What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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The Night We Met

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The days fell into a pattern eventually. Every morning Miaulë would wake, eat breakfast, frequently with Sam, and then go to the cellar room and look into the Mirror with Finrod, Galadriel, or Gandalf. Afterwards he would go to the library. Sometimes Merillë would talk to him; most days she would not, but he would still select a few books and read in the afternoon. 

The time passed in a strange mixture of dullness and tension. His past life was interesting, if frequently violent and disturbing, but he was growing to dread the expectant silence afterwards when he had to admit he still remembered nothing. The books he read usually led to some insight, yet he could do nothing with his newfound knowledge, and the disconnected story of a being named Sauron rattled around his head with no purchase on any real feeling or insight. Over and over again he found himself reading the volume of poetry Merillë had slipped into the books she’d left him. These words at least seemed to grip him in a new way every time he read them, connecting to something deeper.

One day, he finally decided he should try to return her book to her. He found her in the library and waved her over.

“Here, I think this is your book.” Miaulë held the volume out to her.

“Are you finished? There is no rush in returning it.” Merillë’s eyes darted around for a moment. Once she seemed confident that no observers lurked, she sat down at the table. 

“Ah, well, I’ve read it several times, but it seems like it means something more every time I read it.”

Merillë smiled. “It is like that for me as well. You know, if you like poetry there are many more books of it here. I could show you where they are,” she offered. 

At his nod, she guided him through the shelves and pointed out a few more favorites before vanishing to continue her studies elsewhere.

If he was always glad to see Merillë, his feelings were confused when Celebrimbor appeared. No, that wasn’t quite right. He knew he wanted to see Celebrimbor, but clearly Celebrimbor did not want to see him. Every encounter left Miaulë with a sinking feeling that remained for the rest of the day. It did not help that he seemed to have developed an additional sense specifically designed to detect Celebrimbor. Frequently, he would see the heel of his boot leaving the room or the top of his head as he passed by a window. Then he would have to decide whether or not to try to be at the same place at the same time the next day for the chance to see Celebrimbor again for a moment. Despite knowing how he would feel afterwards, Miaulë almost always caved, making sure to be in the same hallway at the same time as before. 

For all his efforts, he was occasionally rewarded by a strange cold look from Celebrimbor as they silently passed each other.

If half of what he had read in the books Coroniel had picked out were true, Miaulë  could not blame him. He had apparently gone to Celebrimbor’s city, spent many years befriending and teaching him and the other Gwaith-i-Mírdain, created many wonders with them including magic rings (both books agreed these were important but left out exactly how they were magical), left for some reason that all sources he read left unclear, and betrayed the Mírdain by creating a ring that was somehow designed to control all else they had made together. This by itself would explain why Celebrimbor did not want to talk to him; all of his work was very personal to him, and any attempt to undermine it would be seen as an affront. But his past self had gone even farther in his enmity — he had returned with an army, destroyed Celebrimbor’s city, killed him, and then proceeded to try to wipe out his remaining friends. Miaulë was beginning to fear the damage was irreparable. 

His thoughts were wearing this same tiresome path when he sat down with Galadriel one morning about a week into their experiment.

“I think we should try something different,” he suggested.

Galadriel veiled the simmering anger she held against him most of the time, but her tone still bit. “Do you?”

“Yes. It seems these early years will not stoke my memories, and if you’ve seen me executing a slave once, I really don’t think the fifth time adds much.” It seemed every time he looked in the Mirror he was doing something awful, even if at first Miaulë did not realize it himself. He had on a previous occasion thought they had finally happened on something of a neutral scene, but Finrod had explained that the large lizard-like thing would go on to slay countless Elves and Men and be implicated in the destruction of several cities. They also eventually realized that the meat Sauron prepared and fed to the dragon was human in source. Miaulë by this point knew better than to point out that the victims were already dead by other means — being fed to a dragon was one of the least objectionable uses for a corpse in his opinion, but Finrod had been clear on previous occasions that the only acceptable course after death was an honorable burial.

