What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

---

Journey to Valmar

Itara Mindon - Gleaming Tower; the name of a town.
Írissë | Aredhel
Hithaeglir - Misty Mountains
Arafinwë | Finarfin
Nolofinwë | Fingolfin

---

As soon as they began to wind their way down from Ondomar towards the main road that would take them to Valmar, Celebrimbor’s certainty grew that he should try to find Annatar. Something worthwhile had risen from the remains of Sauron, Lord of the Rings, and through some kind of miracle they had found each other again. And perhaps the pieces of Annatar could never be whole again, and he could never retain enough control to be free, but that was not certain. Even in the worst case, Celebrimbor now had the opportunity to end his relationship with Annatar well, with forgiveness and acknowledgement of the past.

He said as much to Fingon. Fingon raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you could speak with him, and calmly say goodbye forever? Be happy with the few weeks — days, more like it — you grabbed here before the wedding?”

Celebrimbor’s mouth went dry at the thought. “Probably not.”

Fingon smiled at him. “You are not alone. We come not merely as supplicants, only able to beg to be heard. Our shed blood grants us the right of speech. And we come with words joined with song.” Fingon reached down and strummed the small harp he carried.

Celebrimbor shot him an amused look. “I’m not sure my voice is beautiful enough to count as a strength.”

“Joined to mine it is.”

Celebrimbor did not push further, but he wondered at Fingon’s changed attitude. Perhaps it was the result of coming out the other side of months of wedding planning, perhaps talking with Maedhros has prompted something, or maybe it was just the long-buried commander and king that brought his boldness and stubborn passion to the forefront again. 

They caught up with Galadriel the night of their first day’s journey.

“Lady Galadriel!” Fingon called as they rode up.

“Fingon, Celebrimbor! What are you doing here?”

“Going to Valmar,” Celebrimbor said.

“Are you?” Galadriel said. Her smile was thoughtful, and the bitterness that hardened her eyes might have only been weariness.

“I think it makes perfect sense why both of you should wish to be in Valmar for the proceedings,” Fingon cut in. “We were going to stop at Itara Mindon to let the horses rest a bit — will you join us for the rest of the journey, Galadriel?”

Galadriel agreed and joined them for their brief rest. They started off again at first light. Celebrimbor and Fingon rode horses from Írissë’s stables, and as such they were the most tireless and nimble mounts that could be found in Aman. Galadriel’s horse could not match them, but they only had to slow a bit to ride with her and would still reach Valmar during the early hours of the third day. They alternated between galloping and an easier pace to let their horses recover.

“I cannot believe we don’t have a better way of traveling yet,” Celebrimbor complained at one point. The ache of unused muscles suddenly put to the test preyed on him as he rose and fell with his horse’s gait.

“Don’t let Írissë hear you say that — she has gifted her beasts to the Maiar of Oromë and takes great pride in their breeding,” Fingon warned.

“Írissë won’t hear unless you tell her,” Celebrimbor said. “But my point is we are dependent on an animal who could get injured, or tire more quickly than we thought, and then our entire journey is disrupted.”

“Not this again,” Galadriel grumbled.

“Again? I’m sorry, did I bother you too frequently about improved transportation in Eregion, or complain too often about how Gil-galad did not invest enough time and effort into the matter that now, even though I have since died and been reincarnated, I still can’t discuss it in your hearing? In fact, if the set path method I proposed had been put in place, I must wonder if our fortunes would have been different in the eventual war.”

Galadriel looked unimpressed. “I still don’t believe you’ve listened or read a full account of the War of the Elves and Sauron—”

“It’s traumatic.”

“—But if your set paths had been implemented, I can only imagine that Sauron — who, despite his many faults, is skilled at military logistics — would have used those paths to conquer us all the more quickly, leaving the Númenóreans, who famously arrived by sea, to encounter all of the land from the coast to the Hithaeglir entirely overrun by Sauron’s army instead of Lindon still holding strong against the siege.”

“Hmph,” said Celebrimbor, all he could think to say in the face of Galadriel’s logic. 

Galadriel shifted in the saddle. “Now, here in Aman I would be happy to see your plans born to fruition. I agree — I enjoy an easy ride as much as the next person, but if my primary goal is to visit my family, who happens to be on the other side of a mountain range, I would be glad for a faster and smoother method. However, as I told you then, and I’m telling you now, all your ideas involve some manner of altering vast tracts of land.”

