The Mírdain New Year's Eve Party by elennalore

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The Mírdain New Year's Eve Party

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The great hall was already full of people when Celebrimbor arrived. Someone pushed a glass of sparkling wine into his hand. Celebrimbor sipped from the glass, enjoying the taste of celebration. His eyes scanned the room, looking for a certain person who had – he hoped – this time accepted the invitation to their New Year’s Eve party.

 

Annatar.

 

The first New Year’s Eve the Maia had stayed with them, he had claimed that no invitation had reached him. Celebrimbor knew it had been a blatant lie because he had personally placed the envelope on Annatar’s desk. Last year, he had personally invited the Maia to celebrate the New Year with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain – their all-night parties were quite famous, certainly Annatar would like to join them – but Annatar had given some last-minute excuse and missed all the fun.

 

This could not go on.

 

Thankfully, Celebrimbor had learned to know Annatar better during the last year. Now he understood that in order to get Annatar to attend such a social event, he had to make it sound like something he could not resist. Lately, Celebrimbor had analysed Annatar’s mindset perhaps more than he should – he refused to admit that the Maia had become an obsession with him – but he thought he understood now what made Annatar tick. It was clear that the Maia had a strong competitive streak, and Celebrimbor could make use of that.

 

This new strategy in his mind, he cornered Annatar one afternoon, five days before the New Year’s Eve.

 

“The big New Year’s Eve party is already next week! I can hardly wait!” he announced and gave Annatar a challenging look. “You must have got your invitation letter, as well.”

 

Annatar’s lips curved in a sly smile. He had to suspect a trap, but he still could not guess how Celebrimbor was going to strike.

 

“Ah, I got the invitation,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, I need to collect data from my series of experiments with molten silver in order to confirm my hypothesis. I will be busy for a week at least. I’m afraid I cannot attend, as much as I would have liked. You, as a fellow scientist, must understand this.”

 

Celebrimbor smiled. “How unfortunate for you. That means I have already won.”

 

“Won? What do you mean?”

 

“I heard the Gwaith have got a bet on which of us can drink more of Armanil’s ethanol solvent at the party. If you fail to appear, I will be declared as a winner even after a mouthful of that awful drink. I did not expect it to be this easy, to be honest.”

 

“What!” Annatar exclaimed, flabbergasted. “Have they forgotten that I am an Ainu? I can hold fire on my palm without it burning me! I definitely can drink more of that toxic liquid than you ever can, I’m sorry to tell you.”

 

“You can say so, but to win the competition, you have to prove it. Besides, the competition would be quite unfair if the liquid wouldn’t affect you at all, or what do you think?”

 

“Even if I abandoned my natural protections, I could still stand more booze than you, Celebrimbor. I have seen you drunk.”

 

“And I have not seen you! Which means you really don’t know how it would affect your Elf-like body. You may be in for a surprise!”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Annatar said. “I have never even got a food poisoning, which in itself is a small miracle, some people here just don’t know how to cook.”

 

“You’ll have to prove it,” Celebrimbor said stubbornly.

 

There was that light in Annatar’s eyes that always appeared when he became interested. Celebrimbor dared to hope that Annatar had taken the bait.

 

“I will think about it,” Annatar said at last. “Perhaps my experiments will be finished earlier than expected.”

 

Celebrimbor took another sip from his glass, scanning the joyful crowd. He saw his fellow members of the Mírdain, residents of Ost-in-Edhil and many travellers who had arrived only for the famous celebration. He saw Noldor proudly wearing their jewels, while those of the Teleri had dressed in formal attire decorated with holly. Among the Elves, many Men celebrated in lively mood – some of them had come from the Númenórean settlements, some had lived all their lives in Ost-in-Edhil. There were Dwarves – the Khazâd – present, of course, and many of them waved happily to Celebrimbor as they noticed him. He raised his glass to salute them before continuing to search the crowd, but no Maia caught his eye.

 

An Edain minstrel sat in a corner, his callused hands playing the lute, singing a song full of longing. Celebrimbor knew him – the minstrel had been a regular in their parties for some time – he was quite old already. Celebrimbor was suddenly happy to see that the old minstrel had managed to join them yet another year.

 

He walked across the crowd to greet him.

 

“Why such a melancholic tune?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. “It’s the day of celebration, we’re welcoming the new year.”