“What, in your enlightened opinion, should we be searching for?” Galadriel asked.

“I think we should look for a time when we actually knew each other.”

“Is that what you wish to see? Very well!” Galadriel began to fill the basin. A jolt of apprehension ran through him; he had not expected Galadriel to acquiesce so quickly, and he suddenly suspected that they were in for more unpleasantness.

As the water stilled, daylight seemed to fill the bowl at first, before solidifying into sunbeams streaming through tall arched windows and gleaming off of the richly carved wooden doors. Someone stood in front of the doors, and Miaulë realized the figure looked exactly like himself, although his dress and carriage were completely different. His mirror-self wore elegant white robes — plain at first glance, but revealing layers of rich embroidery and fine cloth on the second. His face also looked a little strange; his expression was oddly stiff, and a pleasant smile was set upon it like a mask. Opposite him stood a thin elf nervously wringing his hands.

“My Lord Annatar, I am dreadfully sorry, but the council meeting has already begun.”

“Worry not.” Annatar waved his hand and smiled beatifically at the clerk. “I can wait here for the council to adjourn.”

“But it is several hours long. And, and, you are an emissary of the Valar! I do not think that would be proper.” The clerk’s face shifted from anxiety to relief. “Master Celebrimbor, perhaps you can advise?”

The focus changed, and Miaulë noticed the man who had hurried up was Celebrimbor. At first glance, he did not look like the Celebrimbor Miaulë knew, who only ever wore his hair in a single braid or down, typically dressed in black, and never wore more than one piece of jewelry at a time. This Celebrimbor had intricately braided hair entwined with jewels and delicate ornaments. Further adornment of necklaces, rings, and earrings sparkled in the morning light, and his clothes were richly colored and well tailored. 

“I’m dreadfully late, Thrandirion.” Celebrimbor turned towards them anyway. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed Annatar for the first time.

“Lord Celebrimbor.” Annatar bowed slightly. “I am Annatar Aulendil.”

“He was sent by the Valar,” the clerk interjected.

“Yes, I know who you are.” Celebrimbor looked at him for a long moment, his previously hurried movement completely stilled. A smile broke across his face. “Welcome to Ost-in-Edhil. You may as well come in with me; perhaps my tardiness will be forgiven if I bring such an auspicious guest.” He pushed one of the doors open and beckoned Annatar to slip inside after him.

In the center of the room, twelve seats were set around a circular table. All were filled except for one — the second from the end on the left. A familiar face sat next to the empty seat — Coroniel looked torn between amusement and annoyance as she clearly mouthed “Glad you could make it,” to Celebrimbor. She also looked quite different from how Miaulë saw her most days. Her hair, usually covered by a scarf, rose uncovered in a braided crown bound with silver wire. She also wore an ornately embroidered robe in a similar fashion to Celebrimbor’s.

Celebrimbor appeared to be about to say something to him when a voice rang out. “Master Celebrimbor, so good of you to join us, and right when you are needed.” Galadriel, seated at the center of the table next to a silver-haired man, was dressed more simply than Celebrimbor and Coroniel, but she drew the eye nonetheless. Her golden hair flowed loose underneath a circlet of white stones, and she wore no other jewelry. Her gown was simply cut, but appeared to be of shimmering gold. 

There were two elves in the center of the room, bringing their business to the council. Their faces lit up when they noticed Celebrimbor. He shot Annatar an apologetic look and started towards the empty seat.

“Lady Galadriel, my apologies. I lost track of time.”

Galadriel pressed her lips together before speaking. “These two men from just outside the city limits arrived here with a leasing proposal. Unfortunately, we have come to realize that said  proposal is not for the city of Ost-in-Edhil, but for the Gwaith-i-Mírdain specifically. Apparently you have been searching for temporary storage outside of the city.”

“Ah yes!” Celebrimbor settled into his chair. “What rate were you looking for?”