“What’s the problem with that?” Fingon asked.

“The problem with that, dear cousin, is that Celebrimbor has no taste nor attention to spare for the political work of getting all who would need to sign on to such a proposal to do so. And I would not and will not do it for him.”

“Well, now, I have some political influence,” said the former High King.

“Really? Írissë said all you’ve done for millennia is hunt and hold feasts, and very rarely with politically opportune individuals,” Galadriel said.

“That is mostly because the Noldor have plenty of kings to go around! No need for me to go clogging things up. Now, I begin to feel the urge to increase my involvement.”

Galadriel did not respond. Celebrimbor looked at her; Fingon’s mild excuse could not have stunned her into silence. Her face was still and her eyes were far away.

“Could Arafinwë be speaking with her?” Fingon asked after he too noticed her uncharacteristic silence.

“Or Finrod. Hopefully Merillë has not taken a turn for the worse,” Celebrimbor said.

They both waited in tense silence as their horses slowed to a walk. Galadriel blinked as she returned to them, a stunned expression on her face.

“What? What is it?” Fingon asked.

Galadriel took a deep breath. “Celeborn is sailing to Aman — he is in sight of Tol Eressëa. With him sail Círdan and my grandson, Elladan.”

~

It was tempting to push through and arrive at Valmar in the watches of the night, but they decided to rest for a time in a small village a few hours out.

“Of course there is much activity at night and the city never sleeps,” Fingon said. “In some ways it’s worse than Tirion; some of the eldest Vanyar seemed to have completely abandoned any need for sleep. But it’s a good omen to arrive with the dawn, and our coming should be as auspicious as it can be.”

They approached the eastern gates of Valmar on the third day, just as the sky behind them began to flush with the approaching dawn. The sun still hid behind the Pelóri and the lights of the city twinkled in the pre-dawn gloom. 

Now that he was almost to the city, Celebrimbor realized he still didn’t have the specifics of a plan worked out. Should he petition the Valar, or skip any official plea and immediately try to find Annatar. And what would he say to him when he found him?

Fortunately, Fingon asked the question first as they rode up to the gates. “Where should we start?”

“I think we should visit High King Ingwë first,” Galadriel said. “He is likely—” The call of trumpets interrupted her. Clarion and bright, the sound seemed to rise from the central pyramid into the air. 

“That’s not for us, is it?” Celebrimbor asked. He’d had no formal announcement when he’d last come to Valmar, although he hadn’t been with Ingwë’s kin at the time.

“I don’t think so,” Fingon said. “Even when I’ve come with my father there was nothing like that to greet us at the gate.”

“The one time I arrived with my father, Indis met us at the gate, but there was certainly no fanfare,” Galadriel said.

The sound of rushing wind followed the trumpets and they watched as a half dozen Maiar rose up from the city and then rushed west, some appearing as eagles, others as winged humanoids. 

“What is going on?” Galadriel said.

“At least they were flying away from Tirion and the other major population centers,” Fingon said, but he looked worried. 

The strange welcome banished Celebrimbor’s uncertainty. “I’m going to look for Annatar,” he announced.

“How?” asked Fingon. 

Celebrimbor frowned at the city. “I will start with the welcome station right by this gate, and then continue asking at each house of welcome in a spiral pattern.”

“Reasonable.” Fingon nodded. “I’ll go with you if you’d like.”

“And I will still go with all haste to High King Ingwë,” Galadriel said. “I’ll find you should I discover Annatar’s whereabouts or what the commotion is.”

They announced themselves at the gate. The guards were on edge but let them through.

“Very strange that they are standing at attention at all,” Fingon said. “Normally passing the gate is more of a symbolic affair.”

“They could be considering the attack at Ondomar as an attack on King Arafinwë, and wondering if their own king isn’t next,” Celebrimbor pointed out.

“Still — you can see the nervousness.”

They bid farewell to Galadriel and asked to speak with the captain at the welcome house. In ages past, the welcome houses had been guard stations, erected shortly after the Darkening. Some time in the Second Age, however, the Vanyar had decided that the defensive nature of guard houses was unnecessary.  They had been renamed  welcome houses, a place for directions and a cool place to rest at the hottest point of the day, though they were still staffed by a few spear-wielding guards. The Vanyar retained cultural pride related to skill at arms, and those who wished to put this to practice would often become guards to utilize the weaponry and education of the city watch.

