with their bond open to the other, emotions on display, choice thoughts echoing between them. Celebrimbor’s blithe rejection from last night resurfaced in his thoughts. Maybe—

“I will not run away with you,” Celebrimbor cut in. Sauron’s thoughts were not as obfuscated as he thought. “And if you run away by yourself, the worst outcome you fear will surely come to pass.”

“Run away again? I was cast out.”

“I was angry with very good reason and asked you to leave. Then you ran away to your dark fortress to perform the most misguided of experiments — which given who you are is really saying a lot — and assemble an army. And then you came back, having apparently decided that any sort of discussion was out of the question. So you can see why I would take your running away again in the worst possible way.”

“I could not get an army now even if I wanted to. And when I returned to Ost-in-Edhil, you weren’t exactly looking to treat with me.” Sauron knew his argument was hollow — the actions one took when a foreign army arrives were well known to him — but arguing with Celebrimbor felt as natural as breathing.

Celebrimbor sat up. “Annatar—”

“Don’t call me that!” On this point at least, Miaulë had been right. He had taken the name ‘Annatar’ with every intention of embodying the promise of its meaning, but now it seemed a name of lies and worse. I don’t wish you to think of me as him any longer.

Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow. “So what should I call you? Miaulë?”

Sauron also sat up, reluctant to reduce their points of contact to only one leg pressed against the other. “No. I am not a cat.”

“Then what?”

“Sauron. Gorthaur. Thû.”

“I can feel your revulsion, you know,” Celebrimbor said.

“Then leave me nameless.” Sauron crossed his arms.

“You have been called the Nameless One before, and it seems an ill omen to call you that again.”

“Of course, I have even polluted namelessness.”

“Your name of old was Mairon.” Celebrimbor nudged his leg with his own.

“As unsuitable as all the rest. I am a weak crawling thing, no more to be admired than a worm.” Sauron studiously avoided Celebrimbor’s gaze, but he could practically feel his eye roll through their bond. Then Celebrimbor began to retreat, raising again the mental wall that he had maintained for ages. Sauron resisted crying out and throwing himself at him, but his face must have shown some hint. 

“It’s a bit much for daily life, don’t you think?” Celebrimbor said as he left the bed and began to rummage in his wardrobe. Sauron did not think that in the least; the closed bond left him unsteady and bereft. He didn’t want to say that though; he had a feeling that if he reached out too strongly, Celebrimbor would recoil even further. Instead he said nothing as Celebrimbor changed his clothes, back turned towards him, his movements fast and efficient. “Will you just be staying in here today?”

“If I may.” Though he knew it was unreasonable, he wondered if maybe he didn’t leave the room, the future could be held off.

“You may.” Celebrimbor smiled slightly as he re-braided his hair. 

Sauron glanced around; a long day of contemplation suddenly sounded less appealing. “Do you have anything to read?”

Celebrimbor raised both eyebrows. “You can read any of the books I have here. You can also read my notes, if you’d like — just don’t reorder any pages.” He stared at Sauron for a moment longer. “I’ll be back this evening.”. 

~

As Celebrimbor went about his day, he found he kept on forgetting the one thing he needed in a room or leaving jobs half finished. He found he had accumulated many small tasks, some for the running of Ondomar, many for the wedding, a few for the other smiths, and some just for friends that he’d promised he would do. It was almost as bad as his days in Ost-in-Edhil when he had often found himself with too many responsibilities to keep track of in his head. He resisted breaking out a board and a list to stay on top of tasks that hardly mattered, though.

There lay a root cause of his distraction — he was not really invested in any particular work or project and was drifting like an unmoored boat. He knew that was far from an uncommon feeling, but he faced it now for the first time in many ages. 

Also not helping the distraction were the pointed ‘how are you?’s that everyone seemed to have for him today. Nerdanel planted herself in front of him and wouldn’t move until she’d looked into his eyes for a full minute. Finrod attached himself to him for a while as he measured materials in the smithy. In a disconcerting turn of events, Curufin and Ornéliel found him while he was giving instructions to the carpenters. His parents, together, not fighting, inquiring after his well being, and not talking about themselves was unprecedented and unsettling. Gandalf, at least, asked how his guest was, and seemed satisfied with the answer of ‘stable, but too overwhelmed to speak with anyone else quite yet.’

It would be more accurate to describe Sauron as being a mix of embarrassed and scared, but anyone who knew anything about him would find that description alarming, so Celebrimbor thought it prudent to keep that assessment to himself.

He eventually admitted to himself that he was also a bit distracted by his ex-husband in his room. Ex, of course, because in his opinion, leaving someone, returning with an army, and then killing them rather conclusively ended a relationship. Despite the lack of precedent, he suspected that if he bothered to go to the Valar with that hypothesis they’d be in agreement. However, he hadn’t taken any steps to actually sever the spiritual connection between himself and Sauron. He told the few who knew that he had never tried because it had not been necessary with Valinor sundered from Middle-earth.  He knew the real reason was because the steps to actually divorce their souls would require making public his private pain, and would threaten to change the nature of his grief forever. 

He finally allowed himself to head back to his room with dinner for himself and Annatar, Sauron, or whatever he was going to end up calling him. He braced himself for a moment before entering. A part of Annatar still hated him, and a part still seemed to love him — either one or neither could be behind the door.

He blinked several times as he stepped in the room. His living quarters were one large room, but partitioned shelves that reached to the ceiling split his bed and wardrobe from his office and sitting area with a small room for washing off to the side. The basic layout of the room remained the same, but everything had been moved. The shelves were on the other side, and in a slightly different configuration, changing the path he would take to his sleeping quarters. Several tables were missing and he seemed to have gained another desk. Things were on the walls that had not been there before, and he could have sworn that he had not had at least one of the rugs now on the floor. 

His Third Age model, reassembled and re-measured, hung near what appeared to be his old desk. It looked better properly suspended instead of propped up on furniture strewn across his room. 

Annatar stood up from where he’d been sitting on the couch, a board on his lap. “Oh good — you’re here.”

“What did you do to my furniture?”

“I rearranged things a bit. I know you were complaining about not having enough space for your wedding responsibilities and your project, so I made you an additional workspace. All the invitations and responses are over there.” Annatar waved his hand at a desk in the corner.

Celebrimbor set the food down on one of the remaining side tables, trying to decide if the new blue rug was the same shade as some old robes of his. He was leaning towards yes. 

“You should have asked before completely tearing apart my room.”

Annatar looked around with a frown. “Torn apart? You don’t think this is much better?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Well, if anything isn’t to your liking, I’m sure I can put it back the way it was. Anyway—“ Annatar motioned Celebrimbor over. “I reassembled your model. You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?”

In truth Celebrimbor had not thought at all about the astronomical changes he had been trying to pin down a month ago. He had been rather preoccupied by the reemergence of Annatar and his own conflicted heart. But— 

“Do you remember something that explains the movement between stars?”

Annatar looked very pleased with himself. “I think I can explain some of what puzzles you. When Arda became rounded, much more occurred than the curving of the land, although that was dramatic enough. You already note the changed paths of Eärendil and Arien, but several processes, or perhaps mechanisms is a better word, that stemmed from the Valar’s power were removed from Middle-earth.”

“How do you know?” Celebrimbor asked, suspicious. “You certainly wouldn’t have had any contact with the Ainur at the time of the sundering.”

“Because—“ Annatar stopped and looked askance at Celebrimbor. “Because after I became, hm, aware enough to take measure of things outside of myself, I noticed the absence of many streams of power that once flowed through Middle-earth. If you ask those you know who lived in Middle-earth at the time, some of them might have noticed the same thing, although it was likely much less apparent in Lindon, Rivendell, and Lothlórien because of, ah — because of your Rings.”

There were so many things Celebrimbor could respond to in this revelation that he found himself unable to choose one for several moments. Finally he said, “I suppose it’s gratifying to know that I managed to tether the Rings well enough for them to survive a cataclysmic reordering of the world.”

“I am impressed, actually, now that I think of it. I was too angry at the time when I realized it to appreciate it.”

Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes at the flattery. “But what does this have to do with the stars?”

“When the world was rounded, Varda no longer needed to use her power to hold her simulacrum of the stars in place, so instead, we simply saw her original work.”

Celebrimbor blinked. “‘And so my outstretched arms were flung wide,’” he murmured. “That’s what Varda told me, but I could not understand what was meant. I’m sorry, simulacrum? Is that what you meant to say?”

“Yes,” said Annatar, looking slightly affronted. “The dome of the stars was no longer needed since the sphere of Arda could hold all gasses needed to sustain life, so it was rescinded.”

Celebrimbor gaped at him. “So the dome is gone? And the stars that I viewed all my life were not real?”

“In a way. Although the dome was real enough, and also created by Varda.”

“And why the difference in behavior? Why the subtle movements between some but not all of the stars?”

“Because the stars are very remote objects that move on their own paths, just as Arda moves on her own path.” Annatar gestured at a cluster of objects he had hung all from the same point. “But some of the stars move in groups, so their distances relative to each other would not change.”

“So the distances I have here are all off.”

“Yes — but we would need a space larger than Ondomar itself to properly show how far the stars are relative to Middle-earth, so I left it as is with notes on the actual distances tacked onto the objects.”

Celebrimbor moved closer to the model, examining the suspended stars. “I still don’t understand why the sky here in Aman remains unchanged after the sundering. If we are here—” He motioned to the space adjacent to Arda. “Then all the constellations should have shifted. Menelmacar should be barely visible in the southeastern sky, and so forth.”

“That’s because we are not there.”

“But we must be — Eldar are still sailing west from Middle-earth.”

“No. As best as I can tell, when Aman was split off after the curving of the world an extra space was created for it, still hewing to the rules of the old world,” Annatar explained. “I think there is a fold in the fabric of the world that allows some to travel to Aman, but, properly speaking, it’s not at all near Middle-earth.”

Celebrimbor stared at Annatar in disbelief, a discomfiting feeling creeping over him. He had not realized that he had derived some comfort from thinking of Middle-earth as nearby but inaccessible, yet its absence left him feeling unmoored.

“So then where are we?”

“I have no idea.” Annatar walked over and took a coin and put it under an empty cup. He then put both objects on the other desk. “There. That can be Aman. I have no idea if we are truly that far away from Arda, but the point is it doesn’t matter. We are in some new pocket of Eä that was made—“

“Was made to get away from you!” Celebrimbor looked at the model, a claustrophobic feeling creeping over him. “We’re stuck under a cup in some remote corner—”

“I think you are too preoccupied with the remote aspect — the physical distance is unknown and immaterial.”

“And all because you are never satisfied—”“

“It was the Númenóreans who were dissatisfied.” Annatar crossed his arms.

“And why is that? Because you planted lies in their heads—”

“Most of what I told them was true!” Annatar snapped. Something of his outraged disbelief must have shown in Celebrimbor’s face. “But I certainly did not expect for the consequences to be what they were. And I may have made some mistakes.” He glanced at Celebrimbor. “I definitely made some mistakes,” he offered.

Celebrimbor rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want apologies just to assuage me. Besides, I am not the one that deserves an apology.”

“No? You seem rather disturbed by the current shape of the world. And I bear some responsibility for that, I suppose.”

“I never meant to come here.”

Annatar looked away. “I know.”

“That is certainly your fault.”

“I know.”

Celebrimbor’s anger disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. What remained was a vague anxiety and an ancient sadness. Annatar’s memories were back, but that solved nothing in and of itself. Deep down he had hoped that Annatar without the Ring would somehow transform into the man he had loved in Ost-in-Edhil, who did not seek to dominate and who listened carefully to his colleagues even when he vehemently disagreed. But the intervening years had changed them both, even without the interference of magical jewelry. Celebrimbor sighed. At the very least he could squeeze all the information he could out of Annatar.

“Can you draw it out on paper? The model? Erestor will want to see when he arrives with Elrond,” Celebrimbor asked.

“Of course.”

“And you took apart the table I used to eat at. Now where am I supposed to sit if I don’t want to eat in the hall? At my desk?”

“Oh, yes!” Annatar walked over the seating area, pushed two of the side tables in front of the fire, and flipped out several leaves and hooked them together. He looked over at Celebrimbor hopefully. “Do you like it?”

Celebrimbor sighed, too irritated to make any sort of objective commentary on the carpentry or even wonder where Annatar had found the tools for the project. “I wish you’d asked.”

“Sorry.”

I wish I had any sort of inkling that you actually regretted any of your past actions. He said nothing though, and carried the tray of food over to the table. “I brought enough for you too.”

Annatar sat down, and began filling his plate. “Thank you. I find I’m quite accustomed to eating regularly now.”

“How long are you planning on hiding in here?”

Annatar did not protest the accusation of hiding. “You are not turning me out then?”

“Well, you’re certainly not sleeping in my bed tonight.” Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow.

Annatar did not appear too disappointed by that stipulation. “Tomorrow, I thought I could figure something out for your wedding attire with Sildamo.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes? For that matter, what did you do with my clothes?”

“Most of your clothes are untouched!” Annatar protested. “And they’re fine, but nothing you have is fit for a wedding like the one that is being planned.”

“I just had new robes made for my trip to Taniquetil a few years ago — surely those are suitable for a wedding?”

“No, they are far too constraining, and of antiquated design. Don’t you want to dance at the wedding?”

Celebrimbor sighed. How Annatar, who had never been to one of the elvish cities in Valinor, knew what should be worn to a wedding was a mystery, but he did not want to argue about something so trivial. “Fine. You can talk to Sildamo tomorrow, but he won’t appreciate a new order only weeks away from the wedding. For that matter, what are you going to wear?”

“I’m sure I’m not invited.”

“I’m quite certain you are, as I was in charge of the invitations and the final count of guests.” Celebrimbor and Fingon had agreed that while it would be strange if Annatar came, it would also be strange if he didn’t come and stayed by himself at Ondomar. This was while he still didn’t remember his past, but as long as Annatar could behave himself, Celebrimbor thought the decision still held.

“I suppose it doesn’t much matter,” Annatar said.

“Come now, it would be unseemly if you showed up in the borrowed clothes you’ve been wearing. Figure out something for yourself tomorrow too.”

“You’re likely right.” Annatar looked down at his plate.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Celebrimbor suddenly spoke, “Well, if you're going to hide in my room and destroy my furniture a while longer, I need some sort of recompense.”

Annatar looked up. “You know I have nothing.”

“Tell me about the other changes in Middle-earth as you observed them. I’ve heard from other people, but I know you can see more of the structure of the world than we can. I can hardly imagine the scale of the change that must have happened.”

“Very well,” Annatar acquiesced, and they spoke no more of themselves that evening.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

Thank you as always to Visitor for beta-ing this chapter!

What Remains

Read What Remains

It took one abandoned drawing, two books picked up and set down repeatedly, and three fires lit and put out before Sauron finally admitted to himself that he was avoiding leaving Celebrimbor’s room. 

He had spent last night split between drawing out the model for Erestor and meditating on the couch. After several hours interrogating him about the physics of Middle-earth following the rounding of Arda, Celebrimbor went to bed shortly after Tilion set, professing weariness. Yet every hour or so, he would stride back into the sitting room to furiously scribble down some notes or bombard Sauron with new questions that had just occurred to him. 

This was a familiar ritual. In Eregion, Sauron would frequently disclose facts that he knew mostly due to his innate knowledge of the nature of the world. This would irritate Celebrimbor without fail, who found Sauron’s access to information that no Elf could possess without centuries of study as endlessly frustrating as it was fascinating. It probably did not help that the disclosures usually came from the desire to disprove one of Celebrimbor’s theories. Celebrimbor would then walk off in a huff, professing to be too tired or busy for further conversation. Yet without fail, a few hours later, he would find Sauron again with a list of questions that he insisted he provide proofs on.

After announcing his ostensible intentions yesterday, Sauron should have hurried off to Sildamo as soon as he could reasonably expect the tailor to be awake. Instead, it was somehow already mid-morning, and at the same time only mid-morning, and he had barely restrained himself from rearranging Celebrimbor’s rooms yet again. Celebrimbor had been remarkably patient with him so far, but Sauron did not want to use up his reserves over something as foolish as furniture placement. 

The idleness was driving him mad, but the idea of leaving the room still weighed on him. Staying in here would not actually prevent the unpleasant future from arriving, but it felt that way.  

And if this is how you feel after one day of inaction, how will an eternity feel?  

“I have been a prisoner before,” he said aloud to this unpleasant thought. 

Not like this you haven’t. Trapped, with no hope for any escape, until time itself ends.

He slammed his head against the couch cushions, as if to drive the insidious voice from his mind. If anything was going to force Sauron out of this room, it should be the knowledge of the limited time he had remaining. After so many wasted years, during which he had been consumed utterly with his desire to get his Ring back, he ought to  have an endless list of things to do and make. For if he had lost most of his spiritual power as well as his innate knowledge of Song and all the ways he could twist it, his current body could act on the world in ways that the cobbled-together shells he had inhabited for most of the Third Age could not. 

Gone. It is gone forever and you shall always be a darkened, empty husk.

“No. I have not been cast out yet. He must see something in me still.” He spoke aloud to make the sentiment more real. Or maybe I speak aloud because there is madness in me still. He could feel it, locked away for now, but not wholly banished.

Tap tap. “Come in,” Sauron called, not bothering to move from the couch. Eventually I should make an effort to not appear pathetic in front of Celebrimbor, he thought. It seemed a little late to do anything about that impression today though.

The steps were too heavy to be Celebrimbor, too heavy to be anyone but one person currently at Ondomar.

“Good morning, Mairon,” Olórin said, coming into his field of vision and peering down at him. “How are you at present?”

“Terrible,” Sauron said.

“Well, you seem a great deal more coherent and much less like a maddened ghost then the last time I saw you, so terrible must be an improvement.” Olórin pulled a chair over to the couch and sat down. “So, our effort to regain your memories is repaid at last, although not precisely how we wanted it to be. I should chastise you for doing what you must have known was against our advice, but in the end it was successful and also quite unpleasant for you, so I find it unnecessary.”

Sauron considered sitting up to speak with Olórin but decided against it. “How kind of you.”

“You are being treated with great kindness and mercy, yes, but as you know, I do have an ulterior motive.”

Sauron realized why Olórin had come to see him. He slowly sat up. “I’m afraid I still don’t have the answers you seek.”

Olórin raised his eyebrows. “Nothing? Truly?”

Sauron shook his head. “I could not tell you where I was, nor how I got there, nor what was being done to me.”

“Do you remember your fall?” Olórin sat forward, his eyes fixed on Sauron.

“Yes.” Sauron frowned, trying to find a way to approach the memory without antagonizing the hissing voice inside him. “I felt Frodo claim the Ring, and I knew where it was, and I was horrified that it was so close without me knowing, as if my own creation betrayed me. I also knew he was no great heir of Númenor like I had feared, or one of the Eldar finally realizing the only way to defeat me, but a creature of small power with a will I could dominate. And then it was gone.” Sauron realized he was on the cusp of rending the fabric from the frame of the couch with his grip and forced his hand to relax, despite the agony of even recalling his loss. “I extended my will to the extent that I could, as if I could still grasp the Ring if I but tried. And then I collapsed. I lost all control of every part of my being, and then all was confusion. When I next became aware, I was suddenly elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

“What I told you before. It was small, although how I could know ‘small’ with no physical form I don’t know, and I was watching, but not as I had watched for the past millennia. Now I was forced to watch, unable to rest, I could not choose to do anything else. And now my eyes were someone else’s tool, a vehicle for a greater power.”

Olórin sat back. “This still troubles me. And your escape? Do you still not know how that was engineered?”

“No, I was suddenly free. My awareness was limited, and I remember trying to flee as far and fast as possible, but I could not tell you what I was running from or towards. I knew I needed to hide my naked spirit in a body, and the cat must have been the first creature I came upon.” He threaded his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Tell me Olórin, what do you remember of your fall?” He meant the question almost as a jab, a way to visit discomfort on Olórin, but the other Maia took it seriously.

“I died, and died in truth, for my body was real, and could be killed, although I could push it further than any Man with a body of comparable age could. There was darkness, and then pathless emptiness that I traveled through for an age and yet only an instant at the same time. Then I stood before Manwë, and others, and everyone was in a great hurry. After that, I was sent back.”

Gandalf looked at Sauron with consideration. “I said ‘escape’ earlier, when I spoke of your release, but I can’t help but wonder if you were rather let out.”

Sauron frowned. “Who could have done such a thing, and why?”

“I know not, but someone who intentionally released Sauron, who has held such titles as Gorthaur the Cruel and the Dark Lord, known for his torments, his necromancy, and his twisting of the very earth, likely had nothing good in mind. But they also could not have anticipated that you would be given a form such as this, nor that you would be subject to the power of Galadriel’s lens.”

Sauron shifted, suddenly thinking about the effects of unknown magic upon him. He ran his thumb over his absent index finger. “The lens could not heal everything.”

“No! There is likely no power in Arda that could heal the butchery you did to your soul. I am astounded it is still possible to speak with you and not hear an endless litany of snarling, sniveling laments and threats over what you had lost. I had a sample of that before, and I am not eager to hear it again. I do not know, however, how much I credit the lens, and how much I credit your bond with Celebrimbor for your sanity.”

Sauron looked down, a snide remark dying on his lips. “Yes, that does seem to have helped.”

“I find it rather astounding that he’s let you into his bedroom.”

Sauron glared at Olórin. It seemed the conversation had shifted from answers to gossip. He almost laid back down and ignored him, but he also did not want to be alone. “I may be in his room, but things are not as they once were.”

“Ah. Still on the couch in more than one way. Well, I can’t say that’s not deserved.” Olórin settled back, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What I deserve, as I’m sure you’ll agree, is to be cast into the Void as my former master was, for surely my crimes are as great as his. Some might even say they have exceeded his.”

“A strange boast. But no, I do not agree. Melkor had proved that his bent would always be towards destruction. Indeed, I believe once he had conquered Arda he would have begun to devour his own forces, eventually seeking to destroy even your own being. That was never your impulse.”

“Really. Tell me, what was my impulse?” Sauron asked. Olórin had become significantly more obnoxious than the reserved Maia he remembered from ages past.

“To order, to right the world and smooth away its many hardships for its people. By which you have always meant, order the world as you see best, with life smoothed because there is no option other than following your orders.”

“I’m sure instead we should all listen to you, for you have grown very wise, Olórin; is that right?”

“Listen to me? No! I have no wish to be in charge of anything. Why do you think I’m here, still in mortal form, making myself a nuisance to Lady Nerdanel and Lady Írissë?” Olórin clapped his hands onto his knees. “Well, I shall let you get back to whatever you were doing before this.” He stood. “I must note, I would not recommend casting you out into the Void. But Mairon, I am not sure how much you realize that your fate will be determined by what you do next, not only what you have done previously.” Before he had a chance to respond, Olórin left, and the pounding of his footsteps faded from the hallway.

~

The attic was warm, probably uncomfortably so for most of the inhabitants of Ondomar. The house had well-placed windows and curtains to either let in or shield the house from the sun, all while catching the prevailing winds to move the air inside. At a certain point, though, there was nothing to be done for the fact that heat rises. Sauron stepped through the doorway, hoping only to see Sildamo. He had no idea how the ancient Elf would react to him, but if he must face someone outside of Celebrimbor and Olórin, he thought he preferred someone who had never left Valinor and had no personal encounters with him before his appearance at Ondomar.

Dummies draped with clothes in various states of completion stood about the room. Bolts of fabric were stacked everywhere they could fit, and racks of thread and yarn were along one wall. Several looms were at lower levels of the house, but there was one here as well, the half-woven cloth a mix of blues and greens. 

There were two voices speaking to each other; he would not get his wish to speak with only one other person today.

“I would never have thought a princess would know how to sew so well. Don’t you have tailors aplenty?”

“Of course we do, but when I was younger none of them would listen to me, so I took matters into my own hands.”

“Very fortunate for us! Valar, if it doesn’t seem like everyone has at least one vital piece that needs drastic work for the wedding.”

The two speakers straightened from where they had been pinning a hem. Merillë had re-dyed her hair a startling sky blue color and had it piled high in a braided crown on her head. Her light linen clothes had no padding, but the dress still clung to her and her face had a pink tinge. Sildamo also had his pale gold hair braided up; his dark skin didn’t show a flush, but he looked no more comfortable than Merillë. Both elves had all manner of sewing supplies stuck in their hair — pins, needles, bobbins, shears, and ribbon were trapped in the tight braids. 

Merillë noticed Sauron. “Hello, can we help you?” Her voice sounded cautious. Sildamo stiffened when he saw him.

“Greetings. I’ve realized Tyelperinquar and I are in need of suitable garb for the wedding. I came to ask for your assistance with the matter.” Sauron smiled in what he hoped was a charming manner. Both Elves started back.

“I did tell him he would need something different,” Merillë said, more to Sildamo than to Sauron.

“Now, at the eleventh hour?” Sildamo said with a shake of his head.

“I will help, of course,” Sauron said.

“You can sew?” Sildamo asked with skepticism.

“Of course I can sew,” Sauron replied, affronted.

“Do you know what Tyelperinquar wanted?” Merillë asked.

“Tyelpë and I—“

“‘Tyelpë and I’ — and how do you like that?” Sildamo spoke to Merillë.

She shook her head. “Believe me, I heard it all from my father. He is most conflicted about this turn of events.”

“If you could just point me to the patterns—” Sauron said. From the frightened look the two gave him, his tone must have leaned more towards threatening than he had intended.

“Over there.” Merillë nodded at stacks of brown paper on a table. Sauron walked over and began to sift through the stacks. A sketch of the completed clothing was pinned to each stack of patterns. Behind him the muttered conversation continued.

“I talked to his mother—“

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe Cori—“

“Have we ruled out—“

“—Just saw him a few hours ago.”

Sauron resolutely ignored the conversation. Patterns acquired, he surveyed the available fabric. They would have to make do with something already woven.

“Which of these can I make use of?” he asked.

“Anything to the left of the grey and gold stripe,” Sildamo answered.

Fortunately there was a russet fabric that would look good on Celebrimbor, and a dusty blue-green that would work very well for an undershirt. Sauron thought it best to start with Celebrimbor’s clothing; based on the conversation behind him he wondered if his place at the wedding was all that assured.

He found supplies and a space that would fit the largest panels. He was just considering braiding up his own hair — he did not feel the heat but his current clothing was rather lacking in pockets and he thought it would discomfit Merillë and Sildamo to copy their look — when he sensed someone behind him. He turned with a perfectly normal smile. 

“Are you really going to make the clothes yourself?” Merillë peered at his set up.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He rolled out the cloth, smoothing the wrinkles and finding the bias of the fabric.

“Where did you learn to sew?’ Merillë asked.

Sauron looked at her with an amused smile. “I understand why you may have forgotten, but I am quite old.”

“Well, yes.” Merillë rolled her eyes. “But didn’t you always have others to do that work for you?”

“No — there have been many times where if I wanted suitable clothing that was not a glamour I needed to make it myself.” Although it had been ages since he had been in that position. He looked up from pinning the paper. “Is there something you need?” He took in Merillë’s pinched eyebrows. “Are you angry with me?”

“No, of course not,” she said. She sounded angry.

Sauron was quickly running out of patience. Their last conversation had been perfectly cordial; in fact, Merillë had been trying to cheer him up with a detailed explanation of the workings of the stringed instrument she was practicing with. Nothing had changed since then, except for the matter of his memory. She had known full well who he was before.

“I’m being irrational,” Merillë said.

Sauron raised one eyebrow and picked up the shears. “Incarnates often are.”

“See! That’s what I was afraid of. It feels a bit — this sounds silly — but it feels a bit like you forcibly replaced my friend Miaulë.”

Sauron continued working. “I’m afraid I’m not a very nice person when it comes down to it. But that shouldn’t be a surprise.” 

“No, it isn’t. But I had thought, if Tyelperinquar took you back so quickly—“

“He has not, precisely, ‘taken me back,’” Sauron said. He had a sudden vision of Celebrimbor tight-lipped with arms crossed. More than likely, he was reacting to his nosy family by refusing all explanations and everyone in turn was jumping to whatever conclusion they thought most likely.

Merillë’s eyebrows lifted. “No? That’s not what they’re saying—“

“I should know, shouldn’t I?”

“I suppose that’s true. A moment.” Merillë left and returned with a dummy draped in a partially finished gown. She began to measure the sleeves. “So, has he not accepted your apology?” she asked. Sauron noticed that she had set the dummy between them, almost as if she still didn’t want to get too close.

Sauron looked at the bent blue head for a moment, toying with the idea of reflecting her initial coldness back. He decided against it. “I have not, precisely, apologized.” He had apologized for Númenor last night, but here in the sweltering attic he realized the absurdity of that as a starting point.

Merillë dropped the measuring tape and peered around the mannequin aghast. “You haven’t apologized?”

“Anything I would say would be inadequate.”

“Stars above!” Sildamo appeared with his own mannequin, also carefully positioned between himself and Sauron. “He hasn’t even apologized,” he said to Merillë. 

“You remember killing him, right?” Merillë asked.

“Of course I do,” Sauron snapped. He banged the sheers down on the table; Merillë hid more of herself behind the dummy. He took a deep breath in through his nose, taking advantage of the calming physiological response that brought, banished the memory of clutching a bloody hand with a weak pulse, and tried instead to appear unconcerned.

“You know,” Merillë said. “My mother wouldn’t let me hear a detailed account of the fall of Eregion until I was thirty. Now, I think she was being overprotective—“

“No, that’s quite reasonable,” Sildamo said, still not talking to Sauron. “When I came here the first time, several years after Nerdanel founded the guild, I was quite excited to work with a few of the weavers, tailors, and embroiderers from Middle-earth who I knew were staying here. I really hadn’t had much opportunity in Valmar, but I had friends who had, and they found the exchange enlightening. And of course it’s a beautiful house, ensconced in the mountains, lots of opportunity to take inspiration from the natural world, and so forth.” Sildamo talked with his hands, but still somehow seemed to be making astounding progress on the sleeve he was stitching. 

“I and Tepindë — Tepindë is my wife,” Sildamo explained as an aside to Sauron, who nodded as if the tailor hadn’t been ignoring him until that point. “We arrived, it was all very nice, I was able to meet Tyelperinquar, and so many others who were born in Middle-earth or had spent most of their lives there, and then we were given a room, a lovely room on the south end of the house, and we were so excited planning our projects, and then—“ Sildamo paused dramatically. 

“And then?” asked Merillë around a mouthful of pins.

“And then we were woken by screaming every single night for months.”

“What?” Merillë looked around the dummy at Sildamo. “Tyelpë told me when he was reembodied he was completely fine. I asked because I knew my father had quite a few difficulties himself.”

“He was, at first! Apparently the nightmares and so forth had started right before we arrived.”

“What did you do?”

“We? What could we do, we just met the man! We cheerily greeted each other every morning and despaired behind closed doors. His mother finally, finally convinced him to go to Lórien. Ornéliel pretends to be very tough, doesn’t need anything from anyone, so I think some tears on her part worked. All that to say—” Sildamo tugged on the fabric and the bell sleeve flared out to the floor. “You haven’t apologized?” At last he looked at Sauron, outraged.

“I will!” Sauron said defensively. “But it’s important. I would like to find the right words.”

“Find the right words!” Sildamo exclaimed. He waved his shears towards Sauron. “And what words do you think you can say?”

None at all, that’s why I haven’t said anything . “I’m working on it.”

Merillë returned from fetching some gold thread. “That reminds me, I had not known — there were rumors of course, but I did not take them seriously — but it’s true, isn’t it? You were together. Married.”

“In a way, I suppose.” 

“What do you mean, ‘in a way’?’” Sildamo asked, still incensed. “You’re either married or you’re not — there is no half-way state.”

“It was an eternal promise, and a spiritual bond, but we discarded most of the rest of the traditions. And I am not one of the Firstborn.”

“But surely Tyelperinquar severed it?” Sildamo said

“We would have heard about it if he had; that’s not the kind of thing you can keep secret,” Merillë pointed out. “Oh. Which was likely why Tyelpë didn’t do anything about it.”

Sauron froze, suddenly realizing he had built a good portion of his confidence in Celebrimbor’s continued interest because of the unbroken bond. But Merillë was right — the workings of oaths on the soul were obscured even to him, and Celebrimbor would certainly have needed to go to Mandos to sever their bond. Such a petition would quickly become common knowledge. Likely  the only reason they were still spiritually connected was Celebrimbor’s wish for privacy and his trust in the fences of Aman. Something hissed in the back of his mind.

“Yes, that is probably the only reason why.” Sauron’s hands stilled completely.

“Well, I am glad to hear you two are not as cozy as everyone seems to think,” Sildamo said as he finished a cuff, his hands moving with preternatural speed. “I do hope Tyelperinquar is planning on taking some time for himself after this ordeal. Perhaps I could suggest some locations for a holiday.”

“He would hate that; he clears his mind by working through other problems.” Sauron said this absently, still running through every interaction with Celebrimbor from the past couple days. He almost added several promising conversations they had had when Sauron had no memory of who he was, but he discarded the idea. As Merillë had said, memory changed a person, and if Celebrimbor had seemed to warm up to Miaulë, that meant very little now.

He glanced down, startled that he had stopped work on the shirt. 

Merillë had also stopped working. “Would you actually like to be with him?”

“I suppose,” Sauron said, remembering the next piece he meant to cut.

“You suppose!” Merillë stepped out from behind her dummy. “You cannot go about winning him back with an ‘I suppose!’” She walked over and placed a hand on the fabric. “Stop. Listen to me. Why do you want Celebrimbor to take you back? Because it seems to me that your heart is not really in it.” Sauron glared at her. Merillë balked for a moment before glaring right back, leaning harder on the fabric. 

“Of course I want him to return to me,” Sauron said.

“Fine then. Why?”

Sauron set the shears down hard. The table made a concerning cracking noise, but he refused to look down. Merillë was still leaning forward with narrowed eyes, but he could sense her nervousness. “Because he is very intelligent and skilled and we work together very well,” he said smoothly.

“What!” Sildamo was not quite bold enough to lean on the table, but he had ventured in front of his dummy and waved a needle and thread as he spoke. “That is why you hire an apprentice! Not reembark upon an eternal journey of love!”

Sauron looked between them, anger growing. “Neither of you has any idea what we shared.”

Merillë raised an eyebrow. “Do you really remember what you shared? Because as you said, Tyelpë is smart and talented, and most people feel like they work very well with him.”

“Of course they say that — he makes everything better.” Sauron began to cut along the pattern again, weaving under Merillë’s arms. “The only time I began to even approach doing lasting good in the world was when he was working through me.” Merillë lifted her arms, but remained standing next to him. “And now, now? He is the only light in my darkness; the only thing I have left.” He looked up at Merillë. “I think it may be mostly due to him that I have any part of me left that is not consumed by want for my Ring. I owe him so much, and I already should have been condemned for eternity for what I did to him.”

“Hmph, now this is a beginning,” Sildamo said.

Merillë looked at him for a moment, conflicted. “That is a good start, I suppose. You’re beginning to show some vulnerability.”

“Beginning? I am incredibly vulnerable! I have never been so powerless and yet surrounded by people who hate me. I have nothing to offer him or anyone.” He glanced down, wishing for something to do with his hands, but he had finished cutting the pattern.

“What would you offer Tyelpë?” Merillë asked, curious.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I have offered him everything he could ever want on previous occasions and he turned that down.”

“Tyelperinquar does not seem to me to be someone who would want to be given everything — he’s gone out of the way many times to put himself in a position where he has to do everything for himself, despite his family,” Sildamo pointed out.

“I know that!” That these two would presume to lecture him on what Celebrimbor wanted showed how badly he was expressing himself. His eloquence had vanished with all the rest of his power.

“Well, what does he want?” Sildamo asked.

“He hasn’t told me what he wants,” Sauron said. Sildamo raised an eyebrow. Sauron huffed. “He likely wants me to apologize, not just for what I did to him, but everything. And he probably wants me to be truly repentant.”

“And are you sorry?” Merillë asked.

“For many things! But for everything? I don’t think I was entirely wrong in my aims, even if by the end I had forgotten why I started.”

“I don’t think Tyelpë is going to be the only one who is going to ask for an apology,” said Merillë.

“I know that as well.” Sauron began to regret leaving Celebrimbor’s room as Merillë invited reality into the attic with them. “The thought that I still had Tyelperinquar was the only thing that made the future bearable. I would endure any indignity for him. Anything.” 

“Then you will need a better apology,” Merillë said.

Sauron laughed mirthlessly. “I think I will need much more than an apology. As you pointed out, the only reason he did not sever our bond was because of how harrowing that process would likely be. I am sure he wants no part of me.”

“Hmm, I am not so sure about that. He has let you hide in his room; that’s not the action of someone who doesn’t care.”

“Perhaps.” Sauron gathered up the pieces of cloth, not meeting Merillë’s eyes.

“You can’t have given up!”

“Well then, tell me, Merillë, since you seem to have been granted the wisdom to solve my impossible situation — what should I do?”

“Apologize!” Merillë exclaimed. “As we said in the beginning. And I make no claim to being able to solve this terrible plight you’re in — that is entirely your fault, by the way — but even if he rejects you, surely you know you must apologize.”

“If only it were that easy. But yes, you are right, even if I had even less hope I should still apologize. But where can I even begin?”

Merille straightened and surveyed Sauron like she had previously been surveying the gown. “One moment, let’s find you some thread so you can make progress on the shirt. Then, you can practice with me.”

~

The same fruitless thoughts chased through Celebrimbor’s head over and over. On one hand, Annatar seemed to feel genuine remorse for some of his actions. He had admitted to making mistakes — miraculous in and of itself. On the other, he still had not truly apologized. What exactly did Annatar think his mistakes were? Killing him? It would have been worse if Celebrimbor had been kept alive and forced to witness what Sauron would become. Creating the Ring? While certainly a mistake, if he regretted it only for the weakness it engendered in him that was also ultimately unsatisfying. 

Wisdom would tell him to wash his hands of Annatar — he had after all thought they had been separated permanently before, and he had been fine. But then he thought about the glimpse of the changed Arda Annatar had shown him: phenomena that had barely been studied, folds in the fabric of the universe, systems spinning through Ëa centered on points that had nothing to do with any of Ilúvatar’s children. The discomfort from the night before remained, but now he could feel his curiosity growing. If there was vastness beyond what he had imagined, the possibilities of what lay among the stars expanded. He also desperately wanted to see the real heavens. Would they be more magical knowing the pin pricks of light were from unfathomable distances away? Or would they feel cold and uncaring, a strange sky that had never looked down on the Quendi waking in awe?

Even if there were no observable differences, he knew exactly who he wanted by his side as he dug for answers. And then he was right back to where he started, wondering what remained of Annatar and if they could truly regrow their love after so much destruction.

He was temporarily dragged out of his circuitous thoughts by Sam and the momentous occasion of moving the finished beer to Áremar. A few others had been conscripted as well, and together they brought barrel after barrel up from the cellar. When the last barrel was loaded, he stood in the courtyard watching the cart rumble off. 

“You must be tired.”

“What?” Celebrimbor was startled out of his reverie by a voice at his elbow.

“I said, you must be tired,” Sam repeated.

Celebrimbor looked down at Sam, who was holding a collection of empty mugs. “I'm sorry, I thought you said the remaining barrels will stay here.”

Sam pushed his wide-brimmed hat back. “So, you’re not tired then?”

“Not particularly. Do I look tired?”

“A bit, and well, I only figured that since you were reunited with your husband, properly now, you’d have a lot of catching up to do.”

“We’re not reunited.” Celebrimbor suddenly realized that he was very likely the primary topic of gossip throughout the household, and the gossip had apparently concluded that he had reunited with his ex before he was anywhere close to making up his mind.