“I am glad you’ve arrived; you can take down their names and conduct your business together at a later time,” Galadriel spoke over him. “As we are now conducting city business. The Gwaith-i-Mírdain manage their affairs separately, as you have noted several times in the past.”

Celebrimbor gave Galadriel a look before smiling at the two landlords. “Yes, of course. Please set up some time with our secretary.” He nodded at a man seated along the side of the room, quill poised for note taking. “We will be glad to hear your offer.” The men bowed and hurried over to the secretary. 

Annatar remained at the center of the room where Celebrimbor had left him, face impassive. “Next item,” Galadriel started. Celebrimbor looked up from where he and Coroniel had been discussing something in low voices.

“Wait, I have an introduction to make,” Celebrimbor cut in.

“We have a full agenda,” the silver-haired man said.

“This is important.” Celebrimbor nodded at Annatar.

“Greetings my lady, my lord,” Annatar said. His voice was not loud, but it had a resonant quality that drew everyone’s attention. “I am Annatar Aulendil, an emissary of the Valar to the people of Middle-earth. I have come to lend what aid I may to the Eldar who remain in the Hither Lands.”

The silence echoed for a moment. Then a woman wearing a dark blue gown studded with silver stars stood with authority from a position near the center of the half circle.

“Lady Galadriel, this Annatar is known to us in Lindon. The council of High King Gil-galad is that we reject his offer.”

She appeared about to say something further when multiple council members, from various spots around the table, turned and shot her a quelling look.

“We know,” said the silver lord; his flat tone spoke more for his opinion on Gil-galad’s council than his words did. 

Galadriel almost smiled. “Thank you Lady Echadril, but indeed, the High King’s opinion on this emissary is already known. What the High King thinks, however, does not dictate what Eregion does.” She faced Annatar. “Lord Annatar. Your coming is unanticipated. Many of us spoke to emissaries of the Valar at the end of the last age, and it was made quite clear to us that we could choose to dwell in bliss with them in Aman or forge our own path in Middle-earth unaided. You see why your arrival is…complex for us.”

Annatar nodded, acknowledging her point. “My lady, that was indeed the choice that was given to you over a millennia ago, but as you may know, the Valar do not all think with one mind, and they hold debate and council not unlike you do here. There are some who recall what was shown to us in the first strains of Music, before time began. Middle-earth is for the Children, and it is for the Valar and their servants to aid them. Some of us have noticed your own attempts to make these lands fair, to diffuse the desolation and darkness. For why should you not love Middle-earth? It was given to you to rule as you might. I was sent here to lend what aid I may to that task.” 

As he spoke, Galadriel had remained impassive, her only movement an almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes. Next to her, the silver-haired lord looked skeptical. Other faces around the table shared the skepticism, but some did not — more than one council member displayed curiosity and eagerness. Celebrimbor’s expression did not change as Annatar spoke, but he leaned forward in his chair, and his eyes burned with an intensity that made the hairs on Miaulë’s arms stand up.

Galadriel tilted her head to the side. “Aulendil? A Maia of Aulë? You know, I studied with Aulë in my youth. I learned much from him and his Maiar. Yet, I do not remember you.”

Annatar smiled. “You may not remember me, but I remember hearing of you. In those days, I was not among those who wore forms like the Children, preferring rather to explore the depths of the earth and harvest the gems made there. It is a great regret of mine that I missed the golden years of Valinor when all the Eldar still lived in bliss.”

“Not all.” The silver-haired lord frowned.

“You are quite right, Lord Celeborn, not all.” Annatar’s voice rose, Celeborn’s reminder seeming to set off some fire within him. “Some have always remained in Middle-earth, devoting themselves to its betterment. It seems unjust to me that those who remained should lack knowledge that was freely given to those who dwelled in Aman.” The woman to the left of Celeborn stirred at this, but Celeborn did not appear swayed.