Fingon and Celebrimbor stood outside the door for a long while, watching as more and more elves hurried into the welcome house and left armed. Elsewhere, people rushed by, not stopping to exchange gossip or exclaim over the events. It was eerily quiet.

Finally the captain came out. “My Lords.” He first nodded and squeezed Fingon’s hands before turning to welcome Celebrimbor in the same manner. “How can I be of assistance?”

“I’m looking for a prisoner,” Celebrimbor said, while at the same time Fingon demanded, “What in the stinking depths of Utumno is going on?”

The captain looked between them before deciding to answer Fingon’s question. “We do not know exactly what is happening, but we have been warned that we should be on the highest alert level. A danger has been spotted in Aman, and we are to arm ourselves and prepare for whatever hazard is abroad.”

“So you don’t know what it is?” Fingon asked.

“No, just that there is a danger.”

“And this alert level is higher than it was after you found out about the attack at my wedding?”

The captain cleared his throat. “Yes. Just now, when the trumpets rang out, we received the message.”

“There must be—”

Celebrimbor cut Fingon off. “And do you know where they are keeping the prisoners captured at the princes’ wedding?”

The captain frowned. “I’m not sure I can tell you that.”

“I am the son of Nolofinwë, and the grandson of Indis,” Fingon said, crossing his arms. “And these prisoners were captured at my wedding. I deserve to ask some questions.”

“I’m not sure,” the captain repeated, looking between them with increasing alarm. “I am not charged with the keeping of prisoners.”

“Then who is?” asked Celebrimbor.

“They are Maiar, correct?” said the captain. “They must be in the keeping of their own kind.”

“And where would that be?” Celebrimbor’s patience was running thin.

“One of the temples surrounding the central pyramid — in the Holy Square.”

“Let’s go.” A sense of urgency overcame him, and Celebrimbor turned on his heel to leave.

“Thank you, good sir,” Fingon said, and hurried after Celebrimbor.

They joined the others quietly hastening by.

“This is such a strange reaction to an imminent threat,” Fingon said, looking around.

“It’s so orderly and quiet,” Celebrimbor agreed. “And yet the city has not experienced an emergency since the Second Age.”

They neared the Holy Square, the central pyramid and the other temples growing large above the silver roofs. At the same time, a loud crack sounded from the direction of Ingwë’s palace to the southwest. Bells began to ring.

“What was that?” asked Celebrimbor.

“I don’t know, but I feel l have a duty to find out,” said Fingon, pursing his lips. “You go on ahead. I assume you’ll start going through the temples? There can’t be more than a dozen.” At Celebrimbor’s nod, Fingon clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good. I wish you good fortune.”

Fingon rode off towards the palace. Celebrimbor watched him for a moment before coaxing his horse back into motion. He dismounted at the gates to the Holy Square and approached the two guards. Their helmets had more feathers than the guards at the entrance, and their spears gleamed gold. 

“Halt, what is your purpose here?” The guards stepped forward.

Celebrimbor pulled himself up to his full height, annoyed that the top of his head still barely reached the guards’ chin. “I seek someone who I believe is imprisoned here. Annatar, or as you may know him, Sauron.”

The guard frowned. “Why are you —” The sound of yelling and screaming reached them, mixing with a strange roar.

Someone pushed past Celebrimbor. “Help, help! There is something in the Silver Market.”

“Something?” The guard asked. She and her fellow were already stepping out.

“Yes, some kind of creature, a great horned monster. Please, hurry!” The guards ran off after the man with no further thought for Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor looked around and, seeing no reason not to, entered the courtyard. Several temples surrounded the central pyramid. While each temple could be seen as being associated with one or more of the Valar, they were dedicated to a different aspect of Eä, as opposed to individual Valar. The central pyramid was the Temple of the Heavens, and both Manwë and Varda would inhabit it when they dwelt in Valmar. It was flanked on one side with the Starfire temple with its blazing gems and the Temple of the Sea on the other, the tiered building rising out of a still, blue pool. Several other temples dotted the grounds, but the long, low Temple of Earth with its mirrored buildings stood immediately before the gate.   

Celebrimbor closed his eyes, trying to detect any hint of Annatar’s being. He could feel nothing, but from what his mother had told him about the chains, that was to be expected. The sounds from outside the gates grew louder. Three Maiar ran out from the Temple of Earth, their heavy footfalls shaking the ground as they went past him. Celebrimbor watched them go before turning back to the temple. The buildings were simple compared to the main pyramid — walls of clay with basic geometric drawings. He looked between the two buildings. The design was the same, but one had several trees in the front, and vines spiraling up the side. The other had angular sculptures at even intervals along the path to the entrance. 