“No?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t he still in your room?”

“Yes.”

“And wasn’t he in your room last night? b”

“Yes, but not like that.”

“And wasn’t he in your room the night before too?”

“Nothing has happened!”

“Ah! And that’s a problem?”

“No, it’s exactly what I want.”

Sam gave him a look that clearly said he did appear to be a man getting exactly what he wanted. “Let me pour you a beer; let’s take a break from the preparations.”

Celebrimbor found himself following Sam to the brightly painted wooden seats on the porch, despite not actually wanting to have the conversation Sam seemed bent on having.

The hobbit left and returned with two mugs of beer, tapped from some of the kegs that remained at Ondomar. Celebrimbor drank, pleasantly surprised by the light malty flavor. 

“Not bad, if I do say so myself. Of course, I’ve been regularly sampling,” Sam said with a wink.

“This is good. I’ve found the beer in Valinor lacking. There are excellent wines and liquors, but no one has really invested their time into beer.”

“I’ve always thought of wine as the elven drink myself. Well, that and miruvor.”

“I can’t speak to later ages, but I didn’t start regularly drinking wine until Ost-in-Edhil had been settled for several centuries. Grapes take a long time to establish, and the soil and climate of Beleriand were largely not conducive to wine. But once Ost-in-Edhil was at its height, you could get anything you wished there.”

“The tales are never quite as you imagine them,” Sam said meditatively. He sat in silence for several long minutes, content to listen to the buzzing insects and feel the warm summer breeze. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and arguments spilled out from Ondomar’s open windows and workshops. 

“So, when you met Sauron, you didn’t know him as Sauron, but instead this Annatar fellow. You did a bit of work together, and fell in love, and decided to marry.” Sam waved away Celebrimbor’s protest as he dove back into the matter at hand. “Pledge yourselves to each other for eternity, and do whatever elf magic happens that creates a bond between you.”

“You can actually create such a bond between friends, it so happens, it’s just more common, and gains certain immutable qualities in marriage,” Celebrimbor cut in.

“Ah.” Sam paused for a moment. “Did you create the friend bond or the marriage bond?”

The conversation suddenly reminded Celebrimbor of speaking with High King Finarfin. He had the same uncanny ability of making you feel dense even while explaining something to him. 

“The marriage bond.”

“I had it right then. Anyway, you create this marriage bond, but you don’t tell anyone else, even though you have many shared friends and you’re the Lord of your Elf city.”

“ A lord—”

“ A lord of your Elf city. Meanwhile he hasn’t told you he’s Sauron, and has done all sort of nasty things like orc-making and general enslaving and killing, but you somehow find out—”

“He told me.”

“He told you! Well now. I take it that it didn't help much after withholding the information for so long.” Celebrimbor shook his head. “So he leaves, and you’re broken up, and probably quite sad. And you both happen to do some ring-making to make yourselves feel better.”

“That’s not quite how I’d put it. I’d say I crafted my rings to help stand against him, as I’d feared he’d return to conquer us.” 

“Right, and you were correct, his Ring was all about conquering everything, and making it exactly as the Ring-bearer would like.” Sam, after all, did know a little bit about what the Ring’s purpose was. In a way, he knew more than Celebrimbor about the true nature of the Ring — theoretical knowledge and experience were vastly different. 

Sam continued, “So, he does exactly what you thought he’d do. Seems you did know him a bit after all! And then he conquerors your city, and kills you after a great deal of nastiness, and puts your body on a pole.” Sam paused. “I have given advice on all kinds of matters of the heart in my day, but this really is the real prize pumpkin.”

“Mhm.” Celebrimbor had lost where Sam was going with this retelling, but he was becoming invested in the destination.

“Now you’re dead for a bit, and Sauron continues to get worse and worse as he becomes more powerful, although he has some setbacks here and there. And then we come to my and Frodo’s bit, and we end him for good, or so we thought. Or wait, you come back to life here first, but don’t know the happenings from Valinor, so it’s a bit besides the point. Anyway, it’s been a great deal of time for you, and then hello! Your husband is back, looking like he did when you were first married, and seemingly no longer fussed about the business with the rings, and he’d like to get back together. Do I have that all right?”

“Just about.” He really couldn’t critique any part of Sam’s retelling, although he had hand waved away several millennia. 

“I suppose it all comes down to what you want. I’ve never heard of anyone making up after one kills the other, but I suppose that’s the nature of being mortal.”

“No, I haven’t heard of anyone else either.” That made his indecision seem even more ridiculous; how could there be any future for them?

Sam hummed to himself. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, but I understand why you’d want to be careful.”

Celebrimbor bit down on a finger as he imagined informing his friends and family that he was back with his husband, torture and death firmly behind them, because ‘there’s a first time for everything.’

“Hearing it put so succinctly makes me look rather foolish for even considering an option other than rejection.”

“I would have agreed with you at one time, but I’ve forgiven a bit more than I thought possible, and I’m just beginning to get a handle on how long forever is.” Sam jabbed a finger at him. “But all this to say, you should have a few rules if you’re considering such a thing! In the Shire, we’d make sure there was extensive paperwork.”

Celebrimbor let his head rest on the back of the chair, looking up at the eaves of the porch. “Valar. I would be happy if I just heard a sincere apology from him.”

“You asked and he still hasn’t apologized? That’s a very bad sign.”

“I haven’t, precisely, asked.”

“You should tell him. He can’t read your mind.” Sam cocked his head. “Well, I think with you folk he actually can, but you’d have to let him!”

“Sam, this is all very sensible advice.” Celebrimbor imagined for a moment telling Annatar exactly what he needed to hear from him.

Sam settled back, a look of satisfaction on his face. “It’s no trouble. It’s all second nature after the tenth child or so. Although that bit about the rules is important, too. Some folk—” Sam paused and frowned. “Some folk don’t stop and think about people other than themselves. You need to stop them yourself.”

“That is easier said than done.” Annatar had always been demanding. Of his time, his attention, and his mind. Celebrimbor tried to remember the difference between the times Annatar had pushed him to go beyond the limits he had set for himself and he had ultimately been happy, and when the pressure had left him angry or adrift. All of his memories were overcast by what happened afterwards; he remembered clearly the projects they had undertaken, the things that they made, and the questions they answered, but how he felt about each occasion was murky.

“I won’t argue with you about that! Love is difficult even when there isn’t any murder to contend with, and you’re of the same kind.”

Celebrimbor realized he had been twisting the silver bracelet Annatar had made him over and over around his wrist. He forced the compulsive motion to stop by taking another drink. He looked down at the polished stones and the neat but simple craftsmanship. Sam was right — they at least needed to have a conversation about where Annatar stood. 

~

Celebrimbor’s hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment; this time he had no dinner to hide behind. The thought passed through his mind that Annatar might have left the room. Celebrimbor could reach out with his mind easily enough, but he decided against it and opened the door without knocking.

Annatar was sitting on the couch in the exact position he had left him this morning, eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. 

“Have you moved at all today?” Celebrimbor asked. It seemed like a bad sign that Annatar had stayed here after saying he would venture out. Annatar didn’t react. Celebrimbor glared at him before taking a deep breath. “Perhaps we should talk.” 

He sat down next to Annatar, annoyed at the lack of reaction. “At least acknowledge my presence. You have a perfectly good room downstairs if you don’t wish to talk.”

Annatar finally looked at him, the familiar searing gaze troubled. His lips parted, but he did not speak, only continued to stare at Celebrimbor with the same stricken expression.

“What?” Celebrimbor had thought he had become accustomed to Annatar behaving in ways that would have been unimaginable in the other life they had spent together, but the speechlessness unnerved him.

“I—“ Annatar began. “I—” Still the words would not come. He slid off the couch as if his muteness had settled in his bones.

“Annatar, what is going on?” Celebrimbor asked, exasperated.

Annatar shifted from where he sat on the floor and rested his head against Celebrimbor’s knees. “I am sorry.” His voice was quiet, but still audible. 

Now Celebrimbor had no excuse to avoid responding. Annatar remembered everything. Celebrimbor had demanded nothing and there were no threatened consequences if an apology were not forthcoming. 

“About what?” The question came out sharper than he intended. If this were another apology for Númenor he was throwing Annatar out.

“For many, many things.”

Celebrimbor could have easily said something biting in return, but he held his tongue.

Annatar moved so that he knelt, his gaze still fixed on Celebrimbor’s knees. “I have not said anything thus far, because anything I said would be inadequate, but—” He finally looked up, uncanny gold eyes robbed of their usual hooded superiority. “But you deserve something, even if it comes nowhere close to redressing the wrong I have done you.

“I am sorry—” Annatar looked away for just a moment. “I am sorry for lying to you. You were right to be angry that I built so much on a lie for all that I—” He pursed his lips, and declined to go into well-tread excuses.

“I am sorry I took a craft we shared and made it something I alone controlled. And for betraying our vision. Your vision. No, our vision. We both knew greatness could still be built from the ashes of Middle-earth. I knew that before I met you, but it was you who saw that it could still be beautiful. When I left Middle-earth I had failed to make real any part of our dream. Ash and dust — that was my kingdom.

“I am sorry for destroying the place that even now you think of as home. Once I did that, we could never go back to how we were.”

“No,” Celebrimbor broke in. “No, we could never go back as soon as you created the Ring.”

Annatar’s jaw worked. “It was perfect.”

“It destroyed you. From the start. How could it be perfect? It is no accident your kingdom ended up a bleak, dead place. You stripped the art from your soul, and took out any room for error.”

Annatar frowned. “Yes, it was perfect.”

Celebrimbor clenched his hands. “How could anything new be made when you close the circle of possibility so small that only what you command can happen? You could do nothing but decline from that point. How many times has the stronger material been created when what was intended was more flexibility? Or what started as a tool for war became a tool for creation? Power is only power — you were never going to create something beautiful, or novel, or good. Not after you wove yourself into that thing.”

“And you could never love someone who did not have the possibility of beauty, novelty, or goodness.” Realization dawned in Annatar’s face. “That was what you were supposed to provide, but that isn’t what you agreed to join yourself to.”

“No it wasn’t.” Celebrimbor hesitated for a moment, and then opened their bond.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me . Annatar cried out with the words he could not bring himself to say.

Only in a place beyond words could Celebrimbor communicate the duality of his heart. I can never forgive you and I forgave you so long ago .

“I am sorry I hurt you. I am sorry I killed you. It is my worst mistake in a life full of errors.”

Celebrimbor flinched back from the stinging sincerity. “Until Arda is broken and remade I will live with the hurt you dealt me. And there are whole peoples, even the land itself, who could say the same.”

I know. I know! Annatar’s burning rage washed over them both, but this time the target was Annatar himself. “Shall I apologize for all the dead heaped at my feet from ages of war? Or the millions of lives twisted from their natural path? Or all those enslaved on my orders? I will do it, every detail I can remember, if that is what you wish.”

“That is not what I am owed. I won’t demand for myself what you owe countless others.” He did not want to talk of the evils piled at Annatar’s feet. Celebrimbor found himself reaching for Annatar’s face, unable to resist touching something so perfectly wrought, even with lines of regret written across it. Annatar turned his head and pressed a kiss into his palm. His lips were warm, but the sensation burned all the way up Celebrimbor’s arm and into his center. He let his hand drop. “Why? Why apologize now?”

“I know.” Annatar clenched his fists. “I know I should not even ask for your forgiveness, but when I was with you I was balanced and whole, the only time I have ever felt that way, and I would do anything to return to that — to return to you. I sang the Music of Arda long ages past, and crafted pieces of this earth myself, but only through you did I understand the full breadth of beauty and life that was possible in the world. It would be just for me to be cast out, to end my part in this world impotent and alone, but there is a chance to try again, so I will. I have spent millennia doing nothing of worth, spinning up a self-serving machine that created nothing, and left everything I touched withered and spent. I have wasted so much time. Please. If I can have any part of you, for any length of time, I could be happy and know that it was not all for nought.” 

“You had me. You had me and did not even try to do anything other than win me back by force. And then. And then—” Celebrimbor shook his head. They both knew what had happened next. “Why is this time any different?”

“Because I love you.”

“No, for you said as much last time, and still, still you threw it all away. No, even worse, you decided the only acceptable version of me was the one that bent to your will and you would break me to that form by any means necessary. And I had given you everything! My heart, my city, my life, every good thing I had dreamed, everything but the very future of my people, and it was not enough. And you—” Celebrimbor had to look away as the sincerity in Annatar’s face twisted and he recalled when that same face had begged him for what he would never give.

“And you hurt me in ways I can never forget, in ways that can never be undone. I have been granted a new body, but there are nights I will wake screaming for the rest of my life. You are a wound on my soul. And nothing you do, or say, will take that away. We can never go back to how we were; there is an immutable barrier that you raised, and neither of us can cross back to that time again.” Celebrimbor sucked in a breath, as thoughts long denied spilled from him. That he had thought they could somehow start over, both untouched by history, even when Annatar had remembered none of it, showed itself for the hollow lie it had ever been. “You say you love me, but that is not enough. It is not enough to carry us forward, it is barely enough to begin.”

“If there is anything I can give you—”

“What you can give me? What I should demand is gone forever; you can never give me my home back, nor the bright future that was torn into war and grief by you.” He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, his right hand still echoing with Annatar’s touch. “And that you should ask me now, when we both know you may very well vanish at any time.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Then you will be taken! And I have lost you again all the same! How can you ask me to tear my heart out again for only a glimpse of happiness?”

“Because I am a monster! Is that what you would have me say?” As Annatar spoke, the air buzzed in a way that made Celebrimbor grit his jaw. When he blinked, the outline of Annatar kneeling on the ground seemed lined with red light. “Even my love hurts you it seems. But yes, I would ask that. I have very little to give, but you can have what remains.”

“I have no answer for you.” Something was rising in him, and he didn’t want Annatar to be here when it broke. “Leave.”

Something wild passed across Annatar’s face, but he rose, his movements controlled.

“Just — leave my room. Not the house. I cannot promise I will have an answer tomorrow, but I will speak to you tomorrow.” The only thing worse than being faced with this impossible choice would be to have it snatched away from through misunderstanding. 

Annatar stared at him, his jaw shifting. Then with a nod, he left.

Celebrimbor stood for a long time, thinking of nothing. Then he screamed into his pillow until his throat ached.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Visitor for beta-ing this chapter!

Hunger

Thank Visitor for making the jokes more accessible in the first place, but I think some translations are still in order.
Alaquen - Q. Nobody (fan invented)
Titsë - Qenya. Kitty
Úmiuon - Q. Not-cat (thanks to undercat for the suggestion!)
Úvanimo - Q. Monster, corrupt or evil creature

Read Hunger

Celebrimbor did not sleep much that night. Longing, anger, and sadness tore at him in equal measure, his moods switching from one moment to the next. He remembered every moment Annatar’s blazing focus had been fixed on him; the feeling of being seen, of being understood, and of being exceptional, based solely on the attention Annatar paid him. But rage, too, simmered as he thought about Annatar subjecting him to this decision at all — he should know that this choice would be unbearable. Celebrimbor also found the fact that he had not simply rejected Annatar out of hand enraging, the anger he felt at himself warring with all the other frustrations. 

And even if he said yes, took Annatar back with all the baggage that entailed, how long did they have? Months? Weeks? Less? For all that he had said they were in no hurry to turn Annatar over to the Valar, Celebrimbor also knew they couldn’t shelter him here indefinitely. He did not know what Finrod had told the High King, but he knew he had implied some sort of eventual end to their experiment. 

As to Annatar’s fate, well. Morgoth had spent three ages in Mandos for his crimes at the dawn of Arda, which at that point could be considered less than the evil the Lord of the Rings had wrought upon Middle-earth. Some might quibble on the origins of Arda Marred and the guilt that transferred, but he doubted Annatar would get away with any lesser punishment.

These thoughts were still blearily chasing each other around his mind as he shuffled down to the kitchen for breakfast. He banged the kettle around enough to ensure that no one would bother him while he ate the cold cakes that were left over from earlier this morning and drank his coffee. 

Unfortunately his parents, who entered shortly after he started eating, were immune to any effort he put in to cultivate a standoffish aura — or more likely didn’t care. Curufin and Ornéliel sat down across from him, an expectant look on their faces. Celebrimbor looked between them with growing apprehension. Now that he thought about it, he had not seen them around Ondomar recently; both seemed to spend far more time at Áremar with Írissë. He had assumed they had been roped into wedding preparations over there, but he suddenly realized that there was another, more obvious answer that he hadn’t wanted to consider — they were plotting something together.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Ornéliel managed a wounded look. “Can I help you? What if I simply want to eat breakfast with my son?”

“You’re not eating anything,” Celebrimbor pointed out.

“It’s come to my attention that even though all three of us are in the same house for once, we haven’t spent any time together.” Curufin was using the same tone he did when trying to get legislation passed in Tirion.  Celebrimbor thought this spoke volumes as to why they had not been associating as a trio.

“That was no accident,” Celebrimbor said. “You know I will happily spend time with both of you separately, but we all remember what happened last time we tried to have a family dinner, just the three of us.” The result had been Curufin and Ornéliel screaming at each other over a poorly mixed drink before the evening had really begun, leaving Celebrimbor with flashbacks of being thirty and trapped in their endless arguments again.

Curufin and Ornéliel exchanged a look. “You know your father and I are passionate people,” Ornéliel said.

“What did you want to speak to me about?” 

Ornéliel opened her mouth, a protest on the tip of her tongue, when Curufin cut in. 

“Your mother and I are going to pursue official separation.”

Celebrimbor set down his fork and rubbed his eyes. “What? Why? Hasn’t our family set enough precedents in marital law? And aren’t you already separated?”

“As you know, after you and your father left me, I had no recourse. The Statute of Míriel and Finwë states that if a spouse dies, they can choose to remain in Mandos forever, and sever their marriage bond, but that yields all control to the slain partner.” Ornéliel lectured, as if Celebrimbor was one of her students.

“I am aware, for obvious reasons.” The most obvious being that Míriel was Celebrimbor’s great grandmother; Ornéliel’s frequent complaints about the matter landed in close second.

“Yes, this is all well established, but recently I think we’ve put together a very good case for severance outside of death. I have many examples from the Avari and the Laiquendi of their alternative modes of marriage and how they deal with similar disagreements in their cultures,” Curufin said as Ornéliel nodded along.

“I don’t think there are any examples among anyone outside of the Noldor of a ‘similar’ disagreement to the one between you and Amil.”

Ornéliel ignored him. “And while of course I’d considered bringing up the matter before, I think the case is much easier to argue with your father here.”

Celebrimbor glanced between his parents, who seemed to be getting along better than he could ever remember, pre- or post-separation. “That’s the only reason why you thought now would be a good time to attempt to bring a case before the Valar?”

“Yes. We’re simply acting upon long-held interests.” Curufin smiled disarmingly.

“I see. And you felt the need to inform me because…?”

“Because you’re our son.” The persecuted tone crept back into Ornéliel’s voice.

Celebrimbor stared them down, unimpressed by the show. It was sweet, in a way, that his parents wanted to create a legal precedent to help free him from something he had never indicated to either of them he wanted to escape. That did not make it less of a last-ditch attempt from both of them to weigh in on his decisions. He both resented their interference and thought they were unequipped to advise considering relative maturity, experience, and temperament. For a moment he fantasized about announcing he was running away, grabbing Annatar, and vanishing into some undiscovered reach of Aman. Maybe the problem lay with everyone else, and there was nothing wrong with the two of them. He quickly banished the thought; running away would solve nothing. They had spent plenty of time together, just the two of them, and it had been unspeakably awful.

“Unless you would like me to testify on your behalf about how unsuited you are for each other, I still do not see how this affects me. But, I wish you all the best.” He picked his knife up again. 

“You know, that may be necessary,” Curufin said. 

 “You might not care,” Ornéliel added. “Although, if we succeed in this, the decision will have far-reaching consequences. But apart from that, we also wanted to extend the invitation to travel with us to visit my family.”

Celebrimbor took a drink of coffee to avoid an immediate response before addressing his father. “I’m sorry, you’re planning to initiate a permanent separation, and then going to visit your ex-in-laws?”

“I like Ornéliel’s family!” Curufin protested. This was the first Celebrimbor had ever heard of it. “And I do think her father will be very helpful in helping us establish a consensus on some long-standing policy goals.”

“I really don’t think I’d be useful on this trip, but I do hope you have a good time.”

“Curuhin—” Ornéliel’s brow wrinkled in what might actually have been concern.

“Tyelpë—”

Celebrimbor drained his coffee, his breakfast half finished. “Now, I have many tasks today. I’m sure I’ll see you later.” He picked up his dishes and walked away from Curufin and Ornéliel’s worried faces, refusing to feel any remorse. 

~

Celebrimbor did not actually have that much to do. It seemed they were in an unexpected lull, likely the last calm before the crowds truly descended and the storm of preparations began at twice the level as before. He had a number of projects he would like to do, but they all seemed of equal importance and interest at the moment, and he didn’t feel like starting something only to have to abandon it in a few days.

He walked purposefully through the winding halls, hoping to look too busy for anyone he didn’t want to speak with to bother him. Really he was looking for someone who could lend a sympathetic ear to parental complaints. He rounded a corner too quickly and almost ran into Gandalf, one of the few people in Ondomar who would have no personal experience with troublesome parents.

“Celebrimbor! I just dropped by your room. You wouldn’t happen to know where Mairon is? He wasn’t there when I checked.”

“He’s in his own room most likely, or elsewhere; I don’t know.” Celebrimbor thought that the household had rather quickly adapted to the idea that he and Annatar were living together.

“You don’t know? Has something happened?”

“Nothing has happened. Why are you looking for him?” Celebrimbor asked.

“No reason in particular,” Gandalf said. He and Celebrimbor eyed each other with suspicion for a moment.

“In that case, I’ll check his room.” Gandalf smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You do that,” said Celebrimbor with an equally shallow smile. With a last glance at each other they hurried on.

Celebrimbor made his way outside after that encounter; it seemed despite the packed house that there was no one to talk to. Instead of going to the smithy, he slipped into Nerdanel’s studio. She wasn’t there, but he had not been expecting her to be. He grabbed a lump of clay and began to shape it on a wheel, directionless for now.

He was considering the wide shallow dish that had manifested when he realized someone else had entered the studio.

“It’s well shaped, Inyo. What will it hold?” Nerdanel cocked her head at the dish, giving it the full weight of her consideration.

“Anything, really. Food, jewelry, mementos of some kind.”

Nerdanel nodded slowly. “It seems the kind of thing that would be good to have in a set.” 

“You are right.” Celebrimbor grabbed the cutting wire. “I have no other pressing matters — a set it is.”

Nerdanel smiled. “I should probably find you some tasks to fill your time, but I find even directing others becomes tiresome.”

“That it does.” Celebrimbor did not miss the days when he had spent more time telling others what to do rather than doing anything himself. “You deserve to take a day for yourself, even amidst all this chaos.”

“I really do,” Nerdanel said. Celebrimbor glanced over at his grandmother. Her hair was more wild than usual, her clothes were mismatched, and she had a scarf in yet another pattern wrapped around her neck.

“Did you need anything from me?” he asked.

“Oh! I was just going to grab something.” Nerdanel glanced around. “And now I’ve completely forgotten what it was!” She laughed; it sounded forced.

Celebrimbor wiped a clay-covered hand off and then, before Nerdanel had a chance to react, tugged the end of the scarf. She grabbed for it, but not before he saw an impressive love bite on her neck. “You’re just resting today, hm?”

“You are an impertinent child.” Nerdanel rewound the scarf.

“Is Fëanáro here right now?”

“It matters not whether he is, as you're not seeing him either way.”

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes. “I will look very closely at this dish while you get whatever it was you were going to get.” 

“Thank you.” Nerdanel passed behind him and began to rummage around in a drawer.

“Do you think he’s changed?”

Nerdanel was quiet for a moment. She closed the drawer. “Yes, he has changed.” She walked back over to Celebrimbor and leaned against the wall by the wheel. “He’s still not a humble man. I don’t think it would be possible for him to remain who he is without some measure of pride. But he listens more, and seems more deliberate in his actions.”

“So, you think a certain amount of growth is possible, but there are certain core characteristics that cannot change?”

“You have always asked difficult questions, Tyelpë.” Nerdanel looked down at a streak of paint on the ground. “The light of madness that haunted me long after he left these shores is gone, so that is a change. And yet, he is not like the young man who wooed me, who, with all the world before him, wanted a family above all else. So yes, it seems like he has changed over time, yet I still recognize him as the same brusque young prince who I would tease by my father’s forge.”

“Do you think he is still capable of the madness and destruction he once wrought?”

Nerdanel raised her eyebrows. “Capable! If he fell into that mire once before, does that not mean that he is always capable of it? He will always be the man who could bring himself to wound me with words deeper than I thought possible and who took my sons with no thought for me. I do not foresee such a thing happening again, but he has proved himself capable of great harm.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “I feel I must point out that we are not in the same position. There’s a significant matter of degree and duration.”

“I know.” Celebrimbor drew his finger through the residue on the wheel. “He wants to resume our relationship.”

Nerdanel snorted. “And the stones sing to Aulë.” At Celebrimbor’s frown she shrugged. “He was very attached to you even before he remembered his past life. You seem to be the center of his world however you treat him.”

“I am so angry. Even if I say yes, what does that mean? To reunite before we’re torn apart again for eternity?”

“I do not think that future has been written yet.” There was a certain ring to Nerdanel’s words that reminded him that she had been granted foresight before. “You may have some say in his fate, whether or not you accept him back.”

“And if he should do something horrible again? If he is at his core evil and nothing will ever change that?”

Nerdanel’s brows pinched together. “I hardly want to consider that. I have lost so much, but now life feels secure. If it should come to pass that there is still no safety to be had here—” She trailed off, the unthinkable unvoiced.

“And he could hurt more than myself. And I have always understood that his choices are his own, and have never felt burdened overmuch by guilt over the actions of people I cannot control, but still, there are proverbs about making the same mistake twice for a reason. And yet—” Celebrimbor clenched his fists, wishing he had grabbed the clay for the second dish already. “And yet, I also fear him changing too much. What if who I loved was the monster, and now he’s gone?”

“Does he seem that different?”

“I don’t know, I feel like I am still learning who he is.”

Nerdanel tapped a finger against her face in thought. “If that is the case, then I counsel you not to rush. You may feel like your time is short, and maybe it is, but the problem may just need time for you to know where your heart lies. He didn’t demand an answer by today, did he? If he did, my counsel would change.”

“No, no, he demanded nothing. I told Annatar I’d speak with him today, but also said I might not have an answer yet.”

“Then that is good. You should talk with him further, and see if he has changed enough, or too much, and if he is someone you would like in your life again.” Nerdanel straightened and fiddled with her scarf. “Now I need to return to my room, or Fëanáro may escape from the window at an inopportune time.”

“You know, there’s no need for this to be a secret. I don’t think anyone here will think less of you for spending time with him.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.” Nerdanel’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “But really, sneaking around is so much fun. I feel truly young again, and, well, you don’t need to know the details, but I think it is helping recapture the hm, energy, we had as newlyweds.”

“Please, I’ve seen enough! But go, your secret is safe with me of course, unless I need to extort something from you.”

“Of course! Tyelpë, do not rush into anything — I will try to give you the time you need.” Nerdanel pressed a kiss to the top of his head as she left the studio.

~

Four dishes made and ready for the kiln, Celebrimbor decided he had put off the conversation with Annatar long enough, for all that he still didn’t know his own mind. He almost set off on another hunt, but decided instead to take a direct route.

The bond between him and Annatar flared to life, his stomach lurching when he realized Annatar had never closed it off on his end. 

Where are you? Celebrimbor asked. The image of the forges came back to him. I’ll be there in a moment.

It truly would be just a moment; there was only one building between Nerdanel’s studio and the forges. Too soon, he was slipping into the side door closest to his own workbench. Annatar stood hammering something around a cast, absorbed in the precise movements of turning the piece and tapping the metal with his hammer. With the benefit of proximity, Celebrimbor could see that he was making what looked like a ring, too large for fingers, but too small for anything but a child’s wrist.

“Has someone set you to making rings?”

Annatar set down his hammer and flipped the long tail of his hair over his shoulder. “I was just as surprised as you. Apparently Farro was desperate enough to foist this task onto me. Or perhaps he just thought that rings for napkins would not be a risky proposition, even considering my history.” Annatar half smiled as his eyes flickered over Celebrimbor’s face. They settled somewhere over his left eye.

“I thought for a moment you were making me jewelry.”

Annatar rubbed his own face over his right eye. “You know, not everything I do is for you.” The half-smile still lurked.

Celebrimbor tried not to reflexively smile back. “What’s wrong with my face?” He rubbed his forehead — a bit of clay crumbled off. “Did I get it?”

Annatar shook his head and began rubbing his right cheekbone.

Celebrimbor huffed. “Just take care of it, will you?”

It took only a moment for Celebrimbor to realize his mistake. Annatar grabbed a rag and dipped it into a bucket of water. Then he stepped in and slowly guided Celebrimbor’s face down. For a heartbeat he stared at him, their faces inches apart, before he started wiping the clay off with the rag. 

When Celebrimbor could speak again, he said, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Annatar glanced up at him for a moment before returning to the mark on his cheek. “That is no surprise. You said yesterday you wouldn’t have an answer today.”

“Anna—” Celebrimbor tore his gaze from Annatar’s lips. “Wait, have you decided what your name should be?”

“Alaquen.” Annatar finally lowered the rag but didn’t step away.

“What?” Celebrimbor frowned and glanced around, no obvious reason for the non sequitur presenting itself.

“No, Alaquen, that’s my name.”

“You’re calling yourself ‘Nobody?’ I can’t call you 'Nobody.'”

Annatar narrowed his eyes. “Why not? It seems perfectly serviceable to me.”

“So, someone asks me who I ate dinner with last night. ‘Alaquen.’ ‘But I heard you talking to someone.’ ‘Yes, Alaquen.’” Celebrimbor finally stepped away as he spoke, the pantomimed conversation giving him the perfect reason to move. “My life already has too many parallels to a Telerin comedy without adding a friend named Alaquen.”

Annatar shook his head at him as moved back towards the workbench. “Then I suppose I’m back where I started, with hundreds of names and none of them fitting.”

“There’s always Mairon. It’s simple, it will be easy to adjust to as Olórin calls you that already, and some might say that your current—” He sought for the right word. “Your current repentance is admirable.”

“Some?” Annatar picked up the hammer and balanced it on the edge of his hand. “No, to call myself Mairon with my powerlessness and history of horrible missteps feels like mockery.” He flicked his hand, sending the hammer spinning up in the air before he caught it. He resumed shaping the napkin ring. “So you have not decided anything regarding us?”

“No, I have not.”

“Will you speak with me tomorrow?”

“Yes, but I know not if I will have an answer for you.”

“I will wait.” Annatar removed the ring from the cast and looked at it critically. “It’s quite plain. Do you think that’s what they want?”

“I’m sure that’s what Maedhros ordered, but yes, it’s too simple for the wedding.”

“What would Fingon like?”

Celebrimbor opened one of his drawers, surveying the options. “Something like a twisted or braided ring of copper and gold would be simple enough for my uncle, and yet would provide enough symbolic romance for Fingon.”

“Yes, that would be an appealing design. I’ll need to snip this and hammer it out though.” The movement of Annatar’s hands seemed more sure now that his memories had returned, but they lacked the uncanny speed and dexterity Celebrimbor remembered. Annatar noticed him looking and guessed where his thoughts had gone. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have the skill I once had. I could have sworn I crafted in ways that were merely mechanical before, but either I somehow wove some level of skill into the Ring that is now lost, or more likely I used to use some measure of innate power that is now missing. The missing finger is not as much of a hindrance as I once would have thought, but it still means I must prefer my left for some tasks I was accustomed to using either hand for.”

“A pity,” Celebrimbor said. The sentiment was heartfelt; he mourned the destruction of Annatar’s skills as yet another thing the Ring had taken from him, no matter how just the depletion.

“Well, are you going to help with the gold strands?” Annatar looked at him expectantly, the piece of copper almost ready to be wound with the gold.

“Very well.” Celebrimbor began to gather the tools he needed. Even making something as simple as a napkin ring had a whiff of danger to it, but Nerdanel, in her wisdom, had advised him to get to know Annatar as he was now, and he knew of no better way.

~

There were some people who were loud even when they sat in silence. Celebrimbor took a sip of his brandy, taking the opportunity to eye Merillë as he did so. She shifted and turned the page, loudly. Her eyes darted to the side and caught him looking at her.

“Hello, Merillë. Was there something you wanted to ask me?” Celebrimbor closed his book; he had been looking forward to reading all afternoon, but he deserved the interruption for foolishly choosing one of the common rooms instead of his private quarters.

“I just noticed your book; it seems to be written in a language completely alien to me. I have studied many varieties of Westron, Adûnaic, Sindarin, and even Taliska, so it is quite strange that I recognize nothing.” Merillë twisted her head to get a look at the cover.

“It’s Khuzdul. I thought I would brush up on it before Gimli arrived.”

“I can’t believe Nerdanel even has books in Khuzdul!”

“She doesn’t; my father brought this with him for me.” Celebrimbor turned the book so Merillë could better study the cover.

Merillë sighed heavily, as she had been doing ever since she sat down next to Celebrimbor. “All the things I can never learn. Unless—”

“Absolutely not.”

“I mean, there’s only one dwarf here, and he’s not going to be in Valinor forever.”

“That would be an ill way to treat an exclusive gift that was jealousy guarded and rarely given.” Celebrimbor thought Gimli had enough to deal with as the only one of his kind in Aman, although most of the time he seemed pleased at the attention.

“I thought Fëanáro knew Khuzdul. Knows Khuzdul.”

Celebrimbor snorted. “No. I know not which overzealous chronicler started that rumor, but he never even met one of the Khazad.”

“Maybe, if I befriend Gimli—”

“Merillë, you are quite charming, but I very much doubt he will teach you the secret language of his people during his twilight years that I’m sure he wishes to spend with his partner. Besides, I think I deserve time with Gimli. I have had a very difficult few months.” Celebrimbor hoped he wasn’t whining.

“You’ll have to fight Atya for that privilege.” 

“Oh, I already spoke to him, and my own father, and they agree I’m allowed to corner Gimli every other evening once he’s here. Well not corner—”

“No, I’m sure you mean corner.” Merillë looked very amused.

Celebrimbor couldn’t quite push down a smile in return. “I try not to be too much of a bother.” A flash of gold caught his eye as Annatar walked in with Sam. Lodrien sat at a low table at the other end of the room with a friend, and motioned them over with the cards in her hand.

“Something’s different about him,” Celebrimbor said.

“Who? Oh, him.” Merillë frowned as she watched Annatar. “I don’t see anything different.”

“Are those new clothes?” Celebrimbor could have sworn that all of Annatar’s clothing was ill-fitting, and definitely second hand. His current clothing now fit perfectly, emphasizing the elegant lines of his body, and had embroidery down the sleeve Celebrimbor had never noticed previously.

“Oh, no. He’s just been tailoring the clothes he was given in between all the orders Sildamo, he, and I have been filling. We are quite busy, because some people left their wedding outfits until the last minute—”

“That was entirely his idea.”

“And he wasn’t wrong that you had nothing suitable.” Merillë gave him a pointed look. “Anyway, I suggested he take in his own clothes a bit while he was at it.”

“You know, the problem is not that I don’t find him attractive,” Celebrimbor said.

“Problem, who was talking about problems?” Hallowed portraits of Varda’s handmaidens looked less innocent than Merillë did in the present moment.

“The problem is that he tortured and killed me, and tried to conquer the world on multiple occasions.”

“Well—”

“It was not an isolated incident of world conquering,” Celebrimbor pointed out.

“I know! I know!” Merillë threw up her hands. “I wasn’t even thinking about trying to help him get you back. Well, mostly I wasn’t. I just think people are their best when they look their best.”

“I have not found that to be the case.”

“He’s surprisingly good at sewing.”

Celebrimbor watched Annatar playing cards with his friends. A knot of longing grew in his chest at the normalcy of the scene. Annatar pulled the trick towards himself, and threw down his remaining cards.

“He’s cheating.”

Merillë glanced over. “You can tell from here?”

“Yes. I’m sure if you checked the deck you would find another prince of the same kind there.”

“Oh.” Merillë gnawed her lip. “That seems like a bad sign, all things considered.”

“Or is it a good one? Cheating at cards is a fairly benign way to feel superior to others, especially with no money on the table, and in this game he is also helping Sam win.”

“I’m not sure.”

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows at her. “Oh now you’re not sure? You have no idea of the nature of the creature you’ve befriended? I’m not sure if it’s possible for him not to bite in some way. You would not blame a snake for striking you — its venom is how it defends itself, and to expect anything else would be folly.”

Merillë looked completely at sea. “If you know it may bite though, you can hold the snake near the head, or maybe wear gloves?” She tugged at her necklace, a finely wrought gold chain strung with a pendant displaying the twined snakes of her father’s house.

Celebrimbor threaded a hand through his hair, still watching the card game. Annatar had just lost the round, entirely on purpose. “You're right. I am prepared. I know what to look for. But you still wouldn’t lay with the snake.”

“I think the metaphor is falling apart.”

Celebrimbor glanced at Merille, his mind drawn back to the common room. “Hm? Oh, yes. A bit. Anyway, I would tell you not to meddle, but I’m not sure it matters much. Knowing this household, there’s probably just as many people trying to meddle in the opposite direction.” Celebrimbor glanced darkly around at the denizens of Ondomar as they relaxed for the evening. “You wouldn’t happen to know what Olórin is up to?”

“Why do you think he’s up to something?”

“He’s always up to something.”

“Maybe the problem is you.” Merillë’s hand flew to her mouth the moment the words escaped.

“Oh really?” Celebrimbor could tell from the way Merillë shifted back that his smile had an unhinged cast.

“I just meant maybe it’s time for you to meddle!” Merillë spoke in a rush. 

“Yes, more meddling is exactly what we need right before the rush of guests come, and just as both grooms are completely at odds over the upcoming ceremony.”

“They're completely at odds?”

“You don’t deserve gossip tonight.” Celebrimbor glared at her.

Merillë sighed. “Fine. But yes. If you were playing cards with a cheater, would you play fair?”

“I would decline to play.”

“But wouldn’t it be much more fun to beat him at his own game?”

Celebrimbor set his book aside. He would get no farther with his Khuzdul tonight. “Are you suggesting I get some skin-tight clothes myself?”

“His clothes are not skin tight! They fit well, but yes, whatever your version of upgrading your wardrobe is. Changing your hair—”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Your hair is lovely! That was just an example,” Merillë said.

“Are you suggesting I dye it like yours?”

“No, it’s so much more difficult with black hair. As I said, it was only an example!”

“The problem is also not a lack of attraction on his part from what I can tell.” Celebrimbor tried to imagine what Annatar’s reaction would be to conspicuous updates in wardrobe. He had never noticed his regard change in accordance to the level of finery he wore. He considered a change in hairstyle, either dying it or cutting it. That would probably grab his attention, but not in a good way. Annatar had loved to run his fingers through his hair, to braid and comb it. (Annatar had also found it a marvelous handle during lovemaking, or the precursor to such activities.)

“Pay my advice no mind!” Merillë interrupted his thoughts, which again were veering in a dangerous direction. “I can tell you’re overthinking it.”

Celebrimbor cleared his throat and waved his hand in the air vaguely. “Fashion and the like used to be fun, but well, it seems like it belongs in a different age for me.”

“It’s just a suggestion. I will try not to be a meddler.”

“You can’t help it. It’s your nature,” Celebrimbor said with a smile. He glanced back over at the game of cards. “You should try to get in a round — see if you can beat him.”

