what would you trade the pain for? by skywardstruck

Chapter 1/1

Eregion has fallen to ruin, set ablaze, reduced to ash. There is nothing left behind but the scorched remnants of a world that could have been perfect.

(A time when he was happy.)

No, it never could have been. No matter how sweet each little lie tasted on his lips, how gentle each caress felt on the curves of his skin, how soft the words of love rang in his ears- it was always ever meant to be a distraction, just a stepping stone on the road to what he always wanted.

(A world forsaken, made beautiful again.)

What did he want? Mairon— Annatar— Sauron isn’t sure anymore.

And Celebrimbor is dying.

In the deepest dungeons beneath the once-thriving city, Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, is dying.

That pure, uncorrupted, kindhearted fëa bound eternally to Annatar’s ëala, as if the soul of an Incarnate could ever hold sway over one of the Ainur— but it did, it still does, and it fills Sauron with rage. He was not supposed to feel this way. The master of Arda cannot have such volatile imperfections within him. And yet, he cannot purge it from his being.

Give up what you love, before it does you in, Mairon remembered hearing once. Was it Melkor who spoke those words, as if foretelling his fate? This was the way of the world, for those who defied the will of the One. Even Mairon, the single thing Melkor loved in a world he hated, was never meant to remain with him.

And every breath Celebrimbor takes now only reminds Sauron of what he could never have. “You didn’t... have to do this, Annatar,” the Noldo mutters, struggling to speak, only half-believing his words. “Not to me... not to yourself.”

“You know nothing, Tyelpë.” Sauron smiles, his face glowing with golden light, an expression so familiar, a horror altogether new, sunshine twisted into twilight. “You know nothing,” he repeats, with more disdain in his voice this time, pressing the knife in deeper. Celebrimbor does not wince anymore.

“You will martyr yourself. You will die for a war your kind will never win. And all this time, you have never once understood me.”

“Even if that were true... you are still deserving of love,” Celebrimbor asserts, fingers weakly grasping the blade pressed to his chest, struggling to keep his eyes open. “And nothing... nothing you do to me will destroy... what binds us together.”

“Are you not disgusted with yourself?” Sauron is losing his patience. While he fights with daggers, Celebrimbor fights with words. “What would your father say, knowing you are bound to me?” Sauron tightens his grip on the blade, resisting the urge to plunge it in further, tears forming in his eyes. For Tyelpë’s voice is still musical, even as he struggles to speak; his body is still breathtaking, even as it is broken; his fëa burning brightly even when chained by darkness.

And his silver eyes are beautiful, even as they close for the last time.

“I do not regret having loved,” Tyelpë admits, “and maybe one day... it will be enough to save you.”

Annatar holds Tyelpë close to his chest— of all the things his beloved could say now, on the verge of death, nothing is more terrifying than this. But perhaps all of this pain will be worth it, Sauron tells himself, once he finally holds the world in his hands.