Based on pure instinct, Celebrimbor chose the temple with the sculptures and walked inside. The entryway opened into what looked like a simple common room, with space for groups to sit and converse and some musical instruments along one side. There were two doors at the back of the room; the entryway to the main chamber of the temple stood open and the other, smaller door was closed. Two sets of stairs along either side led to an upper level. Celebrimbor tried the closed door, but a lock stymied him. 

Celebrimbor bent to examine it closely. The lock appeared to be a simple affair, no magical element at all. He wished he had brought some lock picks in addition to his mother’s opening jewelry. He began to search the room for a small knife or a pin that he could use instead. He didn’t have to search long. He walked behind a counter that had some wine and cheese laid on it, and there on a shelf was a key. 

The key slipped right into the lock and the door swung open. Celebrimbor looked around again, still faintly surprised that no one had stopped him. On the other side of the door, a short landing preceded stairs that led down. The door may have been lacking in enchantments, but the very walls hummed with ancient threads of power here. Celebrimbor dragged his fingers along the wall as he descended. 

Strength was sunk into the stone: the solidity of the roots of the world, steadfastness beyond what Men or Elves were capable of. It would be difficult to lie surrounded by walls such as these. Celebrimbor felt like his body was getting heavier the further down he moved. At the bottom of the stairs he saw there were empty alcoves on either side. He moved forward. At the end of the hallway, there was an empty alcove on the right, but on the left, bronze bars ran from the ceiling to the floor, broad slats of metal with only a small gap between them. He thought he could see someone behind them. 

Celebrimbor reached out, trying to touch the mind of the person within, but he could still feel nothing. He tapped on the bars, testing their strength and seeing if he could alert the prisoner that way. They rang with a bell-like sound. Celebrimbor saw that bars were not fastened directly to the floor and ceiling; they seemed to emerge out of slots — likely retractable. He heard a clinking sound from behind the bars and saw movement.

“Annatar, are you in there?” Celebrimbor called. There was no response. “Can you speak?”

“Celebrimbor?” 

Celebrimbor froze. The grinding voice on the other side of the bars sounded like none he had heard before. But something in the way the being spoke his name was familiar.

“Annatar?” he asked. A hiss of breath came from the cell. “Do you know how to retract these bars?”

“What are you doing here?” A snarl lurked behind the words.

Celebrimbor ran a finger along the gap between the bars — its width was about half that of his middle finger. “Did you think I wouldn’t come? After everything?”

Again, silence. Then, “You should leave.”

“No.” Celebrimbor said mostly to himself. He hadn’t been sure what Annatar’s reaction would be. He had imagined him guilt-ridden, angry, and anguished by turns, but not this flat hopelessness.

He felt along the ceiling and the floor, occasionally tapping the bars, trying to figure out how to loosen them. Eventually he guessed that a mechanism as opposed to magic controlled the bars for the most part, and that the release would be along the opposite wall. He examined the other alcove, not really expecting to find anything in what looked like another potential cell, if the slots on the ceiling and floor were any indication.

He focused instead on the narrow walls that separated each alcove. The stone walls were covered in a mesh of gold and silver lines. The elaborate knots wove in dense patterns, repeating after about a forearm’s length. Celebrimbor traced the lines with his mind, his eyes searching for some flaw in the pattern that might indicate a hidden switch. He stared for at least a minute, working out angles and arcs amid the design. The only disruption was a grate at the bottom. When it hit him, he almost smacked himself for not checking there first. The grate slid out and exposed a button. Celebrimbor pressed it.

There was a hissing sound as the bars lowered. Celebrimbor leaned his head against the wall for a moment, bracing himself. He turned. Yellow eyes with slit pupils looked back at him in a sunken grey face. Lank strands of colorless hair covered some of the worst of the corruption, but where the skin was not desiccated, patches of rot oozed. The prisoner was chained upright, his hands crossed in front of his chest, the chain wrapping behind him.

Celebrimbor slowly approached. Annatar in his familiar form was shorter than him, more similar in size to the Úmanyar during the Second Age of Middle-earth. Now he stood almost a head taller than him. 

Annatar bared his teeth further, the long roots exposed by blackened gums. “LEAVE.”