~

“Are you ready to admit that you have failed, Celebrimbor?” Annatar asked.

“Failed? I think not. This was merely the first of many experiments.” Celebrimbor walked to the windows and opened them wider, although he kept the sheer curtains drawn. It was an abominably sticky day. Though he was normally glad to live outside the bubble of curated perfection that enclosed Valimar and the other central cities of Valinor — mild day after mild day quickly wore on him — it would be nice if the late summer heat did not hit the same day that half the furnishings and equipment in Ondomar had to be moved. “Perhaps you would like to admit instead that asking me for epessë ideas was a mistake.”

“I think I’m hardly the one to admit failure when I introduced myself as ‘Titsë’ to no fewer than four people today, and did not drop anything due to laughing, unlike some people in this room,” Annatar said. They were alone together in Celebrimbor’s room, so the target of criticism was obvious. 

“So kitty-cat will not work. Fine. I’m sure I can think of something more suitable.” Celebrimbor began unlacing his tunic. “How about—” He pulled the tunic over his head. “Úmiuon.”

“ Not-a-cat ? Really, Brim.” Annatar pursed his lips, but his eyes drifted lower. Celebrimbor became acutely aware that he had started undressing as if they were at a much earlier point in their relationship, in another place, in different bodies. “I suppose I can’t complain too much. Úmiuon is better than Úvanimo, which I would well deserve.”

“So it’s decided. I’ll have the roll updated so that when you show up to the wedding in a few days, no one will be perplexed when you announce that ‘Úmiuon’ is here.”

“I’m sure Tirien will not appreciate needing to change my place setting again if Úmiuon does not stick.”

“Oh, it will stick.” Celebrimbor toyed with the ties on his undergarments. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around, or get out, if you prefer.”

Annatar leaned against the back of the couch, his smile transforming into a smirk.

“I’ve seen you naked before you know.”

“I know that very well; you’ve seen me without most of my skin, come to think of it. Nevertheless, turn around.”

For a moment, Celebrimbor thought Annatar wasn’t going to leave. Just as he reached to put his tunic back on, despite dreading the damp fabric against his skin, Annatar slowly turned, and stood facing the door.

Celebrimbor stripped the rest of the way, his attention fixed on Annatar the entire time. Warmth churned within him, despite the cool breeze against his skin. He briefly entertained the idea of pressing himself against Annatar’s back, sweeping aside the tied-back hair, still uncharacteristically austere, and tasting the salty-sweetness of the skin at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m going to bathe,” he said instead.

“And should I just stand here?” Annatar asked.

“No, you can come in, only do not turn around.”

“Stumbling back—”

“When you hear the water running, you can come to the door. But face away from the chamber.” Celebrimbor didn’t wait for a response from Annatar before turning and walking to his bathing chambers.

He checked that he had everything he wanted before opening the sluice. He wound his hair into a knot on the top of his head, neither desiring nor needing to go through the process of washing it today. 

Annatar appeared in the doorway, back turned as instructed.

“Elrond and Celebrían will recognize me; has anyone given thought to that detail?”

Celebrimbor leaned against the edge of the round wooden tub. “More than they will recognize you, but yes, everyone who knew you in Ost-in-Edhil has been warned, and all who might recognize you by other means know as well.”

“And still, no bolt from Manwë has struck me down, nor has Tulkas come to carry me away in chains.”

“My family is loud, but we can also be discreet. Just ask Turgon.” The tub was over half-way filled. Celebrimbor shut the tap and stepped in. “You can turn around now.”

Celebrimbor sank to his knees just as Annatar turned around. The tepid water should have cooled him down, but he still burned.

He picked up a cloth and began to clean himself. Annatar devoured every move, and Celebrimbor slowed his hands to feed the flames. He had never forgotten being the subject of such immense, consuming focus. He knew it should frighten him, or at the very least make him feel uneasy, but he knew his heart didn’t beat faster from fear. He ran the cloth first over his face, then over his back and chest, then under his arms, before reaching below the surface of the water. 

You always knew you were playing with fire , he admonished himself, as he briefly considered the path of wisdom and sending Annatar away. He finished cleaning himself and leaned forward against the edge of the tub, still looking at Annatar, who worried his lip between his teeth in a gesture of surprising carnality.

Celebrimbor had been hard from the moment he’d taken his clothes off; now, stroking himself under the surface of the water, he had to consciously restrain his movements to prevent himself from coming undone immediately. He let out an unfeigned gasp, gripping the edge of the tub with his other hand.

Annatar’s hungry gaze never left his body; he knew exactly what Celebrimbor was doing. His lips parted slightly, but his breath hadn’t quickened; if anything, his chest had stilled, the superfluous act of breathing forgotten. 

Celebrimbor closed his eyes as he came, still acutely aware of the golden eyes burning on his skin, as if the wooden wall of the tub were transparent. He blinked, the world swimming into view. Annatar still stared. 

“Turn around.” To his surprise, his voice sounded steady.

For a moment, he thought Annatar would disobey; he seemed to tilt toward him, ready to lunge. But he only swallowed, and slowly turned his back to the bathing chamber. 

Celebrimbor opened the drain and stood. Every drop of water carved a path down his skin and the breeze from the open windows prickled like pins. After drying himself, he wrapped a towel around his waist. As he walked past Annatar, he could not resist dragging his fingers down his arm. 

He sat down in front of the mirror and unbound his hair, getting ready to brush and replait it. In the mirror, the reflection of Annatar appeared behind him; he set his hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder.

“I take it you have decided nothing?”

“Yes, I have not decided.” Celebrimbor met his eyes in the mirror.

“Then, I had better leave you.” Annatar’s thumb slid up the back of Celebrimbor neck before leaving his room with a last lingering look.

Celebrimbor set his hands on the table and pressed down until his heartbeat returned to normal. His own overpowering hunger did not retreat. More than his body had been awakened; he remembered the insatiable way he used to rip through any question he did not immediately know the answer to, the way any pronouncement that he could not do something necessitated an endeavor to break that assumption. He had thought his faded curiosity related to aging, he had seen the tendency to look backwards instead of forwards increase among many of the Eldar, but now he had doubts.

Dreams he had hardly allowed himself to consider danced through his mind. You don’t need him . That was true. He had access to the oldest and wisest of all his kind. He could even speak to his grandfather, Valar knew most of the family would be overjoyed if he could focus Fëanor in a beneficial direction. But I want him. The knowledge that he could reopen the most fulfilling point of his life was too tantalizing to leave undisturbed. But if he could remember the fire of inspiration and the passion they had shared, he could also remember the horror of destruction and when all he could feel at the sight of Sauron's face was fear.

I Always Will

Read I Always Will

Patience was not in Sauron’s nature. Neither was it in Mairon’s, Gorthaur’s, Annatar’s, nor Miaulë’s. As to Úmiuon, he was so impatient that he could hardly stay with that name for a couple of days before informing Celebrimbor that he had better think of a new epessë. In the past, he had sometimes waited for hundreds of years in order to see a plan to fruition, but even then he had always been pushing, never content to bide his time and wait for things in motion to resolve themselves. 

Perhaps, he thought, if I had kept a modicum of perspective in the past, I would not be where I am today.

Where he was in the literal sense was as far east as he had travelled since he had become aware that he was free of whatever had trapped him after his downfall. Just a short climb, and the snowpack began. He could easily cross the Pelóri here, travel towards the sea, and then what? Escape? Rid himself of the beautiful shell that half of Valinor seemed to recognize and travel with no fana to weigh him down? He had told Celebrimbor that he didn’t think he could escape, but that was not exactly true. Aman’s vast lands expanded every day — an equation set to some constant that even he did not understand. If Melkor and Ungoliant could hide in the First Age, a more subtle Maia could certainly create some foxhole for himself in the Fourth.

If you could keep yourself from the abyss. Even now it murmured to him, the emptiness lurking on the edge of his mind, the unspeakable loss that he could not look full in the face. Without the weight of a body, with no one looking for him, with no one to command, to care for, to love, the madness would soon eat him alive. And he would not escape. He would likely not make it out of Oromë’s woods before the crazed flight of his fëa would bring down the Vala himself and his eternal hunting party to capture him like a mad beast to be put out of his misery and given to unbeing, like his former master before him.

But is eternal imprisonment better? How long could he stave off the emptiness then? And would he even want to? Maybe being swallowed by the Ring-void would bring forgetfulness again; better than the certain dread of sitting imprisoned in the dark, dwelling on the dangling threads of misspent ages and potential he had thrown away.

He owes you nothing. You owe him everything. The knowledge didn’t make it any easier though, and the only thing worse than not knowing where he stood with Celebrimbor was the potential of learning that he had lost him forever. 

Sauron strode forward, bounding up the steep slope until he reached the beginning of the perpetual snow. He thrust his hands in, and concentrated on the acceleration of the snow’s Song, an action that would have been instinctual in ages past. Now, even a simple manipulation of the world took immense focus. As water first began to stream and then vaporize, an inner ache began that soon became a sharp stab of pain. He stopped when darkness began to crowd around his vision, and slowly stood, swaying for a moment. The cloud wrapped around him, shielding him from view and blocking his own vision. For a moment he lingered, imagining shucking off his body, and flying away in the cloud, untethered and untroubled. He shook himself, scattering water droplets and mist before turning back towards Ondomar. He could not bear to leave before he had to.

~

 

Sauron tried to stay out of everyone’s way. Most of the residents had a frantic air about them, even Celebrimbor, whose primary emotion towards the upcoming nuptials had been annoyance up until now. In the past few days however, every promised bit of ornamentation that he had shoved into drawers, under papers, and so out of his mind had resurfaced. Sauron had tried to talk to Celebrimbor, both about their relationship and more mundane things, and without fail, after only a minute, Celebrimbor would begin to pat his pockets, exclaim something like ‘The broach!’ or ‘the comb!’ and hurry away. It was vexing to have Celebrimbor’s attention so fragmented, and left him wondering what the point was of even trying.

He had resolved to stay, though, so Sauron mostly hid in Sildamo’s studio, unbothered by the heat, finishing the last bits of tailoring that needed to be done.

Perhaps I should petition Vairë for work during my imprisonment. He chuckled aloud, knowing full well he would not be allowed anywhere near something as powerful as the looms of Vairë.

“Stars, it is you.”

Sauron spun, feeling caught off guard laughing along at his own jokes with pins in his mouth. A small woman with a fall of silver curls stood in the doorway. Twisted scar tissue wrapped around half her face and one eye was glass. Despite that, he recognized her immediately. He removed the pins from his mouth with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Celebrían.”

“How have you managed not to have the members of this household kill you on the spot?” Celebrían asked.

“You should ask your mother that,” Sauron replied, scanning Celebrían for weapons.

“It’s no mystery why my mother puts up with your presence! She’s rather proud of you, you know.”

“Proud of me?” It was almost unfathomable that Galadriel would feel any positive emotion towards him.

“Well yes, but not so much in any of your accomplishments. More like how one is proud of a prize-winning stallion, or something of that nature.” Celebrían began to circle, looking him up and down with a critical eye. 

“Ah.” Galadriel appeared in the doorway. “So, what do you think?”

“He looks good. And he hasn’t said anything nasty yet.” Celebrían pointed at his right hand, still reluctant to touch him. “You did not entirely fix him.”

“No, of course not. I cannot heal what is not there. I’m sure if you were able to see his fëa, a more mangled atrocity would greet you then a single missing finger.”

“Are you quite finished?” Sauron suspected the next few days would be full of people gawking at him, and if he could end this peculiar mother-daughter inspection quickly, he would.

Celebrían crossed her arms, still addressing Galadriel. “I’m still less than pleased with being turned into one of your experiments.”

“Experiment no longer! If the lens could restore Sauron The Abhorred this well, I have no doubts it will work wonders on you,” Galadriel said.

“And who says I am in any need of restoring?” Celebrían asked.

“Well—“

“I am free of pain, thanks to the gardens of Lórien and Estë’s work, and my husband still finds me fair, and I care little for anyone else’s say in the matter. I would note that he, a great healer, has made no offer to fix me.” Celebrían’s tone held a dangerous edge.

“Don’t you want your depth perception back?” Galadriel offered. 

“Mmm. I don’t miss it that much. I was never a hunter.”

“Well, there’s no need to make a decision immediately. The lens will keep, and so will you, and you know I will love you whatever your choice.”

Celebrían sighed. “I will think on it.” She glanced at Sauron. “Do you like the marks? They’re your work, in a way. The mountain passes were always safe when Durin ruled in Moria. And your many wars left pockets of orcs everywhere, multiplying faster than anyone else. You forced us into war again and again, until violence dug so deep that my sons could not learn peace, and now—” Celebrían suddenly turned on him, seeming to snap back to the present.

“I have imagined facing you again, looking as I remembered you in Ost-in-Edhil, and fantasized about the revenge I could visit on you for the hurt you dealt to my friends, my family, myself. I find I’ve lost the taste for knife work that I used to have; you are not worth breaking the peace I have found at last. Do not mistake that for forgiveness.” 

Without any further farewell, she and Galadriel left. Their conversation drifted off, obscured by the bustle of the rest of the house.

Sauron stood for a moment, fitting the scarred women he’d just spoken to into his picture of Celebrían, the young Elf he had known in Ost-in-Edhil.

A blow, my lord, to the Elf-lord in his hidden valley. The hissing voice of the Nazgûl crawled up through the wreck of his memories. Sauron clenched his fists and went back to work on the cuff. To the Necromancer in Dol Guldor, Elrond and Celebrían had ceased to be people that he once knew and were instead part of the mass of enemies that threatened him behind their veils of power. When The Necromancer looked with his Eye across the north of Middle-earth, those swathes of obscurity had taunted him, enraged him with reminders of his failure, and hounded him with the familiar magic he had tried to wipe from the earth and from himself. 

Sauron stabbed the needle into the bust and stood. The repetitive motions were soothing no longer — he needed to strike something.

~

He went down to the smithy after that. There was plenty to do there as well; dish-ware, carafes, platters, goblets, and utensils were all being made specially for the wedding. There were plenty of able hands, but a distinct lack of a unifying vision. Írissë, Nerdanel, Fingon, and Maedhros all were liable to show up at any time, and unleash critiques on the growing number of pieces. This inevitably meant reworking everything crafted already, and then starting on whatever additional had been ordered. Then someone else would appear, despair over the previous design, and the cycle repeated itself. 

Everyone had given up but Sauron. Likely Celebrimbor or Curufin could put their foot down and force their family members to pick a single design, but Celebrimbor had refused to get involved from the beginning, and Curufin stayed mostly at Áremar. 

Sauron did not particularly enjoy being tapped to create the Dish-ware that Will Unify the House of Finwë, but he had begun to fixate on the problem, and felt compelled to keep working on it. He had gotten Maedhros to agree to the compromise of having Fingon’s gold star in the Finwean sun on one side, and Maedhros’ red star on the other, and abandon the idea of creating an ugly mashup of a symbol to represent their new house. He suspected that if he could just keep everyone in agreement on the etching, they could at last settle on the perfect dish-ware.

He stopped short in the doorway, his thoughts abruptly snatched from planning the next tureen by the sight of Celebrimbor at his workbench. He reached out with his mind, and then recoiled. The mind he had touched hummed at a frequency similar to Celebrimbor’s, but his thoughts formed strange shapes and moved in ways he had never seen before. No, it was clearly not Celebrimbor; he was too tall. Not-Celebrimbor turned and looked at him. He looked much like his friend, but his eyes were brighter, despite being set deeper in his face.

“Come here,” Fëanor said.

The order made him want to sneer and leave the workshop, but curiosity drove him forward — and the persistent feeling of obligation. He stopped a few feet away, already forced to look up at the Elf. Something about Fëanor’s presence made him want to listen, an alertness that was catching. He disliked it. The Silmarils had created the same urge, the spirit of their creator remade in the form of beautiful light — the kind of compulsion that drove unwise decisions and unhealthy fascinations. 

“Can you heat this chamber?” Fëanor pointed to a miniature container that seemed to be made of some kind of ceramic material. 

“Why? It’s already inside the forge.”

“The forges here are not hot enough. I require a temperature of 957 units Fëanáro. I must melt this alloy.”

Sauron wrinkled his nose. “I cannot believe even their creator would use units Fëanáro. They’re so imprecise.”

Fëanor’s brows drew together as he straightened, casting his full attention on Sauron. “Units Fëanáro were devised for this very purpose — to measure the melting point of metals.”

“Absurd to change scales based on what you’re measuring - what if you’re working with multiple materials? What if you need to melt metal, but also combine different elements and then hold the mixture at a steady temperature for a period of time? The instructions would use three different systems of measurement! I can think of few things more error prone. Not to mention the faults of a relative scale to begin with.”

“I suppose you would propose an absolute scale?”

“Obviously. I devised the Mólimavistalo Ilvanya Lesta, or MIL, for just such a purpose. Using the MIL, everyone was able to understand exactly what temperature was required for any purpose.”

“MIL.” Fëanor looked like he was tasting spoiled milk. “And what temperature would be needed to melt this lungon in units MIL?”

“6,652 MILar.”

“MILar," Fëanor spat. "You should not be permitted to create such abominations.” He stepped back and looked at Sauron significantly. “Well?”

Sauron blinked. “I cannot conduct that amount of heat.”

“You can’t? Didn’t you used to be a Maia of Aulë? What good are you if you can’t even create more heat than a forge?”

“My relative uselessness is likely why I am permitted to roam free around these grounds,” Sauron finally said, when he had recovered as much as he ever would from being called useless by Fëanor.

“It must be terrible,” Fëanor said, “to be so impotent.”

Sauron glared at him. “It is unpleasant.”

“I asked before I was released from Mandos if I would have all the facilities I did when I was alive before. I had no desire to live again in some half-state where my fingers were clumsy and my eyes dulled. Better to dwell forever in Mandos then.”

Sauron glanced around. There were plenty of empty forges and worktables; he would take his materials and go elsewhere.

“I am surprised you value your freedom so little,” he said to Fëanor as he collected a half dozen goblets that needed to be reworked. 

Fëanor frowned. “I value freedom greatly, or do you know nothing of our histories? But freedom also means being able to do what one willed, and since I delight in making and learning, the dulling of the mind and of the senses is a cage in and of itself.”

“If you are clever and persistent, many paths open up, even if your power is small and your abilities reduced. But first you must be free.”

Fëanor cocked his head at him. “You speak from experience.”

“Yes.” 

“So, what cleverness would you use to create the lungon alloy that I need?

Sauron frowned at the forge. “You only need to get a small area that hot if your miniature chamber is all that is required. If you switched fuel sources, there are several gases that would work if you can get them. Even this forge could achieve the heat you need.”

“Good! My grandson was not lying when he said you were intelligent. Although, it would be a great deal easier if you could simply produce the heat required.”

“You are much as I thought you’d be,” Sauron said dryly.

Fëanor laughed. “You are not as I thought you would be. When I found out you were one who turned to Morgoth during the dawn of Arda, I expected very little from you. But I suppose I was one of the few who could see through his fair guise and sweet words.” 

“They do say your brilliance is unparalleled.”

Fëanor flashed a smile. “In some matters.” 

At this approximation of humility, Sauron paused with his armful of materials. “What do you intend to do?”

“I must finish these necklaces before my brothers and sisters arrive. I know not what their demeanor towards me will be, but if I can soften them with a gift I will. I wish to start our relationship anew.”

“No, I meant in general. Will you stay here in Ondomar?”

“Perhaps for a time. But I want to explore the world again, and see what has changed while I was entombed in Mandos. And to explore the full breadth of Aman I will need the forgiveness of my brothers, and of King Olwë.” He grimaced. “I do not suspect that will come easily.”

“But you think it will be granted?”

“Who knows? It is certainly not owed, and of my sons only one has obtained formal pardons.”

“The rest have not asked, and one is not truly capable of asking.”

“And that is why I will try. They say that these are days of forgiveness, of righting wrongs, and granting understanding despite different modes of being. I will try to live thus — I owe Nerdanel that much.”

“You once called this place the cage of the Valar.”

“I did.” Fëanor looked around. “If this is a cage, the bars are more firmly set than ever. But I am willing to explore its confines for the time being. There is much that is good here, including the ones I love.” He frowned at Sauron’s armful of supplies. “Where are you going?”

“To modify these goblets.”

“Why not work here?”

“I don’t wish to interrupt your work.”

“Nonsense. Although there are improvements to be made to this workshop, space is not one of them. I have created objects with tenfold complexity in more cramped quarters. You’ll waste much time walking back and forth.  I see many more goblets that you must be planning to change.”

“Very well.” Sauron placed his materials back on the table. How many fewer years of captivity will this penance buy me, he thought. 

Fëanor handed him an angular rock. “Now, at the very least you should be able to tell me the composition of this wolframite.”

Sauron took the rock, mourning the work he already knew he wouldn’t be able to do courtesy of Fëanor. Perhaps he could at least learn something from the process.

 

~

The day before the wedding dawned misty and cool, the dew-covered pine needles dripping and the morning sounds of the animals muted in the grey dawn. Soon though, shouts of welcome rose with the sun, and the light and sound chased the morning stillness away. As the remaining dew began to sparkle in the sunlight, the last few guests arrived with much fanfare. 

First came Mahtan, his wife Lanë, and Nerdanel’s sister and brother with their families. The sea of red hair and booming voices woke even the deepest of sleepers. No one minded, though. Many ran to the courtyard to greet old colleagues and friends, and those who did not know Mahtan’s household hung out of windows. The grooms had been separated the night before their wedding, with Fingon staying at Áremar with his family, and Maedhros staying with his mother, so all were curious to see the meeting of Maedhros and his mother’s folk, sundered for many ages .

There were still many wiping away tears, and Mahtan and Fëanor were still hidden behind closed doors, speaking words that had been thought and revised millennia ago with little hope of ever being heard aloud, when Findis and her family arrived, save her son, who ruled in Tirion in Finfarfin’s stead while the king was absent. 

“I would not have thought Findis would choose to stay with this side of the family,” Sauron remarked, peering down from the half-hidden sill where he perched.

“On the contrary.” Tirien, Caranthir’s wife, twisted her head to see the new arrivals “Findis and Nerdanel are fast friends, it would be strange if she didn’t stay at Ondomar.” 

Soon after Mahtan’s arrival, Tirien had hauled him to the window they now sat at, conveniently screened from the inside of the house by shelves of supplies. Sauron had not spoken with her much before, but apparently compared to the invasion of Caranthir’s extended family, of whom she’d met very few, he was a likely candidate for commiseration and the lesser evil.

“I imagine you wish to be swarmed by in-laws no more than I do,” she offered as an explanation, when he’d been too surprised to protest. “I will introduce myself to them all, but one at a time, and away from that crushing Amanyar chaos.”

Sauron nodded, as if in agreement that one-on-one meetings would be a better way to meet the family. As far as he knew, these relatives at least would not be looking to tear him limb from limb on sight, but he very much doubted they would regard him with anything other than hostility should they realize his identity. But for now, he watched from above with Tirien, and indulged in a light fantasy of being in an equivalent situation to hers — a spouse from Middle-earth who merely wished to avoid the chaotic reunions taking place in the courtyard. 

A last group rode up, just as the elves below began to scatter. 

“Fíriel is here at last,” Tirien said. “I was beginning to wonder when she would show.”

Sauron looked at the woman in astonishment. “She looks like him,” Sauron said. Tirien hummed in agreement, although she could have been thinking of several of Míriel’s descendants. Míriel’s silver hair had not been passed to any of her progeny, but her sharp cheekbones, high forehead, and straight nose were unmistakably mirrored in Celebrimbor’s face. Míriel Serindë glanced up and looked directly at him despite all the other elves vying for her attention in the courtyard and hanging out of Ondomar’s many windows. She frowned.

“Fíriel at least I will greet,” Tirien said as she stood. “I must thank her for the thread she sent us.”

Sauron distractedly said goodbye, still staring at Míriel greeting her family in the courtyard. 

~

The greetings continued all day. Tears of laughter and grief flowed alike and every hallway seemed to contain some long anticipated reunion. Sauron did not avoid all awkward encounters. After the consternation and confusion he’d caused by introducing himself to Findis’ daughter as ‘Sauron,’  he decided next time to use the unrecognized name ‘Mairon.’ He didn’t have to introduce himself at all to Erestor, who upon encountering him marched him into a side room and proceeded to castigate him for an hour about the burning of the central library in Ost-in-Edhil. When Sauron expressed surprise over this very specific cause for anger, Erestor replied, “Well, I do hope you’ve already been chastised for all the rest of the horrors you brought down on us.”

Erestor did not accept Sauron’s apology.

Later that day, a flustered Sam, smudged in flour and other ingredients, thankfully interrupted another confused introduction.

“You seem unoccupied and also like you could reach into an inconveniently tall oven,” Sam said.

“I could do that,” Sauron replied, and let himself be dragged into the maelstrom of the kitchen. He would have laughed at the thought of feeling any kind of emotion about chopping vegetables before, but the simple household duties were a relief compared to the heightening celebratory atmosphere outside.

The celebration began in earnest as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Music and dancing began, each song starting in a new mode and the teachers of the dance changing as they traveled through the ages in circles and lines, hands pressed together or joined. Wine and spirits were flowing as well; all the hard work and preparation of the previous months meant the house overflowed with more than enough alcohol and food to keep the assembled guests going for days.

From his perch on the porch roof, Sauron had the perfect vantage to see Elrond and Celebrían attempt to teach a very Mannish-inspired Third Age jig. Most of the assembly had given up, and were just dancing in whatever vigorous style they were most skilled at. The exceptions were Gandalf and Galadriel, who were managing quite well together despite the height difference between them.

Something came at him from the right; he snatched it out of the air before it hit his face. Celebrimbor hoisted himself onto the roof, having climbed up a trellis leaned against the porch. “You’ve found a most inconvenient hiding place.”

“A convenient hiding place would be entirely beside the point.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of my family.” Crawling over, Celebrimbor grabbed the wineskin from him.

“They’ve caused me problems in the past.” Sauron shook his head, chasing away talk of history tonight. They had spent enough time mired there. “I spent as long as I could gawking and being gawked at, steeling myself for tomorrow. I thought it best to remove myself from the festivities. I am trying to be on my best behavior, but there are limits you know.” 

The corner of Celebrimbor’s mouth turned up. “Very wise — if you could hold off your descent into villainy until after the wedding I would very much appreciate it.”

Sauron turned so that he could fully see Celebrimbor. He seemed made of starlight; his eyes shone in the moonlight almost as they had in his first life, and the silver undertone in his dark hair gleamed. Months of frustrated longing welled within him.

“Please, I have to know.” Sauron thought better of his plea as sudden doubt smote him. “Or don’t say anything if I have no chance!”

Celebrimbor laughed softly and looked at him with incredulity. “It’s strange to be the one with all the power this time.”

“What?” Sauron started back, realizing he’d been unconsciously leaning towards Celebrimbor. “How could you say that? You’ve always been the one in control. Yes, even then. I could tear through every inch of your body, sift through whatever remained, and yet I still felt powerless, unable to leave until I had—“ He swallowed. “Until you had died.” Sauron looked away, unable to meet the sadness in Celebrimbor’s eyes.

“Mere months after we first spoke I realized my plans to learn your secrets and send some more subtle spy in my place were useless — I could not bear to leave you and not play some part in your dreams that you were in the midst of.” Sauron continued. “And I’m not surprised I came here when I was disoriented and without self and memory. It’s like your Third Age model.”

“Hm?” Celebrimbor’s mind opened up to him, in what seemed to be an automatic response to confusion. He waited for a moment, not sure if Celebrimbor really wanted to speak through their bond.

When he did not pull away, Sauron shared an image of a blue and white sphere spinning through darkness. Then he slowly exposed more and more of his comprehension of the sun. Not Arien as she was in Aman, a woman driving a chariot across the sky, bearing a yellow flower and reflecting its light and warmth with all of her strength. No, the sun in Middle-earth was now a sphere of almost incomprehensible power.

Sauron tried to show him the heat and pressure forging light that fed life throughout Arda, but even through the filter of his mind, he could tell the dizzying brightness of the process was hard to focus on for any length of time. 

“Like that,” Sauron finally said aloud, his mind now spiraling away from the sun with haste, revealing a net of rocks and gas spinning around it.

“We are like the uniting particles that power the sun?” Celebrimbor asked, still trying to comprehend what he had seen.

“No!” Sauron  pressed his lips together. “I am trying to be romantic. You are like the sun, pulling me around you so that I can’t help but be near.”

“Like that?” Celebrimbor said. His eyes were misaligned and he was swaying slightly. Concerned, Sauron scanned through his body, looking for some hidden malady. He detected the influence of wine, but not that much. The dizziness seemed to come from Celebrimbor’s thinking mind, unspooling into the heavens trying to order what he had just said into some numerically bounded concept, although something else also overwhelmed his senses. It’s you, Celebrimbor signaled, and Sauron saw a vision of himself as he was now, fëa at the surface of his own body, light spilling from him enough to glint off of his simple jewelry, his own pull as strong as what he had just shown Celebrimbor.

“Yes, like that. As I said.” Sauron tried to not to pry, but he could feel a strength of emotion welling between them that sparked treacherous hope in his heart.

“As you said,” Celebrimbor repeated. “You know, I’m not sure if you’ve ever said you loved me so clearly. Yes, there were vows and promises, but we were always more focused on what we could do than how we felt.” Sauron tried to protest, but Celebrimbor would not let him speak. “How could you know that —” his thought encompassed the entire web Middle-earth was caught in and the life-giving radiation of the sun — “And not try to see it for yourself?”

“I only cared for Arda.” Sauron saw Celebrimbor connect snatches of what he had shown with a dozen natural processes, irritated curiosity behind his imaginings, and he almost laughed at how obvious Celebrimbor thought every link he saw. With millennia in Middle-earth, the ties from beyond had never occurred to Sauron. 

“Yes, of course! You are right — it’s not some isolated phenomena that only appears beyond the airs of Arda, we could —” Sauron stopped himself. “ You could study them here with some guidance. I think I am almost out of time.” He spoke without self-pity, but a note of grief still escaped as he thought of ending this short, strange chapter in his life. And then — he realized he had taken the image of the dark walls of Mandos from Celebrimbor’s mind. 

“You do not know for certain what your judgment will be.” An ancient door filled their minds, crafted of slabs of stone, rough and unpolished. “You do not know the Void will be your fate either,” Celebrimbor said softly.

“I would prefer it, though,” said Sauron, speaking aloud what he had hardly allowed himself to think. “To finally end it all would be better than what will happen if I am forced into perpetual inaction.”

He could feel Celebrimbor pushing back the whirling madness that suddenly rose to the surface of his mind. “End it all?” Celebrimbor frowned. “Is it not a matter of whether you are imprisoned with hope of parole in Mandos or whether it is a final banishment to the Void with Melkor? In either case—a” He stopped and tried to understand what Sauron tried to share between them. True nothingness was difficult to communicate.

“It’s a problem of language — you use Cúma to describe everything outside Eä. But there is a difference between being outside of Eä and being unmade, although in the latter case you are still outside of Eä.” Confusion still clouded Celebrimbor’s mind. Sauron continued, “The latter is what happened to Melkor. His spirit isn’t floating somewhere on the other side of the Doors of Night. That would be no punishment, he willingly explored outside of Eä. He is unmade, Void. To the extent that he could be; he sank much of himself into the very core of Arda.” 

“What? How could he explore outside of Eä? Is Eä it not by definition everything? And then—” Celebrimbor finally understood what he meant by ‘Void,’ but a thousand more questions sprang up in the answer’s wake. “No, I won’t let that happen. Not now — what will I do if you are…” He took a shaky breath, still not meeting Sauron’s eyes. “Surely you know my answer? When we’re together, wonders are at my fingertips that I would otherwise never even think to look for. My eyes are uncovered, I understand my own heart better!” He finally looked up, and groped for Sauron’s hand, covering it with his own and catching their fingers together. “It is not that I am changed — I have known who I am for a long time, but the world around me seems to change. It is better, brighter with you. And I didn’t want to hope, but it’s too late! I have glimpsed what I hadn’t even dared consider, and I can’t let go of this vision of what we could be.”

Sauron could hardly grasp the confession of love delivered like a diatribe. “So, it is the same for you,” he said, suppressed hope blooming.

“Now. Now! You are content to go to any fate that is determined for you? What happened to the person who sought to wrest the strands of time to his own command? Who was so discontent with following a marred pattern that he would rather follow the Marrer himself than fall into the place prepared for him among the Ainur?” Celebrimbor looked furious, although his voice stayed low to keep the dancers below them from noticing their rooftop perch.

“Neither would you want me to flee from the consequences that have finally caught up to me!” Sauron pointed out. A smile still spread across his face, even as the impossible situation they were in was put in such stark terms. “You would only have me if I am striving to face what evil I have done, yet that likely means you cannot have me at all.”

“Why are you smiling? This is terrible.” Celebrimbor’s grip on Sauron’s hand almost hurt. 

“Because you are mine.” 

“But nothing is solved!”

“Although I will help you try, you’re never going to solve the world, Celebrimbor.”

“You won’t help me! You will be unmade, or imprisoned, and we’ll be forever apart.”

“You don’t know that.”

Celebrimbor groaned, but Sauron could feel the anger dissipating, and a wry amusement growing over their swapped arguments. He held up the wineskin, still gripped in his other hand, and Sauron obliged, uncorking it with his own free hand.

“It can never be simple, can it,” Celebrimbor said, after drinking deeply from the skin.

“You would get bored.” Sauron accepted the wineskin from Celebrimbor and took a sip, before making a face and just managing not to spit out the wine. “Ugh. I still have not acquired the taste for alcohol. I can taste the poison.”

“A little poison is fun, if you know what you’re doing.” Celebrimbor stared at him for a moment, his eyes moving down to his mouth. He leaned towards him, and finally their lips pressed together, embracing as they hadn’t since the world hewed to a different shape. Sauron could feel Celebrimbor’s spirit settle against his own, the last barrier removed, no longer holding himself away from the strange contours of his own soul. He could taste the wine on his tongue as they kissed, poison transformed to sweetness between them. 

Celebrimbor broke the kiss, turning his face as Sauron tried to follow. “Do you still want a new name?”

“Other than Sauron, the Abhorred? Yes, that would be nice. If you have another name ready to mock me though, I’d rather kiss you instead.” Sauron leaned toward him again, feeling that every moment apart was a moment wasted.

“It’s difficult!” Celebrimbor protested. “I still call you Annatar in my mind most of the time.”

Sauron sat back with a sigh. “It’s a false name. And it reminds me of hurting you.”

Celebrimbor pursed his lips. “I should make you live with that.”

Sauron leaned his head on Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “You can call me whatever you’d like to; I will accept anything you give me.”

“Maybe you need to live with it,” Celebrimbor said slowly. Celebrimbor’s image of Annatar drifted between them, a golden figure perched amid papers and half-wrought prototypes, complaining about something just to keep Celebrimbor talking to him. It met his own memory of a thirst-broken voice repeating ‘Annatar’ over and over, in a haze of confusion and fear.

“I had feared that you had changed too much,” Celebrimbor continued. “After all, I’ve lived with you for years and I didn’t know it was you, and before you regained your memory, there were only glimpses of the person I remembered. And you have changed. I’ve been watching. Annatar of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain would never have been caught mending sheets — it would never have occurred to him.”

Sauron frowned, concerned at the direction of the conversation. “I had nothing else to do.”

“That has never spurred you to action in the past. You were helping.”

“Are you saying I’ve never been helpful before now? I remember many times assisting you and others among the Mírdain.”

“Sometimes you helped! I do recall a few times you deliberately misled me.” Celebrimbor held up a hand, not wishing to discuss the amusing or tragic times that had occurred. “But it was never like this. You were never willing to do something tedious if someone else could do it, especially if no one would recognize the work.”

“I don’t know what the point of this is,” Sauron huffed. “I’ve been trying to be helpful because I knew you would see that. It was purely selfish.”

“Lies! Tell me, how would I have known all the countless hours you spent mending; you never mentioned it. Or the number of times you alone made and remade those goblets and carafes, or that you even worked on those at all!”

“Well, clearly you know! So maybe I was right that you would see my attempts at appearing good in your eyes.” In a way, this was exactly what Sauron had hoped Celebrimbor would say, but he had not realized that he actually had seen his efforts. He had not actually been thinking about Celebrimbor as he and Írissë argued over the last minute dish-ware she needed. He had been more absorbed in trying to imitate her requested stylings, while creating something that used less metal than her son’s design. Nor had it occurred to him that others might mention to Celebrimbor how he had been pulled into work in the attic or the kitchen.

Celebrimbor shook his head, laughing at him. “So you see, you are not the same, yet I still know you. How can I think of you as anyone other than Annatar? After all, you still like to give gifts.” He held up their joined hands to show the bracelet he still wore.

“I can’t believe you still wear that clumsy thing,” Sauron said, ruefully eyeing the simple craftsmanship. “‘Annatar.’” He tried the name, unearthing the moniker after ages of disuse in his mind. “Perhaps I can learn to live with it.” He ran his thumb over the bracelet. “I would still like to make you something better than this.”

“Who knows what tomorrow will bring.” Celebrimbor leaned back to lie on the roof, looking at the stars moving in their unchanging paths. “But if the future holds a world where you and I can make things for each other, I think any gifts of jewelry should be discussed beforehand in great detail.”

Sauron leaned on one elbow, looking at Celebrimbor’s silvered profile. “Fair enough,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss him again.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Visitor for making sure I use dashes correctly, suggesting ways to make the emotions hit harder, and yelling encouragement at me.

Úmiuon - Q. Not-cat

Mólimavistalo Ilvanya Lesta (MIL) - Q. Perfect Measure of Energy-Changing. Based on the Rankine Scale, an absolute scale developed to work with Fahrenheit as opposed to Celsius. Yes. Sauron forced his empire to say things like, 'Brrr, kind of chilly. How cold is it today?' '492 MILar.' Sauron saw no problem with this, because saying three digit or longer numbers in Black Speech is very economical, only three syllables, unlike in many languages where it's over ten. Yet another reason why his subjects should abandon their old, illogical tongues.
I'm harassing Sauron as usual, but Fëanor's scale, modeled on the Newton Scale, is also pretty silly.
Thanks to undercat for helping me with the Quenya and enabling and encouraging this academic catfight.

Cúma - Q. The Void

Eä - Q. The total created Universe

Marriage

Read Marriage

“You look a sight, Frodo!” Sam exclaimed.

Frodo turned in front of the mirror, admiring the citrine sleeveless tunic buttoned over a silk shirt and pearl-grey trousers. A glimmering set of jewels adorned his neck, wrists, and fingers. “I still feel a bit foolish in elven garb,” Frodo admitted.

“But it suits you. Me on the other hand—”

“You also look very fine in your formal clothes, Sam.” Frodo looked at Sam with fondness; he still wore his flour-dusted work clothes, with his sleeves rolled up. “When are you getting changed?”

“Soon as I’ve seen the last of the pies sent over to Áremar.”

“I’m sure these crafty folk can handle this last step,” Frodo pointed out.

Sam gave him a look that said exactly what he thought about the ability of the Eldar to successfully transport pies.

After Sam left to meddle further in the kitchen, Frodo wandered through the house, spying on the family preparing for the festivities while also staying out of the way. It was more than a matter of not wanting to be underfoot; if caught by certain people he might end up even more decorated than his current state. The set of jewels he was now wearing were made by Fëanor himself. 

Frodo still remembered the way Fëanor had circled him, frowning, after he had decked Frodo out with his current set of jewelry. Frodo became a peculiar specimen on a pedestal as Fëanor’s burning regard skewered him.

(“Your ears are unpierced,” Fëanor had said, as he reached into a drawer. “I can amend that.”