 

“Aye, Lord Celebrimbor,” the minstrel answered, eyes twinkling. “It’s just that it may be my last – I already miss my Elven friends, and yet our ways must part soon. Alas! But you are right, of course, today is a happy day, and such song is not suitable for a day like this.” He changed the melody for a joyful tune, and Celebrimbor smiled.

 

“Have you seen the Ambassador around?” he then asked.

 

The minstrel chuckled. “How could I not? He shines, you know, even more than you High Elves. Quite eerie if you allow me to say so. He’s not from this world, you can see it at once.”

 

So Annatar had come, after all. Celebrimbor renewed his search for the Maia. However, Galadriel had managed to find him first.

 

She pushed her way through the crowd to greet Celebrimbor. Then she frowned. “Who invited the Maia? It must have been you.”

 

Celebrimbor looked around, and indeed, now he spotted Annatar who wore his most elegant pearl-white robes and stood alone under a banner saying Happy New Year 1230! From there, he observed the two of them lazily.

 

“Everyone’s invited,” Celebrimbor said quickly.

 

“I refuse to believe that he finds this kind of merriment enjoyable. The Ainur are different, Tyelpë. I bet he’s only here in order to spy on us.”

 

“For what? That’s ridiculous. I know him, he wants to have fun like the rest of us.”

 

“He doesn’t look like he does,” Galadriel commented rather sourly.

 

That was enough. Celebrimbor shook his head and left her, his steps taking him straight to Annatar who thankfully had not vanished into the crowd.

 

“Hey, you made it here.”

 

Annatar turned his attention to him. There was something in the way he looked at Celebrimbor that made him feel more awake. It was a most curious thing.

 

“I did.”

 

“Please, can you look as if you enjoyed this?” he spurted out. “Galadriel claimed that your kind are almost physically unable to have fun. I want to prove her wrong.”

 

The smile that appeared on Annatar’s face had to be genuine. “I am definitely capable of having fun. I’m curious to see the infamous Mírdain party at last.”

 

“In that case, have you made the necessary alterations to your body so that we can have our drinking competition?”

 

Annatar laughed and pointed at the glass in Celebrimbor’s hand. “You seem to have started already. Yes, this body will react to various chemicals now, according to your wishes.”

 

“Good,” Celebrimbor said. “We’ll get some experimental evidence soon. Follow me, please.”

 

He guided Annatar first to the buffet table, but it was a slow process; a lot of people came to greet him, and especially the Maia whose presence at the party had to be some kind of a novelty. Celebrimbor, who had worked close together with Annatar over the last three years, had long ago ceased to see his colleague as his superior.

 

“Master Celebrimbor!” a joyous voice shouted from behind him when he was scooping food on his plate, trying to choose between too many delicious dishes. “Ah, and Lord Ambassador, too!”

 

Dig was a Dwarf and one of the apprentices of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Now he was eyeing Annatar, an amused grin on his face. “Doesn’t your kind need to eat at all?” There was hardly anything on Annatar’s plate even though they were already at the end of the buffet table.

 

“Too many new flavours to my liking,” Annatar said coolly. “They have put Umbarian spices in almost every dish. Where is roast beef, for example?”

 

“My kind of fellow!” Dig announced in a cheerful voice. “I knew it from the beginning, we have a lot in common! I can’t stand those odd tastes myself. But, Lord Aulendil, you must at least drink!”

 

Celebrimbor grinned. “Oh yes, he must. We have decided to have a drinking competition.”

 

That made Dig laugh. “Against a Maia? You must be crazy, Silverhand! But in that case, let me offer you something under the counter.” He delved in his pocket and pulled out a small metal flask. “The finest whisky of the Khazâd. I would be honoured if you accepted this little gift, lords.”

 

Their eyes met. Much to Celebrimbor’s delight, Annatar nodded.

 

“You first,” he said quickly to the Maia while laying his plate on the nearby table. “I’m one glass of wine ahead of you already.”

 

Dig offered the flask to Annatar who opened the metal stopper and sniffed the contents inside. His delicate nose wrinkled up a little, but then he took the flask and threw some of the whisky in his mouth. Celebrimbor saw him gulping down the liquid. He thought he saw some level of surprise in Annatar’s eyes, but it was difficult to tell.

 

“Is it good enough for Lord Aulendil?” Dig asked, tilting his head.

 

“Very. Now, give the flask to my Elven friend. It’s his turn now.”

