What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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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.

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“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.