Galadriel smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Your offers are noted, Lord Annatar, but at this time Ost-in-Edhil has no need of your gifts. We have knowledge of all the kindreds gathered here, and have brought greatness to Eregion without any divine assistance. You may stay in the city for a time, but afterwards —”

“My lady.” The only dwarf on the council cut in from her place next to Celebrimbor. “This seems like a matter which should be discussed. I do not think we all are of like mind here. The Gwaith-i-Mírdain did not become the greatest masters of lore and craft by turning folk away.”

Galadriel gave the dwarf a long look before glancing at Celebrimbor. “Very well, Lady Thaid, you may open the floor to debate.”

Thaid smoothed down her blue beard as she stood. “Lord Annatar, I find your proposition intriguing — the Gwaith-i-Mírdain are slow to reject offers of teaching. I must ask though: why were you sent to the elves? For although I and others not of elvenkind make our home here, still, Ost-in-Edhil remains largely an apt descriptor. For many ages, my brethren in Khazad-dûm strove with a similar aim to build up a better world for us and our descendants, yet we have never received offers of aid from the Valar.”

Annatar spread his hands and stepped towards the dwarf. “In truth, Lady Thaid, I was not sent to any one people or nation in particular. It was given to my discretion to find those who most enriched Middle-earth, whatever their race may be.”

“I am sorry Lord Annatar, but I still mistrust your offer.” The woman who spoke was one of the plainest dressed at the table. “Long have I worked the land in what is now known as Eregion, and never before has one of the Holy Ones deigned to come and assist me. Why now? And as I think I share the opinion of Lady Galadriel and her folk, as well as Lady Echadril, I think we may put this matter to rest, as we have half with Galadriel serving as a tiebreaker. We have much else to discuss.”

“I will vouch for him.” Celebrimbor spoke for the first time since he had sat down, his eyes still fixed on Annatar.

“Master Celebrimbor, you are outvoted —”

“Redhor Malendis.” This speaker dressed all in green and wore an elaborate necklace made of wood and bone. “If Master Celebrimbor has vouched for him, Lord Annatar is welcome in this city. We pledged long ago that the days of mistrust and barriers of magic and stone were behind us. If one of the council bids him welcome, he is welcome. This law is very important to me and my people.”

Galadriel seemed to freeze for a moment as her eyes focused on something unseen. After a moment, she blinked and looked around, her face suddenly sad. “Tyelperinquar, are you sure?” The commanding leader of the council had vanished; her voice was barely audible as if she and Celebrimbor were the only two people in the room.

Celebrimbor met her gaze. “Yes.”

“Very well. Lord Annatar, Celebrimbor is willing to vouch for you, and so by our laws you are granted access to Ost-in-Edhil. You may stay as long as he permits. Welcome to the city.” Despite her words, a line appeared between her brows. Annatar bowed slightly, and moved to the side of the room as the rest of the meeting proceeded. 

The council members continued with  the business of granting licenses, listening to complaints, approving and denying proposals, and discussing city improvements. Miaulë found the details of city life fascinating, as were the reactions of Galadriel, Coroniel, and especially Celebrimbor as they occupied roles he hadn’t imagined them in before. 

Eventually though, the meeting began to drag, and Miaulë almost asked Galadriel when they would stop for the day when Mirror-Galadriel called the council to a close. 

Celebrimbor, Coroniel, Thaid, and one other elf hurried over to Annatar. 

“Lord Annatar, I am sorry you had to sit through that whole meeting,” Celebrimbor said. “Also, many more apologies: I must leave you in haste — I am already late to my next appointment. I very much look forward to speaking with you soon.” With a smile, he hurried off. 

Thaid looked after him. “How is he late already? The council ended on time for once.”

“Because he stacks all his meetings up in one day so he only has to get dressed up once. And because he does not make use of our wonderful secretary.” Coroniel shook her head, smiling as she bowed to Annatar. “But welcome, Lord Annatar. I am Coroniel, this is Thaid, and this is Rivaldir. We and a few others lead the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and are glad to have you for however long you choose to stay.”

Annatar nodded at them. “Thank you for your welcome.”

Thaid looked around. “I’m actually going back to Guild quarters. I can lead you there and help you find a steward, as well as someone who can get you time with Celebrimbor.”

