What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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Starting Over

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“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.