 

The warmth filled Celebrimbor’s mouth as he sipped from the bottle. Annatar was watching him, and he felt himself suddenly blushing, although it could have been because of the whisky.

 

After they had emptied their plates, he waved Annatar towards one of the back rooms. “Come on, we must find Armanil next. The real challenge will be how much of his ethanol solvent you can stomach. Compared to it, Dwarven whisky is nectar.”

 

“I like the taste of whisky,” Annatar said, resolute. “I like the warmth it gives me.”

 

“So, you like warmth?” Celebrimbor repeated, feeling suddenly stupid. Didn’t he find anything else to say?

 

“Yes, very much.” There was that smugness in Annatar’s voice again that Celebrimbor both hated and found intriguing.

 

“Good, because it might become quite hot here later tonight – when the room is packed with people and everyone’s dancing, I mean,” he added, furious with himself for sounding like a fool. “Oh shit, I think I really need a drink now.”

 

They found Armanil easily enough in the laboratory. They were greeted with a great cheer from the fellow members of the Mírdain who had set an impromptu bar behind one of the lab tables.

 

“I see the Ambassador himself finally made it here!” Armanil had a wide grin on his face as he measured them both a small amount of colourless liquid in a test tube. “Are you ready for this, Annatar? I won’t ask you, Celebrimbor – I know you definitely are.”

 

Annatar took the glass tube in his hand and studied it. “Pure ethanol? I did not know you had such brutal customs, drinking this stuff. I learn more of the customs of the Elves each and every day I stay here.”

 

“We Noldor must keep up our reputation,” Armanil beamed at him. “It’s more or less pure stuff; 95% pure, I think. I have a glass of water for you to drink afterwards; you will want to have it. Well, which one of you will be the first to try this?”

 

“Annatar, of course,” Celebrimbor said. “If that poison doesn’t affect him at all, I will know that he is cheating.”

 

“I am not cheating!” Annatar protested, but he took the test tube obediently and, without further ado, he downed the liquid in one gulp.

 

At first, it seemed that the solvent had no effect on him. But then his eyes widened, and he threw a hand over his mouth, gagging. Celebrimbor stared at the glass tube in his own hand. It horrified him to drink the contents inside the tube, but he refused to quit now that Annatar was game. He closed his eyes and gulped down the poison. It felt like his mouth and throat were on fire. He coughed and retched, tears running from his eyes. Someone gave him a glass of water; he drank it all before he could think again. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw were Annatar’s eyes that had almost a worried look in them. It had been Annatar who had given him the glass of water.

 

“We ended in a tie,” Celebrimbor managed to say. “Second round?”

 

The crowd around them gasped.

 

“Tyelpë, no one else has ever wanted to try that again,” Armanil said. “It’s practically poison. We will declare both of you as winners.”

 

“No, I refuse to end in a tie,” Celebrimbor said although he was not sure if he could stand another mouthful of that toxic liquid. “Annatar, get ready for the second round.”

 

“Or quit, and let us announce Tyelpë as the winner,” Armanil added. “He deserves a medal for his stubbornness.”

 

Annatar gave a slight smile. “And lose my chance for winning? I don’t think so. One more round, and I am sure we’ll have a winner.”

 

Armanil shook his head, but the crowd cheered again, and the test tubes were filled with that horrible liquid one more time.

 

Celebrimbor stared at the glass tube, but he could not make himself to swallow any more of the contents inside. He glanced at Annatar who stared at his own test tube suspiciously and made no effort to bring it closer to his mouth, probably feeling the same aversion as Celebrimbor.

 

Annatar’s eyes met his. “Shall we down them together?”

 

“I am not sure if I can force myself to put it in my mouth,” Celebrimbor admitted. Then he grinned, for he had got an idea. “What about if we helped each other a little? You’ll put your glass tube on my lips, and I make you drink mine at the same time. The one who is able to down it first is the winner.”

 

Annatar agreed that it was the only way they could proceed, and soon they stood facing each other and raised the glass tubes on each other’s lips. Celebrimbor did not remember that he had ever been this close to Annatar before. He felt his breath on his cheek.

 

“Ready?” Annatar asked. The audience around them had gone totally silent.

 

“On the count of three,” Armanil announced. “One – two – three!”