“Thank you, my lady. I will follow where you lead.”

The water began to ripple. Miaulë finally looked up, his neck stiff after bending for so long. Galadriel sighed; she had the same sadness in her eyes he had seen in the Mirror. 

“They say our memories are perfect, but I find that claim is greatly exaggerated. I had thought I did not insist with enough vigor that you be turned away. I also misremembered who spoke for you, giving Celebrimbor several lines he never said. Looking back, I made my position clear, but I could do nothing else in the face of Celebrimbor’s invitation. And he was not the only one who was glad to see you in our city.” She looked at Miaulë, and her mouth twisted with bitterness. “And though I could feel you were not of Aman,  I could not sense any evil in you. When I looked at you, it seemed the smell of blood wafted through the air, but I had felt the same many times when gazing at my own brothers. I suppose you still remember nothing?”

“Nothing,” Miaulë replied.

“Would that I could forget your deeds as well as you have. You may go.”

Abruptly dismissed, Miaulë left without another word.

~

 

 

Miaulë decided against going to the library and instead went to the back porch. He sat on the steps, watching the small bursts of life around the kitchen garden. For once, he did not notice Celebrimbor’s approach. 

“You seem bored.” Celebrimbor sat down on the opposite side of the steps, with arms clasped around his knees. Miaulë tried not to react; Celebrimbor had not spoken to him since the first day his form had changed, and he had had no hope that it would be otherwise today.

“I don’t know if I am bored so much as my mind seems unable to leave the same loops it has been in for days.”

“Sounds boring.” The corner of Celebrimbor’s mouth turned up. “Come on.” 

Miaulë followed Celebrimbor, half expecting him to suddenly stop, send him away, and head in the other direction. Yet Celebrimbor led him all the way to the smithy at the south end of the grounds. Despite its several forges and furnaces, the workshop was cool and free of smoke, the temperature controlled by a clever series of water pipes and the air circulated by a system of flues and vents. The forges here were not the hottest in all of Aman, but Celebrimbor maintained they were hot enough for anything reasonable one could wish to make — if someone wanted a forge that went out of the range found at Ondomar, well, the workshops of Aulë and Mahtan were not that far away. 

Miaulë’s excitement began to grow as he realized they were heading towards Celebrimbor’s workbench. Officially, everything in the workshop was shared, but he knew that in reality Celebrimbor had a corner to himself. The other smiths held him in high esteem, and insisted on giving him his own space however much Celebrimbor protested.

Celebrimbor offered no explanation on his sudden willingness to speak to Miaulë, but instead laid out an ingot of iron, a coil of silver wire, and a coil of gold wire. “Which do you want to learn?” he asked.

Miaulë found himself reaching for the gold wire before Celebrimbor snatched it away. “Nevermind, I think the silver will be best to start with.”

Miaulë blinked a few times. “If you think that is best.” In truth, he would be happy if Celebrimbor wanted to teach him how to weed or clean clothes. Learning anything from him, much less metalwork, was an honor.

“What should we make?” Celebrimbor grabbed a leather apron as he spoke.

“Something simple, I would think.” Miaulë frowned. “Don’t I get an apron too?”

Celebrimbor’s eyebrows shot up and he briefly covered his mouth with his hand. He declined to share the joke. “Yes, of course. It’s always a good idea to wear something over your clothes.” He grabbed two pairs of gloves from a hook and slapped them down on the table. “I don’t think we will actually be working with anything hot enough to need these, but just in case.” He still looked as if laughter would burst out of him at any moment. “So, something simple.” He tapped his fingers on the table.

“How about a ring?” Miaulë suggested.

Celebrimbor looked up at the ceiling and pressed his lips together. Miaulë could not tell if he was on the edge of hilarity or tears. “Annatar. Miaulë. No, Annatar. I will not be teaching you how to make rings, although they are indeed very simple to make.” He covered his eyes for a moment. “Spoons. Spoons are also simple to make, and we can always use more of them for the wedding.” He quickly walked off to find the materials.