Celebrimbor passed the threshold of the cell and walked up to Annatar, pressing his hand against his chest. He could feel a slow heartbeat. At this proximity the Maia stank with the sweet-foul stench of death. Celebrimbor looked up at him. He could feel nothing of the familiar heat of Annatar’s fëa, but the figure could have been a corpse for all the spiritual energy he emitted. The chain, though, almost touching his hand, hummed with power.   

“Annatar?” he repeated. He tensed under Celebrimbor’s hand.

“You should not have come.”

“Oh, love.” Celebrimbor had to blink back tears. He allowed himself one more moment to mourn the poisoned years Sauron had spent like this, before turning his attention to the chain.

Celebrimbor had worried about deciphering the Song of an item created by another with methods he was unfamiliar with, but that worry proved unfounded. If anything, the chain was too loud, spell overlaid on spell, each screaming its own song in the frequency of its material. He made a mental note to talk to his mother about the benefits of subtlety if he made it back to Ondomar, and got to work trying to parse a unified message of opening from the woven strands of magic.

“Push all of the air out of your lungs,” he instructed Annatar. “Collapse your chest.”

“You are a fool. Leave me.”

Celebrimbor glanced up. Despite the intimidating tone, there was fear in Annatar’s eyes. “I need slack in the chain. Breathe out.”

Annatar opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap, complying with Celebrimbor’s request. Celebrimbor used the slack to hold a single link of the chain between his fingers, pulling it away from the other links. 

Isolated from the rest of the chain, the song was quieter, although the strands of power still competed for dominance. 

Open, release, unlock. Celebrimbor projected his thoughts, trying to capture the attention of the chain. A thread of Song barely increased in volume, yet it was enough for him to hear its unique melody. He coaxed it forward and listened carefully. 

“You can breathe again,” he told Annatar, “if you’d like.”

“What are you doing?” Annatar sounded irritated, an improvement from his earlier desolate tone.

Celebrimbor pulled out the chime necklace and loosed the wand from the ring. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You can’t release me,” Annatar said.

Celebrimbor ignored him and knelt down next to where the cuffs fastened. Open, he sent to the chain. The opening song came through the other competing strains, slightly changed here where it would unlock, but still recognizable. 

“I tried to kill you.” Agitation grew in Annatar’s voice.

Celebrimbor frowned up at him. “You succeeded in killing me. We’ve been over this.”

“Don’t be dense. I tried to kill you again.”

“Oh, yes. We should probably talk about that after I’ve unlocked these.” Celebrimbor held up the chime and carefully fit the wand between the bars. With the tiniest twitch of his hand, he played the five notes of the opening song. The cuffs sprang open.

A wave of energy hit his mind as Annatar’s formerly bound spirit reached beyond his body, free to view the world as he was accustomed to again. Celebrimbor had to steady himself on the post for a moment as all his senses were overwhelmed by Annatar’s frantic rush to feel out his surroundings.

But there was no doubt it was Annatar. The strange silence surrounding him had vanished, and despite the monstrous appearance, Celebrimbor found the feeling of his spirit unmistakable. Something had changed, though. Underneath the familiar sharp, even pattern of his thoughts lurked a feeling of immensity that had been missing since he had found Annatar in Aman. 

He had felt that sense of vastness only a few times before, although he and Annatar had used ósanwë often. The last time was on the eve of battle in Ost-in-Edhil when they had known Sauron’s army was drawing in around them. Celebrimbor had opened his thoughts, trying to communicate to Celeborn, when an even more familiar mind had made contact. Then, Sauron had tried to speak with him, an imperious command to stand down mixed with a desperate plea to come back. Celebrimbor had slammed his mind shut, and had kept it closed for the rest of his short time in Middle-earth.

Now, Celebrimbor kept his mind open, and tried to speak to Annatar mentally. But Annatar only brushed past him, refusing his invitation. Annatar said nothing, but only stood frozen in place. Celebrimbor took the opportunity to remove the cuffs from Annatar’s wrists and unwind the chain. He held the released hand, examining it. The index finger was still absent, but that was where the similarity to the hands he had held and loved and admired ended. This hand had even longer fingers, but they were too thin and with a fourth joint. The black talons looked very sharp. 

“Celebrimbor, stop this at once,” Annatar hissed, coming out of his stunned silence. “Do you have any sense of self-preservation? You cannot die pointlessly again.”