Frodo hopped off the box with alacrity. “Not necessary!” 

“It is no burden,” Fëanor assured him, needle obtained. “Earrings can beautify the face, and are a useful ornament to hold symbols of affection or family.”

“Not necessary,” Frodo repeated, his hands clapped over his ears. “I think I’m needed elsewhere.”)

He did not think he’d be able to escape Fëanor a second time, and there were any number of other eager elves currently stacking every available surface with jewelry to be avoided.

While everyone was donning their finest clothing, the style varied wildly from person to person. Maedhros and Fingon had specified ‘traditional clothing’ in their invitations, but they did not indicate which tradition the guests were to follow. Fingon had shared his own intent: “For that way we shall enjoy the full history of our family gathered in one place and time.”

Maedhros’ answer was different. “Their choice of tradition says much — and I think it is time for me to begin to assess the inclinations of my family.”

Frodo did not have to wander the house long; Farro finally captured and delivered Sam to their room to make himself ready.

“Master Samwise,” said Farro. “I have been running this household for over a millennia — we can take care of the remaining preparations.”

Frodo helped Sam ready himself before they went outside to begin the pilgrimage to Áremar.

Outside in the courtyard they saw Celebrimbor and Sauron — or rather —

“What’s the name today?” Sam asked.

Sauron tilted his head, an amused smile on his lips. “Annatar, I think.”

“Well that’s not bad — it’s easy to say for one.” Sam nodded to himself. “This one might stick.”

“You both look well,” Frodo said with real feeling, remembering the last time he’d encountered Annatar.

~

After the household had been awoken by screaming in the cellar, Frodo had not seen the erstwhile Sauron for several days. One day though, as Frodo walked around one of the many corners of the house heading toward the garden to read, he ran into him standing in the sunlight, a curious expression on his face. 

Frodo halted, a jolt of apprehension running through him. 

Sauron turned to him. “Baggins,” he said. It wasn’t a question or a greeting, only a statement.

“Hello,” Frodo said. He thought his voice sounded even and not squeaky at all.

Sauron studied him, seeming to assess every inch of his being. “Should I congratulate you?”

Frodo couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him. “No, I think condolences are in order for both of us.”

Sauron sat down, a smooth collapse that ended with him sitting cross-legged, eyes even with Frodo. He peered at him. “You are so small and weak. What a fool I’ve been.”

Frodo narrowed his eyes, still not sure what to think. “Yes, a fool.” As he tried to push past, Sauron grabbed him by the arm.

“Tell me, do you miss it still?”

Sauron’s eyes were beseeching. Frodo thought about slapping the hand away, but instead gently pulled Sauron’s hand off his arm, squeezing his fingers as he let it drop. 

“Sometimes. There is a pocket of emptiness within me that will never wholly go away, even in this blessed land.”

“How do you live with it?”

“I accepted it eventually, although I was not able to do so until I came to Aman. I accepted that I could still fill my life with other things even if they would never fulfill the absence in my heart.”

Sauron wrapped his arms around himself. “It is so dark and vast — it is hard to think that it will ever be so.”

You did this to yourself, Frodo thought. While true, this observation was neither helpful nor new information to Sauron. “You will find a way to live with it. You are sitting here, able to talk intelligently, with a body that is whole — that’s more than anyone thought was possible.”

Sauron stared off into the distance, a frown marring his face. “Perhaps you are right. Still, this is very hard.”

Frodo did not ask what was hard. He had some idea of the yawning abyss of loss that threatened to consume Sauron, but even he could not fully grasp the extent of the absence.

~

On this bright day of celebration, Sauron looked far from despair. If Frodo were not well-accustomed to his beauty, he would have found it difficult to look at him for long. Sauron and Celebrimbor were wearing new clothes too, with full sleeves and vibrant sashes all over stylish trousers.

“Yes, you both look a proper sight!” said Sam. “Er, very well rested, as it were.”

“That is not due to rest,” Celebrimbor said with a smile at Sauron. “We did not sleep last night. There was too much to say.”

“Oh?” said Frodo. It was hard to tell with elves what was innuendo and what was plain speech. He settled on the surface meaning — elves in general were surprisingly explicit, as he had discovered with mild consternation at Celebrían’s home.

“Shall we head to the feast?” asked Sam, also struggling to figure out what level of suggestiveness he should read into the statement. “I hope you’re hungry, we’ve prepared a marvelous spread.”

They set off through the woods. Lamps had been hung all along the path, with small hanging lights that would glow in a myriad of colors when the sun set. Herbs had been strewn under their feet, their fragrance wafting up as they walked towards Áremar. Soon they caught up to Maglor and Merillë, both carrying instruments. As they walked, Maglor sang a song of springtime and the budding world, pausing once to say, “a ridiculous song for two ancient souls marrying in the waning of the summer,” before continuing his song. 

The sound of many voices came from ahead, and as they stepped past the last trees and into the yard in front of Áremar, someone caught Maglor’s song and joined in so that the music carried into the courtyard and then from one throat to the next. 

In the waning afternoon light, the transformed yard of Áremar shone with gold and silver ribbons stretching overhead and banners lining the edges. Frodo saw Finrod’s harp, Írissë’s flower, and the rainbow starburst of Fëanor. The doors to her Hall were wide open, the smells of the feast wafting out.

Maglor and Merillë left to find the other musicians and find a safe place for their instruments before they sat down in accordance with their family.

“There you are Frodo, Samwise!” The deep voice lacked the musical cadence of the Eldar, but it was sweet to their ears nonetheless.

“Gimli, Legolas!” called Frodo, waving them over. They wove their way through the crowd, Legolas with his arms raised at his waist, as if he were about to take flight with Gimli in his wake.

Gimli and Legolas had arrived just the previous day, and had not had time for a proper chat. A wedding was no place to truly catch up — the events of the day would propel them forward and not give them the chance to reminisce like he wanted to — but their fellowship warmed him despite that. 

Gimli bowed to Celebrimbor. “Thank you for the invitation. It seems like we are guests at the event of the century.”

Celebrimbor laughed and bowed in return. “The event of the century was your arrival, master Dwarf. But I knew you would appreciate the occasion to see Áremar and to work with some of the artisans in Nerdanel’s guild, and the wedding should be a fine celebration.”

Legolas glanced around. “Yes, I am sure I feel like Frodo and Sam do — still stunned by the company that we keep here in Aman. But I don’t believe we have met your companion, who is one of the Maiar if I am not mistaken?”

“Legolas, I told you about him last night,” Sam said, wiggling his eyebrows significantly.

“You did?” asked Legolas. He squinted at Sauron again and then started back. “I thought you were telling me a story! That you had taken up the weaving of tales as a pastime.”

Gimli frowned at his partner. “If that were the case he would have told you it was a story before he began.”

“I don’t know the ways of Hobbits,” Legolas said.

“Hmph,” said Gimli, and crossed his arms as he examined Sauron. Legolas joined him, also crossing his arms. Frodo marveled at how they had grown to mirror each other over the years, elven gestures from dwarvish hands and Khuzdul words in Legolas’ light voice. They had begun to look like each other too, strange as that sounded. Gimli’s hair and beard were now almost completely white, a reflection of Legolas’ pale strands.

“Well met,” said Sauron, smiling.

“Hmph,” said Legolas. “Celebrimbor—” He paused. “Perhaps this isn’t the time.”

Gimli’s arms were still crossed. “In this timeless land, some still remember the events of the Third Age, although many here never experienced them.”

“Yes, but maybe we can talk later?” Frodo said, thinking about Bilbo’s stories of Mirkwood. He caught Legolas’ eye.

“I too have not forgotten the Third Age,” Legolas said. “But today is for remembering other times.”

“I’m sure you all have much to say to each other,” Celebrimbor said, looking utterly unconcerned with the tense conversation. “Shall we find our seats?”

They headed toward the hall, passing the golden doors, flung open to welcome the crowd, and weaving their way among the long tables and benches.

Frodo observed the proper head table with seats facing the long tables through the hall. Boughs of greenery hung over the center seats. 

“Is that where the family sits?” Frodo asked.

“Yes,” said Celebrimbor. “Maedhros and Fingon will sit in the center, with their families on either end. Of course, given the rather, hm, circular nature of their relationship as well as questions of royalty and politics, it was a nightmare to decide where they all would sit. You were easy though, there will be space for you over there by Lord Elrond.”

“Don’t you have to sit up there?” said Sam. “You’re family.”

“Samwise, most of the guests here are family! I had to draw the line somewhere, and I decided nieces and nephews were that line.” He glanced around. “Of course, there was no way I was going to make myself sit at the high table.”

A trumpet sounded and the high table began to fill up. Frodo, Sam, Legolas, and Gimli made their way to Lord Elrond, waving to the familiar faces of his household.

“Welcome,” said Elrond, gesturing to the empty bench on one side of him. “Have you attended a wedding in Valinor yet?”

“No,” said Frodo. “We haven’t had the opportunity.”

Elrond quirked an eyebrow. “Then I will try to explain what is happening.”

A fanfare played, and the family began to file in. High King Finarfin and Queen Eärwen entered first and sat down with gleaming crowns on their heads. Frodo would have been astonished at the number of gems encrusted on their diadems if he had not seen the High King and Queen in full ceremonial garb in Tirion — the crowns they wore today were much smaller than those. Fëanor and Nerdanel followed next, followed by Fingolfin and Anairë. Indis and Míriel walked in, arm in arm, and wearing similar dresses of silver and gold, followed by Findis, her husband, and Lalwen. Maedhros’ brothers entered with Tirien and Ornéliel, wearing a wild assortment of styles of dress, all choosing a different period as 'traditional.' Last came Turgon, Elenwë, Argon, and Írissë, all dressed in matching First Age finery.

The trumpet rang again, and the grooms came down the hall arm in arm, both smiling widely, as Frodo had never seen them smile before. They both wore blue robes. Fingon had sheer red fabric wrapped around his arms and an outer robe of gold trailing behind him. Maedhros had white gems studding his sleeves, his hand of flesh clasped in Fingon’s, his hand of gold accepting congratulations from the hall. They both wore sweeping red cloaks, the Finwean sun embroidered on the back. The hall stood and began to sing, some rolling, rich song that had been sung for wedding processions through the ages, with foot stamping and a shout at the end. 

“As you can see,” Elrond said in a low voice. “The grooms decided ‘traditional’ meant early First Age Beleriandic fashion.” He looked at the mismatched High Table. “Apparently only some were informed of that.”

The grooms reached their seats. High King Finarfin raised his arms and the room fell silent.

“Friends, family, and treasured guests. We have been brought together to celebrate the union of two who united before the world was the shape that it is today.” There was some laughter at that. “Ripped apart by politics, strife, and war they were reunited through Findekáno’s courage, a message of hope and reconciliation to a people divided! Their deeds shaped the history of the Eastern lands thereafter, for good or for ill.”

He graced the couple with a smile, the gold that seemed to run under his skin and through his hair becoming more vibrant. “Let none divide what steadfast courage and hope has brought together!” Finarfin raised a goblet in the air. “Hail love, as between lovers, bound through body and soul. Hail love for the family, born and tested through ages. Hail love among friends, no lesser love, another choice of the heart that binds us, whether we swear oaths or no.”

They toasted and drank a light floral liquor that immediately began to warm Frodo through and through. Then the feasting began.

Dish after dish was brought out. Venison, boar, and mutton from mountain sheep crusted with spices, swimming in sauces, and all cooked to tender perfection. A true hunter’s feast; a nostalgic callback to the Noldor’s early days in Beleriand but augmented with the plenty of the Blessed Realm. Quail, duck, and turkey were served as well, roasted whole and added to soups, stews, and baked in pie. The selection of fish was not as varied as might be found at even a small dinner party in Alqualondë, but there were freshwater fish aplenty: bass, pike, walleye, and delicate sturgeon eggs. 

In between the meat, dishes of roasted vegetables, each with their own blend of herbs, made the rounds. Greens tossed with crunchy vegetables and seeds with tangy dressings drizzled over, and every kind of bread imaginable were brought out, with sweet butter and preserves and salty goat cheese to spread on top.

The feast would have been marvelous on its own, but after having seen the weeks of preparation, and hearing Sam enthuse about the making of many of the dishes, Frodo appreciated it all the more. They ate and drank until they were fit to burst — even the hobbits began waving servers away, insisting that they couldn’t eat another bite.  

Frodo tried to slowly drink his wine, but it was heady stuff and somehow his goblet was always filled to the brim. Then, Sam’s beer was brought up, and they were drowned in a flurry of congratulations and toasts. 

A hush fell on the hall as Maglor stood, anticipation and tension crackling in the air. Maglor looked at his brother and Fingon, a peculiar smile on his face. The firelight sank into his dark hair, more grey than black, and gleamed off the colorful silk robe he wore.

Maglor addressed Maedhros. “You once told me that I would never sing your binding song, for your heart was already bound to another, and for many reasons a public celebration would never be welcome. But in this, and in much else, you have been wrong.” Maglor smiled, the years falling off his face, and raised his arms. 

The song that came from his lips was simple and sweet, and sung in a language Frodo could not quite understand. One verse ended, and another began, half the room joining in and standing. With the third the other half joined and they all sang together in a great swell of voices. As most of the room sang, Fingon and Maedhros rose, and walked to stand in front of the high table. There was a pause before the fourth verse, and then Fingon and Maedhros alone took up the melody and simple harmony, Fingon’s rich baritone mixing with Maedhros’ thin but steady voice. The sound of two voices when before there had been hundreds sounded lonely and fragile in the cavernous space of the hall. As the last verse began, all joined in again, an upswelling of music that filled the room to the brim.

The song ended and they all sat, except for Fingon and Maedhros who stood facing each other still. Nerdanel, Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Anairë stood and made their way to the front of the table.

“Now traditionally,” Elrond murmured to the hobbits, “the mother of the bride and the father of the bridegroom join the hands of the couple. Since the recognition of marriages beyond that of a man and a woman, most choose for both parents to stand forth, although some still choose one.”

“It’s rather a lot of people to be joining hands,” said Sam looking doubtfully at the knot of parents surrounding the couple.  

Fingolfin and Fëanor stood behind the grooms, the configuration only a little awkward as they were both only a few fingers breadth shorter than Maedhros and both were taller than Fingon. Anairë and Nerdanel stood in front, both shorter than their children, although still quite tall to Frodo’s eyes. Each parent took one of their sons' hands and guided them together, so that both of Maedhros and Fingon’s hands were joined.

“Now comes the blessing. I wonder who has taken each part,” Elrond said. 

“I hope they gave Fëanor the invocation of Eru,” said Celebrían, eyes sparkling. Elrond stifled a snort.

Nerdanel began: “Blessings of Aulë upon you. May he grant you the strength and steadfastness of the very bones of the earth. May he grant the wisdom of making and craftiness, that you may solve the problems that you will encounter together and re-make yourself anew as the years pass.”

Anairë took up the blessing: “Blessings of Manwë upon you. May he, in his authority and wisdom, witness your union, and may the breath of Manwë blow sweet upon you, granting you certainty and joy as you continue your lives together.”

Fëanor stepped to the side a little so that he could be seen from behind Maedhros. Frodo noticed that Fëanor had a bag at his side, an incongruous addition to the formal outfit he wore. Celebrían let out a little “hmph.”

Fëanor said, “Blessings of Varda upon you. May she bring beauty and grace to your union, may the stars gaze down upon you, lighting your path. May she make real your bond, binding you together as she binds the firmament to the earth.”

Fingolfin spoke last, “May Eru Ilúvatar bless you, and witness this bond, made in his holy name. Let none sunder what The One has joined.”

Anairë and Nerdanel both pulled out gold rings from the pockets and handed them to their sons. Maedhros and Fingon slipped off the silver rings they wore (“I swear I’ve seen them wear the gold before,” Celebrían muttered) and slid the new rings onto each other’s index fingers.

“And now for the exchange of gifts,” said Elrond. 

Fingolfin went first, presenting Maedhros with two golden objects the size of his palm.

Frodo leaned forward. “Legolas, Sam and I cannot see the gifts clearly, can you describe them?”

“Fingolfin has presented Maedhros with a set of earrings in the shape of eagles,” Legolas said.  

Elrond nodded. “A gift that one would give a king, very significant.”

“The tales say they had much trust and respect between them,” said Celebrían.

“Who made the earrings?” Frodo asked.

“Fingolfin did, of course,” Celebrían said. “Any Noldo of worth makes his own wedding gifts.”

“That is the custom among the dwarves as well,” Gimli said. 

Next Fëanor drew forth his gift. A great unified creak came from the benches as hundreds of people craned to see what the recently reborn craftsman had made.

“No need to describe, I can see it,” Frodo assured Legolas. Indeed, it would be difficult to miss the bejeweled necklace Fëanor lifted up and handed to Fingon. Necklace was not quite the right word, for golden epaulets supported most of the necklace’s weight, and across the chest were more modest chains, although they still sparkled with tiny jewels, but Frodo had no other words to describe it. Fingon had to hold the necklace in both hands.

Anairë went next, handing Maedhros a necklace of her own.

“The necklace is made of rubies surrounded by diamonds, with several loops,” Legolas said. Frodo did note that Maedhros could hold the necklace draped over a single gold hand.

Nerdanel went last, holding aloft a ring. Fingon stuck out a finger, hands still full, and Nerdanel slipped it on.

“The ring is carved amethyst with words friendship etched onto the crown,” Legolas said.

“We thank you for your blessings,” Maedhros and Fingon said in unison. “We shall treasure these gifts as we treasure your love.” 

Írissë hurried down from the high table to take Fingon’s necklace. He elected to wear the ring.

“Káno,” she hissed at Maglor, who started from where he had been examining a napkin and came down to do the same for Maedhros.

“Friends and kin.” Maedhros spoke, turning to address the guests. “We thank you for witnessing our union, although we pledged a private troth before we ever left Valinor, ere the darkening of the world. Nonetheless, we desired to renew our bond in these new bodies, as we have changed much from the youths who first married in secret, hardly knowing such a thing was possible for us.”

“We sought to join our families together, who have been sundered by death and barriers of law or geography for many Ages of the world,” Fingon said, and Frodo was reminded that he too had been king for a few years. “Let this be a mark of a new era, one where those who have wronged seek to right, and we all seek first to understand before we condemn.” Fingon’s face lit up with his usual grin. “Now, for the dancing!” He and Maedhros ran between the tables out into the yard, their parents following close behind.

Frodo and Sam stood and walked with the flow of people through the doors and to the courtyard. Lights sprang up from where they stretched overhead and hung from the trees. Troughs of fire were lit along the sides and Sam cocked his head, taking in the spritely tune. “Shall we make the attempt, Mr. Frodo?” He held out his hand.

“I believe we shall.” Frodo took his hand and they joined the dance, only able to do the simple base of the jig, but having a wonderful time nonetheless. As they spun out breathless at the end, Frodo let his head fall back, watching whirling sparks rise from a nearby fire. Perhaps we never will tire of this land, he thought as the music slowed and turned into a longing melody, sweet and sad.

~

“You may have been right.” Celebrimbor said, slightly out of breath.

A squeeze of his hand was the only warning Celebrimbor was given before Fingon executed a dizzying series of spins so that they ended up face to face. Fingon fell into the fast rhythmic steps of the dance with ease. Celebrimbor kept the tempo as well, although he shot Fingon a reproving look before his hands settled back on his waist.

“What was that? Did I hear you admit that I, of all people, was right?” Fingon asked with mock astonishment.

Celebrimbor gave him a slight push that started Fingon circling around him with dramatic steps. “I think I have earned at least some respite from your harassment for all the work I did for you. But yes, this wedding is a good way to get everyone together again, as we never have before.”

Circle finished, Fingon slid back into his arms. “I know! It was an inspired move on my part.”

“I thought you said it was Maedhros’ idea.”

“Look how well everyone is getting along! Could anything Maedhros started end up going so well?”

“Valar, Fingon!” Celebrimbor was laughing so hard he almost dropped Fingon when he flung himself back for a dip.

“You brought Sauron, and look, he appears to be having a lovely conversation with Arakáno.” 

Annatar looked up from where he was talking with Arakáno and met Celebrimbor’s eyes.

What are you talking about? Celebrimbor asked Annatar mentally as he and Fingon began a series of side breaks.

Books. He is extolling a series of seafaring adventures by some Telerin Mariner, Annatar said.

Really? Celebrimbor thought the topic sounded dull and not at all like something Annatar would willingly subject himself to.

Well, I am pointing out all the inaccuracies of the locations the heroes purport to visit.

Fingon twirled, seizing Celebrimbor’s attention again. “After this is all over,” Fingon said, “you need to tell me what is going on between you two.”

“There is not much to tell. We are together again.”

“What? Just resuming your relationship after—”

“I would not say resuming,” Celebrimbor interrupted. “Maybe beginning anew is the way to put it. There are still many pieces we need to figure out — that is, if we even have the chance.”

“Hey, no sadness tonight. I at least will vouch that he is a good wedding guest!” Fingon stepped closer to Celebrimbor and began to circle his hips provocatively as his arms floated around his head. “He doesn’t even seem to be bothered by this!”

“Fingon! This is your wedding!” Elenwë said, dancing past with Turgon, a judgmental eyebrow raised. Celebrimbor tried to convey how little he controlled his current position with a helpless motion at Fingon. The dance ended and Celebrimbor firmly walked Fingon to the side.

“What! You expressed concern over Sauron’s ability to suppress his possessive tendencies last time we talked!” Fingon laughed.

“He was never one to get jealous over a dance. If you came to me with a project that only involved the two of us, and I didn’t tell him the details, but I did go on and on about how intelligent you are, that would be a true test.”

“How are you testing me?” Annatar asked, his warm presence appearing behind Celebrimbor. 

“With dance,” Fingon said.

Celebrimbor shook his head at Fingon, before pushing Annatar back out among the dancers. The hurried runs of a Vanyarin dance were starting. 

“Who selected this?” Celebrimbor craned his neck to where the musicians were seated. “I have no idea how to move to this.”

“Surely we can figure it out.” Annatar was already pulling him along, having noted the basic step pattern despite the wild breaks that everyone around them seemed to be doing. “So what was the test? Were you trying to make me jealous?”

“Did it work?”

“No.” Annatar looked unimpressed as he flung Celebrimbor out for whatever additional elements the following partner did. Celebrimbor copied the arm movements of the women next to him and quickly stepped back to Annatar.

“Ah, well I’ll have to try something else then.”

The song escalated to a wild crescendo of notes. Celebrimbor just wound his arms around Annatar’s neck and tried not to get hit by the out-flung limbs around him. The crowd burst into cheers at the finish.

The musicians stood up and bowed. Celebrimbor noticed Maglor and Merillë had been playing — the group of musicians rotated through the night.

“Ah, that’s who we have to blame for all the uptempo Vanyarin music,” Celebrimbor said.

“I thought it was nice,” Annatar said.

“Play the dance of the dragonflies!” someone in the crowd called.

“Can we?” Maglor asked Merillë. 

“Did you bring the oud?” Merillë asked.

“No, but we can fetch it.” 

“A moment! Or, well, several moments!” Merillë called and she and Maglor dashed off towards Ondomar as two other musicians took their places. 

The next song rose in slow, flowing strains, but still with a clear rhythm, and Celebrimbor gladly began the gliding steps as he pressed their chests firmly together. 

They moved to the edge of the dance, and easily slipped away, first into the shadows, and then behind one of the outbuildings. Celebrimbor trapped Annatar against the wall, bracketing him between his arms.

“I think it’s going rather well, don’t you?” Annatar murmured, tucking a loosened strand behind Celebrimbor’s ear.

“As far as I can tell, you are behaving yourself,” Celebrimbor said, smiling down at him.

“Was there ever any doubt? I would think with your family history there are many more likely—”

Celebrimbor didn’t let him continue, leaning forward to catch his mouth in a kiss. Annatar tilted his head to receive it, threading his arms around Celebrimbor’s shoulders as his lips parted.

When Celebrimbor broke away, a suggestion rising to his lips, Annatar continued before he could start speaking.

“The way Gil-galad looked at me, I think we’re lucky no violence has been instigated.”

Celebrimbor laughed in disbelief. “Can you blame him?”

“It was a fair fight,” Annatar protested.

“Unbelievable,” Celebrimbor said, but he was smiling. “I’m sure Gil will have words for me about justice, consequences, and things of that nature.”

“What? Does he think I’m here attending weddings as a convoluted way to avoid divine punishment?”

“It’s worked so far, hasn’t it?” Celebrimbor said.

“Maybe I should plant the idea that my punishment has already commenced,” Annatar said with a wicked smile. “I’m sure you think of something…” He pressed his hips against Celebrimbor.

“Oh, I’m sure I could,” Celebrimbor said, his lips against Annatar’s ear. “For instance, I could make it so that every time you left your room, all of your things were moved a hairsbreadth in random directions and rearranged all of your notes. Or I could switch all your clothing with grey shapeless bags, or set you to making nothing but nails until time itself ends, or—”

Now Annatar arched up to cut off Celebrimbor with his lips. Celebrimbor allowed himself to be silenced, losing himself in the heat of Annatar’s mouth. He shifted his hips, letting Annatar know exactly where they were headed. They had truly only kissed last night, which had been wonderful between their starlit conversations, but now he wanted more. Annatar moved against him, feeding Celebrimbor’s desire and making his own known.

“Wait,” Celebrimbor said, lifting his head. “As much as I’d like to take you against this shed—” Annatar obligingly wrapped a leg around Celebrimbor’s calf. “I would rather not become the story everyone is talking about tomorrow.”

“We could go into Áremar?”

“The house is packed, we won’t find an empty room and maybe not even an empty bed. Here, you head back to my room, I’ll say enough farewells to be polite, and meet you there.”

“Entirely too many steps,” Annatar said, pulling Celebrimbor close again. Celebrimbor pushed off the wall and walked them a few steps away from the building.

Annatar leaned his head against Celebrimbor. “Not too many farewells.”

“Only Fingon and Maedhros if I can help it.”

Annatar released him, and with a last look, started winding behind the buildings towards the path to Ondomar. Celebrimbor tried to straighten out his clothes and hair so that he only looked mildly inebriated (which he was) and not like he had almost had a tryst against a shed. He approached the edge of the festivities, looking for the distinctive head of red hair above the crowd or the shimmering gold of wedding robes. He had only glanced across a few faces before someone grabbed his hands.

“Brim, dance with me!” Coroniel pulled him into a spin that hurled them into the midst of the dancers. Distracted by trying to figure out the pattern of the dance, Celebrimbor barely caught Coroniel in time as she launched herself at him.

“Come on, keep up,” she said as Celebrimbor turned the near miss into a spin.

“I am terribly out of practice,” Celebrimbor said as he set Coroniel down. “And I was never good at your favorite dances; they’re more like acrobatics.”

“I think we are well overdue for a trip to Avallónë.” Coroniel flung herself back for a dip. “You need to remember that you are a city person at heart and this surly master-craftsman-hiding-from-society is all an act. I’m surprised, though — you managed to find something decent for the wedding.”

“He chose the clothing,” Celebrimbor admitted as they joined a line creating a tunnel for couples to dance through one at a time.

“I should have known,” Coroniel said before they had to run down the tunnel of arms.

“I’ll allow it,” she continued, as they joined the line, Coroniel on tip-toes and holding Celebrimbor’s hands at his eye level. “Although he had better watch himself — but I’m not sure you’ll be able to take your ex with us to Tol Eressëa. King Gil-galad is the one to ask,” Coroniel said.

“Do you think Annatar is going to be able to go on trips with us through the Blessed Realm? What exactly do you think is going to happen next?”

“I have no idea and neither do you! You might as well see if the king will buy that I’m planning to rehabilitate Sauron through the power of dance. I doubt anyone else has any better ideas. Where is he, by the way?” Coroniel leaped so that Celebrimbor had to rest her on his shoulder as he turned. Coroniel used the opportunity to scan the crowd. “I don’t see him.”

“I sent him home,” Celebrimbor said. Coroniel raised an eyebrow at him as he lowered her. “And I was planning on following him shortly.”

“There it is! I wasn’t able to talk to you earlier today, but I knew it! You’re back together”

“You did not,” Celebrimbor said.

“Everything will work out,” Coroniel continued, ignoring him. “I know I’m not one for optimism, but we’ve spent too long in sadness to spend any more time expecting the worst. Tonight we celebrate, and soon we will all be dancing in Avallónë.”

The dance ended and a slower waltz began.

“Where are Fingon and Maedhros? I wanted to say goodbye.” Celebrimbor surveyed the crowd.

“I think our not-so-newly-weds have skipped to an unnecessary but likely more satisfying consummation,” Coroniel said. She waved at Reniadis, a former master among the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and a very old friend who had been invited despite her only having a passing acquaintance with Fingon. “There you are. Ready to head back?” She slipped from under Celebrimbor’s arm to grab Reniadis’ hand.

“Reniadis, good to see you again,” Celebrimbor said. The way the two women were looking at each other made it apparent that he was not the only one rekindling old relationships this evening.

“Brim! We have to catch up over breakfast tomorrow,” Reniadis said. “You know I was working with a group camped out on the planes of Yavanna studying the behavior of hive insects, and some of our observations about the formicary of a certain species of ants reminded me of your theory of ideal work distribution.”

“That was not my theory,” Celebrimbor said, frowning over the attribution of one of Annatar’s theories to himself. “You’ll have to tell me about it tomorrow.” He saw Finrod and Amarië with Curufin sandwiched between them and waved them over. He said nothing to his father about his current position, and instead just exchanged kisses with the three of them. 

“I’m looking forward to hearing Maglor and Merillë’s duet,” Finrod said. “The thirteen-stringed oud is such a rare instrument, and Merillë is quite proficient. They should be back any moment now.”

“I’m afraid we’ll miss it, we’re all heading back to Ondomar,” Celebrimbor said. Curufin narrowed his eyes and looked around as best as he could with both of his arms still linked.

“Ah, a pity. We’ll have to see if they’ll do an encore tomorrow,” Amarië said, ignoring Curufin twisting next to her. “We’ll give your best to the grooms if we see them again.”

With a few more goodbyes, the three of them broke away and began to travel the path back. Colored lights twisting above their heads cast their faces in a rainbow of hues.

They laughed and chatted about nothing of consequence as they walked. It could have been any one of the countless evenings when he, Coroniel, and some other colleagues headed back to their rooms after an evening of drinking and dance in one of Ost-in-Edhil’s many taverns and dance halls. In later years, Annatar would likely have been waiting for him back home too, although the chances were higher that he would be waiting to accost him with his latest theory and not with any other pleasures.

Celebrimbor froze. “What was that?”

“What?” Coroniel looked at him. “Did you hear something?”

“More like felt something.” A sensation like something cold and slick had passed over his consciousness. He had not felt anything like it since before Beleriand had sunk. “Something’s wrong.”

“Let’s go! Someone may need our aid,” Reniadis said and took off. Coroniel and Celebrimbor followed her. 

The unsettling feeling passed as they jogged along, and Celebrimbor hoped he had imagined it. They were heading around a bend in the trail when the cold sensation flowed over him again.

“Valar, what was that?” Coroniel shivered; it seemed more than he had experienced the feeling this time.

“I don’t know, but we should hurry,” Celebrimbor said, picking up the pace. The ground shook beneath their feet.

“Out of my way.” The voice came from the clearing just ahead. The deep note of the voice made gooseflesh break out along Celebrimbor’s arms.

A mirthless laugh, all too familiar, came from the same location. “And where are you off to in such a hurry, Lumbë? You don’t want to catch up with me? It’s been Ages.”

“Move, Mairon, or I will go through you.”

“No. Tell me what your errand is.”

Celebrimbor, Coroniel, and Reniadis crept to the edge of the clearing. Annatar stood in the center of the space, back to them, hands at his side, looking for all the world like he was having a casual conversation. Across from him stood a giant being, grey flesh dripping down its face, shadows shifting over its body, revealing a clawed hand and a fanged face by turns.

“Morgoth’s balls,” breathed Reniadis.

“But really,” Coroniel said, barely audible. She caught Celebrimbor’s sleeve.

“Mairon, are you taking a stand after fleeing when our Master needed you most?” Lumbë sneered, snarling mouth morphing from the shapeless face.

“Perhaps. You haven’t even told me what I’m standing against.”

Lumbë breathed in with a horrible slurping sound. “You are weak, I can smell it. What have you done to yourself, Mairon? Have you made yourself an elf-pet? No wonder He had not tasked you with preparing the land for His coming.”

“He?” Annatar cocked his head.

“Now move, there are many kings whose time has come just up the path, portents to paint that will teach the inhabitants of this soft land to fear again,” Lumbë said. Annatar didn’t move. “You were warned!” Lumbë drew himself up and roared, letting loose a spray of black bile aimed at Annatar. Annatar raised his arms and turned to the side. Somehow, the foul deluge missed him.

A word, and a burst of flame appeared where Annatar gestured, racing toward Lumbë and surrounding him. Lumbë roared again; this time, a word lurked in the sound, although Celebrimbor could not understand it. Again, Annatar stepped aside, his hair whipping around him, the foul spray missing him.

A pressure built, pressing against Celebrimbor’s ears until he had to move his jaw to pop them. “Watch out,” Reniadis hissed, throwing them out of the way as a tree toppled down nearby. Celebrimbor leapt to his feet, but it seemed like the near miss was accidental.

Annatar and Lumbë were battling in earnest now, sudden words in a language the elves did not know coming fast now, a cacophony of bright bells and harsh clangs. Something must have broken through Annatar’s defense because he flew back, crashing into the trees on one side. He sprang upright, unharmed by the blow. A snarling word came from his lips, thorny and dark. Lumbë dropped to his knees. Annatar staggered from the strength of his spell, but stayed upright, advancing towards the other Maia.

Finrod almost ran into the three of them still crouched on the side of the path. His face was drained of blood. Celebrimbor grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Merillë,” Finrod gasped.

“She’s not there,” Celebrimbor said.

In the clearing he could hardly tell what was happening. A miasma swirled around the Maiar, sudden flashes showing through the smog. A palpable charge rent the air, the scream-song rising ever louder. Sometimes a cold shadow solidified into writhing arms, taloned and cruel, before teeth snapped at them and a boiling mass of eyes swarmed above instead.

Celebrimbor gasped, suddenly realizing he had been holding his breath. “I don’t think Annatar can keep this up,” he said. “I would have thought even this was beyond him; he is much weaker than he was.” He said nothing of the growing darkness being spoken into existence in the battle in front of them.

“Is he?” Coroniel said, as the Maiar separated for a moment, solid figures once again.

“Lumbë,” Gandalf said, as he rounded the bend with Fëanor and Nerdanel. “How?” Celebrimbor shook his head.

“I felt something from Kánafinwë,” Fëanor said, his eyes switching between them and the battling Maiar.

“What is that?” Nerdanel clutched Fëanor’s arm, maybe to hold him back, or maybe to keep herself from flying forward.

“One of Moringotto’s Maia, who I distinctly remember subduing at the end of the War of Wrath,” Gandalf said.

The words in the clearing linked together and became a song — a song of darkness, blood and teeth, a song like a knife scraping off skin. There was Annatar, but there also was Sauron and Mairon: all of the carefully shielded facets of his being shining forth. Annatar straightened and raised his arms — Lumbë staggered back.

“What have I done? What have I done?” Nerdanel gasped. She groped forward with her other hand. “I have invited evil into my home and it has drawn like to it. And now, my son — my son!” Nerdanel fell to her knees and plunged her fingers into the dirt, and began to pray.

“Oh Aulë, Master of Earth, Father of craftsmen, hear the prayer of Nerdanel, Mahtan’s daughter, whom you blessed as a child, who has worked all her days to honor the gifts you granted me.”

In the clearing, Annatar staggered away from Lumbë, his hands full of something sticky, throbbing, and foul. Lumbë fell to the ground with a scream. Annatar flung the offal to the side and collapsed onto his hands and knees before falling to the ground.

Celebrimbor ran forward, Finrod sprinting past him.

“Annatar!” Celebrimbor could smell something sharp underneath the putrid scent of the black sludge. He ripped off Annatar’s tunic and flung it to the side. He tore a section of the thinner shirt underneath and began to clean Annatar’s hands. Beneath the slime the skin glowed red and raw. Annatar opened his eyes.

“Don’t move, I don’t want to spread—”

“You! Thief. Thief!” Annatar’s lips curled into a snarl and a green light lurked in his eyes.

No, not now, thought Celebrimbor. “Annatar, remember yourself!” He reached for Annatar’s shoulder.

Annatar sat up, teeth bared. “Traitor! How dare you show your face again.” He lunged for Celebrimbor, wrapping his hands around his throat, heedless of his injuries.

Celebrimbor tried to pry his hands away; Annatar still had his unnatural strength and he could not move them. He opened his mind, but Annatar was an impenetrable wall, smooth and dark. Annatar! Celebrimbor pushed as hard as he could against the mental barrier of Annatar’s mind. There was a feeling of plunging downward as Annatar opened to him, and then a whirling maelstrom of fear and hate accosted Celebrimbor, the familiar edges of Annatar’s consciousness drowned under the full weight of his fëa.

Annatar, hear me! You can quiet this madness! Annatar didn’t let up, and black spots began to dance in Celebrimbor’s vision. He gave up speaking, and struck Annatar’s face as hard as he could. To his surprise, blood began streaming from his nose. Annatar paid no heed to the injury though, and did not loosen his grip on Celebrimbor’s throat. He began to slam Celebrimbor’s head against the ground.

I’ve never seen his blood before, Celebrimbor thought dimly as it dripped into his gasping mouth. It tasted like all blood did: coppery, with a sharp tang. 

Celebrimbor clawed at Annatar’s face, his blows weakening. As blackness enveloped him, worry for Annatar, and despair over the relapse faded. All that remained was a directionless prayer: don’t let me die.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Visitor for beta-ing this chapter and to Lulu for talking through wedding vows!

The Máhanaxar

Sauron is taken to the Ring of Doom to stand before the Valar.

Read The Máhanaxar

What have I done?

Sauron could see nothing but the rushing darkness and hear only the churning earth. He closed his eyes and Celebrimbor’s lifeless face appeared. 

He could have survived. It takes a long time to strangle someone. He had no idea how long he had his hands around Celebrimbor’s throat, though. And he had felt nothing from him, no spark of consciousness at all. He tried again to reach out with his mind and reawaken their slumbering bond, but it felt like being dashed against a wall. As he had still been reeling from struggling with Lumbë and his own memories of betrayal, someone had clasped a chain first on one of his wrists and then the other, abruptly cutting him off from the world. The chains that bound him enclosed his fëa so tightly in his body that he could not even tell the composition of the earth that encased him, nor feel the spirits of the Maiar who were dragging him towards Valmar. 

He didn’t even know if he was going towards Valmar; his sense of direction was nonexistent. They could be carrying him back to whatever prison he came from. He suspected not, though — after such a public disaster, the Valar would want to make it clear that the culprits were caught and punished. Many of the wedding guests had witnessed Aulë and Tulkas arriving to seize him and Lumbë.

But was Lumbë the only one? Lumbë’s words echoed in his mind: He had not tasked you with preparing the land for His coming. He and Olórin had theorized that if Sauron had escaped, others likely had too. Neither of them had anticipated being proven correct in such a shocking manner.

Underneath the anxious circling of his mind, a pulsing pain ran through his body. He could not tell if the pain lay in his fana or fëa, but it felt like every joint had been wrenched apart. He had clawed back control of the shattered remnants of his self, but the expenditure of power during the battle and the effort of regaining mastery over his mind had left him exhausted beyond measure.

