What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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Awake

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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!