Celebrimbor returned with molds and an ingot of silver instead of the wire. “This ingot is already cast, so you can start with the best part: hammering.” He selected a hammer from the wide array he had arranged on the wall. “This one is good for the initial pounding, when the shape you want is still far from the shape you have. You will need to strike hard, but start lightly and increase the strength of your blows as you go until you start to see the metal move in the way you desire.”

Miaulë started hammering. He soon became absorbed in the shaping of silver, carefully striking it so that it spread to the exact thickness he desired. Next, Celebrimbor taught him when to anneal the silver so it did not grow too brittle, and gave him a file to trim the shape of the spoon. Celebrimbor created his own spoon alongside Miaulë, although it took him a fraction of the time to get the results he wanted.

Finally, they had two simple silver spoons. “Now all that remains is the polishing,” Celebrimbor said.

As they started on the coarsest polish, Miaulë darted glances at Celebrimbor as his hands continued to work the grit over the spoon with a cloth. He looked so much like the Celebrimbor he had seen in the Mirror today, but his energy had changed. The Celebrimbor there had been bursting with life, even viewed from a watery frame with thousands of years and miles between them. This Celebrimbor still had a restlessness to him, but in a way that felt tense and dark. He thought this energy was new. Miaulë as a cat had watched closely to understand what the body conveyed when conversations took place above his head between obscured faces; he could tell that Celebrimbor now held himself in a taut posture that others might not notice, but was clearly different then what he remembered when he walked on four legs instead of two. 

“I saw you today,” Mialuë said. “In the mirror.”

“Oh.” Celebrimbor didn’t look up.

“I think it was the first time we met. I arrived just in time for a council meeting, and you walked me in.”

Celebrimbor stopped polishing and looked up. “You viewed that with Galadriel?”

“Yes. I thought it was one of the nicer things I have seen so far.”

“How much did you see?”

“I saw how you were the one who invited me to stay in Ost-in-Edhil, and then I saw the full council meeting. It ended with Lady Thaid guiding me to where the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were headquartered.”

Celebrimbor looked amused. “Galadriel willingly sat through that whole council meeting again? And made you watch along! I am sorry for that.”

“I thought it was interesting.”

“So you did not see that evening?”

“No, what happened?” Miaulë asked. “I think someone said I should schedule time with you.”

Celebrimbor laughed out loud at that. “I am sure that’s what they told you to do. Instead, you showed up at my room after dinner completely unannounced. I was already dressed for sleep, with my hair half down, trying to shake off one of those days where I met with person after person who wanted some piece of me. I believe I was already halfway through a bottle of wine. No, it was not wine; back then I drank these dwarven spirits that the eastern Khazad made. Anyway, I was completely unprepared for you to show up in all your pristine, shining glory.”

“So you sent me away?” Miaulë guessed.

“That would have been very sensible of me. How is your spoon looking?” Miaulë held up his creation. “Looks like we can start with the pumice.” Celebrimbor rummaged around and pulled out a jar of tan powder. He poured some out for himself and handed the jar to Miaulë. “No, I did not send you away. I invited you in, of course.”

Miaulë found himself smiling as he imagined Celebrimbor, rumpled and beautiful, deciding to welcome in the imposing visitor he had seen in the mirror that day. 

Celebrimbor took up his rag and started polishing his spoon again. “And then we went out onto my porch and ended up talking all night.”

“That sounds nice.” Miaulë thought it sounded much more than nice; he could not think of a better way to spend an evening. When he had first changed into his current form he had imagined Celebrimbor inviting him to spend time in a similar fashion, and still yearned for that level of friendship. He tried to mask his longing; he worried that if he sounded too enthusiastic Celebrimbor would start frowning again and leave.

“I think you were rather annoyed. At first you just asked me question after question, and I happily told you everything I was working on, and everything about Ost-in-Edhil that you could wish to know, but eventually I started asking questions of my own. I’m afraid I was rather insistent.”