What have I done. What have I done. What have I done. A similar refrain had run through his head as he held Celebrimbor’s severed thumb in his hand long ago in Eregion, but then the certainty and purpose the Ring granted him had allowed him to quickly smother both the fruitless train of thought and Celebrimbor’s panicked screams, and he had no other recollections of shocked regret. Now, he could not end the ceaseless loop of this night’s events.

At last the pace slowed, and the earth that encased him sank enough that he could see their destination. The gates of Valmar approached, the horse-shaped Maiar who were carrying him turning from the color of rich black dirt to grey stone as the ground changed. They stopped at the gate and shifted back, until their forms were that of two stone men, each gripping one of his arms. Out of the corner of his eye he could see two additional Maiar holding Lumbë in the same manner. 

A bolt fell from the sky, materializing into a shining figure with golden wings, garbed in blue.

“My Lord Manwë commands you to bring the prisoners to the Máhanaxar.”

“It will be done, Eönwë,” said Aulë.

Sauron met Eönwë’s eyes. The other Maia’s face held old anger and even older disappointment. He launched himself back in the air without another word.

They approached the Máhanaxar, Ezellohar and the skeletal remains of the Two Trees rising on their left. The haze of pain obscured the storied surroundings, the roots of legends that had reached him through the eyes of other Úmaiar and imprisoned Eldar. 

They entered the Ring of Doom, the high pillars stark white in the moonlight. Manwë sat on this throne, golden light streaming from his crystal crown upon the white halo of his hair. Varda sat on his right, garbed in a net of stars. The only other Valar there were Írmo and Estë. Irmo’s hair was as the lightest cloud at sunrise and he was draped in gossamer and gold. Estë looked like nothing so much as a typical elven woman, only a little larger, her hair braided back and wearing grey raiment simple in style. Sauron did not meet their eyes. He did not know if he would ever have been ready for this moment, but he certainly wasn’t now.

Aulë strode into the center of the ring and bowed. He appeared to be communing with Manwë, but Sauron could not hear what he said. Tulkas and Lumbë, flanked by two muscular Maiar in Tulkas’ train, stood nearby. Tulkas appeared to join the mental conversation, still unintelligible to Sauron.

At last Manwë turned to Lumbë. “Lumbë, formerly known as Airecalen, Maia of Ulmo, now of the Poisoned Brethren of Melkor, Polluter of the Earth, Sea-witch. In addition to your past deeds, for which you have not atoned through the task you were given, you have slain another and caused further injury. Violence entered through you into a realm of peace and healing. Were these acts done in secret in the long-sundered East, they would be grievous, but in this holy land where many are still healing from the wars of ages past, these crimes are ruinous.”

Manwë’s head tilted towards Sauron. “Sauron, formerly known as Mairon, Maia of Aulë, who was once the Lieutenant of Morgoth, dread master of Werewolves, chief of his instruments of terror and torment. One who corrupted the Children, one whose works still stand as a testament to corruption and evil. Named the Deceiver, who brought the downfall of Eregion and then Númenor; the Dark Lord, who sought to make himself Lord of the Earth, who crowned himself a god among Men, diverting their lives from the pattern that the One laid in the beginning.” 

Manwë paused, seeming to take in the full measure of Sauron’s being, flipping through the sum total of his deeds, his works, his crimes. He stayed silent for a long moment. “A punishment was also devised for you.” He stopped, prodding again at Sauron’s mind, rifling through its contents. “Yet you have shirked that punishment for many years,” Manwë said at last.

Irmo spoke, his voice light as a whisper yet carried clearly through the Máhanaxar. “You are many, where you should be one. Brightness turned to darkness — now half-light.” He tilted his head. “I still see a thread of my own in your heart.”

“Abhorrent One.” Estë’s voice sounded much closer than where she sat, as if she were speaking in his ear. “You have harmed beyond my skill to heal. That should not be so, and I would that it will never be so again.” She tilted her head, eyes hooded in contemplation. “Yet of yourself, some is salvageable. Work has already begun to reverse the twisting of years.”

Manwë raised his hand in a gesture of rejection. “Yea, and you still flaunt the Doom that the One set for your repeated treachery, your arrogance, and your lust for power. For did not Ilúvatar himself strip from your being the aspect of beauty, so that you may not deceive the Children with fair mien? Your brightness is gone, and all shall see it! Dark and terrible you will appear, but never again can you entrap the children with beauty.”

Sauron’s skin tightened and then cracked. Corruption seemed to boil up from his guts, burning tendrils of ice spreading rot that spiraled from his center and made itself known in gangrenous sores on his hands. He closed his eyes in the face of a scouring wind. When he opened them again, he saw a cloud of gold hair being blown away.

“Evil their path has been.” Varda spoke from her seat, her eyes brightening, and her garb becoming a full robe of starlight. “But we will need the full court of our brethren to determine their fate.”

Manwë nodded once, and then addressed Aulë and Tulkas. “I thank you for your quick action, Lords of Craft and Strength. Take them to a place of holding and make sure they are well guarded.”

“Will I not be permitted to speak?” Sauron said, some stifled rage boiling up. His voice had transformed into a harsh croak and he could feel how his lips no longer fully covered his teeth, his face now in a perpetual grimace.

“The time for speech will come,” said Manwë. “But not until the rest have been assembled.”

The Maiar renewed their grip on his arms, and they marched Sauron from the Ring.

~

They chained him in a cell crafted of a stone-like material meant to still any note of Song from the outside. Standing in the dark, sealed off from the world completely by the chain and the walls of silent stone, Sauron could do nothing but gnaw at the same thoughts over and over. 

Encased this way, his ancient fear of bonds returned, theoretical visions of confessions and penitence dissolving in the reality of restraint, an eternity of nothingness stretching before him. He needed to escape; he could not stand to live like this. 

And then the yawning loss and the driving anger to take back his own surfaced, and he knew he could not be free. 

He was alone in the underground chamber he had been taken to. He had seen what looked like similar alcoves to the one he stood in as the Maiar marched him to his current location, but it seemed Lumbë had been imprisoned elsewhere. The only interruption to his solitude occurred after some indeterminate amount of time, first heralded by the sound of the door at the top of the stairs opening and then the crystals embedded at intervals along the wall slowly brightening. With a snick , the bars in front of his cell lowered.

Eönwë’s wings were lowered so that they trailed behind him like a golden cloak, but he still glowed with a brightness that seared Sauron’s eyes after the long darkness. He stoically blinked and offered no greeting.

“Here you are at last,” Eönwë said, “after avoiding justice for so long.”

Sauron had dissociated his self from his new fana almost immediately, and so did not notice the physical pain of standing for days on end, but the mental trial of being unable to move had almost driven him to panic. The panic took an abrupt turn into annoyance. “I have never cared for your lectures, Blessed Herald, and still do not,” he said.

“As if you were not similarly blessed,” Eönwë shot back. “There was never any reason for your rebellion, for your dissatisfaction. You were valued and admired, and were given duties commensurate with your skills.”

“If in this late age you still cannot comprehend why one would do anything other than walk in their appointed path, I don’t think further conversation will be fruitful.” Sauron leaned his head back against the column and stared at a spot above Eönwë’s head.

Power shimmered at Eönwë’s fingertips — he pulled himself back with a shake of his head. “I did not come here to argue. I will deliver this insight and leave: if you are willing to humble yourself before Lord Manwë, and truly seek pardon for the evil you wrought, there are some who would extend another chance to you, even now.”

Eönwë’s reluctant counsel soured in Sauron’s ears. He had been planning on doing exactly that, but now that it came from Eönwë, said as if it were the epitome of offered grace, it galled Sauron to follow his advice.

“In the ages since we last spoke I have grown no more inclined to listen to your wisdom.” The last word dripped with every bit of contempt Sauron could muster.

“This was a waste,” Eönwë said, mostly to himself. “I cannot believe Olórin thought speech would be of any benefit.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Eönwë likely knew the aftermath of the wedding; Celebrimbor’s fate was a question greater than his pride.

Eönwë folded his arms. “More insults, Mairon? More ways to elaborate on how I am but a wheel stuck in an endless rut?”

“I have not insulted you,” Sauron said. He let out a harsh breath. “I do not wish to insult you.”

“I should not have come,” Eönwë said, but he arrested his exit nonetheless

“I ask only this: does Celebrimbor live?”

“Will you send someone to finish him off if the answer is ‘yes’?”

“No, even if I had henchmen, which I do not, I do not wish him harm.” Sauron said, in a pleading tone that sounded strange in his harsh new voice. “I just need to know. Please, look in my mind if you must — you will see that I do not lie.”

“I do not need to look in your mind,” Eönwë said, resigned. “I know the nature of your connection with him. Celebrimbor lives. But, Mairon, this is yet another evil in a long list of evils.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“I know, but even had you not consigned a part of your mind to rote madness, your relationship with him would be an ill thing. We were not meant to bond with the Children in that way. Their theme is separate from ours for good reason. It is well you are here now, and that he is unlikely to want anything but an end. It would be best for Celebrimbor if he was able to wholly sever himself from you.”

Sauron closed his eyes. If he could not block Eönwë’s voice from his ears at least he could avoid looking at his concerned face. Relief flooded him, Eönwë’s lecture notwithstanding. “Celebrimbor will do as he wishes,” Sauron said. “But our love was more than an aberration.”

Eönwë’s wings swished briefly along the floor, as if he leaned towards Sauron, but then an extended rustling indicated he instead turned towards the door. After raising the bars again, Eönwë left without another word.

~

The next visitors were the same Maiar who had brought Sauron to the cell in the first place. Wordlessly they unchained him from the post and walked him up the stairs. All the Valar must be gathered, but Sauron could not say whether they had done so with haste or after many weeks. 

He didn’t know if relief or despair filled him over Celebrimbor’s absence during the intervening time between his arrival in Valmar and now. Ever since he had found out he lived, Sauron had half expected, half feared that Celebrimbor would appear at the top of the steps, ready to scream at him, fight for him, condemn him, rescue him. Do anything but forget about him. 

The streets of Valmar were strangely empty, even though the sun indicated early afternoon. It seemed no one thought he was a helpful spectacle for the Elvish citizens of the city, and they had been told to stay home. They marched him to the Máhanaxar again, walking between the high smooth pillars, the afternoon sunlight throwing hazy beams, the subtle colors of the stone revealed in contrast to the pure white they had appeared under moonlight. 

All of the Valar sat enthroned now, and with Maiar standing in clusters beside them. Manwë and Varda sat at the peak of the half-circle still, Manwë holding his scepter; both were crowned in light but dressed simply in white skirts. Aulë and Yavanna sat on Manwë’s left and Ulmo and Mandos on Varda’s right, but Sauron could not see the rest of the Valar from the center of the Máhanaxar where he now stood. 

At an insistent push to either side of him, Sauron dropped to his knees and bowed his forehead to the ground, the first words he planned to say echoing over and over in his head. King of the air and lady of starlight, I have done evil, furthering the marring of the world, but please, grant me mercy.

He knelt for a long time. Finally, Manwë said, “Rise, Sauron, servant of Melkor.” 

Sauron slowly rose. Is that what I am to them still, their brother’s servant?

“I have made known your crimes,” Manwë continued, “I have gathered my brethren, and now we must judge and consider what your fate will be.”

Aulë spoke with a voice like falling rocks. “But first, how did you escape from your cage, and are you also the culprit who released your brethren from their posts?”

“I do not know, but perhaps I could discover who did,” Sauron replied.

“Insolent!” Yavanna’s soft voice held no less power than her husband’s. “Destroyer of woods, polluter of fields, enslaver of my children. You should never walk free again for the least of these crimes.”

Manwë held up a hand. “Do you truly not know? How is your knowledge less than Lumbë’s?”

Sauron’s heart sank. He and Olórin had discussed Sauron offering to help uncover the mystery of his escape with the hope that the offer of assistance and his genuine innocence in the matter could buy him some time and maybe some mercy. They had not factored Lumbë in, though. 

“I do not know,” Sauron said. “I know not what sort of place held me, nor how I was freed. I only knew I was free, and so fled from my prison.”

“Because he is damaged,” Estë said from her place on the edge of the half circle. “The life-eater had no use for a broken servant.”

“Do you believe Lumbë and his tales of the life-eater?” Oromë asked, the golden chains on his horns chiming as he tilted his head towards Estë. “My hunters have scoured the plains and woods around the Door of Night, and there is no trace of one such as he.”

“Ungoliant left behind marks as alien as they were foul,” Nessa said from the other side of the circle. She gathered her layers about herself as if to ward off a chill, solemnity on her round face. “Her erma is not of the stuff we sang, and so repels all beings of Eä, like the scent of a lion tells the gazelle to flee.”

“Yet still she hid from us,” Estë said. “Trust not in the absence of evidence, for we have been blinded before.”

Ulmo nodded, sending ripples through his floating hair. “Whatever this creature is, I believe it has some cloaking power. For you only found one of the escaped Úmaia, Oromë, if I am not mistaken. And only yesterday Ossë battled and subdued another one hiding in the far southern waters, but that is all we have apprehended after much searching.”

Varda’s bright eyes fell on Sauron. “And you know nothing of this.”

“No,” Sauron replied, although Varda had not asked a question. “Have all of Melkor’s former servants escaped? There were thousands of us — how can they all be hidden? And how weak were our bonds that we were all able to escape?”

“It is not for you to know,” Námo said, his eyes covered by his black hood, but his chest bare above his simple linen skirt and marked with ancient symbols. 

“Is it not? Am I not facing imprisonment in the same manner as before? But there was no trial then — why now?” Sauron asked.

Vána giggled from her flower-entwined throne. “Would you have us make the same mistakes again? We can learn, we can change, just as all things do.” 

“I would not advise you be imprisoned as before,” Ulmo said. “I have no desire to make your escape so simple.”

“What is to be done with you?” Aulë said, stroking his beard. “You have proved false again and again — I cannot see how we can allow you to walk free to spread your lies among the Children again.”

Estë sat forward, addressing Nienna. “How long have we sought to undo the twisting of the Children?”

Nienna blinked, fresh tears falling down her face. “For as long as their tortured souls have come screaming into my brother’s Halls.”

“Then that should be the length of your punishment, Sauron,” Estë said. “And it should be ever-lengthening, not ending until the last marred soul can rest.”

Vairë motioned and Sauron found himself turning to face her. Even now her hands moved, weaving something between her fingers as she considered him. “I cannot see the thread of your future. With Lumbë there was one path, or the other. With you, there is only murk.”

“Do you know why?” Námo asked her.

Vairë still considered Sauron. “You have been made, destroyed, and remade many times, tangling your past and your future. You are bound to one of the Eruhíni, as only one other has been, and the fates of the Children are often hidden to our eyes.”

“The Children, yes, and there is the true depths of your crimes,” said Námo. “My Halls are still filled by those whom you have harmed. Some will never leave, the hurt is so deep. Are there words you would say to them? By what logic would you use to explain why you may walk under the sun while they cannot?”

Silence fell as Námo stared at Sauron, and he realized he must answer. “I would ask how I wronged them,” Sauron finally said. An angry hiss sounded behind him. “Because an apology is meaningless if the hurt is not understood. And then, if I had truly caused harm that I regretted, I would apologize.”

“And if it was not accepted?” Námo asked. 

“Then I would let them go their own way and seek to trouble them no more,” Sauron replied.

“You speak true.” Aulë sounded surprised. “You have already followed this method.”

“He could apologize until the Music ends and we are created anew, and it would still not be enough to right the marring he has done to what I love.” Yavanna’s wrath crackled through the Máhanaxar like fire. “He should be unmade, cast into the Void like his master.”

“That path has been considered,” Manwë said. “But it is not the will of the One.”

Varda shifted, glimmering even in the daylight, and looked to someone on the far edge of the circle. “And what is your thought, Olórin? For you fought Sauron longer than any of us and should have a say in his fate.”

Olórin stepped forward. He no longer appeared as an old man and wore instead a fana of glimmering silver, ripples of tears and dreams and starlight forming a robe around him. He still wore a ridiculous old hat, which he removed to speak.

“I did, and for many years he was my chief enemy and I his. And I was the victor, for he could never understand someone who did not seek control, nor who used his power only ever to aid those weaker than himself. But as to his fate, it should not be for me to decide, for I consider our enmity concluded with the ending of the age. What happens next is merely a matter of curiosity to me.”

A stab of betrayal smote Sauron. He should not have expected Olórin to speak in his favor after so many years of enmity, but he had.

“Is that why you have come, Olórin?” Irmo asked. “To see for yourself what Mairon’s fate will be?”

“Oh no, I am here to make sure no perspective is forgotten in this debate. It is easy to only think of the mighty deeds and the folk who did them, but even the most humble of people he affected should be considered.”

Ulmo’s eyes flashed. “Yes, all should be considered, even those whose voices will never be heard in this circle. Abhorrent one, you have plagued the Secondborn from the beginning, casting a shadow on their entrance into the world. How will you atone for the millions of Men whom you have slain, whom you have maimed, whom you have cursed so that even their children’s children must live with the evil visited upon their kin. How do you answer that charge?” Ulmo’s voice gathered all the force of a raging storm and seemed to shake Sauron’s constrained spirit.

“I can only apologize, and offer to right what I can,” Sauron said. “But not all I did was ill — there are many who did not die because of me and lived in great health because of my actions.” He had meant to beg for forgiveness, but he had also resolved to not allow the Valar to forget their abandonment of Middle-earth. It seemed he would not be given an opportunity to confess, and would only face accusation after accusation. So be it; if no one would speak for him, he would speak for himself.

“One drop of water makes no difference in an ocean,” Ulmo said. “It would be unjust to weigh a handful of lives improved over the vast numbers ruined.”

Something wet trickled down the back of Sauron’s neck and he stiffened, imagining Ulmo raising a watery prison around him already. Instead two hands fell on his shoulder, cuffed in silvery lace. Nienna bowed her head so that Sauron fell under the shade of her hood.

She said nothing, but a thought other than his own entered Sauron’s mind for the first time since Ornéliel had clapped the chains on him. At first he thought he heard the cries of birds gathered in a vast rookery, but as he listened, from the cacophony individual voices began to stand out. They spoke in many languages, Elvish, Mannish, even a few in the Black Speech. They cried for homes that were lost forever, for sons and daughters maimed, or dead, or sundered forever, and for their own pain: parched mouths, starving bellies, and twisted bodies. 

The sound flooded his mind, wrapped him in overwhelming grief, sank into his skin until he could no longer remember his pride, nor his righteous anger, nor his carefully crafted apologies. He had thought he had understood how there were some things that he could never right, and he had bowed to that reality when he had apologized to Celebrimbor and to others, but he had not understood, not truly, the extent of the warping and heaviness of grief that his actions had unleashed on the world.

The pressure on his mind eased just a fraction. It is mine to hold as well , Nienna said, and Sauron knew that just as he was the only one in the circle who heard her voice, he was the only one who knew the full burden of his wrongdoing.

I can never make it right . Even as the thought smote his heart, a gust of wind pulled Sauron to face Manwë again and he found that Nienna was sitting where she had been before between Vairë and Tulkas. 

“You would right what is in your power to correct — I see that truth in your heart. Yet there is not time enough for you to finish that task, though the Song is far from ending,” Manwë said. “It would seem that the whole earth cries out against you.”

“Not the whole earth,” Nienna said. “There are always some who are moved to pity and desire mercy for others.”

An impossibility: even if there were any fools who would pray for mercy for his sake, their voices would be drowned beneath the cries of the broken. 

“Dear sister, would you again aid in the prayer of one who wrought endless suffering in the world?” Irmo asked.

Vairë spoke instead. “Everything must come to an end at some point.”

“The broken and the merciful are often the same,” Nienna said.

Nessa shook her shoulders, her garments unfurling, multi-colored garlands uncovered beneath her white cloak. “If he is discarded forever he can never harm again,” she said. “Yet neither can he help.” 

“This one at least I could keep tamed,” said Tulkas with a booming laugh, though his teeth bared in his bearded face looked more like a snarl.

“Are there those among us who would truly argue for pardon for one such as this?” Ulmo asked. The fins behind his ears flared. “Have you not been listening to a word he said? He still offers excuses for his subjugation of Men! His contrition is a paltry thing.”

“Some who are owed vengeance beyond any you can claim speak in his favor,” Vairë said. “Nessa also speaks truly — the one who tied the knot in the first place may be best placed to undo it. At the very least, it is only right that he should struggle to unknot the snarled threads.”

Manwë inclined his head. “Oromë, you have not yet spoken, and I would hear what you and Vána would say.”

Oromë tapped a clawed hand on the bones of his throne. “I am loath to grant any mercy to one who has tried to foil my guardianship of the Children from the very beginning.” 

“It would be ill were he to disrupt our peace again,” Vána said with a frown. “What I ask is this: Sauron, are you willing to die in truth? Shed all your old aspirations and dreams, and abandon your mastery for service?”

All was grey, and the words stuck in Sauron’s throat. His first dreams had died long ago, changing to aspirations of power and control. Then those had been dashed to pieces as well. There had been a moment on the roof with Celebrimbor when he had glimpsed the possibility of a fresh start. An opportunity to create, and dream, and love where he would not repeat his errors, but that future was drowning in the tears of the past.

“Will you not answer Vána?” Manwë asked. “Is there aught else you would say?”

Sauron looked at the future stretching before him, aware of the strains of sorrow that he had sent shaking through the Music. “Would that I could find a true end,” he said at last.

“A lie at last,” said Námo, and Sauron realized that he spoke truly; even in his purposeless state, adrift in despair, a small part of him didn’t want to be separated from the world forever.

Manwë stood. “There is much to consider, and many parts to our judgment. Sauron, once named Mairon, you will be summoned again when our judgment has been made.”

The two Maiar on either side of him appeared again. They clasped his arms and marched him back to the cell.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Erma - Quenya, Prime Matter
Úmaia - Quenya, Evil spirit

Friends, if you ever find yourself writing a story where there's a scene where 16 different god-like beings speak, my advice to you is to think of a different plot.

Aftermath

Back at Ondomar, the wedding guests try to make sense of the attack.

Read Aftermath

 

The throbbing ache in his throat prodded Celebrimbor awake. The pain contrasted with the soft surface that supported him. These observations combined told him he was not in Mandos, where nothing hurt and softness was no where to be found. He blinked his eyes open. Celebrimbor thought it was still likely the night of the wedding. His throat hurt horribly, and there was a dull ache on the back of his head, but he didn’t seem to have other significant injuries.

He slowly sat up and set his feet on the ground. At that moment Coroniel hurried in, a basket of wet rags on her hip.

“What are you doing up? Lie back down.”

“I’m fine,” Celebrimbor said. Or rather, he tried to say, but what came out was more of a croak. He gingerly touched his neck and put his feet back on the bed in acquiescence of Coroniel’s order but stayed upright.

“Here.” Coroniel handed him a rag soaked in icy water. “Put that on your neck.”

The numbing relief of the cold spread through him. He nudged Coroniel with his foot.

“Fine,” she grumbled and opened her mind to him.

What happened? he asked.

Coroniel sat in silence for a moment as Celebrimbor’s anxiety grew. “Maglor is dead,” she finally said. She looked at the basket instead of at Celebrimbor. As he sent a swarm of questions her way, reeling with the shock, she continued, “And Merillë is seriously injured. Elrond sounded relatively confident she would heal when I saw him for a moment, but still.” She finally looked up to glare at Celebrimbor. “Your mind is so loud. One thing at a time. You know this is the reason only he would use osanwë with you.”

Sorry, Celebrimbor thought. He tried to order the chaos in his mind before reaching out to Coroniel again.

She continued, guessing where his questions would go. “Lumbë attacked them. He must have run into them while searching for… whatever his aim was.”

Preparing the way for Him. Celebrimbor sent the shared memory over and they both shuddered.

“I thought we were done with this. First Morgoth, then Sauron, then Ar-Pharazôn. That should have taught me that even in Aman we are not safe.” Coroniel’s voice broke and Celebrimbor reached out to her. She buried her head in his shoulder, not crying, but temporarily blocking out the world.

She shifted so that she sat next to him on the bed and held out a fresh cloth. “Anyway, I suppose you want to know what happened after you fell.”

Annatar? He knew that he should still be overwhelmed by grief for Maglor — the only one of his uncles who without the forceful hand of death had summoned the courage to admit wrong-doing. He should be afraid for Merillë, who had not even had five hundred years yet and who still might not recover. Instead, he kept checking his bond with Annatar. It had been open between them for less than a day, but it had already become a comfort, a place to turn to share a moment of emotion, a quick thought, or a wry observation. And now it was gone, and Celebrimbor was alone again.

Coroniel looked at his neck and sighed. “I was getting ready to see how effective a rock to the head would be to a Maia, when he suddenly lurched back and began screaming. I have never heard something so terrible in my life. I think he thought he killed you, and I thought the same. Lumbë began to move, so I turned to fight him instead, but then Ornéliel ran up with a length of chain and grabbed his arms, chaining them behind his back.”

My mother?

“Yes, I was just as surprised! As soon as the chains touched him, Lumbë seemed to wilt, just crouching on the ground.

“Then I saw Curufin, also bearing a length of chain. He ran up to Annatar and bound his arms. I took the opportunity to check on you and was most relieved to see you were alive, because if you had died I would have had to attempt death by grief, or maybe just cast myself off a cliff in order to lambast you for letting yourself get killed by him again.”

You would hate death.

“Yes, yes, so you say, but clearly a stay in Mandos was not enough to teach you to avoid hazardous Maiar.”

Celebrimbor did not point out that they would likely not encounter each other in Mandos, given its solitary nature, and instead urged her to continue.

Coroniel frowned at the mental nudge. “Hey! I’m getting there. So I realized you still lived, and I tried to call out to tell your parents, but then there was rolling thunder, and lightning, and the earth began to shake. I assumed for a moment that it was more enemies here to defend Lumbë, but no, a shining eagle descended from the sky, while at the same time the earth seemed to buckle and grow, until a giant stood before us. Then another giant ran up behind them.”

Coroniel frowned. “It is difficult to describe what happened next. It was hard to think in the presence of all that power. I saw Nerdanel approaching the earth giant, and realized it was Aulë. I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself. I thought I should kneel, but I was already on the ground. Then a silvery figure also approached, likely Mithrandir? But I’m not certain. The running giant — he was very pink and gold and kept laughing; I’m almost positive it was Tulkas — grabbed Annatar, who was still lying on the ground nearby. Curufin crawled up beside you; he was very upset — his lips were moving but I couldn’t hear him. There was more sound: thunder and bells and rocks smashing. Nerdanel seemed distraught, but not frightened of the Valar in the least, which is more than I can say of myself, and then they left, taking Annatar and Lumbë with them. I believe Mithrandir went with them as well, if he was actually the silver being.”

Celebrimbor lay back down. So that was it. After months spent trying to help Annatar regain his memories, weeks spent figuring out if anything worthwhile remained, finally, when he had decided to extend another chance, he had vanished as abruptly as he had appeared.

But what is going on? he finally asked Coroniel, the strangeness of it all manifesting. We have been attacked! And this is no city or center of power.

“Well, all five of Finwë’s children were in one place,” Coroniel pointed out. “But it’s still frightening. Where did he come from?”

Where did Annatar come from? Celebrimbor countered. My guess would be the same place.

“And who’s He? Morgoth?”

Celebrimbor frowned; it couldn’t be Morgoth. That was who I thought at first, there are those bizarre prophecies after all, but Annatar told me that Morgoth is gone, as much as he can be, not sitting in the Void somewhere.

“None of this sits well with me. I don’t know what I feel about Annatar yet.” Coroniel tucked her knees beneath her chin. “He deserves… something. I will never forget that he was the one who destroyed my home. And that he killed so many of my friends: Reniadis, Rivaldir, you. That was hard. I thought that was the end — that we’d never meet again. But we have, and he— I don’t know, I liked him once. I may begin liking him again, especially after the apology.”

He apologized to you?

“Yes, you’re not the only one he wronged,” Coroniel said archly. Celebrimbor smacked her shoulder. “I know, I’m only joking. But yes, he did. I didn’t think he was capable of it. I’m not sure if he fully regrets everything, but he at least recognized that he unjustly destroyed much of what I loved.”

And Maglor is dead. Celebrimbor could feel the mourning in the house. So many people who had thought this sort of grief was over, plunged back into the loss that was never easy, not even in the Blessed Realm with the possibility of reincarnation. After he survived millennia in Middle-earth.

“I thought he was improving too. The music tonight! I know he never lost that skill, but still, I was in awe.”

I should speak with Haruni.

“Except you can’t even speak!” Coroniel exclaimed. “See if you can rest for a few hours before joining everyone else. Fëanor, Fingolfin, and the rest of them are all arguing somewhere. Nerdanel is distraught. I think Finrod and Amarië are ready to tear open the door to Merillë’s room, and no one will be able to put up with your inability to speak.”

Celebrimbor closed his eyes. Coroniel was probably right, as usual. He wouldn’t be able to help anyone right now, and his own strange emotions would just interfere with any attempt at mental communication. And he was so tired. Or maybe he was just sad. It was difficult to tell.

~

A very loud bird directly outside Celebrimbor’s window began shrieking its passion to the morning. He thought about opening his eyes. His throat hurt less already, thanks to the air of Valinor that seemed as healing as medicine.

The presence of someone else in his room made him start upright; his head insistently began throbbing in response to the abrupt movement.

“Good morning,” Curufin said. His dull voice and furrowed brow belied the ‘good’ in his greeting.

“What are you doing here, Atya?” Celebrimbor was pleased he could speak, although his voice was still rough and some words caught in his throat.

“You almost died,” Curufin replied. “Again.”

“You’re being melodramatic.”

“No, I am not.” Curufin crossed his arms.

Celebrimbor fell back against the pillows. He hated arguing with his father and was certainly in no mood to do so today.

Curufin drew in a breath. “I’m sorry. I thought I was going to have to watch what I was grateful to have missed in Mandos. How are you feeling?”

“Well enough, considering.” Physically, Celebrimbor suspected he would only have lingering soreness and some bruising in just a handful of days. Emotionally, he still didn’t know what he felt. There was faint annoyance, and a small measure of affection towards his father, but these feelings were like specks, drifting aimlessly in some empty cavernous place within him.

“Have you heard all of what happened?” Curufin asked.

“Enough. Cori was here a few hours ago and told me about the aftermath of the attack. And that Káno died.” Celebrimbor watched his father carefully. Curufin’s face was drawn — Maglor had perhaps been the brother he was least close to, but that likely just strengthened any guilt. “Is there any update on Merillë?”

“No.” Curufin glanced up, still pained, but now on someone else’s behalf. “Elrond is still with her. Ingoldo is distraught and will not be comforted.”

Celebrimbor nodded, his gaze unfocused as he tried again to process the past twelve hours. “And how are you and Amya?”

“As well as can be expected.” Curufin still held himself stiffly, the role of caretaker rusty from disuse.

Something in the bland answer reminded him of Coroniel’s account of the night. “Wait, what were those chains you and Amya had? How did you happen to have powerful objects of binding at a wedding? And how did you know they would work on Lumbë?”

Curufin raised an eyebrow. “Your mother is a very skilled craftswoman. I know you look down on your mother and I—” Celebrimbor opened his mouth to protest but decided against it at Curufin’s flat look. “I know you look down on us, but Ornéliel has had years and years of access to Aulë and his Maiar, and some of the most powerful artifacts ever created.

“So, when the one who I despised more than anyone else showed up, I spoke with Ornéliel, and lo! She shared my feelings. Imagine that.”

Celebrimbor flicked a hand at him to urge Curufin onward. They could discuss how much his parents hated Annatar, how justified that hate was, and how little Celebrimbor wanted to hear about it at a later time.

“We discussed various ways of handling our unwanted guest. We debated weapons, but ultimately discarded that idea. While we could disembody him, we did not think either of us could create something that could truly kill him, especially since his own creation seemed to have had the best chance at doing that and it failed. So, the next best solution would be to contain him in some way. Ornéliel had had a chance to examine Angainor and knew something of the craft that would be needed to constrain an Ainu. So, we embarked upon a project to create a chain that could bind Sauron, cutting him off from the Song of the world and strong enough that he could not break it through his magic.”

Celebrimbor absently rubbed his throat, by turns impressed and annoyed at his parents’ ingenuity. Of course in their hatred of Annatar they were united.

“So, you created a chain that could bind one of the Maiar. That explains much of what you’ve been doing these past weeks, but not why you had two such chains. Was one the prototype?”

Curufin sat up indignantly. “We would not have risked approaching either of them with a prototype! No, one was for his hands, the other for his feet.”

“Ah. You know he was trying to protect us.”

“He tried to kill you!” Curufin hissed. “How can you be so blind? If you go back to him, he will hurt you again. Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love choose their own destruction again and again?”

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows, feeling anger boil up.

“Perhaps you have some taste of it.” Curufin sat back and pursed his lips. “If I could ask you to do but one thing, it would be this: forget him. Some things are never meant to be. The Valar will judge as they see fit and any judgment rendered will likely mean he will never interact with the Children again. This is a blessing. You can truly be free.”

“You know nothing of freedom,” Celebrimbor said, his voice rough. “You were born behind a fence, chained yourself to an oath, and now are fenced in again. I chose what I would for many years, and I don’t regret a single one of my choices. Now, please leave my room.”

“Tyelpë—”“ Curufin started. He pulled a hand down his face. Celebrimbor crossed his arms in resolute silence.

Curufin slowly stood up and looked around himself. “I meant to ask, do you need anything?”

“No. Please leave.”

With a last strained look, Curufin left.

Celebrimbor lay without moving for at least an hour after that. His father thought that Annatar’s death or imprisonment would free him, but he felt anything but free. His body felt like it was made of stone, paralyzed and heavy. It was the opposite of the buoyancy of the past day, when a door had opened that showed a sliver of a future with Annatar.

But the potential vanished as quickly as Annatar had, and now Celebrimbor felt trapped. I cannot stay here. I must find him. But then he remembered the fell light in Annatar’s eyes and the pure rage towards Celebrimbor that had almost overwhelmed him. What if he went to Valmar and that was who he found, a bitter husk who only desired vengeance? Coroniel had said she thought Annatar had been horrified at the thought of him dead, but it also sounded like the night had descended into pure chaos right at that point.

I cannot stay here. There are too many memories. Coroniel had spoken of going to Avalloné, but even that seemed like a claustrophobic choice. Maybe he would go north, towards Formenos. But Ornéliel’s family lived there, and many other people he knew, and the lands had likely been filled by many settlements in the millennia since he had been there.

He forced himself to sit up, bracing himself to face the family.

Downstairs, the air crackled with tension. Most people were in one of the larger common rooms. Some wore the traditional grey mourning clothes, the color long associated with grieving among the Amanyar who had never left Valinor. Those who had been exiles or had been born in Middle-earth wore black.

Celebrimbor looked around for his mother; finding her absent from the common room, he ducked out to look elsewhere. He slowed when he heard Finarfin’s voice coming from a nearby room.

“I will return to Tirion in less than an hour. I regret not being able to stay and mourn my nephew, but it seems a new peril has arisen, and I need to resume my place as king. I also cannot overlook that I may have drawn the Umaia to us — perhaps he thought to slay me unawares and away from the palace guard.”

“I will return with you as well,” Fingolfin said. “We should look to the defense of the city. It seems we may have a need for our swords again.”

“I feel uneasy remaining here,” Fëanor said. “It was likely my presence that drew him.”

“Your presence?” Lalwen asked with a raised eyebrow. “Yours and not the High King’s, or all of us here together, or most likely of all, Sauron?”

“Yes, mine,” Fëanor snapped. “It was my son he killed after all, my arrival that was most unlooked for. I fear I drew evil to this place.”

“You certainly cannot come to Tirion,” said Finarfin. “There is much groundwork to be laid. And you will need to make a formal apology—”

“Who in Tirion did I wrong?” Fëanor interrupted.

“You cannot be serious,” Fingolfin said.

Findis looked at Finarfin. “We absolutely cannot have him return to Tirion.” She addressed them all, “Besides, I agree with Lalwen, I believe it was Sauron’s presence that drew him.”

“Then who drew Sauron?” Fëanor asked.

“Well that wasn’t you either,” Fingolfin retorted. “According to Nerdanel he’d been here for years.”

Celebrimbor left the arguing siblings. He shared the opinion that Lumbë had not been drawn to Ondomar because of Annatar. He also hadn’t been drawn by Fëanor, or at least not only by Fëanor. There are many kings I could slay just up the path, portents to paint that I will take down with my fall. But portents of what?

Míriel stood at the front door, speaking with Frodo and Sam. To Celebrimbor’s relief, the hobbits looked fine — sad but not frightened. As Frodo spoke, Miriel nodded gravely. Then the hobbits both bowed and left, heading up the stairs.

Celebrimbor crossed the entrance hall. “Let me get that for you,” he said, reaching for her pack, which Míriel had set down while speaking with the hobbits.

“Thank you, Indyo,” Míriel held the door open for him and Celebrimbor followed her out.

“Should you be leaving here alone?” he asked. “We were just attacked; who knows what is out there.”

“You need not fear for my safety. I, even more than Nerdanel, have a Vala’s protection upon me. Besides, I live on the threshold of death already and have no fear of it.”

“Is that where you’re going? To Mandos?”

“First to Vairë’s Halls.” Míriel nodded at an elf by the stables who left to fetch her horse. “She will want me near if the strings of fate are being plucked again. But yes, I will ask to see Káno when I speak with the Weaver.”

“What will you say to her?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I will tell my version of events, and my own observations. Some have also asked me to relay their own thoughts, and I will do so if it seems my lady desires to know more of that night.” Míriel kissed him on the cheek after he settled her pack on the back of the horse. She looked at him closely. “Is there aught you would have me say?”

Celebrimbor searched for words, but nothing came. Finally he said, “Only that I bear him no ill will. And I still don’t regret knowing him.” There was more than that; some emotion simmered within him — maybe anger, maybe desperation lurked below the fog of numbness, but he couldn’t access it no matter how hard he tried.

Celebrimbor helped his great-grandmother mount and watched as she left, the bright morning light shining off her silver hair.

~

Celebrimbor spent the rest of the day and night drifting from room to room, providing comfort when he could, but mostly trapped in the haze of endlessly remembering the events of the previous day.

Finarfin and Eärwen left with no fanfare. They apologized profusely, but everyone understood the importance of the High King returning to Tirion as quickly as possible. Several of Nerdanel and Írissë’s household who were trained in arms went with them — many thought that Finarfin was likely the true target of the attack.

The following day, Celebrimbor was pulled into conversations about what they would do with Maglor's body. Why anyone thought his opinion should be taken into consideration baffled him, but he found himself listing off all the challenges with cremating the body nonetheless. A handful of people wondered if they should not rather bring the body to Lórien; it had been a long time since they had dealt with a death, and the whole situation felt surreal and impermanent among so many of the returned.

Celegorm put a stop to the talk as soon as he heard it. “Preserve the body? With the crushed ribs, the mangled organs, and lest we forget, the perpetually unhealed wound on his hand? When his appearance had aged beyond his own mother’s? What kindness do you think you are doing him?”

Caranthir was even more practical. “And we know not if and when he will return. We were in Mandos for millennia, and who knows how long a minstrel must be silent before the Valar are appeased.”

Nerdanel held up a hand, quieting her family gathered around the table. “I’m not sending my son’s corpse off to Lórien,” she said. “And Carnistir is right, though it could have been said a bit better: we know not when he will return from Mandos. Please, let me properly grieve.”