“Pointlessly!” Celebrimbor dropped the chain. “Stop sulking. I did not die pointlessly the first time. I died defending my greatest creations and the world I loved. I think what you meant was that you killed me pointlessly, for you could have chosen otherwise.”

“But in the woods,” Annatar protested, “I could not think — all I could remember was my ancient anger, and that you were the instigator of my pain. What’s to stop that from happening again?”

“I don’t know! You tell me what’s to stop that from happening again.” Celebrimbor crossed his arms and looked up at him. Annatar’s eyes switched back and forth, seemingly looking for an answer in the lines on the floor. “I did not beg my mother for a key, travel to Valmar, and break into your prison for you to decide you have all the control of a headless chicken.”

Annatar looked up, outrage in his face. Celebrimbor had to admit that the new monstrous visage made the familiar experience of Annatar’s anger frightening again.

He refused to be cowed. “You once told me you can master nothing if you cannot master yourself.”

“And look how well I followed my own advice,” Annatar snapped. “I ended up with no control over a piece of myself for an entire age.”

“When did you become so pathetic?” Celebrimbor spat back at him. “Ready to give up everything the instant there is an obstacle?” 

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Annatar roared.

The strange stone walls deadened any echo, plunging them into sudden silence aside from the peel of bells that came faintly through the door above. Celebrimbor took a deep breath and wrapped the chain over one arm. He stepped towards Annatar. “You are not hurting me right now. How are you doing that?”

Annatar looked at him for a long moment before sagging against the post. “I don’t know. I have no desire to harm you currently. The memory of your betrayal is suppressed by the opposing memory of the realization that you did not, in fact, betray me.”

“That’s all?” Celebrimbor asked, again wordlessly pressing against Annatar’s mind. Annatar looked at him reproachfully, and then their bond flared to life, and Celebrimbor again had to steady himself against Annatar’s arm as his rapid thoughts and turbulent mood washed over him.

“Yes, although now all I’m doing is standing here,” Annatar said. “I attacked you when I was exhausted and at the end of my strength. You may be right; I can still control myself unless in the direst of need.” Annatar looked down at Celebrimbor’s hand on his arm. “Why are you here? Why did you come for me?” Now he sounded pained.

“You should know by now.” Celebrimbor glanced up the stairs. He couldn’t feel any vibrations or tumult in the chamber, but he occasionally caught the sound of battle through the ringing bells. “Annatar, I really do want to discover what will keep you from losing yourself to the Ring-lust again.”

“What’s going on?” Annatar asked, also looking towards the stairs.

“One thing at a time, you’re distracted enough already.” Celebrimbor paused, and took stock of the rapid shifts of Annatar’s mind. It felt more frantic than usual, or what he now thought of as usual. He had previously noted a decreased ability to descend into the state of focus that Annatar had so easily slipped into in Eregion. 

“What is preoccupying you?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I don’t know,” Annatar said, frustrated. “Everything is difficult. Perhaps I have become lesser, and there is no way around that.”

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes at Annatar and reached up to rest his other hand on the back of his neck. The papery skin felt soft like the flesh over bruised fruit. Tell me your thoughts, Celebrimbor ordered. We must find an answer.

Annatar tensed his jaw, but complied. The first thoughts he shared were an endless loop of the night of the wedding. Yes, yes, but I’m not dead, Celebrimbor thought irritably the third or so time they dwelled on the memory of his still face. 

Next Annatar shared his theory of Lumbë’s appearance, and his thought that there were likely others; then came fear over his own fate, memories of standing in the Máhanaxar, musings over the nature of the temple. 

What was that? Celebrimbor asked. He had seen a spasm of orders, but it was unclear what the commands were directed towards.

Annatar looked confused for a moment, and then realized what he had asked. Annatar’s constant awareness of his fana flooded Celebrimbor; the incredible discomfort underneath made his skin crawl in sympathy.

Is it always like that? Celebrimbor asked.

No. It was not like this before I fell. 

Celebrimbor reached up and tugged on Annatar’s elongated ear. “Then how was this form chosen?” he wondered aloud. 

“No, I may have looked like this at certain points.” Annatar held up a hand and frowned at it. “But it never felt like this. My fana was always something I crafted and intentionally entered, even if that skill was limited and I had to make use of pre-existing materials. But that intentionality hasn’t been the case since my escape.”

“Hm. Well. It’s certainly a disquieting form.” Celebrimbor grabbed Annatar’s face and tilted it so he could view him in profile. “Striking in a way, I suppose.”