 

Celebrimbor felt Annatar push the glass against his lips. Simultaneously, he tipped the other tube, pouring the liquid in Annatar’s mouth. Celebrimbor parted his own lips reluctantly, knowing what would follow. The burn was worse than before, but he forced himself to swallow the liquid before he would retch. Annatar bravely took the solvent in his mouth, too, but suddenly he bent over, spurting the liquid and clutching his throat. He made some raw noises, and Celebrimbor hastened to offer him some water. He badly needed it for himself, but Annatar seemed to need it more. Besides, a joyous realization filled him.

 

“I won,” he croaked and drank some beer from a bottle someone hurried to give him. “You spilled it, I won.” Then he remembered that his strategy had been to let Annatar win so that he would be content and stay late at the party.

 

Despite his defeat, Annatar did not look disappointed. He had finally stopped coughing, but there was a lively fire in his eyes that meant – Celebrimbor hoped – that he was enjoying himself.

 

“Tyelpë, you’re the stupidest Elf I know,” Armanil exclaimed. “But you’re clearly the winner. Now, everyone who bet on him, please collect your winnings. Annatar, I’m sorry you lost, but you were brave for a Maia. Here, take some beer, it will dilute the burn.”

 

Celebrimbor was delighted to see that quite a many members of the Mírdain had indeed bet on him winning. He saluted his colleagues before turning to Annatar who was sipping his beer and rubbing his throat in the corner.

 

“The band will start to play in the ballroom soon – you shouldn’t miss it! The players are from Númenor, their music is really different, really groovy. And I want to dance!”

 

Annatar stood up slowly. “I will join you. I want to see you dance.”

 

The alcohol in his blood made Celebrimbor speak more bravely. “Silly, I want you to join me in dancing, of course. Come on, it will be fun!”

 

The Númenóreans had invented a totally new kind of music, it had a novel rhythm Celebrimbor had already learned to love. The band came from Vinyalondë, and they had first performed in the New Year’s Eve party two years ago – the first New Year after Annatar’s arrival. Already then, it had felt like the new rhythm heralded the arrival of a new era. And now, Annatar was here to experience it with him.

 

The ballroom was packed with joyous people who were clapping their hands, waiting for the band to start. Dwarves tried to find better places to see to the stage. Some of the Edain had already started a serpentine dance that belonged together with a song about the Great Worm. Celebrimbor laughed and pulled Annatar aside so that he would not be swept away by the dancing crowd.

 

In the corner of the room, Celebrimbor spotted his Edain friend Lohtu who often had interesting offerings to share. They greeted each other heartily, even though Lohtu was wary of Annatar. She indeed had something special for the New Year celebration: dried mushrooms that increased creativity and made you find a deeper connection with others. Tonight, in particular, Celebrimbor was eager to find that deeper connection, so he bought a tiny walnut box with dried mushroom powder inside.

 

“You must try this, too, Annatar! It’ll give you a wonderful sense of belonging. It’s best consumed with some hot drink – ah, perfect, they have mulled wine over there!”

 

Behind the counter sat an elderly Dwarven woman, selling hot drinks. Celebrimbor ordered two glasses of mulled wine and, after carrying them to a side table, added a tiny amount of mushroom powder into the hot wine, and then some more, until he thought he got the dosing right. Annatar watched his preparations with open curiosity.

 

“I thought you Elves did not eat mushrooms,” Annatar noted, raising his delicate eyebrow. “I thought you believed that they were created by Morgoth?”

 

“Well, we don’t eat them, but on occasion, some of us may consume them in other ways. In Ost-in-Edhil, at least, we acknowledge their special powers.” Then he came to think about what Annatar had said about the fallen Vala. “I hope you don’t find experiencing with them repulsive! Or blasphemy,” he added, suddenly worried that the emissary of the Valar would see it as such. Had he gone too far?

 

Annatar’s laugh was full of delight; it swept all his doubts away. “No, I don’t find this repulsive. Indeed, I’m quite ready for this! Give me my glass before the wine cools down, will you!”

 

They emptied their glasses together; the taste of mulled wine did not quite hide the peculiar taste of mushrooms. Celebrimbor knew it would take some time until they would experience the effects. He heard the first sounds of instruments from the ballroom just then. The musicians had come to the stage!

 

He took Annatar’s hand in his – it felt soft and warm – and started to pull him towards the ballroom, and Annatar smiled at him and let him be guided by Celebrimbor.