On the third day after the attack, they held Maglor’s funeral. They agreed on a pyre, according to the traditions that evolved among the Feänorians in the first age. Maedhros spoke of his bravery and of his ferocious skill he had displayed in battle after battle during the First Age. Sam spoke of his persistence and his hidden kindness. Last, Elrond spoke of his teaching, and began a song of mourning upon a silver harp. The song was picked up by the crowd and seemed for a moment to take on a defiant tinge. As the song of mourning died out, and the flames grew, Celebrimbor was reminded how much he hated the custom of cremation. The acrid smoke stank despite the sweet herbs and fragrant boughs they had chosen to burn with the body, and between the flames and logs, the slow horror of burning contorted the corpse into impossible shapes. That, and the reminder of endless grief and the slow defeat of the First Age made the whole funeral just another black mark in the interminably long days since the wedding. More of the family left after that, and the house began to feel empty.

The following day, Elrond admitted visitors beyond her parents and sister to Merillë’s sick bed. Celebrimbor entered the adjoining room, wanting to visit Merillë, but fearing she had already been overwhelmed with visitors.

Finrod and Galadriel looked up at him; from their drawn faces it looked like they had been arguing.

“Is Merillë still seeing visitors?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Yes, go on in,” Finrod said, waving his hand at the door.

“Are you sure? I can wait if she is tired. I imagine she has spoken with many people today.” And if she played any part in the disagreement between you two, I imagine she is exhausted.

“She would enjoy the company — I do not think she wishes to be alone,” Galadriel said, with the same distracted air Finrod had. “Just, do not inquire about the attack. I just finished asking her those details; I don’t think she wishes to dwell on them any longer.”

Celebrimbor eyed Galadriel for a moment more, and, when it became clear that whatever discussion the siblings were having had moved from the auditory realm to solely between their minds, started towards Merillë’s room. He could leave soon enough if Galadriel’s assessment had been incorrect.

Merillë was awake and sitting up. Her slim body looked frail against the voluminous pillows as she stared out the window.

“How are you feeling?” Celebrimbor asked as he took a seat next to the bed.

Merillë slowly looked up. “Fine.” Her eyes held a weariness that he had never seen before on her.

“I can leave and let you rest if you’d like,” he offered. He examined her critically. The bandages wound round her face and shoulders looked clean — if she bled still it was slow enough that it hadn’t yet seeped through. Celebrimbor could not tell how badly she had been hurt though, and what scars would remain afterwards. He had heard that Lumbë’s poisonous excretions had burned her, and she had also suffered broken bones and internal damage from the ensuing battle.

“No. I have rested enough,” she said. She glanced at the door. “Are my father and aunt still talking?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell what direction they were leaning towards?”

Celebrimbor shook his head. “I could not even tell you what they discussed.”

“Ah.” Merillë sagged down farther into the bed with a wince and closed her eyes. “I think they disagree about what course of action they should take.”

“I could tell that much from the tension when I walked into the room.”

“I told Atanésa everything about the attack. I told my parents everything I could recall as well. It— Well— I don’t think I have any real answers. Not really. But I don’t think Lumbë knew about Miau— Sauron.”

“Really?” Celebrimbor resisted the urge to interrogate her about the night of the wedding. “That’s interesting, but not, I think, something you must worry about.”

Merillë frowned. “They’re thinking about politics.”

“I suppose that’s only natural.” That the High King’s son, who spent as much time ruling as his father did, should be thinking about political ramifications was no surprise. Galadriel had avoided politics since her return to Aman, but that did not mean she was unaware of them.

“I wish it wasn’t. You have managed to not get sucked into that world.”

Celebrimbor let out a mirthless chuckle. “Yes, but I am from the famously dispossessed side of the family, and furthermore, have the benefit of being rumored to have been seduced by one of the greatest evils our people have ever faced, so—” He shrugged.

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

“What? That some should not trust me? Or that I can side step any conversations about the duty of rulership?”

“Both.” Merillë’s unbandaged hand balled up the sheets into her clenched fist. “I still trust you.”

“That’s good to hear.” Celebrimbor riffled through topics that might draw Merillë out of her gloom. He noticed Merillë was still looking at him as if she expected more of a response. “I also trust you?” he tried.

Merillë bit her lip. “What do you think should happen to him? Miaul— Annatar.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “I really don’t think I’m the right person to ask.”

“You’re the only person I’d want to ask.”

“I’m not a neutral party.”

“Father said he tried to kill you again.” Merillë looked close to tears.

Celebrimbor touched his neck where he knew chartreuse bruises still mottled his skin. “Yes. You could say that.”

“If he would even try to kill you—”

“Even? He’s the reason I died the first time.”

“Yes, I know!” Merillë shouted. She dropped her head back with a wince. “But it seemed that things were better this time?”

“They weren’t better.” He remembered Annatar laughing in his ear as they danced. “No, they were better.” Annatar, frowning ferociously over some instructions from Írissë drifted through his mind. “ I don’t know. But I could tell—” Celebrimbor paused as he searched for the words he needed. “I could tell his spirit was different, smaller. I also knew there was a part of him that still wanted the Ring back, and that part remembers me as one of the architects of his loss. We thought, well, I thought, we didn’t really get a chance to talk about this, that that part of himself could be permanently silenced, maybe even healed in a way if it could be convinced that the Ring was truly gone forever. But now I wonder if I completely misread what was going on. Maybe he felt smaller, less alien in a way, because the bulk of his self was at work suppressing the Ring-longing.”

“I just—” Merillë sighed. “I just want to make sure they know he was trying.” She glanced over at Celebrimbor. “He was trying so hard.”

“I’m sure the Valar know all.” At Merillë’s look he amended his statement. “I have no idea what they know, but what can we do about it?”

“Talk to my father and Galadriel.”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know.” Merillë sounded lost, but then a stubborn look crossed her face “I don’t know! But I’m worried they are putting the perception of our family above all else, and I think one of them should go to Valmar.”

“Mithrandir is there, is he not?”

“It would matter if one of the High King’s children spoke to what we’ve been doing.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “I’m not sure why you think they’ll listen to me.”

“Please?” Merillë gave him a pleading look. Her hazel eyes shining between the bandages were very effective.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

As Celebrimbor slowly closed the bedroom door behind him, he cautiously surveyed Finrod and Galadriel. Finrod was emphatically gesturing, one arm periodically chopping downward, the other raised above his head. Galadriel stood straight, her face smooth, but her eyes flashing. They were completely silent.

Celebrimbor cleared his throat. They both abruptly turned to him. Two pairs of bright eyes, one a starlit grey and the other the color of the sea, stared at him. He could feel them trying to reach into his mind.

He made his mind opaque, smoothly repelling their mental inquiries with a reflexive skill.

“Merillë seems to be feeling better,” he said.

Finrod pressed a hand to his temple. “Tyelpë—” He stared at Celebrimbor for a long moment; a question seemed poised at his lips. He said nothing though, and with a sigh he left the room.

Galadriel watched her brother leave. “You would think a man who willingly went to his death because he understood the consequences of his actions would not oppose his sister doing likewise.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about. What danger are you facing?”

“Not danger, but consequences, rather. He doesn’t want me to go to Valmar,” she said, as if explaining the most obvious of facts.

“And? I imagine the situation there is quite delicate.” Belatedly, Celebrimbor remembered that he was supposed to be convincing Galadriel to go to Valmar.

“Do you think I am unequipped to handle a delicate situation?”

“No, not at—”

Galadriel didn’t let him finish. “I am quite resolved to go, so don’t try to dissuade me.”

“I was not planning on it. For one, I would have to know what you were planning to do in order to dissuade you from it.”

Galadriel pursed her lips. “I must see how what I started is resolved.”

“How can you possibly have started any of this? Unless you’ve been summoning Umaiar between projects?”

Galadriel looked at him seriously. “Without me, Sauron would never have appeared. Would never have known who he was, would never have tried to access his latent power, and would never have drawn more of Morgoth’s minions to this place.”

“I think you have made several inaccurate assumptions. Starting with taking any credit — because you do not sound like you are talking about blame — for Sauron’s presence here.”

“Credit, yes, exactly, because he would never have appeared in his current form without my lens. I must attest to my invention and its results, and make sure the effects are fully accounted for.”

Celebrimbor opened his mouth to argue, before remembering again that Merillë had asked him to persuade Galadriel to do exactly what she seemed to be planning on doing. “I agree. You should go to Valmar.”

“I should,” Galadriel said, her tone still argumentative. She stopped abruptly when she realized that they were in agreement. “Aren’t you worried about what I’m going to say?”

“No, I think you may be the best person to give an account of all that has happened.”

“I am.” She hesitated, looking at Celebrimbor with consideration. “You know there are few people who can boast such an extended enmity with Sauron.”

“No, that very reason is why you should speak.” Celebrimbor sighed. “I know you will be truthful and fair.”

“I don’t think they should cast him out forever. I don’t,” Galadriel repeated with more certainty. “Although neither do I want him running free in the same land as my daughter. And that is why I should leave with all haste.”

“What’s the urgency?”

“The ways of the Valar are still inscrutable to the Children in many ways. Sometimes they take years to do what we would do in a day; other times a course is irreversibly set in mere moments. They may be about to make a permanent decision, and I mean to be heard before that happens.”

An icy feeling ran down Celebrimbor’s spine. “So quickly?”

“Yes.” Galadriel began to walk towards the door. Celebrimbor followed. “But don’t worry, I’ll let Haruni Indis know I am coming, and wish to speak.” Galadriel caught the door frame and turned towards Celebrimbor. “But I don’t think my word alone will persuade them of anything.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Celebrimbor crossed his arms. He noted that his hands were freezing. “Farewell, Galadriel.”

“Farewell, Celebrimbor.” Galadriel gave him a last inscrutable look before hurrying to her rooms to prepare to leave.

~

The next day, Celebrimbor traveled to Áremar in an attempt to escape the air of mourning that had sunk into Ondomar. He knew he should feel sadness over his uncle’s death, but instead only emptiness filled him. This same numbness had struck at the end of the First Age when he had heard of Maedhros’ death and had assumed Maglor would follow shortly thereafter, but that had been after years of loss after loss, when even their victory held devastation. Now he had no such excuse, and in the face of his family’s genuine grief, it was becoming difficult to continue the motions.

He arrived and approached the golden doors of Áremar. The bare yard, all of its usual decor taken down with the wedding decorations, looked bleak.

He hesitated before entering. The residents of Áremar would also be focused on their loss, and had had to clean up from the disrupted wedding on top of everything else. He went in anyway.

Írissë stood in the center of the main hall talking with one of her household. Formal braids still contained the mass of her hair but quite a bit of it had escaped and formed a halo of frizz around her head. She was dressed in black; he could tell the outfit that had been cobbled together from pieces meant to be worn separately. Írissë usually dressed vibrantly and no longer opted for a monochrome palette.

Her face lit up in a genuine but tired smile when she saw him. “Brim! You finally made it. Fingon is on the back porch.”

He walked over and wrapped her in a half hug. “And who says I am here to see Fingon? I thought all of you could use some company.”

“Well, he’s been expecting you, so don’t tell him that!”

Celebrimbor frowned at her, puzzled. He had neither sent a message ahead nor spoken to Fingon since the night of the wedding. “I’ll go see him then.”

Twang. Thwack! Celebrimbor heard Fingon before he saw him — not an uncommon occurrence, but usually his voice was what carried. He watched as Fingon hit the small target square in the center with an arrow.

“Practicing for a hunt?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I do not think we will have a merry hunt for quite some time,” Fingon replied. He set down the bow and looked Celebrimbor over. “How are you doing?”

“The real question is, how are you? Your brother-in-law is dead, your wedding ruined in the most spectacular fashion I can recall — really I think this is worse than the first wedding Turgon officiated, the one with the bears.”

Fingon smiled ruefully. “I thought the days of fate and war preventing my expressions of love were over.”

“War? Do you think that’s what this heralds?”

“I do not know, but it certainly feels like we are being targeted by a malevolent force. Hopefully it’s not to a scale that indicates war, but it rather reminds me of how other wars began.”

“I don’t know,” Celebrimbor said. “Much had been planted before Morgoth came to Formenos.”

“And we only realized that later, when deeds that could not be undone were complete.”

“True enough. I hope there is no mastermind working in secret against us, but it’s far from impossible.”

“Yes, we’ve had more than enough bloodshed.” Fingon gazed off into the woods, troubled, before turning on Celebrimbor with narrowed eyes. “But you are avoiding talking about yourself, as usual! Tell me, how are you?”

Celebrimbor shook his head, moving to lean against the railing. “I don’t know. I didn’t want it to end this way.”

“End?”

“Yes, I knew this strange little interlude couldn’t last forever, but I wanted what happened next to be my choice. And his.”

“I understand that,” Fingon said. “So, have you spoken to your mother about the chains?”

“What? No — we’ve been rather focused on mourning at Ondomar; we haven’t spoken on any matters of craft.”

Fingon titled his head and raised an eyebrow. “Then how are you planning on unlocking the chains? When encountering magical restraints, knowing how to undo them is very important!”

“What chains? Did my parents leave something magically chained here that you need moved?” It seemed most unlike his father to leave something undone for days, even in the face of grief.

“Some people say you are the most intelligent person they’ve ever met.” Fingon shook his head. “Come now — Annatar’s chains. Hopefully everything can be above board, but we should be prepared for alternate methods.” At Celebrimbor's bewildered expression, Fingon continued, “Why else would you come to speak to me? The only person who has successfully freed someone from a Vala?”

The proposal slowly dawned on Celebrimbor. “I just wanted to see how you were doing! How you all were doing.”

“You weren’t planning on trying to attend the trial?” Fingon looked horrified.

“I—”

“After dithering for weeks, and finally extending a second chance to him, you were going to just let whatever happens happen?”

“Well, I’m certainly not planning to stage a coup against the Valar!” Celebrimbor crossed his arms and tried to ignore the guilty feeling creeping over him.

“Now, I never said coup—”

“Who’s planning a coup?” Maedhros stepped out onto the porch and glared at Celebrimbor.

“”No one is planning a coup,” Celebrimbor said.

Fingon raised a hand in denial. “Coup is entirely the wrong term.”

“I said going to Valmar was fine, not staging a coup.” Maedhros admonished.

“Who’s all going to Valmar?” Celebrimbor asked.

“No one is until you talk to your mother about the chains,” Fingon said.

“Yes, Celebrimbor, that’s an important step.” Maedhros went back to glaring at him.

“What have you two been planning?” Celebrimbor demanded. “Haven’t you been occupied enough with wedding clean up and mourning?”

“I’m planning nothing and want no involvement,” Maedhros said. “You and I agreed that there were some things we would never talk about, ever.” The air of sternness around him abruptly vanished. “But surely, you can’t turn down Fingon’s help? There is no one more suited to the task!”

“Fingon has not even offered any help!” Celebrimbor protested.

“Right.” Fingon nodded decisively. “Celebrimbor, please accept my aid in traveling to Valmar, discovering where your unfortunate husband has been stashed, and then either petitioning the Valar, who still hold me in favor, for leniency — or solving the matter in a more immediate fashion.”

Celebrimbor scrubbed his hands over his face. “You are mad.”

“You would be mad to turn down this assistance,” Maedhros insisted. “Fingon’s political influence, his strength in arms, and his natural canniness make him uniquely suited for his endeavor.”

“Thank you, love.” Fingon looked at Maedhros with affection.

“You are truly extraordinary.” Maedhros had now completely softened, and he was beaming in a way that Celebrimbor still found unsettling.

Celebrimbor walked to the other end of the porch. He wrapped his arms around himself for a moment and looked out at the pines. Maybe he had known that in coming to Áremar, he would speak to Fingon, who would of course encourage him to do more than mourn. Fingon could ignore his own festering personal problems with no difficulty, but he could usually spot a solution to someone else’s issue, and the solution almost always involved some action. His vocabulary didn’t contain ‘Wait and see.’ The offer to perform what most would consider at least a minor act of treason was a bit surprising, but only due to Fingon’s keen sense of justice.

Celebrimbor himself also felt best when he was doing something — one of the many reasons he liked Fingon. Few things rankled more than sitting and waiting when he could be taking action. Despite that, sometimes his own mind ensnared him, especially when a solution could not be logically derived. Something you’ve been trying to overcome this time around, he reminded himself. And there is your answer.

He walked back over to Maedhros and Fingon who seemed to speaking mind to mind. “This feels ridiculous.”

“It is a bit!” Fingon said. “But if there is a time to be ridiculous, this is it. The Valar can choose to do any number of actions that are rather permanent. You should at least attempt to get a word in edgewise.”

“And what word would I say?”

“You can figure that out on the trip there — it’ll take two days of hard riding, plenty of time to decide on what the right words are.”

~

Celebrimbor’s certainty grew as he traveled back to Ondomar. Of course he must go to Valmar; if he did not, he would wonder what could have happened if he had for the rest of his life. Fingon’s more dramatic plans of a jailbreak were a terrible idea, but he was still glad to have company for the ride.

At Ondomar, he wandered through the common rooms looking for Ornéliel. He had been mulling over how to broach the subject while walking back. He thought it would be best to just outright ask her, and hope she would acquiesce — it was entirely in character that he would be curious about her craft.

Ornéliel was not in any of the rooms he checked. She had been spending much of her time with Nerdanel, providing what comfort she could to her friend, devoted to the public show of mourning. Celebrimbor headed towards Nerdanel’s studio, the next likely location for them. He stopped short when he noticed Ornéliel sitting at one of the kitchen tables, listlessly picking at a plate of food. Her grey garb was a mismatch of pieces like everyone else’s — they had all thought their days of grieving were over.

“Amya.” Celebrimbor sat down next to her and leaned an elbow on the table.

Ornéliel raised an eyebrow. “You seem unusually energetic.”

Celebrimbor reflected that his hope that she would not suspect his motives was perhaps misplaced. “I’ve been getting a lot of sleep.”

“What do you want?”

“What if I just want to enjoy a meal with my mother?”

“You’re not eating,” she pointed out.

Celebrimbor drummed his fingers on the table and looked sideways at Ornéliel. Finally, he asked, “How did you make the chains that you used to bind Sauron and Lumbë?”

“Do you think I can simply distill to you in a sentence deep works of craft learned at Aulë’s side?”

“Perhaps that is too much to ask. Can we go to the workshop then?”

Ornéliel gave him a flat look. “What do you really want to know?”

“I want to know how you crafted a thing that contained the power of the Ainur in an instant!” Celebrimbor insisted. “You cannot have thought you would get away without explaining their workings to me.”

Ornéliel returned her gaze to her plate and began to tear a piece of bread into smaller and smaller pieces. “No. I expected that after an appropriate amount of time had passed I would go to you in your misplaced grief and tempt you out with fresh knowledge. And you would be sad, but you would slouch after me to the workshop, and I would show you the knowledge and skills I had learned from ages of study in Valinor — secrets of the smallest particles, smaller than erma, and how they can be used to bind creatures who are more spirit than flesh, and how to imbue metals with fields that are invisible but teeming with power. And you would stare off in the distance at first, but then you would be reluctantly drawn into learning, until your curiosity was ignited, and your mind would leap forward, and you would further my study beyond anything I had imagined, and together we would craft something like I had dreamed when you were small and could see the promise of skill so strong within you. And at last you would truly forgive my harsh words when you left Valinor.”

“Oh, Amya.” Celebrimbor closed his eyes. He had made his peace long ago that he and his mother would never get along without some friction. They were too alike in some ways — competitive, stubborn, and very opinionated in certain arenas. But Ornéliel would never fully understand him; she had never seen Middle-earth and would never know the greater part of what shaped him. “I did forgive you. And I am asking you now, how do the chains work?”

Ornéliel stared at him unhappily for a moment. “You're going after him, aren’t you?”

Celebrimbor took a deep breath. “I’m going to Valmar, yes.”

“I’m sure Aulë can remove the chains if it’s judged that he is safe to release.”

“I’m sure he can. I’m really not planning to do more than talk with him, and talk with what Valar will listen to me, but...”

“But, once a rebel, always a rebel?”

“But I thought it best to be prepared for anything.”

Ornéliel picked up a knife and began dividing a grape into smaller and smaller sections. When it lay in 32 neat, tiny cuts she looked up. “All you need to know is how to unlock the chain.” She drew out a necklace that had been lying below her dress. She fiddled with a ring on her finger and pulled out a small rod from the starburst of various metals that made up the crown of the ring. She dangled the charm on the necklace’s chain in front of Celebrimbor. Seven bars of various lengths all made of different metals were suspended inside a hexagonal trapezohedron. “You are, of course, familiar with tonal mechanisms?”

“Of course,” said Celebrimbor. “You can’t have made the unlocking that simple, though.”

“Almost,” said Ornéliel with a wry smile. “This is the key. It has the seven notes of a Nessan scale.” She fit the bar from her ring inside the necklace charm and struck each bar with minuscule movements, playing the scale.

“To unlock, is it just the scale?”

“Patience, child! I am not a complete simpleton.” Ornéliel glared at him. Celebrimbor folded his hands on the table and did his best to look attentive. Satisfied that he was finished second guessing her work, Ornéliel continued, “I cannot tell you the key to the chain.”

Celebrimbor pressed his lips together and resisted demanding his mother get to the point.

“The chain is modeled after Angainor, and while not of the same strength, it is still physically impossible for all but one of the Valar to break, and has the additional benefit of completely closing off the one who is bound by it from any currents of power. But also, being of the design of Aulë, it has a certain amount of” — Ornéliel circled her hands in the air, searching for the right word — “sentience.

“It cannot truly speak,” Oréliel hastily said in response to Celebrimbor’s raised eyebrows. “But it has enough understanding to communicate in a way.”

“With all your lecturing, I’d think you’d know the inherent danger of giving too much awareness to your creations.”

“With all my experience, I had the skill enough to handle it,” Ornéliel shot back.

“So I must ask the chain what melody will unlock it?” Celebrimbor guessed.

“Yes, exactly.” Ornéliel grimaced, and, after a moment’s hesitation, handed Celebrimbor the necklace and her ring, the bar fit back into the starburst.

Celebrimbor examined the jewelry, trying to think through the potential obstacles. “Does it have a name, this chain?”

“I hadn’t named it yet.”

“Probably for the best.” He sighed. “Thank you for telling me.”

Ornéliel’s hands gripped the edge of the table. “Please. Please don’t do anything foolish. He’s not worth it. He isn’t worth anything. I understand why you want to be there, but that doesn’t mean you need to speak on his behalf.”

“I don’t know what I will do, but I have to know. To be there for what happens next.” He reached out and pressed his mother’s hand. “Thank you again.” With a last squeeze, he left to pack the few things he would need for the journey.

---

Chapter End Notes

Haruni - Grandmother

Indyo - Descendent, grandchild

Erma - Prime matter

Atya - Dad

Amya - Mom

Atanésa - Aunt (made up by me)

Journey to Valmar

Itara Mindon - Gleaming Tower; the name of a town.
Írissë | Aredhel
Hithaeglir - Misty Mountains
Arafinwë | Finarfin
Nolofinwë | Fingolfin

Read Journey to Valmar

As soon as they began to wind their way down from Ondomar towards the main road that would take them to Valmar, Celebrimbor’s certainty grew that he should try to find Annatar. Something worthwhile had risen from the remains of Sauron, Lord of the Rings, and through some kind of miracle they had found each other again. And perhaps the pieces of Annatar could never be whole again, and he could never retain enough control to be free, but that was not certain. Even in the worst case, Celebrimbor now had the opportunity to end his relationship with Annatar well, with forgiveness and acknowledgement of the past.

He said as much to Fingon. Fingon raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you could speak with him, and calmly say goodbye forever? Be happy with the few weeks — days, more like it — you grabbed here before the wedding?”

Celebrimbor’s mouth went dry at the thought. “Probably not.”

Fingon smiled at him. “You are not alone. We come not merely as supplicants, only able to beg to be heard. Our shed blood grants us the right of speech. And we come with words joined with song.” Fingon reached down and strummed the small harp he carried.

Celebrimbor shot him an amused look. “I’m not sure my voice is beautiful enough to count as a strength.”

“Joined to mine it is.”

Celebrimbor did not push further, but he wondered at Fingon’s changed attitude. Perhaps it was the result of coming out the other side of months of wedding planning, perhaps talking with Maedhros has prompted something, or maybe it was just the long-buried commander and king that brought his boldness and stubborn passion to the forefront again. 

They caught up with Galadriel the night of their first day’s journey.

“Lady Galadriel!” Fingon called as they rode up.

“Fingon, Celebrimbor! What are you doing here?”

“Going to Valmar,” Celebrimbor said.

“Are you?” Galadriel said. Her smile was thoughtful, and the bitterness that hardened her eyes might have only been weariness.

“I think it makes perfect sense why both of you should wish to be in Valmar for the proceedings,” Fingon cut in. “We were going to stop at Itara Mindon to let the horses rest a bit — will you join us for the rest of the journey, Galadriel?”

Galadriel agreed and joined them for their brief rest. They started off again at first light. Celebrimbor and Fingon rode horses from Írissë’s stables, and as such they were the most tireless and nimble mounts that could be found in Aman. Galadriel’s horse could not match them, but they only had to slow a bit to ride with her and would still reach Valmar during the early hours of the third day. They alternated between galloping and an easier pace to let their horses recover.

“I cannot believe we don’t have a better way of traveling yet,” Celebrimbor complained at one point. The ache of unused muscles suddenly put to the test preyed on him as he rose and fell with his horse’s gait.

“Don’t let Írissë hear you say that — she has gifted her beasts to the Maiar of Oromë and takes great pride in their breeding,” Fingon warned.

“Írissë won’t hear unless you tell her,” Celebrimbor said. “But my point is we are dependent on an animal who could get injured, or tire more quickly than we thought, and then our entire journey is disrupted.”

“Not this again,” Galadriel grumbled.

“Again? I’m sorry, did I bother you too frequently about improved transportation in Eregion, or complain too often about how Gil-galad did not invest enough time and effort into the matter that now, even though I have since died and been reincarnated, I still can’t discuss it in your hearing? In fact, if the set path method I proposed had been put in place, I must wonder if our fortunes would have been different in the eventual war.”

Galadriel looked unimpressed. “I still don’t believe you’ve listened or read a full account of the War of the Elves and Sauron—”

“It’s traumatic.”

“—But if your set paths had been implemented, I can only imagine that Sauron — who, despite his many faults, is skilled at military logistics — would have used those paths to conquer us all the more quickly, leaving the Númenóreans, who famously arrived by sea, to encounter all of the land from the coast to the Hithaeglir entirely overrun by Sauron’s army instead of Lindon still holding strong against the siege.”

“Hmph,” said Celebrimbor, all he could think to say in the face of Galadriel’s logic. 

Galadriel shifted in the saddle. “Now, here in Aman I would be happy to see your plans born to fruition. I agree — I enjoy an easy ride as much as the next person, but if my primary goal is to visit my family, who happens to be on the other side of a mountain range, I would be glad for a faster and smoother method. However, as I told you then, and I’m telling you now, all your ideas involve some manner of altering vast tracts of land.”

“What’s the problem with that?” Fingon asked.

“The problem with that, dear cousin, is that Celebrimbor has no taste nor attention to spare for the political work of getting all who would need to sign on to such a proposal to do so. And I would not and will not do it for him.”

“Well, now, I have some political influence,” said the former High King.

“Really? Írissë said all you’ve done for millennia is hunt and hold feasts, and very rarely with politically opportune individuals,” Galadriel said.

“That is mostly because the Noldor have plenty of kings to go around! No need for me to go clogging things up. Now, I begin to feel the urge to increase my involvement.”

Galadriel did not respond. Celebrimbor looked at her; Fingon’s mild excuse could not have stunned her into silence. Her face was still and her eyes were far away.

“Could Arafinwë be speaking with her?” Fingon asked after he too noticed her uncharacteristic silence.

“Or Finrod. Hopefully Merillë has not taken a turn for the worse,” Celebrimbor said.

They both waited in tense silence as their horses slowed to a walk. Galadriel blinked as she returned to them, a stunned expression on her face.

“What? What is it?” Fingon asked.

Galadriel took a deep breath. “Celeborn is sailing to Aman — he is in sight of Tol Eressëa. With him sail Círdan and my grandson, Elladan.”

~

It was tempting to push through and arrive at Valmar in the watches of the night, but they decided to rest for a time in a small village a few hours out.

“Of course there is much activity at night and the city never sleeps,” Fingon said. “In some ways it’s worse than Tirion; some of the eldest Vanyar seemed to have completely abandoned any need for sleep. But it’s a good omen to arrive with the dawn, and our coming should be as auspicious as it can be.”

They approached the eastern gates of Valmar on the third day, just as the sky behind them began to flush with the approaching dawn. The sun still hid behind the Pelóri and the lights of the city twinkled in the pre-dawn gloom. 

Now that he was almost to the city, Celebrimbor realized he still didn’t have the specifics of a plan worked out. Should he petition the Valar, or skip any official plea and immediately try to find Annatar. And what would he say to him when he found him?

Fortunately, Fingon asked the question first as they rode up to the gates. “Where should we start?”

“I think we should visit High King Ingwë first,” Galadriel said. “He is likely—” The call of trumpets interrupted her. Clarion and bright, the sound seemed to rise from the central pyramid into the air. 

“That’s not for us, is it?” Celebrimbor asked. He’d had no formal announcement when he’d last come to Valmar, although he hadn’t been with Ingwë’s kin at the time.

“I don’t think so,” Fingon said. “Even when I’ve come with my father there was nothing like that to greet us at the gate.”

“The one time I arrived with my father, Indis met us at the gate, but there was certainly no fanfare,” Galadriel said.

The sound of rushing wind followed the trumpets and they watched as a half dozen Maiar rose up from the city and then rushed west, some appearing as eagles, others as winged humanoids. 

“What is going on?” Galadriel said.

“At least they were flying away from Tirion and the other major population centers,” Fingon said, but he looked worried. 

The strange welcome banished Celebrimbor’s uncertainty. “I’m going to look for Annatar,” he announced.

“How?” asked Fingon. 

Celebrimbor frowned at the city. “I will start with the welcome station right by this gate, and then continue asking at each house of welcome in a spiral pattern.”

“Reasonable.” Fingon nodded. “I’ll go with you if you’d like.”

“And I will still go with all haste to High King Ingwë,” Galadriel said. “I’ll find you should I discover Annatar’s whereabouts or what the commotion is.”

They announced themselves at the gate. The guards were on edge but let them through.

“Very strange that they are standing at attention at all,” Fingon said. “Normally passing the gate is more of a symbolic affair.”

“They could be considering the attack at Ondomar as an attack on King Arafinwë, and wondering if their own king isn’t next,” Celebrimbor pointed out.

“Still — you can see the nervousness.”

They bid farewell to Galadriel and asked to speak with the captain at the welcome house. In ages past, the welcome houses had been guard stations, erected shortly after the Darkening. Some time in the Second Age, however, the Vanyar had decided that the defensive nature of guard houses was unnecessary.  They had been renamed  welcome houses, a place for directions and a cool place to rest at the hottest point of the day, though they were still staffed by a few spear-wielding guards. The Vanyar retained cultural pride related to skill at arms, and those who wished to put this to practice would often become guards to utilize the weaponry and education of the city watch.

Fingon and Celebrimbor stood outside the door for a long while, watching as more and more elves hurried into the welcome house and left armed. Elsewhere, people rushed by, not stopping to exchange gossip or exclaim over the events. It was eerily quiet.

Finally the captain came out. “My Lords.” He first nodded and squeezed Fingon’s hands before turning to welcome Celebrimbor in the same manner. “How can I be of assistance?”

“I’m looking for a prisoner,” Celebrimbor said, while at the same time Fingon demanded, “What in the stinking depths of Utumno is going on?”

The captain looked between them before deciding to answer Fingon’s question. “We do not know exactly what is happening, but we have been warned that we should be on the highest alert level. A danger has been spotted in Aman, and we are to arm ourselves and prepare for whatever hazard is abroad.”

“So you don’t know what it is?” Fingon asked.

“No, just that there is a danger.”

“And this alert level is higher than it was after you found out about the attack at my wedding?”

The captain cleared his throat. “Yes. Just now, when the trumpets rang out, we received the message.”

“There must be—”

Celebrimbor cut Fingon off. “And do you know where they are keeping the prisoners captured at the princes’ wedding?”

The captain frowned. “I’m not sure I can tell you that.”

“I am the son of Nolofinwë, and the grandson of Indis,” Fingon said, crossing his arms. “And these prisoners were captured at my wedding. I deserve to ask some questions.”

“I’m not sure,” the captain repeated, looking between them with increasing alarm. “I am not charged with the keeping of prisoners.”

“Then who is?” asked Celebrimbor.

“They are Maiar, correct?” said the captain. “They must be in the keeping of their own kind.”

“And where would that be?” Celebrimbor’s patience was running thin.

“One of the temples surrounding the central pyramid — in the Holy Square.”

“Let’s go.” A sense of urgency overcame him, and Celebrimbor turned on his heel to leave.

“Thank you, good sir,” Fingon said, and hurried after Celebrimbor.

They joined the others quietly hastening by.

“This is such a strange reaction to an imminent threat,” Fingon said, looking around.

“It’s so orderly and quiet,” Celebrimbor agreed. “And yet the city has not experienced an emergency since the Second Age.”

They neared the Holy Square, the central pyramid and the other temples growing large above the silver roofs. At the same time, a loud crack sounded from the direction of Ingwë’s palace to the southwest. Bells began to ring.

“What was that?” asked Celebrimbor.

“I don’t know, but I feel l have a duty to find out,” said Fingon, pursing his lips. “You go on ahead. I assume you’ll start going through the temples? There can’t be more than a dozen.” At Celebrimbor’s nod, Fingon clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good. I wish you good fortune.”

Fingon rode off towards the palace. Celebrimbor watched him for a moment before coaxing his horse back into motion. He dismounted at the gates to the Holy Square and approached the two guards. Their helmets had more feathers than the guards at the entrance, and their spears gleamed gold. 

“Halt, what is your purpose here?” The guards stepped forward.

Celebrimbor pulled himself up to his full height, annoyed that the top of his head still barely reached the guards’ chin. “I seek someone who I believe is imprisoned here. Annatar, or as you may know him, Sauron.”

The guard frowned. “Why are you —” The sound of yelling and screaming reached them, mixing with a strange roar.

Someone pushed past Celebrimbor. “Help, help! There is something in the Silver Market.”

“Something?” The guard asked. She and her fellow were already stepping out.

“Yes, some kind of creature, a great horned monster. Please, hurry!” The guards ran off after the man with no further thought for Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor looked around and, seeing no reason not to, entered the courtyard. Several temples surrounded the central pyramid. While each temple could be seen as being associated with one or more of the Valar, they were dedicated to a different aspect of Eä, as opposed to individual Valar. The central pyramid was the Temple of the Heavens, and both Manwë and Varda would inhabit it when they dwelt in Valmar. It was flanked on one side with the Starfire temple with its blazing gems and the Temple of the Sea on the other, the tiered building rising out of a still, blue pool. Several other temples dotted the grounds, but the long, low Temple of Earth with its mirrored buildings stood immediately before the gate.   

Celebrimbor closed his eyes, trying to detect any hint of Annatar’s being. He could feel nothing, but from what his mother had told him about the chains, that was to be expected. The sounds from outside the gates grew louder. Three Maiar ran out from the Temple of Earth, their heavy footfalls shaking the ground as they went past him. Celebrimbor watched them go before turning back to the temple. The buildings were simple compared to the main pyramid — walls of clay with basic geometric drawings. He looked between the two buildings. The design was the same, but one had several trees in the front, and vines spiraling up the side. The other had angular sculptures at even intervals along the path to the entrance. 

Based on pure instinct, Celebrimbor chose the temple with the sculptures and walked inside. The entryway opened into what looked like a simple common room, with space for groups to sit and converse and some musical instruments along one side. There were two doors at the back of the room; the entryway to the main chamber of the temple stood open and the other, smaller door was closed. Two sets of stairs along either side led to an upper level. Celebrimbor tried the closed door, but a lock stymied him. 

Celebrimbor bent to examine it closely. The lock appeared to be a simple affair, no magical element at all. He wished he had brought some lock picks in addition to his mother’s opening jewelry. He began to search the room for a small knife or a pin that he could use instead. He didn’t have to search long. He walked behind a counter that had some wine and cheese laid on it, and there on a shelf was a key. 

The key slipped right into the lock and the door swung open. Celebrimbor looked around again, still faintly surprised that no one had stopped him. On the other side of the door, a short landing preceded stairs that led down. The door may have been lacking in enchantments, but the very walls hummed with ancient threads of power here. Celebrimbor dragged his fingers along the wall as he descended. 

Strength was sunk into the stone: the solidity of the roots of the world, steadfastness beyond what Men or Elves were capable of. It would be difficult to lie surrounded by walls such as these. Celebrimbor felt like his body was getting heavier the further down he moved. At the bottom of the stairs he saw there were empty alcoves on either side. He moved forward. At the end of the hallway, there was an empty alcove on the right, but on the left, bronze bars ran from the ceiling to the floor, broad slats of metal with only a small gap between them. He thought he could see someone behind them. 

Celebrimbor reached out, trying to touch the mind of the person within, but he could still feel nothing. He tapped on the bars, testing their strength and seeing if he could alert the prisoner that way. They rang with a bell-like sound. Celebrimbor saw that bars were not fastened directly to the floor and ceiling; they seemed to emerge out of slots — likely retractable. He heard a clinking sound from behind the bars and saw movement.

“Annatar, are you in there?” Celebrimbor called. There was no response. “Can you speak?”

“Celebrimbor?” 

Celebrimbor froze. The grinding voice on the other side of the bars sounded like none he had heard before. But something in the way the being spoke his name was familiar.

“Annatar?” he asked. A hiss of breath came from the cell. “Do you know how to retract these bars?”

“What are you doing here?” A snarl lurked behind the words.

Celebrimbor ran a finger along the gap between the bars — its width was about half that of his middle finger. “Did you think I wouldn’t come? After everything?”

Again, silence. Then, “You should leave.”

“No.” Celebrimbor said mostly to himself. He hadn’t been sure what Annatar’s reaction would be. He had imagined him guilt-ridden, angry, and anguished by turns, but not this flat hopelessness.

He felt along the ceiling and the floor, occasionally tapping the bars, trying to figure out how to loosen them. Eventually he guessed that a mechanism as opposed to magic controlled the bars for the most part, and that the release would be along the opposite wall. He examined the other alcove, not really expecting to find anything in what looked like another potential cell, if the slots on the ceiling and floor were any indication.

He focused instead on the narrow walls that separated each alcove. The stone walls were covered in a mesh of gold and silver lines. The elaborate knots wove in dense patterns, repeating after about a forearm’s length. Celebrimbor traced the lines with his mind, his eyes searching for some flaw in the pattern that might indicate a hidden switch. He stared for at least a minute, working out angles and arcs amid the design. The only disruption was a grate at the bottom. When it hit him, he almost smacked himself for not checking there first. The grate slid out and exposed a button. Celebrimbor pressed it.

There was a hissing sound as the bars lowered. Celebrimbor leaned his head against the wall for a moment, bracing himself. He turned. Yellow eyes with slit pupils looked back at him in a sunken grey face. Lank strands of colorless hair covered some of the worst of the corruption, but where the skin was not desiccated, patches of rot oozed. The prisoner was chained upright, his hands crossed in front of his chest, the chain wrapping behind him.

Celebrimbor slowly approached. Annatar in his familiar form was shorter than him, more similar in size to the Úmanyar during the Second Age of Middle-earth. Now he stood almost a head taller than him. 

Annatar bared his teeth further, the long roots exposed by blackened gums. “LEAVE.”

Celebrimbor passed the threshold of the cell and walked up to Annatar, pressing his hand against his chest. He could feel a slow heartbeat. At this proximity the Maia stank with the sweet-foul stench of death. Celebrimbor looked up at him. He could feel nothing of the familiar heat of Annatar’s fëa, but the figure could have been a corpse for all the spiritual energy he emitted. The chain, though, almost touching his hand, hummed with power.   