“Did you suspect that I was not who I claimed to be?”

“No — or rather, I did not much care where you had come by your knowledge, so I didn’t ask. I asked every other question imaginable though. You said you were Maia of Aulë, so I asked about ideal forging techniques, how you would plate various metals. And then I moved to more abstract subjects, trying to get an answer from you to every question I had ever had on the properties of metals and minerals, and then even further still with all the questions I had on how the world worked, and the laws that governed it.”

“I doubt I was truly annoyed.” Miaulë had no idea of course, but he couldn’t imagine that he would hate talking about such things in any form — not with Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor tilted his head at him. “No, perhaps not. I think it was still not what you expected, though.”

“I sometimes think Galadriel, Finrod, and Gandalf are trying to find the worst memories for me to relive. I wish I could remember that first night,” Miaulë said wistfully.

Celebrimbor looked at him with profound sadness. “I have thought to myself recently whether I envy you or not. To forget everything — the good, the bad, the mundane — and start anew with a fresh vision of myself.” He looked at their spoons. “Time for the rottenstone.” He reached for another jar of powder. “Do you really wish to remember it all, Annatar? The bad is very bad. Didn’t Coroniel give you Galasson’s A History of Eregion?”

“Yes, and she also had me read Downfall by Raithril.”

“She gave you that? Coroniel hates that book — she has a whole rant about the commodification of suffering.”

“It was,” Miaulë sought for the right word to describe the gruesome scenes it had depicted. “Vivid,” he finally settled on. “But she could not have known what actually happened?”

“No, I can assure you I did not sound quite as lofty and heroic as she makes me sound while you were peeling my skin off.” Miaulë startled at the answer; he couldn’t tell if Celebrimbor was joking. 

He squinted at Miaulë. “It has some accuracies, though, and the timelines are correct. Raithril fought with Gil-galad’s army and saw my corpse for the weeks it was displayed. She also apparently interviewed a great many people for the book, so while it is a bit fantastic and not how I would prefer to be remembered, it’s not the worse account.”

They were quiet for a moment, focused on their spoons. “So, I ask you again, if I tell you that there is foulness in the later ages beyond anything you did in the First, do you still want to remember it all?” Celebrimbor asked.

Miaulë was silent for a moment, although he knew what answer he would give. “It seems clear that I do not fully understand what I am speaking of, regardless of what I read. Nonetheless, I would rather remember if it means all the good comes with the bad.” 

If he could remember a time when he had more than a small piece of Celebrimbor’s heart, he was sure he could make things a bit better. At the very least, he thought he could return to a place where he’d had some place in Celebrimbor’s life, like when he was Miaulë the cat. Anything would be better than the current reality of having none of him at all. Maybe I cannot not fix everything, but surely we can be more than this, he thought.

“One last polish.” All things must come to an end, even polishing spoons. “After the lith mírdain it will truly shine.”

“Did you invent this polish?” Miaulë tried to betray nothing in his face, but Celebrimbor’s lack of response to his last statement was making his ears ring; a ball of anxiety grew in his stomach. 

“No,” he finally said. “It was actually invented by a friend of mine.”

“Someone I killed too, I suppose?” The bitterness slipped out before Miaulë could stop it.

“No; he died before you ever came to Ost-in-Edhil.” Celebrimbor’s hands moved impossibly fast as he finished polishing. Setting the spoon down with a harsh clank, he stood. “I am going to put these molds away. You can bring the spoons to my grandmother.” 

Celebrimbor started putting away the tools and collecting the silver scraps in a bag. Just as he was about to leave he glanced up. 

“You can use my workbench whenever you would like, you know. Whether I’m here or not.” He left with a last, sidelong look at Miaulë.

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Chapter End Notes

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

Redhor (Sindarin) - fan invented word for farmer, used here as a title.
lith mírdan (Sindarin) - Jeweler’s Sand

Chapter's title is from Lord Huron's "The Night We Met" because I am an unapologetic cheeseball. Please yell at me on tumblr if you are also obsessed with the new album!