 

He brought Annatar through the crowd as close to the stage as possible. Even though there was less room for dancing, the gig was best experienced there. The band had already started to play the first song when they got there. It was a catchy tune played with various instruments: a harpsichord, brass horns, violin, contrabass, and drums. It was more than a melody – it was the rhythm that made you want to dance endlessly – that made their music unique.

 

Most of the people were already dancing around them. There were no rules to this dance, either – everyone moved their own way; some with slow, contemplative movements, some full of eagerness and vigour. Among them, Annatar stood perfectly still, listening. He seemed to shine a light of his own making.

 

Then someone took Celebrimbor’s hand and pulled him to a wild dance, and he laughed and pulled Annatar with him, and for some time, everything became a blurred whirlwind, and they danced. Until he was left breathless and reeling, and someone guided him away.

 

He opened his eyes even though he did not remember closing them and met the golden gaze of Annatar. He realized that he was leaning against the Maia, and that was the only place where he wanted to be. They rested a while like that before going back among the dancers.

 

“Don’t let anyone take me away,” Celebrimbor said to Annatar as they improvised some complicated dance moves. “I want to dance only with you.”

 

He enjoyed the trance-like rhythm of the music, moving with it. Annatar danced with him, mirroring his moves, and he realized he had never seen him dance before. Annatar’s eyes were half closed, but between the lids Celebrimbor saw golden light coming though, streaming out before vanishing in the thin air. He did not trust his senses after ingesting those mushrooms, but he thought he could see Annatar’s essence in that golden light, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

 

He might have said it aloud, but perhaps Annatar did not hear it over the music.

 

They danced until they were exhausted, and Annatar laughed and led him away from the crowd. They ended in a smaller room where the music and happy sounds of the crowd were subdued. There was a red wine bottle on the table as if waiting for them. After a search, they got two wine glasses, and Annatar poured them wine at the little corner table they had taken as their own.

 

“Oh, Tyelperinquar, oh Tyelpë, that was the most fun I have had in years!”

 

It was the first time Annatar had called him with that name; only used by his close friends. His heart leapt in joy, and he put the offered glass on the table so that he could take Annatar’s hand and study its perfection. Annatar had long, slender fingers and carefully manicured nails. A couple of gemstone rings decorated his fingers; their style was unique, and he fleetingly wondered who had made them.

 

“Annatar, are we friends now?” he dared to ask, raising his gaze to meet the gold of Maia’s eyes. “Only my friends call me Tyelpë.”

 

“I would very much like to be your friend, Tyelpë.”

 

He sipped wine from the glass, suddenly nervous under Annatar’s scrutinizing gaze. Annatar’s slender fingers were gently brushing the back of his hand now. There was a curious tingling feeling that followed the path of his fingers, but it was not unpleasant. Celebrimbor’s skin was darker in tone than Annatar’s, and not as smooth; to his slight horror he realized that he had dirt under his nails. But Annatar did not seem to care.

 

“You have such wonderful hands,” Annatar said in an adoring way that made Celebrimbor feel comfortable again. “Skillful hands. I have seen things you have made, Tyelpë, and in your hands, I can see the potential to make so much more.”

 

Annatar’s face radiated pure light. Had it always been so, or did he let his essence show just for Celebrimbor? He found himself reaching to touch the delicate chin.

 

“You shine.” Celebrimbor wondered if this was real, or the effect of the mushrooms.

 

“You, too,” Annatar answered, his voice suddenly gone soft.

 

Celebrimbor leaned slowly forward, wondering if he had enough courage to kiss those lips and announce the nature of his feelings that way. But he hesitated, the fragile moment passed and the next moment they were interrupted by no one else but Galadriel.

 

“Finally! I have searched for you everywhere! Come on, it’s almost midnight, and the fireworks will start very soon!”

 

Celebrimbor smiled at her even though she seemed to ignore Annatar on purpose. Tonight, nothing could annoy him. And Galadriel was right, he desired to see what the pyrotechnics of the Gwaith had invented this year. Moreover, he wanted to watch the display of fireworks with someone special.

 

“Will you come?” he asked Annatar. Celebrimbor had retreated his hand when Galadriel had arrived and did not dare to touch him again while she watched and clearly tried to make sense of what was going on there. As if Celebrimbor understood it himself.

 

“Of course,” Annatar answered and drank his glass empty. A drop of wine escaped from the corner of his mouth, making him look just a little less immaculate, and Celebrimbor was about to brush the red drop away, but Annatar was quicker, winking at him as if saying not in front of your cousin.