“Annatar?” he repeated. He tensed under Celebrimbor’s hand.

“You should not have come.”

“Oh, love.” Celebrimbor had to blink back tears. He allowed himself one more moment to mourn the poisoned years Sauron had spent like this, before turning his attention to the chain.

Celebrimbor had worried about deciphering the Song of an item created by another with methods he was unfamiliar with, but that worry proved unfounded. If anything, the chain was too loud, spell overlaid on spell, each screaming its own song in the frequency of its material. He made a mental note to talk to his mother about the benefits of subtlety if he made it back to Ondomar, and got to work trying to parse a unified message of opening from the woven strands of magic.

“Push all of the air out of your lungs,” he instructed Annatar. “Collapse your chest.”

“You are a fool. Leave me.”

Celebrimbor glanced up. Despite the intimidating tone, there was fear in Annatar’s eyes. “I need slack in the chain. Breathe out.”

Annatar opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap, complying with Celebrimbor’s request. Celebrimbor used the slack to hold a single link of the chain between his fingers, pulling it away from the other links. 

Isolated from the rest of the chain, the song was quieter, although the strands of power still competed for dominance. 

Open, release, unlock. Celebrimbor projected his thoughts, trying to capture the attention of the chain. A thread of Song barely increased in volume, yet it was enough for him to hear its unique melody. He coaxed it forward and listened carefully. 

“You can breathe again,” he told Annatar, “if you’d like.”

“What are you doing?” Annatar sounded irritated, an improvement from his earlier desolate tone.

Celebrimbor pulled out the chime necklace and loosed the wand from the ring. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You can’t release me,” Annatar said.

Celebrimbor ignored him and knelt down next to where the cuffs fastened. Open, he sent to the chain. The opening song came through the other competing strains, slightly changed here where it would unlock, but still recognizable. 

“I tried to kill you.” Agitation grew in Annatar’s voice.

Celebrimbor frowned up at him. “You succeeded in killing me. We’ve been over this.”

“Don’t be dense. I tried to kill you again.”

“Oh, yes. We should probably talk about that after I’ve unlocked these.” Celebrimbor held up the chime and carefully fit the wand between the bars. With the tiniest twitch of his hand, he played the five notes of the opening song. The cuffs sprang open.

A wave of energy hit his mind as Annatar’s formerly bound spirit reached beyond his body, free to view the world as he was accustomed to again. Celebrimbor had to steady himself on the post for a moment as all his senses were overwhelmed by Annatar’s frantic rush to feel out his surroundings.

But there was no doubt it was Annatar. The strange silence surrounding him had vanished, and despite the monstrous appearance, Celebrimbor found the feeling of his spirit unmistakable. Something had changed, though. Underneath the familiar sharp, even pattern of his thoughts lurked a feeling of immensity that had been missing since he had found Annatar in Aman. 

He had felt that sense of vastness only a few times before, although he and Annatar had used ósanwë often. The last time was on the eve of battle in Ost-in-Edhil when they had known Sauron’s army was drawing in around them. Celebrimbor had opened his thoughts, trying to communicate to Celeborn, when an even more familiar mind had made contact. Then, Sauron had tried to speak with him, an imperious command to stand down mixed with a desperate plea to come back. Celebrimbor had slammed his mind shut, and had kept it closed for the rest of his short time in Middle-earth.

Now, Celebrimbor kept his mind open, and tried to speak to Annatar mentally. But Annatar only brushed past him, refusing his invitation. Annatar said nothing, but only stood frozen in place. Celebrimbor took the opportunity to remove the cuffs from Annatar’s wrists and unwind the chain. He held the released hand, examining it. The index finger was still absent, but that was where the similarity to the hands he had held and loved and admired ended. This hand had even longer fingers, but they were too thin and with a fourth joint. The black talons looked very sharp. 

“Celebrimbor, stop this at once,” Annatar hissed, coming out of his stunned silence. “Do you have any sense of self-preservation? You cannot die pointlessly again.”

“Pointlessly!” Celebrimbor dropped the chain. “Stop sulking. I did not die pointlessly the first time. I died defending my greatest creations and the world I loved. I think what you meant was that you killed me pointlessly, for you could have chosen otherwise.”

“But in the woods,” Annatar protested, “I could not think — all I could remember was my ancient anger, and that you were the instigator of my pain. What’s to stop that from happening again?”

“I don’t know! You tell me what’s to stop that from happening again.” Celebrimbor crossed his arms and looked up at him. Annatar’s eyes switched back and forth, seemingly looking for an answer in the lines on the floor. “I did not beg my mother for a key, travel to Valmar, and break into your prison for you to decide you have all the control of a headless chicken.”

Annatar looked up, outrage in his face. Celebrimbor had to admit that the new monstrous visage made the familiar experience of Annatar’s anger frightening again.

He refused to be cowed. “You once told me you can master nothing if you cannot master yourself.”

“And look how well I followed my own advice,” Annatar snapped. “I ended up with no control over a piece of myself for an entire age.”

“When did you become so pathetic?” Celebrimbor spat back at him. “Ready to give up everything the instant there is an obstacle?” 

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Annatar roared.

The strange stone walls deadened any echo, plunging them into sudden silence aside from the peel of bells that came faintly through the door above. Celebrimbor took a deep breath and wrapped the chain over one arm. He stepped towards Annatar. “You are not hurting me right now. How are you doing that?”

Annatar looked at him for a long moment before sagging against the post. “I don’t know. I have no desire to harm you currently. The memory of your betrayal is suppressed by the opposing memory of the realization that you did not, in fact, betray me.”

“That’s all?” Celebrimbor asked, again wordlessly pressing against Annatar’s mind. Annatar looked at him reproachfully, and then their bond flared to life, and Celebrimbor again had to steady himself against Annatar’s arm as his rapid thoughts and turbulent mood washed over him.

“Yes, although now all I’m doing is standing here,” Annatar said. “I attacked you when I was exhausted and at the end of my strength. You may be right; I can still control myself unless in the direst of need.” Annatar looked down at Celebrimbor’s hand on his arm. “Why are you here? Why did you come for me?” Now he sounded pained.

“You should know by now.” Celebrimbor glanced up the stairs. He couldn’t feel any vibrations or tumult in the chamber, but he occasionally caught the sound of battle through the ringing bells. “Annatar, I really do want to discover what will keep you from losing yourself to the Ring-lust again.”

“What’s going on?” Annatar asked, also looking towards the stairs.

“One thing at a time, you’re distracted enough already.” Celebrimbor paused, and took stock of the rapid shifts of Annatar’s mind. It felt more frantic than usual, or what he now thought of as usual. He had previously noted a decreased ability to descend into the state of focus that Annatar had so easily slipped into in Eregion. 

“What is preoccupying you?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I don’t know,” Annatar said, frustrated. “Everything is difficult. Perhaps I have become lesser, and there is no way around that.”

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes at Annatar and reached up to rest his other hand on the back of his neck. The papery skin felt soft like the flesh over bruised fruit. Tell me your thoughts, Celebrimbor ordered. We must find an answer.

Annatar tensed his jaw, but complied. The first thoughts he shared were an endless loop of the night of the wedding. Yes, yes, but I’m not dead, Celebrimbor thought irritably the third or so time they dwelled on the memory of his still face. 

Next Annatar shared his theory of Lumbë’s appearance, and his thought that there were likely others; then came fear over his own fate, memories of standing in the Máhanaxar, musings over the nature of the temple. 

What was that? Celebrimbor asked. He had seen a spasm of orders, but it was unclear what the commands were directed towards.

Annatar looked confused for a moment, and then realized what he had asked. Annatar’s constant awareness of his fana flooded Celebrimbor; the incredible discomfort underneath made his skin crawl in sympathy.

Is it always like that? Celebrimbor asked.

No. It was not like this before I fell. 

Celebrimbor reached up and tugged on Annatar’s elongated ear. “Then how was this form chosen?” he wondered aloud. 

“No, I may have looked like this at certain points.” Annatar held up a hand and frowned at it. “But it never felt like this. My fana was always something I crafted and intentionally entered, even if that skill was limited and I had to make use of pre-existing materials. But that intentionality hasn’t been the case since my escape.”

“Hm. Well. It’s certainly a disquieting form.” Celebrimbor grabbed Annatar’s face and tilted it so he could view him in profile. “Striking in a way, I suppose.”

“Please stop. Being instinctually terrifying has its uses, but it’s not useful to always retain this aspect. Feel free to express your disgust.”

Celebrimbor dropped his hands. “It’s not so bad. I’m sure we can do something about the smell. There are chemicals—”

“Brim! Stop. There is no world where you will be ‘doing something about the smell.’ I have been condemned. It’s over.” Annatar clenched his hands, his wasted mouth twisting over the long teeth.

Celebrimbor leaned against his chest. He really could get accustomed to the odor. From outside there was a bestial roar. It sounded near. “What is going on?” Annatar asked.

“You were right. Lumbë was not the only one,” Celebrimbor said.

“Is that what’s happening? Has there been a war happening above our heads this whole time?”

“Something like that. So you see why it’s so important that you are able to retain control.”

Annatar released a hissing breath through his teeth. “I could barely take Lumbë; above us is likely a battle ten times that!”

“Yes, so if you could become comfortable with this form quickly—”

Annatar barked out a laugh. “Comfortable? This will never be a comfortable state of being.”

“Can you leave? Your fana I mean?”

Annatar gave him a searching look and then glanced down. “If I abandon this body, I do not know if I will ever be able to become re-embodied.”

“Is that so bad? This form distresses you.”

“I like being embodied. There are many things that are unavailable when fully incorporeal.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Celebrimbor wrapped his arms around the broad chest, smiling up at the sunken face. “I could always make you a fana.”

“What? Make some articulated statue of iron for me to haunt?”

“Iron? I can’t imagine you settling for anything less than gold.”

“And you could love a cold, metal form?” Annatar asked.

“Yes. Or rather, you would not be that form, anymore than you are… whatever this is. It’s your true self I love, as I have found out through much sorrow.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.” Celebrimbor pushed back the scant hair that remained from Annatar’s face. “But I hope you’ll accept me anyway. Now, are you able to leave this body?”

“I think so.”

“What do you need me to do? Should I turn around?”

“No, but let go of me.”

Celebrimbor took several steps back. Annatar squeezed his eyes shut and ran his thumb over his fingers. “Are you sure, I can just—”

“No. Only, be quiet.”

Celebrimbor stood as still as he could. Annatar just swayed for several minutes. Celebrimbor almost left without asking if that was what Annatar needed, when he saw a flicker through the Maia. He flickered again and then became fully transparent. His form faded to a dim outline, and then an indistinct cloud. Celebrimbor blinked, so sudden was the change. He glanced down. A small pile of dust rose from the floor.

This is so much better, Annatar spoke into his mind. And he was right there next to him once again, his voice in his ear, their minds interweaving thoughts: a feeling as familiar as his own skin.

I told you so. A feeling like a shard of dry ice passed across the back of his neck. “Stop that!” A lightness filled the air, tiny bubbles in his mind, wrapped in a more intimate form of laughter. 

There was a loud crack from outside. Are you more vulnerable like this? Celebrimbor asked.

Not at all. An incorporeal form like this would be less beneficial were there a real war of elves and men and orcs, but if anything, I now have a greater ability to face the other Maiar out there who are incorporal. 

Then let’s go.

WAIT, Annatar said. Celebrimbor had started up the stairs, but suddenly the air thickened like he was pushing through soup.

Celebrimbor let his irritation fill up their bond.

You are not mostly fëa. Nor a Maia, Annatar pointed out.

“Obviously,” Celebrimbor spoke aloud, not trusting his unfiltered thought to make a convincing argument. “Nor are most of the inhabitants of Valmar.” Annatar’s displeasure stuck to his mind like soot. “I suppose you’ll have to protect me then.”

I understand, in a way, why you feel you must find your friends, Annatar at last acquiesced. But please, remember you are fragile.

Fragile? Only as a stout tree is more fragile than a pillar of stone. 

Annatar shared several images of horrible Maiar-induced deaths.

I will be careful. I am careful, Celebrimbor thought.

Annatar’s skepticism pressed against him, but just as Celebrimbor was about to continue the argument, Annatar relented.

Go. I know you’re not fragile, Annatar thought. Celebrimbor went up the stairs, and into the battle above. 

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Úmanyar - Q. Those not of Aman, the Sindar and the Nandor
ósanwë - Q. Communication of thought
fana - Q. Raiment, veil, physical form of a Maia
fëa - Q. Spirit

There's an alternate version of this chapter written by undercat :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/38750715

The Verdant Hills

haha, sorry guys, miscalculated on the chapters. I think 25 will stick! (If only because 25 is a more pleasing number of chapters than 26.)

Look look look! Morgothscockring (any resemblance in the art style to another Silm artist is completely coincidental, I'm sure) drew The Bath Scene from chapter 17. It's The Bath Scene, so rated M y'all.

Thank you to Visitor, who made sure the multiple types of telepathy being used were crystal clear, in addition to their many SPaG saves!

Read The Verdant Hills

 

Galadriel wound her way through the streets of Valmar on her way to Indis' palace. She found it hard to shake off the haunted feeling she had walking through these streets; they were unchanged since the days of her youth when she would stay at the family house in Valmar as she tried to learn more from the elders of the city and the Maiar who dwelt there. Many parts of the city were changed, but not drastically. Precious metals gilded the walkways, roofs, and doors. Gardens were still planted with a Laurelin side and a Telperion side, with shaded nooks on one and space for celebrations and dancing on the other. The silk awnings were new, though; they jutted from eves or tilted over flat roofs — Arien's overwhelming heat necessitating more environmental modifications than Laurelin ever had.

Having Celeborn accessible and being able to speak with him through their marriage bond was a comforting assurance in the midst of the nostalgic environment and the tension she felt from the unknown dangers the bells had heralded upon their arrival to Valmar. Their bond was open, but they did not speak constantly, only occasionally sharing an observation, a moment of beauty, and the scent and sounds of their surroundings. Since her arrival in Aman, she had found herself communicating via ósanwë frequently as her talented and curious family did not hesitate to share their thoughts with each other. That was not the same though as communicating with a bonded partner, and she had missed this connection. With Celeborn she could communicate more than just her thoughts, they could join each other across space and experience the same sensations either fully, which could be intense and disorienting, or more commonly through a filter that either of them could erect. 

Though their bond was open and they were sharing their thoughts frequently, Galadriel had not yet shared the full story of why she was in Valmar and all that had happened over the past few months. Some things were easier to explain with words; the ordering of thoughts that necessitated speech could smooth some of the more jarring revelations. 

She finally arrived at Indis’ home, in the south-western corner of the city. The wide courtyard with its precisely pruned trees, millennia-old, and cool ponds filled with colorful fish gave the home an aura of calm, even in the stately city of Valmar. A steward approached her.

“Lady Artanis,” she said with a bow. “Whom should I inform of your coming?”

“I would speak with Indis, if I may,” Galadriel replied. She was resolute in her decision to speak with Ingwë, but thought it prudent to see what Indis would advise in regards to revealing information about her lens and the work she had done with Sauron. 

“Lady Indis is out visiting friends, at the moment,” the steward said. “But Lady Findis is in, if you would like to speak with her?”

“I would gladly see my Aunt,” said Galadriel.

“One moment, I will see if my lady is available immediately to greet you. If not, I will have someone lead you to the sitting room and provide refreshment for you.”

A groom had still not come for her horse when Findis came from the house. 

“Artanis!” Findis kissed her on both cheeks and enthusiastically squeezed her, as if they had not last seen each other a handful of days ago. “I had not looked for you so soon!” 

“I had not thought to come,” said Galadriel. “But I have an errand that cannot be delayed.”

“Ah — I know you wish to speak with my mother, but is it something I can help you with as well?”

“It is no secret. Shall we—” A sound like thunder or falling rocks boomed from elsewhere in the city. The bells began to ring again.

“What under starlight?” Findis said, looking towards the street.

“Did you know what was happening earlier?” Galadriel asked. “I heard the bells when we entered the city.”

“Not on that occasion, no, but the city has been preparing for anything and everything since the news of poor Findekáno’s and Maitimo’s wedding arrived.”

The distant sound of screaming reached their ears. “Celebrimbor and Fingon,” Galadriel said to herself.

“Findekáno came with you? And Tyelperinquar?” Findis said. 

“Yes, for the same reason as I, and my heart tells me they may be in trouble.” The sound had come from the center of the city, away from the quiet corner where Indis’ home stood. Galadriel glanced at her horse and small pack she had. “Atanésa, do you have a weapon I could use?”

“Yes, of course, we have spears in the armory. Ceremonial and for sport. Even the ceremonial spears are not so different from their practical counterparts as to be ineffective. But Artanis, perhaps it would be wiser for us to stay in relative safety. We could just as easily be a hindrance.”

“I will not ask you to come with me, but I feel that I must go.” 

Findis twisted her hands, gazing out towards the street. She had never left Valinor, had not fought in the War of Wrath, and she looked as though the thought of actually battling herself was foreign to her. She let out a sharp breath.

“Follow me, I’ll show you the armory.”

~

 

Weapons acquired, and several servants dissuaded from following them, Galadriel and Findis walked resolutely out into the street. Smoke was billowing from the eastern end of the city, and occasionally shouts and screams would reach their ears. 

Galadriel glanced around. “Findis, would you by chance know where the Valar might have been keeping Sauron?”

“I’m sure I don’t have the faintest idea,” Findis said. “Wait.” She held up her hand. “He was a former Maia of Aulë, was he not?”

“He was.”

“I would check the Temple of Earth. It is devoted to the stones and the mountains — the foundations of our world, which are both aspects of Aulë. But Artanis, why are you looking for Sauron?”

Galadriel grimaced. “I’m not, but Tyelpë is incorrigible, and is not daunted by the inconveniences of death and divine judgment.”

“Oh yes, Nerdanel was saying something about a—” Findis waved her spear around, searching for the word she found least upsetting. “Friendship?”

“Something like that. Can you lead us to the temple?”

Findis nodded. “It’s in the city center, within the Holy Square.”

They set off striding through empty streets.

“It’s so eerie,” Findis said in a hushed voice, after they passed the fifth or so home with the doors flung open but the grounds completely deserted.

“Is there a place for people to flee?”

Findis shook her head. “Not designated as such. They might have run to the central pyramid which serves as the Halls of Manwë and Varda when they are in residence. I do hope everyone isn’t clustered there — that seem imprudent. Come on, just a couple more blocks.” 

Just as she spoke, a door slammed open and a hideous creature loped out of the house, dragging what Galadriel at first identified as a club but soon realized was a dismembered leg. It had no face, just an oval of corded flesh spasming around a gaping mouth. Its thick, fleshy body looked raw, and the limbs were ill-grown to fit its shape. Findis screamed. The mouth smiled. 

I love you, Galadriel thought to Celeborn and quickly shoved her connection with him to the periphery of her mind, so his alarmed confusion wouldn’t distract her. It had been a long time since she had fought something so much larger than herself, and she could tell that it also had the strength of spirit of one of the Maiar. She readied her stance.

“ Min, atta, neldë,” Findis counted out, and charged the Umaia.

“No!” yelled Galadriel. She flinched when the Umaia flashed out an arm at Findis, but her aunt neatly dodged. Findis let out a high pitched ‘Ai!’ and with a twirl stabbed the Umaia and sprang back. 

Galadriel drew herself up, and flung the full strength of her spirit at the Umaia, seeking to for a moment cut it off from the world. Her attack hit just as the Umaia lunged again. He staggered, the horrible face lolling backwards.

“By Manwë Súlimo!” Findis cried and plunged her spear down through the gaping mouth. The Umaia twitched, thick arms flailing against the street. Galadriel skewered the boiling mass of its fëa with all of her focus and wrenched it from the flailing shell. A flare of power hit her, and for a moment her flesh melted from her bones and her brain slid from her ears, but before she could even gather herself to scream, the spirit was dissipating, and the faint remainder was tugged away west. 

“Findis!” Galadriel found her breath coming hard and fast, although she had not been the one stabbing Umaiar with spears. 

Findis planted a foot in the now limp body and wrenched out her weapon. “Oh, my,” Findis said as a purplish ooze spattered on her dress. “This isn’t quite like sparring, is it?”

“No, it is not. But I think you will manage.” Galadriel glanced up the street. A knot of elves had appeared while they were battling and were fighting a single entity. As best she could tell, it looked like the vampires that had lurked in noisome caves in Beleriand with its flashing fangs, leathery wings, and pallid skin. The fight did not seem to be going well. The two women started towards the battle. As they approached a crossroads still several houses away from the fighting, the ground began to shake, and Galadriel saw something dark coming towards them. She yanked Findis back and down on the ground just as the air went wavy with intense heat.

“Is that a Valarauko?” Findis asked as the hulking mass of shadow and flame sped past them.

“Yes.” Galadriel renewed her grip on her spear and gathered her feet under herself, weighing her chances of victory against a Balrog. The Balrog staggered — A  figure sprinted past and leaped, thrusting his sword into its neck. The Balrog fell and lay twitching on the ground. This time Findis joined Galadriel in ensuring the Umaia left his body entirely. Galadriel hoped it was one of the Valar calling the weakened spirits to themselves, and not whatever had loosed the fallen Maiar in the first place. 

“Many thanks, my good ladies,” Fingon said, wiping the black blood off of his blade. 

“Findekáno!” Findis said. “How fortunate we are to have a man of your expertise among us.”

Fingon flashed her an easy smile. “I had forgotten how enjoyable defeating these foul beasts was.”

“Perhaps the manner of your death is why the pleasure escaped you,” Galadriel said, annoyed at Fingon’s cavalier attitude.

“Far from it, Ressë!” Fingon’s face lit up. “There is truly nothing better than getting vengeance on those who slew you. This has made me all the more convinced that Tyelpë— say, have you seen Tyelpë?”

“No, you and he were who I was looking for.” Galadriel looked around, her concern growing. 

“Where— Duck!” As he spoke, Fingon rolled out of the way as a withered form with green-feathered wings dove towards them. A breath of putrid air hit her as Galadriel barely missed being gutted by a curved claw. She lifted her spear, but a sudden icy regard seized her mind. Cracks began to run through her mental defenses as an overpowering will took advantage of the distraction the flying monster provided. A foul scent filled the air, but the evil spirit went unclad, and had no visible form.

She could not scream, she could not move, and she could not warn Findis as another green-feathered Umaia swooped down from behind. She couldn’t even close her eyes as Findis staggered and fell and the creature raked her claws over her. Then the world broke into a kaleidoscope of colors as the freezing pain loosed its hold over her in a disorienting battle of wills. Despite the whirling battle around her mind, she knew exactly who had saved her from the unclad Umaia.

“Sauron,” she said, as her foe sped west with a pitiful wail.

Galadriel. She could not see him, but Sauron’s impression on her mind was unmistakable. 

Celebrimbor finally appeared, his sword unsheathed and his clothing spattered with something unsavory. He struck the Umaia still struggling with Findis. Findis leaped up and thrust her spear into the creature. The air above the monster distorted for a moment as Sauron wrenched the Umaia from the dying body.

“Do you know where they’re going?” Galadriel asked Sauron.

A shimmer in the air settled around Celebrimbor’s shoulders, Sauron’s immaterial form still able to exert energy and sometimes warp the air enough to change the path of light.

Mandos, I think. They are being summoned west. But to the east—

“The east?” Findis asked. Strands of Celebrimbor’s hair fluttered as Sauron launched himself into the air. Sauron’s uncertainty drifted down as he failed to see anything of note.

Watch out!

Sauron’s warning gave them just enough time to ready their weapons before a grey-yellow fog boiled up around them. Grasping hands came at Galadriel. She dodged and struck with her spear. The scent of something rotten made her spin around and pin another creature just in time. Fingon appeared slashing wildly before he spun away hidden by the fog.

A wind rose up, whipping Galadriel’s hair around her head. The hot gust pushed away the rotten smell and sickly cloud, replacing it with a burning metallic scent.

“Thank you, Annatar,” Fingon said as he shook his head to clear the confusion from the fog.

“Where shall we go?” asked Findis. “Surely they have some aim? We cannot continue these small skirmishes; we must try to stem the tide.”

“Their aim is only destruction,” Fingon said, with sudden gravity. “That has always been their aim.”

Celebrimbor smiled, looking entirely too happy for someone in the midst of battling powers. He responded to something Sauron said only to him. “Why don’t you tell all of us what you think they are doing, if Fingon’s words are so foolish?”

For one, they are clearly organized; see how effectively the forces of the Valar have been split? The city was half emptied. Sauron conveyed an air of superiority with this observation, even as an unseen presence only able to communicate through ósanwë. 

“That’s true,” Findis said. “There has been report after report all over Aman of disturbances and evil creatures since the wedding.”

“If that is their aim,” said Fingon, “then we should sound the alarm, and summon the dispersed Maiar back to Valmar.”

What makes you think destroying Valmar is their true purpose? 

“Do you have a better idea?” Galadriel asked Sauron.

If I were attempting to conquer Valinor, I would seek to grow my forces. And I would not forget that which almost conquered Valinor in the past, Sauron said. 

“Speak plainly,” Findis demanded.

The Númenóreans. They sleep still in the hills surrounding Tirion, do they not?

Galadriel’s stomach lurched. “But they cannot wake — can they?”

How should I know? Sauron sent out spirals of awareness, searching for any enemies approaching. But I would try to grow my army.

“What can we do?” Findis asked. “My uncle, he should know the danger.”

“But what can he do? Can anyone here be spared?” Fingon asked.

“I’m not sure anyone at all has been sent outside of Tirion, though,” Findis said. “Surely He, whoever He is, must be stopped whatever the cost.”

“I cannot believe Tirion stands undefended,” Celebrimbor said. 

“It is defended, but—” Galadriel closed her eyes. “I cannot reach anyone there. Wait!” She opened her bond with her husband. 

Celeborn’s worry flooded her. Galadriel. What is happening?

I don’t know for sure. Where are you? The salt smell of the sea and the warm winds of the Bay of Eldamar surrounded her.

Approaching the Calacirya. Through Celeborn’s eyes, Galadriel saw rolling foothills and tall mountains rising from narrow beaches.

Beloved, do you see anything suspicious?

Celeborn surveyed the mountains. I have never been here before; how can I know what is amiss? Can you give me any more information?

Galadriel’s frustration at the situation rose. No, I still have no clear idea of who the enemy is. Although He might be using former Maiar of Morgoth. Do you see anything like that?

WHAT?! Celeborn’s worry and anger threw Galadriel back to Valmar. She saw that they were all standing in a circle, frowning to themselves as they tried to contact friends and family via ósanwë.

“Can someone keep watch?” Galadriel asked.

I am already, Sauron said.

Galadriel hesitated for a moment, and then concentrated, joining with Celeborn’s mind again. Pray that I will be able to tell you all that has happened in due time. 

Galadriel. Celeborn’s apprehension suffused her. She knew more than the surprise attack troubled him; he had already been worried about the journey to Valinor and his reception there. Yet even as she joined his worried thoughts to hers, Celeborn went from doubt to resolve; his trust felt like he was setting his hand in her own. Can you tell me anything at all about what I’m looking for?

It’s difficult to say, Galadriel thought. Sauron thinks— Again she found herself fully in Valmar as Celeborn likely howled his rage to Círdan and Elladan back on the ship.

This time Celeborn reached out to her. In this you must be mistaken. Sauron? And why should we take his counsel on anything?

It’s a very long story, Galadriel thought after trying and failing to succinctly distill all that had happened over the past few months. But I believe him, is that not enough for you? Much has happened, and Celebrimbor—

Celebrimbor?! Living? Why is he within one hundred leagues of Sauron?

Galadriel glanced over at Celebrimbor. The escaped tendrils of hair along the nape of his neck drifted despite the still air. She suspected that Sauron and Celebrimbor were essentially sharing the same three dimensional space. If you are able to help, you may live to admonish him later, Galadriel thought. She waited as Celeborn discussed what she had shared with Círdan and Elladan. 

Finally, she sensed his decision. Fine. What did Sauron think?

Sauron thinks whatever is attacking us will try to access the buried Númenóreans. 

And access to them would be underneath the hills, likely near the port we are sailing towards?

Correct. Galadriel kept her bond with Celeborn open but returned most of her focus to Valmar. 

“I was able to contact Ingwë,” Findis said. “Some Maiar are going to the Hills of the Forgotten. He is reluctant to send any significant force, though.”

“That will have to be enough,” Fingon said. “Hopefully if there is anything amiss, they can send for more.”

“Where should we go?” asked Celebrimbor. “Can we be of any use in the defense of the city?”

“I think we should continue moving towards the center,” Findis said. “It seems that is where the battle is raging still, and I would like to be with my mother, if I can.” As she spoke, part of the wall of the central pyramid crumbled, and a tongue of flame arced up below that. “Let’s go!” She was already running.

She didn’t get very far before three tall beings stepped out in front of them. Their sharp faces lit up in three identical smiles. The central one held up a hand. 

Something crashed into Galadriel, almost sending her to the ground. She stayed upright, but at the same moment Celeborn pulled at her attention. There is something growing in the hills. 

A presence? Galadriel lowered into a crouch and readied her spear. 

No, like a plant. But not like anything I’ve seen before. Look how rapidly it is spreading. 

A vision of spreading green flashed before her eyes before she had to turn back to the battle. She barely had time to parry a blow from one of the Umaiar, whose arm itself had become a blade. Celeborn realized she was fighting and retreated to the background. She fought as well as she could, but her skills were rusty, and she preferred the sword to the spear. She lurched back barely missing a cut and saw a lock of her hair float down.

Celeborn became more present in her thoughts. No, not like a plant. There are eyes… We have been spotted! Galadriel, I— Celeborn’s thought became strange, disintegrating into fragments Galadriel could not follow. She frantically reached for him through her bond, but his mind had turned slippery and he was always a step away.

“Look out!” Celebrimbor’s shout allowed her just enough time to stagger back from an oncoming blade. She rolled away. The Umaia lunged and she snapped her spear upright, impaling the being. It kept coming towards her. Galadriel leapt to her feet and tried to wrench her spear from his body. Her grip slipped on the shaft of the spear. She looked down and realized her hands were covered in blood. The Umaia had not fully missed earlier, and she was bleeding from a cut on her arm. She dropped the spear and dodged, just as the bladed arms came in range of her again.

An arrow struck the Umaia in the back and he stumbled forward, driving the spear into the ground and out its back. Galadriel searched for his feä and seized it, severing his connection to his body. 

She reached out to Celeborn for a moment, meaning only to touch his mind in reassurance. Her vision tunneled and the light seemed to grow brighter. The warm sea breeze tickled her nose and all was green.

Child. Give yourself to me. Verdant hills surrounded her. Eyes dripping poison rose up in a ring around Galadriel. There was a gentle pull on her heart, like the sea-longing she had lived with for ages. The pull grew stronger and her heart was leaving her body as the rest of her insides followed. If she did not stop it soon she would be inside out like an empty doll and He would enter the city.

Flames engulfed her. Abruptly she realized she was lying on the street in Valmar. The cut along her arm burned, but she was not on fire and all of her organs were firmly encased in her body. 

Close your bond! Sauron’s frantic command reached her and she felt a growing heat surrounding her. She intentionally shut the bond between herself and Celeborn, as it had not been shut for millennia. 

Findis, I think now would be the time for reinforcements to be sent to Tirion. Sauron sent his own impression of what he had seen: a mass of foliage boiling over the ground, changing the very matter it touched into something else, something utterly foreign to their minds. Silence flowed in its wake, the Music of the world ended. 

“Galadriel, your arm!” Fingon hurried over. He cut a strip of his under tunic off and started putting pressure on the highest point of the cut. “Can someone knit the skin together at least?”

Findis held up a hand, her eyes distant as she frantically tried to communicate to Ingwë.

I could.  

Galadriel frowned at Sauron’s wary offer. Could she let him get so close? They had become closer than she had ever thought possible or advisable, but to let him into her cells was another matter altogether. She glanced at Celebrimbor, but his attention rested on a circling Umaia hovering in the air several streets away.

“We should get out of the street,” Celebrimbor said.

“Fine, yes, do it,” Galadriel commanded. The air shimmered over her arm, a burning pain ran up and down her cut, and then the skin was knit together, a faint pink line the only evidence of damage beneath. 

As she stood, multicolored streaks of light flew from the central pyramid eastward. 

Sauron’s spirit still surrounded her, causing pins and needles to across her arms. Maybe I should—

“No, absolutely not. Stay with me,” Celebrimbor said. 

“It’s not like we couldn’t use the help,” Fingon said as he knocked an arrow, eyeing the airborne Umaia now flying towards them. 

Galadriel planted her foot on the corpse of the knife-armed Umaia and wrenched her spear out of its chest. She was dizzy, and a weariness of mind and body crept over her. Resisting the urge to check on Celeborn strained her most of all, though. Her fear for him overwhelmed any fear for herself. She saw something peering around the corner even as the winged Umaia swooped and then swerved away, Fingon’s arrow narrowly missing it. 

The bells began to ring again, an overwhelming cacophony that covered the sounds of battle. Galadriel held her spear in her left hand this time; her right was still weakened from the wound. 

The Umaia dove towards them. The world split. Part of her was lunging at her adversary, but at the same time she stood stock-still in utter silence. Her spear connected with the Umaia, but she also was watching her arm move, separated from her body, her self segmenting.

Suddenly she was whole again, helping Celebrimbor dispatch of the monster. She looked up. He also looked disoriented, and the moment the fight ended held up a hand, looking at it as if he thought it would start to fly away.

“What’s happening?’ Galadriel said. Or tried to say; as she spoke her voice grew louder, surpassing the clamor of the bells. At the same time, she was in a nightmare, screaming as loud as she could but knowing no one could hear. 

She saw a flare of light out of the corner of her eye. The Valar. If I could just be near— She tried to move towards the central pyramid where she sensed a confluence of power remained, desperately holding the world together. Each step took an enormous act of will, as if she were a giant covering miles with a stride. Searing heat and icy cold covered her in turn, light and darkness flashing past her eyes. The sky was breaking.

Her resolve cracked and she opened her bond with Celeborn again. 

Celeborn’s undirected thought reached her. You shall not escape! He was also in the midst of battle, but she could not tell how or who he fought. She didn’t think he knew either. 

Beloved. Galadriel felt her grip over her body release. She watched herself at some remove: the golden-haired woman took another shaky step and collapsed onto the ground. Her pale pink robes spread out around her as the pained expression on her face smoothed. Galadriel could still feel her heartbeat, but it seemed to have moved to some place between her and Celeborn. I thought you would not come, she thought.

I could never face an eternity without you. Celeborn was still fighting against something, and she thought she could sense others around him.

The stars were very beautiful. Silvery light fell on her. Some stars were in clusters that looked close enough to touch; others speckled the growing dark from a great distance. The arm of the cosmos swung into view. It was black and white, but at the same time light exploded in a multitude of colors, some she had never seen before. 

This. This was worth leaving Middle-earth to see. Galadriel’s mind strayed and rose heavenward.

---

Chapter End Notes

Atanésa - Q. Aunt (father-sister) (invented by yours truly)
Ósanwë - Q. Communication of thought; interchange of thought
Min, atta, neldë - Q. One, two, three
Umaia - Q. A Maia who became evil and followed Melkor.
Valarauko - Q. Demon of Might; Balrog (apparently I am incapable of writing more than 50k without a Balrog showing up.)
Ressë - Q. Female cousin (neo-Quenya)

I'll Follow You

Fionwë was an old name for Eönwë, but here I'm using it as the name of another Maia of Manwë. (There's only one more chapter left — surely I am finished having to make up names???)

Read I'll Follow You

 

The vast sky stretched above Celebrimbor, bigger than it had been in Beleriand on clear nights camping on the wide planes of Himlad. It reminded him of the spinning galaxies he had seen through Annatar’s mind, vistas almost unbearable in their scale and distance. His gaze was some distance from his body — a less distracting state than it should have been, but still a hindrance to fully comprehending the glittering dome above him. 

I should put myself back together, he thought, and reached for his arm. He realized his arm was attached, but his lower half was still several paces away. Why don’t I find this alarming?

Stay, just a moment more. Annatar’s voice was exactly where it should be, inhabiting their shared bond — a part of himself. Celebrimbor forgot his misplaced legs as warmth spread through him. In his most secret dreams he had wondered if this would happen at the end of the world; if after time had run its course, and the bits of existence were scattered, in the silence between the end of one Song and beginning of the next, they would find each other again. Once the barriers of matter were gone, there would be nothing to keep them apart, and their souls would draw together like a lodestone to iron, spinning together in the quiet dark after the end.

Celebrimbor wondered at Annatar’s request. I’d stay forever for you.

I know, Annatar returned. Mind to mind, Annatar could not hide a certain desperation and despair at the knowledge, but with an undercurrent of amusement that didn’t quite fit his overall emotional tenor. But you’re not spinning; your eyes are rapidly moving back and forth. Close your eyes, breathe, and then open them again.

It felt absurd to close his eyes against the brilliant beauty of the sky, but he chose to humor Annatar. The shuttered dark behind his eyelids at least granted a measure of peace. He felt like he was lying in Annatar’s arms this way, floating weightless. 

There was a rock digging into his back, a very strange disturbance for one suspended in the emptiness of space. The dark became less dark, pink light hitting his closed eyes, as if the sun were overhead.

The sun is overhead, Annatar pointed out. No, it’s gone again. Things are stabilizing, though. There. It’s back. 

This series of observations was so strange that Celebrimbor had to open his eyes again. He squinted against the light; he still couldn’t move his hands to shield off the glare. He closed his eyes and reached for his arm again. He found his hand and grabbed ahold of it. If I’m holding my hand, who’s holding my hand? He realized the most likely explanation to this nonsensical thought was that he was holding someone else’s hand, with all of his own limbs attached.

It’s Galadriel, Annatar supplied. Celebrimbor extended his awareness slightly beyond himself, and brushed against Galadriel’s familiar aura.

Celebrimbor? Galadriel also sounded uncertain. He squeezed her hand in affirmation. He experimentally tried to move the fingers on his other hand. To his surprise, they moved. He lifted his arm, still marveling at the basic mechanics of the body. He could have sworn that he had been split into countless pieces, each existing in a slightly different time and place. It hadn’t hurt, but he also knew it was not a sustainable situation, and soon he would have lost a hold of his body entirely. Every part seemed to be together now, nothing lagging behind nor speeding off into the future. 

His hand now ready to block the sun, he opened his eyes. The sky, clear and blue, arched overhead. Nothing seemed amiss. 

Turn your head to the left, Annatar instructed.

Darkness grew along the northern horizon. Lights flashed in the sky and it became very cold for a moment. Something huge loomed in the sky, a haloed disk of light like nothing Celebrimbor had seen before. It grew closer and closer, as if they were about to collide. Then it pulled back, the sun zoomed into position, and the temperature went back to normal. 

I hope they’ve gotten hold of our position, Annatar grumbled.

What is going on? 

I don’t really know, but best as I can tell, someone tried to move Aman. 

Celebrimbor grappled with the concept for a bit. Move it? Where? And why?

I have no idea.

Celebrimbor released Galadriel’s hand, circled his ankles, and slowly sat up. Smoke was still rising from parts of the city and pockets of cacophonous sound still rose in places. He watched a black shadow shoot up into the air, followed by a golden beam. A skittering thing rounded the corner and came barreling towards him, too many legs with too many joints waving as it ran. Celebrimbor was sitting up, but he didn’t think he yet had the dexterity to dodge out of the way. Annatar sent out a pulse and the skittering thing moved to the opposite side of the street. It didn’t stop coming towards him, but neither did it seem to take any notice of him as it scrambled past him.