“Please stop. Being instinctually terrifying has its uses, but it’s not useful to always retain this aspect. Feel free to express your disgust.”

Celebrimbor dropped his hands. “It’s not so bad. I’m sure we can do something about the smell. There are chemicals—”

“Brim! Stop. There is no world where you will be ‘doing something about the smell.’ I have been condemned. It’s over.” Annatar clenched his hands, his wasted mouth twisting over the long teeth.

Celebrimbor leaned against his chest. He really could get accustomed to the odor. From outside there was a bestial roar. It sounded near. “What is going on?” Annatar asked.

“You were right. Lumbë was not the only one,” Celebrimbor said.

“Is that what’s happening? Has there been a war happening above our heads this whole time?”

“Something like that. So you see why it’s so important that you are able to retain control.”

Annatar released a hissing breath through his teeth. “I could barely take Lumbë; above us is likely a battle ten times that!”

“Yes, so if you could become comfortable with this form quickly—”

Annatar barked out a laugh. “Comfortable? This will never be a comfortable state of being.”

“Can you leave? Your fana I mean?”

Annatar gave him a searching look and then glanced down. “If I abandon this body, I do not know if I will ever be able to become re-embodied.”

“Is that so bad? This form distresses you.”

“I like being embodied. There are many things that are unavailable when fully incorporeal.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Celebrimbor wrapped his arms around the broad chest, smiling up at the sunken face. “I could always make you a fana.”

“What? Make some articulated statue of iron for me to haunt?”

“Iron? I can’t imagine you settling for anything less than gold.”

“And you could love a cold, metal form?” Annatar asked.

“Yes. Or rather, you would not be that form, anymore than you are… whatever this is. It’s your true self I love, as I have found out through much sorrow.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.” Celebrimbor pushed back the scant hair that remained from Annatar’s face. “But I hope you’ll accept me anyway. Now, are you able to leave this body?”

“I think so.”

“What do you need me to do? Should I turn around?”

“No, but let go of me.”

Celebrimbor took several steps back. Annatar squeezed his eyes shut and ran his thumb over his fingers. “Are you sure, I can just—”

“No. Only, be quiet.”

Celebrimbor stood as still as he could. Annatar just swayed for several minutes. Celebrimbor almost left without asking if that was what Annatar needed, when he saw a flicker through the Maia. He flickered again and then became fully transparent. His form faded to a dim outline, and then an indistinct cloud. Celebrimbor blinked, so sudden was the change. He glanced down. A small pile of dust rose from the floor.

This is so much better, Annatar spoke into his mind. And he was right there next to him once again, his voice in his ear, their minds interweaving thoughts: a feeling as familiar as his own skin.

I told you so. A feeling like a shard of dry ice passed across the back of his neck. “Stop that!” A lightness filled the air, tiny bubbles in his mind, wrapped in a more intimate form of laughter. 

There was a loud crack from outside. Are you more vulnerable like this? Celebrimbor asked.

Not at all. An incorporeal form like this would be less beneficial were there a real war of elves and men and orcs, but if anything, I now have a greater ability to face the other Maiar out there who are incorporal. 

Then let’s go.

WAIT, Annatar said. Celebrimbor had started up the stairs, but suddenly the air thickened like he was pushing through soup.

Celebrimbor let his irritation fill up their bond.

You are not mostly fëa. Nor a Maia, Annatar pointed out.

“Obviously,” Celebrimbor spoke aloud, not trusting his unfiltered thought to make a convincing argument. “Nor are most of the inhabitants of Valmar.” Annatar’s displeasure stuck to his mind like soot. “I suppose you’ll have to protect me then.”

I understand, in a way, why you feel you must find your friends, Annatar at last acquiesced. But please, remember you are fragile.

Fragile? Only as a stout tree is more fragile than a pillar of stone. 

Annatar shared several images of horrible Maiar-induced deaths.

I will be careful. I am careful, Celebrimbor thought.

Annatar’s skepticism pressed against him, but just as Celebrimbor was about to continue the argument, Annatar relented.

Go. I know you’re not fragile, Annatar thought. Celebrimbor went up the stairs, and into the battle above. 

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Úmanyar - Q. Those not of Aman, the Sindar and the Nandor
ósanwë - Q. Communication of thought
fana - Q. Raiment, veil, physical form of a Maia
fëa - Q. Spirit

There's an alternate version of this chapter written by undercat :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/38750715