 

Outside, they followed others to a great square close to the city wall where the fireworks were best viewed. It was somewhat chilly night, and Celebrimbor would have missed his cloak until he learned that if he stood very close to Annatar, the Maia’s body radiated warmth like a furnace.

 

“What you’re going to see is a masterwork of our pyrotechnic group,” he told enthusiastically to Annatar. “We have gained so much knowledge in Ost-in-Edhil, and the skill of making fire flowers is not the least of it.”

 

Galadriel stood next to them, she seemed to be in festive mood and cheered with the rest of the crowd as the first fireworks filled the sky with their glimmering patterns. Celebrimbor risked her cousin’s wrath and took Annatar’s hand in his – the touch warmed nicely his chilly fingers, he thought as if to justify his bold action.

 

Idiot, Galadriel sent to his thoughts. He gave her an impish grin. I know what I’m doing. Please don’t interfere. Then he concentrated only on Annatar watching fireworks.

 

The Maia had tilted his head back to better enjoy the display, making little sounds of delight that made Celebrimbor squeeze his hand in this moment of shared merriment.

 

“I did not know you had such skill.” There was some new, darker, emotion in Annatar’s voice Celebrimbor could not read. But when he turned to face Celebrimbor at last, his eyes twinkled with pure joy.

 

He knew Galadriel was watching them like a hawk – otherwise he would have kissed Annatar just then.

 

“Happy New Year 1230,” he murmured to Annatar, and then shouted out the words together with others gathered outside: “Happy New Year!”

 

Back inside in the house of the Mírdain, they toasted the new year with glasses of sparkling wine before finally escaping from Galadriel, aided with a lame excuse of showing Annatar the guild’s meteorite collection.

 

In the geological exhibition room, however, they found Armanil’s gang again.

 

“A-ha, we have been missing you, but here you are again!” Armanil announced happily as they entered the room full of members of the Mírdain. “Are you ready for another game? We’re playing ‘truth of dare’ now!”

 

“Definitely,” Annatar said and sat down on a stack of pillows, pulling Celebrimbor with him so that he almost fell on Annatar’s lap. That made him flash a wide grin at Annatar. “Careful, now.”

 

The other participants made room for them on the floor, and the game continued. Armanil, who had the role of a questioner, pointed at Celebrimbor. “I guess everyone agrees that the next questions should go to the newcomers.” A chorus of cheering followed, and Armanil rolled open a slip of paper. “So, Celebrimbor, truth or dare?”

 

He raised his head from Annatar’s shoulder. “Truth. Nothing but the truth.”

 

“All right, here comes: When was the last time you got rejected?”

 

He turned to watch Annatar. “I think I have not been rejected tonight, yet...”

 

“You think so?” murmured Annatar in his ear, making it twitch.

 

“...so, I have to say it happened two years ago, during this same New Year’s Eve party, when Celebrían refused to kiss me.”

 

“How rude,” Annatar whispered in his ear. His breath was almost too warm.

 

“She must have got her reasons!” Armanil beamed. “I hope you have been got your share of kisses thereafter! Well, it’s your turn next, Ambassador! Truth or dare?”

 

“Truth,” Annatar said, looking suddenly very solemn.

 

“Great! Well, I won’t need a slip of paper this time! I hope you don’t mind me bending the rules a little, but this is such a perfect opportunity to ask you the question we’d all like to know: What are your intentions with Celebrimbor? We have seen how you’re looking at him!”

 

“And how he’s looking back at you!” someone shouted, making Celebrimbor blush.

 

“That’s quite a question,” Annatar said, and those eerie golden eyes turned to observe Celebrimbor, but he did not shy at them anymore, for there was such warmth in them. “My long-time intentions depend solely on Celebrimbor. But what comes to my intentions tonight, I would like to give him the kiss he was so cruelly denied two years ago.”

 

His words made Celebrimbor feel warm inside, and he laughed at them, first thinking them a joke. Annatar did not laugh, however, but pulled him against him and pressed his lips to his. It was not a joke, Celebrimbor thought, this was real. He felt a curious tingling sensation on his lips – so this is how it feels to kiss him – and then he parted his lips, hungry for more.

 

Distantly, he could hear the great cheer rise from the members of the Mírdain, as if their kiss had ignited some energy that had lain dormant within them. He was not surprised, for he felt it inside him, too. It was a beginning of something wonderful.