The Umaiar are routed, Annatar said. Although if Aman is shifting like I think it is, it will be a very long time before all are found — if they ever are.

A realization hit Celebrimbor. If you want to run, you should do it now.

No. Annatar responded with no hesitation.

What if I went with you? It was ridiculous to offer to run off when even standing seemed like a doubtful prospect, but Celebrimbor could likewise not imagine sending Annatar off to hide in perpetuity and for himself to return to the quiet life he had been living up till now. 

He could feel Annatar’s amusement at the idea of Celebrimbor sprinting out of the city with him at the present moment. 

No, Annatar repeated.

Then where are we going?

We?

Celebrimbor experimentally leaned his weight on his arm — it didn’t collapse. I’ve decided I’m not going to leave you again — not for a while at least, and after that, nothing permanent. 

I’m not sure you’ll have a say in that. Annatar’s thought was light, yet sad. 

What will they do? Lock me up? 

They could.

Celebrimbor scoffed. After letting out my grandfather? Nerdanel wouldn’t let them live with the hypocrisy.

Brim—

“Celebrimbor!” Findis’ voice cut into Annatar’s worry. “You seem to be doing well.” Celebrimbor turned his head and saw Findis resolutely crawling towards him. “But Galadriel—”

“I’ll be up in a moment.” Galadriel’s voice was faint.

I suppose I should go back to the temple—

“Oh, thank the Valar, you’re still here, Annatar.” Findis raised herself so that she was sitting on her heels. “Is there anything you can do for the people trapped in the house back there?”

Celebrimbor could feel Annatar’s surprise. I suppose I could see if there’s a way they could get out from the inside. But one is badly injured—

“I know, that’s why you should try to help them while I work on standing up,” Findis said patiently. 

Annatar hesitated a moment longer. I’ll see what I can do, he finally said and left to investigate.

“Celebrimbor, do you have any skill in healing?” Findis asked.

“Not particularly, although I can mend a simple cut or break.”

“Me neither,” Findis said. “But I think we’ll need to try.” Findis reached for her spear. She set the butt on the ground and braced herself to rise. 

“I can help.” Galadriel’s voice sounded stronger, but she was still lying flat on her back.

“Celebrimbor and I can likely make sure the poor injured Elf is mended enough. Once you’re able to sit up, try to find a place that we can bring them,” Findis instructed. "I sent Fingon on a similar quest."

Celebrimbor swung his knees underneath himself and prepared to rise. It took a few tries, but soon he was standing, only swaying a little bit.

“Let’s go!” Findis said and started to totter off towards the collapsed house, Celebrimbor following.

~

 

They had rescued almost fifty different people from collapsed buildings and small fires when they saw several large eagles approaching the city from the east. Most of them headed toward the central pyramid, but one began to spiral down towards Findis. 

The giant eagle landed in a cloud of dust. Findis bowed deeply to the Maia. A silvery figure slid off his back and bowed in turn to Findis. 

Celebrimbor finished closing up the wounds on the elf he was mending the best he could. So much healing after barely using the skill at all was rapidly becoming wearying. He gave the elf some water and pointed him in the direction of the makeshift infirmary that had been erected a few blocks away. 

Is that Olórin? He asked Annatar. Something about the way he walked reminded him of Olórin’s gait, though his gray hair now seemed to hold starlight and his eyes shone in his unlined face.

Annatar snuffed out the remaining fire in the nearby building, only allowing oxygen back into the space after the walls had cooled. Yes, Olórin and Fionwë. Celebrimbor approached Olórin. 

“Ah, Celebrimbor, good to see you more or less in one piece,” Olórin said. He looked slightly up, as if he were staring at Celebrimbor’s forehead. “And you seem to be missing rather a lot of pieces, Mairon. Or maybe just one large piece.”

At least without a fana, no one can force me to wear a hideous hat. I say force because I must assume that no one would choose to wear such an atrocity, Annatar shot back.

Findis cleared her throat to cut off any further discussion of missing bodies and terrible headwear. “Ah, Holy Ones, it gladdens me to see your return as well. I have many questions — would you be able to tell us what happened?”

“Yes, that is why I came, or rather—” Olórin looked around “—I specifically came here to bring news to Galadriel of Celeborn. Where is she?”

At that moment, a gray-faced Galadriel came from one of the buildings, helping an injured Vanya limp along. Olórin rushed over to them and indicated for the Vanya to lean against him instead. Galadriel stood swaying.

“Perhaps I can tell you all that I know while you all rest a bit, before going back to the work of healing and repair,” Olórin suggested, looking at Galadriel with concern.

“Rest. I could use some rest,” Galadriel said, looking around in a daze. Fingon hurried over and slung her arm over his shoulders.

“Yes, let’s go back to my house,” Findis said. “My steward says it’s still standing, which is more than many can say.” 

~

Draped over Findis’ furniture in her sitting room, sipping an energizing cordial that tasted of wildflowers and lemon, they listened to Olórin’s account of what had happened in the Hills of the Forgotten.

“How much could you perceive of our attacker?” Olórin asked.

“Nothing,” Celebrimbor said.

I could feel something, something great, Annatar said. But it was utterly unlike any being of power I had felt before. I could not ascertain its aim, nor clearly see what kind of creature it was.

“I saw green,” Galadriel said. “All the hills were green, and soon all of Aman would be covered. And after that — all of Eä.”

Olórin frowned at her. “Yes, green — that is what we found as well when we finally reached the hills surrounding Tirion, but how did you know?”

“I was connected to Celeborn, and I saw through his eyes. And then—” Galadriel’s eyes went distant again.

“And then?” Olórin prompted.

“He reached through Celeborn, and I knew that soon I would be part of Him as well.” 

She did not mean Celeborn. The hair on the back of Celebrimbor’s neck stood up, despite the heat of the day.

“That seemed to be its aim, to devour the world, turn all into itself,” Olórin said. “They are saying that the edges of Aman were eroded, evidence of years of something consuming its substance.”

“How did you stop it?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Yes,” Galadriel said, snapping back to the present. “It seemed powerful enough to reach through minds and its substance — I could not decipher it. It grew like vines, yet it was watching me, and not like the awakened trees watch. It could grasp, and move, and eat.”

“Well, I had been sent southeast to the coast, where there were some truly disturbing reports.” Olórin frowned. “Really, the stuff of nightmares, and I do wonder… nevermind, my point is, we discovered several of Morgoth’s former minions who seemed to have set up a base of some sort among the Enchanted Isles and were busy wreaking havoc among the Teleri. 

“Then my lord Manwë summoned me, and told us that there was an attack near Tirion. So, we flew with all haste, and indeed, it seemed that something terrible had happened to Tirion. A good portion of the western part of the city had collapsed, just smoking ruins.”

Findis gasped at that and groped around as if to anchor herself. Olórin reached over and patted her arm. “Now, I don’t know all the details, I never did end up going to Tirion itself, but as I understand it, the destruction was purposeful, and everyone was evacuated.”

“What?” said Celebrimbor, draining his drink. “What could Arafinwë have been thinking?”

“King Arafinwë,” said Galadriel. “And really, I think it sounds like Uncle Nolofinwë.”

“Thank you for the reassurance,” Fingon told Gandalf. “I would have known if my father died, but it’s still good to hear the destruction of the city might not have resulted in much harm to its residents. Please, Olórin, continue.”

“Well, there were attackers in Tirion as well, and of course we were quite concerned about all the damage and the smoke and the fires, but then I was contacted by someone entirely unexpected.” Olórin paused, eyebrows raised.

Círdan, obviously, Annatar said.

Olórin glared in Celebrimbor’s general direction. “Yes, Círdan. I thought that was a very good reveal.”

“And what did Círdan say?” Findis urged.

“He told me I was sorely needed in the Hills to the northeast of Tirion. So I and Fionwë went to find Círdan. My old friend was becoming — incoherent, fragmented. It was very disturbing. I did not see anything at first, just the green hills. Then I saw a ship anchored by a shallow beach, but it seemed abandoned. There was a small group on the shore. I thought they might be praying. I identified Círdan and we thought to land nearby. Then, near their feet I saw tendrils, threads reaching back, into the tall grass blanketing the hills. And then I felt it. It was hard to identify at first because the power was not like any I had felt before, as you said, Mairon.

“I immediately called for help, and some of my brothers and sisters heard and came to aid me as quickly as they could. I was beginning to hear a voice, urging me to submit, promising rest, promising freedom to wander as I would. But below that was a hunger, deeper than any I had ever felt, and I did not trust it. Yet how to oppose something that is fundamentally unlike you? If I could not understand His aims, what recourse had I?”

“Yes, well, what did you do? It must have been something.” Fingon somehow seemed fully recovered from their earlier efforts and was tapping a ring rapidly against a side table. Celebrimbor tried to muster the energy to stop Fingon’s hand, but decided it wasn’t worth it. The tapping suddenly stopped; Fingon stared in astonishment at the two halves of his gold ring.

Much better. Olórin, what did you do? Annatar asked.

“I set it on fire.”

That got Celebrimbor’s attention enough for him to sit up. “Did it work?”

“It was enough that whatever spell was over Círdan and the others was broken. They lit fires of their own and began to drive Him back. Soon enough, the other Maiar reached me, and together we were able to exert enough pressure that slowly, He began to recede. Ah, but he was slippery and bloated, and almost a match for us. How long have Morgoth’s minions been feeding him in whatever secret lair they devised? But as I felt my strength failing, white fire poured from the sky. Ilmarë had come, and with her, Varda’s holy power. We shrunk Him, so that He was contained on a single piece of land and then that land pried from the earth and carried away.” 

Carried where? And how do you know He was fully contained? That you dug deep enough, or that a segment did not remain outside your fire? Annatar demanded. 

“Where? Back to the Door of Night, of course, for that was how He entered. And there are some still patrolling the hills, watching for a sign of any remnant.”

How do you know you put Him back in the right spot?

Olórin patted his pockets searching for a pipe. “It is in the hands of the Valar, who alone can open the Door of Night.” He sighed as he gave up the search for pipeweed.

Then how did He get through in the first place?

“It seems Morgoth’s former followers had been set as a watch on the door. It is a bleak and lonely place in the Uttermost West, and all of the Umaiar’s power, bound in cages set by Aulë, their vision given to Manwë, seemed a certain way to make sure none could pass.”

But someone let us out. Annatar’s dissatisfaction made them all shift in their seats. And maybe the first freed prisoner loosed the rest of us, but someone needed to be first.

“Yes, one would think! Unless one of your cages was faulty? But no, I cannot imagine Aulë making such an error.”

“Then we are still not safe!” Findis exclaimed. “Whoever plotted this whole thing could still be out there.”

Galadriel finally spoke. “After the Darkening, and the Númenóreans, and now this, do you really believe that absolute safety was ever possible?”

“Aren’t most of the Umaiar still free? Do we know why they were working with—” Fingon sought for a word. “Whatever that creature was.”

The Valar were calling Him the Life-eater, Annatar shared.

“An apt enough description from what I saw,” Olórin said. “We will find out more in the coming weeks, but the Life-eater promised freedom from an eternity of servitude. A powerful promise to those who had no hope of ever resting, of ever having their minds freed from their duty of observation.”

Annatar recoiled, recalling the state of constant alertness, the inability to do anything, even think what he would. You won’t go back, Celebrimbor assured; he did not let the thought travel beyond the two of them.

Olórin glanced towards him, as if he had heard Sauron and Celebrimbor’s private conversation. “No one is being imprisoned again within the devices of Aulë, of that I am certain. Not only is the system faulty, but I think there is some disagreement whether it was right to imprison you all like that in the first place.”

“It is no less than what Morgoth did to Húrin,” Fingon said.

Most of us had nothing to do with that. Annatar projected his thoughts so all could hear. I certainly didn’t.

“Really, nothing?” An edge crept into Fingon’s voice. “It was not merely that you were not capable of such a chaining?”

Annatar’s exasperation filled their bond. I’m not saying anything, Celebrimbor told Annatar alone. Get out of this yourself.

There is a difference between a handful of years and millennia, Annatar countered Fingon.

“To a mortal, it is the same.”

Then perhaps it is just but— Annatar aborted his communication and only Celebrimbor saw the dark and blood-stained beaches of Alqualondë. 

Fingon shivered; perhaps his thought went towards the full consequences of justice carried out to its fullest extent as well. “Well, if the imprisonment was ineffective, this argument is pointless anyway.”

Did you refuse this being? Celebrimbor asked Annatar. Is that how you ended up at Ondomar?

Not that I recall.

Galadriel frowned. “But you, Sauron, were not among the ranks of this Life-eater. How can that be if you did not refuse?”

I think that is a credit to my weakness, rather than any strength of character. 

“Yes, Lumbë told me as much, for he was privy to some of His reasoning. Eventually all of the Umaiar were freed. Some were deemed too weak to be of aid. He was surprised though, that you had escaped, because the weak were typically devoured by Him.”

“And they are gone? The ones that were consumed? The Life-eater was able to end the existence of a Maia?” Findis asked.

“I don’t know.” Olórin sounded troubled.

“Well, this will be exciting. Living in a land with enemies again.” To his credit, Fingon sounded apprehensive.

“Yes, I imagine we won’t be able to lay down our swords and spears for a little while,” Olórin said.

“And there is much that will need to be set right,” Celebrimbor said. He swung his legs off of the couch he had been lounging on and planted his feet on the ground. “I’m feeling a bit better — my thanks, Findis. I may see if there is anything I can help with outside.”

You may be feeling recovered, but I am still exhausted. Physical recovery is simpler in a way. Annatar shared just between the two of them the strange feeling of spiritual exhaustion. It was not quite pain without nerves and receptors, but it was far from pleasant. I’m still at a pitiable strength.

I’m still tired too, but I wanted to talk to you in private, as much as I can, Celebrimbor replied. Also, considering everything you did today and everything you have previously done to yourself, the fact that you can summon the energy to speak is a marvel. 

Annatar picked up the direction of his thought. I’m not whining. His insulted outrage was familiar and welcome, for all that it was also ridiculous. Celebrimbor smiled to himself.

“I’m going to ready all the space I can spare,” said Findis. “With so many homes destroyed, I’d like to put up as many as I can.”

Galadriel still looked drained. “Perhaps I—”

“No, rest a bit more,” Celebrimbor said. “You’ll ultimately be able to do more.” He stood. “I’ll probably be back in a bit.”

“You can stay here tonight.” Findis looked at the air above Celebrimbor. “You both can stay I suppose.”

Thank you, Annatar addressed Findis.

“What—” Fingon shook his head. “Never mind. I’m sure we’ll talk about it later.”

Celebrimbor walked out, through the courtyard, and into the street. Let’s go away from the Holy Square this time. The attack seemed to be centered there, but there was a lot going on all over the city. Let me know if you sense anyone in danger. 

He began walking down the deserted street, wisps of smoke still pluming from various locations. Suddenly, the sun darted across the sky and darkness fell. A feeling of vertigo overcame Celebrimbor and he fell to his knees, struggling to keep down the cordial in his stomach. Then the spinning stopped and the sun returned to something like her typical location in the sky.

What— Celebrimbor tried to formulate a question, but was too disoriented.

We are not where we were. Aman has shifted. I don’t— Annatar spread out, trying to sense any clue as to what had happened. The presence of the Life-eater is gone, but a great deal of power is still being expended. The Valar are struggling to keep Aman habitable.

So we might all go up in flames or turn to ice still?

It’s a possibility. If I thought it was likely I would—

You would demand the Valar let you help with any stabilization process going on? Celebrimbor asked. When you were just complaining about how weak you are?

Celebrimbor—

We should plan on the world not still going up in flames. We should plan on Aman going back to being completely habitable, and the Valar being preoccupied with the effort for some time.

Preoccupied? Annatar shared a sly hope.

It seems like you’re probably last on their list of worries.

You would rate me so low? I would— Annatar’s attention caught on something. There are people in the cellar of that house.

For a time, Celebrimbor focused solely on moving rocks and using a pole to shift fallen slabs of wall enough to free the elves trapped in the cellar. After he sent them towards the shelter a few blocks away, he went back to his slow walk.

Annatar picked up where they left off. I don’t think I’ll be forgotten entirely.

Probably not. But you just saved the lives of many, and if you’ve been living quietly somewhere, with me, maybe they’ll see how you helped rebuild.

I think there are many people who would not be satisfied with the idea of Sauron living a nice quiet life in paradise. Maybe I should—

“Maybe you should just give up? Leave me?” Celebrimbor demanded aloud. He did not trust his thoughts alone to present a coherent argument. It was also more satisfying to hear the anger in his voice, although it came with the consequences of appearing to rage at himself in the streets.

No, I—

“I’m not going to let them throw you in the Void.”

Manwë said that was not to be my fate.

“I’m not going to let them lock you in Mandos forever. Maybe— No, I don’t feel like being reasonable. I had resigned myself to living with bittersweet memories of the past, accepting that for me at least, there wasn’t going to be sudden turn to joy, some of us had to sacrifice everything— ”

Two Vanyar wielding spears rounded the corner. “Sir, are you well?” one asked, interrupting Celebrimbor.

“I’m well,” he replied. “Are you well?” 

“Yes, but you appear to be speaking—”

“Today has been very confusing for everyone.” Celebrimbor smiled. It did not appear to put the Vanyar at ease, but his lack of injury seemed to be enough for them. With some uncomfortable nods, they went on their way.

I also have no desire to be imprisoned, Annatar continued. I only thought what might grant me the most leniency.

Maybe I can forge you into some jewelry. That could keep you all to myself.

A bit on the nose, don’t you think?

The thought of taking the matter of Annatar’s physical residence into Celebrimbor’s own hands was satisfying. I wouldn’t create a ring for you. Maybe a bracelet—

You’re not stuffing me into that hideous thing I made you.

I think it would be romantic.

Brim, be serious. Annatar didn’t find the idea of being stuck in another inanimate object nearly as amusing as Celebrimbor did. 

I am serious. Well, not about the jewelry, but about just, starting over. Ignoring divine justice. It ignored us for long enough.

And you could be happy like this? With me without a body? 

You would not be? Celebrimbor hurried towards a still smoking building. Help me put this out.

They worked to suffocate the fire, Celebrimbor pulling away anything flammable, and Annatar driving oxygen away from the blaze. Once extinguished, a heaviness weighed on Celebrimbor’s mind that was even greater than the increasing physical exhaustion.

Sorry, but—

Celebrimbor realized the strange weariness was from Annatar, clinging to their bond for strength as he came to the end of what he could do alone. No. Rest. Let’s head back to Findis’. 

I don’t think it’s fair to you. Annatar raised the thread of their previous conversation. Aren’t there physical acts—

I know what I want. Really, Celebrimbor didn’t think he would mind being bonded to a bodiless being. There might even be upsides. But— Can you not regenerate a fana? Was that prohibited to you entirely at some point?

No, but it takes time and a great deal of energy. While we don’t actually know what the future holds I’m reluctant to spend time away from you. Yet I would rather be with you and bodiless, or with you and in that previous hideous form, although I think you would have some complaints—

It really wasn’t so bad. It was interesting.

Annatar’s weariness and love suffused Celebrimbor. I’ve learned you can’t be reasoned with sometimes. So where are we going? Not tonight, or were you thinking of staying with Findis for a time?

Tirion, I think. It sounds like the city was partly destroyed. I’d like to help rebuild it again — maybe make it a place I’d like to visit a bit more often. And it’s likely many of my friends will have the same thought. 

Tirion. Well I am curious. After what Olórin said, I should like to see what remains. But you want to live in Tirion long-term?

No. Celebrimbor shuddered. Far too much politics, maybe Tol Eressëa. Or maybe we should try to find our own place — I never did explore Aman like I wanted to, and I’m curious to see this erosion Olórin mentioned, if it still exists after everything calms down a bit. And for some reason, I think many people might object to you as a neighbor.

You’ll find I’m equally particular about who I live with.

Oh, I’m well aware. 

They were back at Findis’ gates, looking into the busy courtyard. Celebrimbor wasn’t quite ready to rejoin his friends. You know, that’s the thing about choosing to be together. You’re not just choosing me. For all that I complain, and I really do want to explore Aman with you, I’m glad to have my family back. It’s nice not to be the last one left, mostly notable for my survival.

That was never the sole reason for your fame. Annatar’s thought was both proud and reproving.

No, you’re right. Celebrimbor had no issue taking credit for his work in Middle-earth, but it had been simpler there in a way Annatar didn’t appreciate. But it’s hard to be extraordinary here among so much greatness, although the ancient ones have largely ceased to do anything new. I’m glad to be one among many, because that means if I should try to create something—

If? Annatar’s interjection was knowing.

When. Celebrimbor was already running down a list of gripes with Tirion that he hadn’t even remembered noting. Separate, but linked in his mind, was the problem that the only really sophisticated way to travel in Aman was by boat — the Teleri had created marvels that even Celebrimbor enjoyed traveling in even though he had no particular love of the sea. But Valinor did not have a system of easily navigable rivers, and the boats were mostly used on along the coast. 

All that and more you could do. Annatar was already ruminating on Celebrimbor’s ideas, a shared vision growing between them. We could do, together. But you speak as if the problem is that I dislike everyone but you, when the problem is that they despise me.

For good reason, Celebrimbor pointed out.

For good reason.

Anyway, I can handle that.

Really? How? Annatar asked.

By ignoring them. Celebrimbor shivered as Annatar laughed. But really, we can figure out things as they come, I just want you to know that it’s different now. For many reasons. We are starting something new, not going back to how we were.

I promised my hands and my heart —

No, that bond is void, Celebrimbor cut in.

— And I’ll swear anew.

Celebrimbor walked through the doorway, slowly weaving through the courtyard towards the house. It’s time for new promises, made in full knowledge of who we are, and in full acknowledgment of the past. 

Agreed, Annatar thought, wrapping his presence around Celebrimbor and following him into the house.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Visitor for beta-ing! Couldn't have done it without ya.

Fana - The phyiscal form taken by the Ainur

Only one more chapter left! I'm calling it the epilogue, although it's looking to be about as long as a typical chapter. Thanks to everyone who's commented! It's always fun to see your reactions and theories.

Epilogue

The end, perhaps.

Read Epilogue

“Are they still arguing about the walls?” Coroniel didn’t look up from her theodolite as she surveyed what would become the reconstructed northern road to Tirion.

“Of course. I think they’ll be arguing about the walls until the next calamity comes that staves in the eastern walls.” Celebrimbor paged through Coroniel’s plans so far. He was pleased that the secondary path still carved through the hill to the center of the city.

“Finrod versus Fingolfin: who would win? I think I’ve played this game before.”

“I think Finrod will win, eventually. In an age or so. He cares more, and he’s right: if Fingolfin’s first defensive tactic is to collapse the walls what’s the point in having them?”

“Why, to collapse them again, naturally.” Coroniel finished her measurements and looked critically at what she had so far. “Is Finrod also on board with your set path transport?”

“I haven’t spoken to him about it.” Celebrimbor shrugged. “All you need to do is make sure there’s smooth paths from the center of the hill — the city foundation will be the hardest part. After that, it’s a simple matter of designing the actual transport and track.”

Coroniel raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.” She began to pack up her equipment. “Are you still planning on going to Haru’s house tomorrow for dinner and games?” Coroniel was staying with her grandparents while she helped with city repairs. Their towering home, built up instead of out like most of the ancient houses in the city, had survived the attack.

“Perhaps.”

“Why are you so cagey?” Coroniel handed off her plans to another engineer in her crew. “I’ll see you next week! Enjoy the show tonight,” she called after him. She finished up small talk and exchanges with the other crew members before picking up her satchel and turning on Celebrimbor. “He’s awake isn’t he?”

“No, and he’s not sleeping, as I’ve mentioned multiple times.”

“He’s laying down in the bedroom — I’m not sure what you consider sleeping, but—“

“I don’t think you can be described as ‘laying down’ when you’re incorporeal,” Celebrimbor interrupted.

“But is he still incorporeal?”

“I’m not certain, but I think he’s waking up.”

“Did you hear what you just said?” Coroniel rolled her eyes, but couldn’t entirely keep a smile away. “Congratulations I suppose? What are you supposed to say to someone whose partner is on the cusp of regenerating a new body?”

“It might be nothing.”

“True. Then you can come to dinner tomorrow to take your mind off of it.” Coroniel and Celebrimbor began making their way towards the eastern side of the city, where both Finrod and her grandparents’ houses were. 

“Is he going to look the same as before?” Coroniel asked.

Celebrimbor laughed. “I really don’t know. He asked for a really astounding range of preferences. I’m not sure why he thought horns were something I might like—“

Coroniel burst out laughing. “I can’t imagine why. Did you really turn down horns?”

“I—“ Celebrimbor felt his face getting hot. “I’m open minded.”

“You have the worst taste in men, you mean.” They arrived at an overlook, where the land dropped down and they could see the shining roofs of the eastern side of the city, and beyond that, the sea. The sky was what arrested their gazes, though. The slim hoop was now about 30 degrees above the horizon and the banded sphere had begun to peak above the ocean. 

“Do they know what it is yet?” Coroniel asked.

“No, but they’ve determined it wasn’t visible in the sky before — neither the facsimile that Varda made nor the original body that could have been visible after the world was rounded.”

“And it’s certainly not Lumbar?”

Celebrimbor shook his head. “No, it’s too close to the sun.”

“Which is definitely not Arien now.”

“Definitely.”

Coroniel looked back west, where typically Eärendil would have been rising, although Mindon Eldaliéva obscured the horizon. “I’m still thinking about going to Valmar.”

“And miss the rebuilding? No, Eärendil has Idril, Elwing, and Elrond all there ready to pounce as soon as the Valar will hear them.”

“It’s just not fair. It was never fair.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “I know. I agree.”

Coroniel shook her head, trying to dislodge thoughts of a friend she had known since childhood perpetually exiled to the sky. “Maybe the Valar’s various petitioners will give you more time once Annatar wakes up.” 

“Maybe. Even after he starts work there was some sort of schedule with breaks proposed.”

“That sounds utterly unlike the Ainur.”

“That’s how Annatar explained,” Celebrimbor said with a shrug. “The ‘schedule’ looked like a crystal to me, and only showed indicators of some sort of pattern beyond the cellular level when Annatar focused on it, so I haven’t been able to examine it.”

“If you’re serious about this, you know mysterious Ainur handing you rocks instead of a calendar is going to be the least strange part of your life.”

Celebrimbor smiled. “Oh, I’m aware. In fact, I’m counting on it.” 

Coroniel shook her head. “I suppose I should hope that I don’t see you tomorrow because I can’t imagine you’ll surface for several days after he wakes.”

“We have been lacking in time alone since he showed up several months ago,” Celebrimbor pointed out.

Coroniel said goodbye, and they headed off towards their respective temporary homes. Celebrimbor kept himself from running through the streets, but barely. He could definitely feel something in the slumbering bond that had been quiet for the past few weeks. He resisted trying to get Annatar’s attention — he didn’t exactly know how re-embodiment worked, although it was one of the many topics he wanted to discuss once Annatar arose, but he didn’t want to distract him at this point and risk Annatar accidentally getting his hands backwards or something along those lines. 

He darted through the main entrance to Finrod’s city house, hoping no one would stop him. He was almost to the back door when someone called his name. 

Celebrimbor half-turned, hoping that would indicate his haste. “Merillë, is there something I can help you with?”

“Is Annatar awake?” Merillë asked eagerly.

“As I have not yet been able to return to the guest-house, I have no idea.”

“Well if he is, will you tell him that I had an idea regarding soul-threads.”

“Right.” Celebrimbor nodded with mock-solemnity. “I’ll see if my husband, who’s been unconscious for several weeks, and who before that time has been imprisoned or incorporeal for even longer, has surfaced, and if so I’ll send him straight to you.”

“I didn’t say send him straight to me!” Merillë protested.

“I’ll tell you what, if I disappear, in three days time you’re allowed to come by, but only if you bring food and wine.”

“Three days? I can’t imagine you’ll need three whole days.”

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows.

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave you alone!” Merillë said. “For three days,” she called after him as Celebrimbor finally escaped the house.

Free at last, he slipped out the door and headed towards the guest-house where he and Annatar were staying. Merillë meant well, he was sure, but not only did he want Annatar all to himself for a few days, her theories of soul purification would only serve to remind them both that Annatar and he were not free to vanish into the wilderness and ignore the world for the next few centuries. Annatar was being treated with more leniency and mercy than he deserved, as many people were quick to point out to Celebrimbor, but several millennia evil deeds still rested on his shoulders. Many of them he could not ameliorate, but some were still within his power to fix, or at least attempt to. They had only been given the barest information so far, but apparently Annatar could somehow access some of the twisted orc fëar in Mandos, or more correctly, a region adjacent to Mandos. There, he would attempt to undo some of the damage he and Morgoth visited on them in ages past. 

But what their lives would look like once that duty began was a question for the future. For now, Celebrimbor was happy to only anticipate the next day or, at this moment, the next minute. Never had Finrod’s gardens seemed larger. The whimsically winding walkways always annoyed him, but today they were especially irksome. He discarded dignity and decided to hop along the stones in the pond to close the final distance to the guest-house. 

Inside, the main room looked undisturbed. His mattress still laid unrolled on the ground, and a half empty cup of coffee sat on the low table with notebooks and letters spread out around it. He hurried to at least pick up the pile of clothes on the ground — he told himself he only tidied to avoid an argument as soon as Annatar woke up, but the idea that maybe living with Annatar would make him into someone who didn’t throw his clothes on the ground lurked in the back of his mind. 

He put the dishes in a basin to be cleaned and thought about further straightening the room but refrained. Annatar would likely move everything when he woke up anyway. 

Celebrimbor went into the washroom and cleaned off the dust and sweat of the worksite. He undid his hair and made sure the waves were more artful than the even crimps from his braid. He pulled on soft pants and a light slate tunic: casual and comfortable clothing for an evening at home with the added bonus of having made a gardener drop his shears when he smiled at him the other day.

He stared at the closed bedroom door. The room stayed silent. He still thought their bond hummed with a new faint energy but had no concrete evidence. He reminded himself about backwards hands and sat down at the low table, turning through various research projects until he found something that would distract him from his disappointment.

The new planets and strange stars were interesting, but everyone was absorbed in that discovery — he would sort through the piles of research later and find the cracks in all the theories then. He turned instead to his plans for improved transit. 

He decided on spheres as an appropriate carriage, and was in the midst of trying to decide on the material, when he felt a breath of air on his neck.

“The strengthened glass will look very pretty, but what if the occupants want privacy? And won’t they get too hot in this climate?”

“There are substances that will lower the emissivity of the glass. And shields. And we don’t really even know how the climate will end up.”

Annatar rested his chin on Celebrimbor’s shoulder. He smelled the same, a mix of heated metal and organic musk. A lock of hair fell over Celebrimbor’s shoulder. The fine silk glimmered as Celebrimbor twisted it around his finger. He cupped a hand over the hair and peered into the makeshift cave.

“It looks brighter, but it’s just some additional reflective properties, it still doesn’t actually glow. While I think you’d find luminescent hair appealing, I think the annoyance it would cause when trying to investigate something that requires darkness makes it untenable.” Annatar reached over Celebrimbor’s shoulder to pull forward a rough diagram of the new planetary arrangement. “Are there still so many unknowns?”

Celebrimbor captured his hand, running his thumb along the knuckles before turning it so their fingers intertwined. “Your hands look normal. Maybe a little larger?” Celebrimbor twisted to look at Annatar, who thwarted the discovery by fitting his torso against Celebrimbor’s body. 

Annatar slid a hand across his stomach pressing their bodies tightly together. “Everything is to your specifications.”

“I don’t remember specifying all that much. I may have even said something as ill-advised as ‘I’ll love you in any body you’re in.’”

“You did. Very foolish. What if I don’t have a face? Only a leering skull?”

Celebrimbor leaned his head back until he rested against a very non-skeletal nose. “I’m sure we’d manage.” He relaxed further back. “You sound the same.”

Annatar’s lips pressed against his neck. “Surprising, considering the modifications.”

“I want to see.” Celebrimbor struggled against the iron grip again.

“But what if I just want to hold you?” Annatar’s voice held an edge of laughter.

“Annatar—“ 

“Fine.” Annatar’s hand dropped and the pressure against his back vanished. Celebrimbor spun. Annatar sat cross legged a few feet away. The golden hair twisted over his shoulders to brush the ground. The fine lines of his face were familiar as was the shape of his body and the curve of his smile. Annatar’s eyes seemed different, though — still gold, but shot through with prismatic light like green threads through brown to create hazel. 

Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes. “Stand up.” 

Annatar raised an eyebrow at the order but stood in one smooth motion. “Should I spin in a circle?”

Celebrimbor motioned at him. “Please.”

With a disbelieving laugh, Annatar slowly turned, allowing Celebrimbor to admire every inch of his bare skin. “So?” he asked after completing the circle.

“You’ve made yourself taller,” Celebrimbor accused. 

“Do you object?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Celebrimbor also stood up. He now could look straight into Annatar’s eyes when before he would have had to look slightly down. 

“I can shrink if you really want me to.” Annatar stepped into him and draped his arms over Celebrimbor’s shoulders. 

“I think we can make this work.” Celebrimbor leaned forward and captured Annatar’s lips in a kiss. His lips parted letting Celebrimbor into the welcome warmth of his mouth as his arms tightened behind him. The way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way his hand caught in Celebrimbor’s hair was all familiar, but there was also a newness to the kiss — a reminder that he had never kissed this exact pair of lips, pressed their hips together at this exact angle, fit their bodies together in this exact way. A whole new array of firsts lay before them, a prospect as exciting to explore as the strange new world Aman had been pulled into.

Celebrimbor could feel a happy hum from Annatar, a tingle against his nerves as his fëa seemed to expand with joy. It was almost like a purr on a spiritual level. Teeth nipped at his lip and a hand sharply tugged at his hair as Annatar signaled his objection to the comparison before sliding his hand under Celebrimbor’s tunic to smooth his hands over his waist and back. Even breaking apart for a moment felt unbearable, so their lips remained locked together as Annatar ruched up Celebrimbor’s tunic to expose more skin. 

Finally Annatar wrenched his head away. “Off. Now.” He roughly pulled the tunic over Celebrimbor’s head and wrenched down his pants. Celebrimbor clutched Annatar’s shoulders as he stumbled out of his clothing, laughing at the graceless urgency they’d been reduced to.

Annatar looked around. “Where have you been sleeping?”

“There.” Celebrimbor nodded at the mattress and then used his proximity to Annatar’s neck to begin laying biting kisses along his trapezius. 

“On the ground?” Annatar asked. 

Celebrimbor lifted his head and bit Annatar’s earlobe. “Yes, you had taken the bedroom after all. It’s quite comfortable, and traditional—"

“It will do,” Annatar said and lifted Celebrimbor a few inches off the ground as he backed towards the mattress. Celebrimbor half fell on the bed, Annatar dropping next to him and covering his body with his own to seize his mouth again. Celebrimbor wrapped his legs around Annatar’s waist to press their skin together. He forced himself to slow, to savor every moment of this almost-first time. Celebrimbor broke the kiss to rest his head against the mattress. Annatar lifted himself so that he could survey him. They remained like that for a moment, legs tangled together, drinking in the other’s eager face. 

“I can see you,” Celebrimbor said. It was more than marveling at Annatar’s fana after his brief period of disembodiment and the previous state of decay. It was more than their unclothed state, all trappings of time and place discarded so that they could enter the timeless world of two lovers in bed. It was seeing the truth in Annatar’s face, feeling his soul against his own, unveiled and open as never before, knowing the horror and beauty. 

“Celebrimbor.” Annatar cupped his face, wonder reflected between them. “I would give you everything. All that I am, or could make, or could become.”

It was a heavy thing to have Annatar’s heart with all its circuitous logic, its capability for cruelty and burning desire, but Celebrimbor would have accepted it if it were ten times the weight. 

“Let me hold you,” Celebrimbor said, his hands already wrapped around Annatar, his heart open, accepting the offered love. Annatar's unwavering gaze drank in his face, his hair, his eyes and then sank deeper to layers of bone and muscle, soft organs and the twisting paths of nerves and veins and lymphatic vessels, and then deeper still to his soul, the same piece of himself that they had bound together ages ago. 

Celebrimbor could not hold back any longer and surged up to kiss Annatar again, tumbling him over so that he sat on top, able to arrange things to his liking and begin the slow motions of intimacy. Annatar moaned in response, and they both relished the vibrations of sound in the air, able to hear and see and feel and smell each other all wrapped in the vibrant pulse of their bond.

Later, with the new yellow and white light that now bathed Aman at night shining through the gaps in the curtain, Celebrimbor lay with his head resting on Annatar’s chest, listening to a steady heartbeat. The thrum of blood through the veins and the rise and fall of breath comforted him even though these signs of life were not a necessity as they would be for one of the Eldar. Annatar combed his fingers through Celebrimbor’s hair, pausing occasionally to twist the strands around his fingers and examine the silvery-black color in the strange light.

Celebrimbor joined the stream of his imagination as it wound through newly carved rivers between mountains unclimbed all bathed in the light of the new moons and a sky half-familiar and half-strange, new and old constellations dancing together in heavens that were brighter than before.

Celebrimbor pressed a kiss against the center of Annatar’s chest before answering his unvoiced question. “Some are saying that the fainter stars are a sign that even here, we will begin to fade and decay. Others scoff and say that is the beginning of a new golden age — the Years of the Trees come again.”

“Decay. That’s interesting. I had wondered… Change was never arrested completely, even here. There’s an end to everything.”

“The end of the Song? What do you know of that?”

“Only that there is an end.” Annatar continued stroking his hair with even movements.

“Hm.” Celebrimbor propped his head up so that he could see Annatar’s face. The abstract idea of the end of everything could not shake his serenity, and from the soft curve of Annatar’s smile it wasn’t enough for him either.

“And the end, is it just that then? The light dies, and all is cold and still and empty?”

“I don’t know. There’s always the theory of the Second Music.”

Celebrimbor laid his head back down with a huff. “That always sounded like a fantasy to me. To know everything in its totality and for all to fall perfectly into place — I see no evidence for it and a dangerous philosophical appeal.”

“The Dagor Dagorath is impossible for several reasons, but it does serve as a nice explanation for where the souls of the Edain go and their ultimate purpose.” 

“But the Second Music is possible?”

“I think it’s entirely possible that there should be another Song,” Annatar replied. “But it would not be the Second Music. It would be the nth music, another variation in the components of Eä.”

“Meaning there was another Music before this one?”

“Yes, potentially infinite.”

Celebrimbor propped himself up again, pensively tracing Annatar’s collar bones. “I’m not sure if it’s reassuring to imagine it all beginning again, or if an endless loop of time should be terrifying.”

“Are we trapped, doomed to fall into a pattern set long before?” Annatar said slowly. “Or would each new Song be a chance for every choice to go another way?”

“The latter I hope. ” Celebrimbor smiled down at a face made just for him.  “We have both been reborn in a way already, and I think we are still far from the end. Yet I will gladly walk with you until we reach the end of all things, whether or not the fragments of us are swept up and bound together into a new Song or not.”

Annatar looked up at him, some measure of awe still in his face. “And I will walk with you, through whatever shall come to pass, until the very end.”

Celebrimbor half rolled off Annatar, although his head still rested on his arm, and let their minds spin together, dreaming of a world unanticipated, but no less joyful. 

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Haru - Qenya, Grandfather

Lumbar - Quenya, Name of a star (or planet), tentatively identified with Saturn

Mindon Eldaliéva - 'Tower of the Eldar,' the tallest tower in Tirion

fëa - Quenya, Spirit

fana - Quenya, Raiment, veil, physical form of a Maia