INVIDIA
The afternoon light shone drear and grey through the thick banks of cloud that crawled across the skies, casting a gloomy pall over the streets of the Elven city. As agreed, Celebrimbor's steward had collected Annatar shortly after midday, and Annatar now followed him quite amicably as they strolled through the upper levels of the city and towards the halls of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.
Ost-in-Edhil was of an unusual design, Aethir had explained as they walked beyond the outer gates of the lordly estate and out into the city beyond. Rarely did the Noldor deliberately choose to inhabit such hostile terrain as the stark hills of Eregion, and under such circumstances their typically gentle city planning was thrust aside in favour of practicality.
Celebrimbor's noble house perched upon the pinnacle the hillside; a marvel of stonemasonry emulating the glimmering spires of Gondolin that had long since been scoured from the world. Its walls were sculpted of pale peach marble imported from Belegost's now-ruined quarries, and its surfaces moiled with a beautiful pearlescent sheen that the Noldor in their skill had coaxed from it. The house stood proudly framed by an expanse of terraced gardens sliced into the hill's steep sides, and beyond them the city proper sloped away in all towards all points of the compass.
Beneath shady arbours of willows and beeches, through the delicately sculpted streets of the upper courtesan's circle Aethir led the way, and eagerly Annatar listened to what he told as he appraised the buildings and roads about him. Never before had he set foot in an Elven city that was not shattered by war, whose stonework was not left rent and crumbling, and its slain left bloodied and mutilated in the streets. It was interesting in a clinical sort of way, he supposed, to appreciate what for so long he had sought to destroy.
At the slightest hint of encouragement Aethir would chatter quite merrily away, pointing out intricately carved statues of the heroes of old, of famed warriors of Nargothrond and Gondolin with their weapons held aloft, or of the Valar captured in elemental form; a preening eagle, or a rearing horse, or a fleet deer. From them Annatar subtly turned his face, with far more interest he looked to the stores along their winding route that stocked wares of all manners; herbalists who boasted cured vines, exotic skins, and foreign alchemical compounds imported from the furthest jungles of Rhûn, dressmakers who embroidered silks and furs with such finery that the fashionable maidens of the city might swoon to wear them, cartographers who claimed to possess charts and maps to navigate even the broken tundra of the North, and at the arrogance of that particular supposition Annatar stifled a rather haughty smirk.
The city thrived on commerce, Aethir remarked proudly, and Annatar nodded as they skirted a large plaza centred about a pool containing an opulent fountain of two rather ambitiously intertwined dolphins. The riches of the Dwarves of nearby Khazad-dûm imbued the city with wealth, Aethir told, and Ost-in-Edhil's strategic position amid the rugged northeast of the Noldorin territories commanded the major trade route in gemstones and precious metals over both land and river. By wain and by barge, such goods and craft were brought and disseminated through the inhabited North, and all flowed first through their city's markets.
At last he and Aethir emerged onto the great parapet that girded the city like a belt, dividing the orderly courtesan's circle from the more frenetic marketplaces below, and despite the grim lour of the skies the view was nonetheless impressive. A grey, curved ribbon of glittering water to the east marked the passage of the Sirannon, its stream running swift with melt-water from the shrouded peaks of the Hithaeglir, and as he leaned out over the ramparts Annatar could just make out the squirming movements of men and wagons along a wide, dusty track that wound beside it.
"The East Road, my lord," Aethir remarked, following Annatar's line of sight. "Towards Hadhodrond, that is Moria, and the mines of Khazad-dûm it runs, just over two days travel by wagon. A great portion of my lord's trade flows thence, before passing away southwest by the Glanduin towards the Mannish settlement at the Crossing, or northwest by road to the dwellings of our kin. Long have we fostered friendship between ourselves and the Hadhodrim who dwell under the mountain, and the wealth that we have share in is beyond count because of it."
"It seems an unlikely allegiance," Annatar frowned, and he squinted over at Aethir through the sudden gust of wind that blew his hair in a messy blond veil across his face. "About the High King Gil-galad's halls," he began anew, rather irksomely brushing stray strands of hair from his cheeks, "I have heard the Hadhodrim spoken of with contempt. Naugrim they were named, and there seemed little love for their people in the Quendi of those lands."
"We have worked hard for our cordiality, my lord," Aethir said carefully. "Old quarrels have sundered our peoples, and many still clutch to those grievances tightly. But my lord Celebrimbor and his council are eager to see ancient turmoil laid aside in these new days. The Longbeards of Moria descend from Dúrin the Deathless in direct lineage, they founded the mines of Dwarrowdelf above blesséd lake of Kheled-zaram in ages long past, and they have grown mighty in their craft. In peace and friendship they offer to us a great wealth, both in coin and in knowledge. Elsewhere it is said that the lord Celebrimbor was over-eager in his judgement of alliance, yet ever opinions will dissent…"
Aethir trailed off, his lips quirked as if somehow he feared that he had revealed too much, and at that expression Annatar's eyes narrowed. Yet he held his peace, and with that little curl of knowledge left to brew inside of him he looked out over the city once more.
The precipitous drop below them was broken by roofs and turrets shaped in a clash of eclectic styles; quilted canvas tents and corrugated metals clustered at the bases of regal minarets, markets lodged between rows of elegant theatres and taverns, stables and barracks crammed next to fine, tall towers of polished stone. Busy streets squeezed through the crush like throbbing veins shot through some great quivering muscle, and somehow Annatar felt soothed by the sight of them.
For unlike Gil-galad's austere city amid the fens, unlike the abandoned tree-dwellings of the vagrant Laiquendi or the crumbled ruins of the Sindar, unlike to even the ghostly spires of Minas Tirith upon its haunted isle that he had ruled millennia ago, this city felt alive. Its very foundations seemed rich, seemed puissant; deep we are delved, the stones seemed to rumble, high we are built, fair we are wrought, while they live among us. Its energies felt paced, its pulse beat with the cries of traders that drifted upwards upon the breeze, with the hammers and stitches and saws of craftsmen, with the throng and mill of crowds far below, with the amorous smiles and flirtatious touches of two young elves who strolled hand in hand across the plaza behind him.
An envious smile hinted at the corners of his lips, his eyes glinted in the sour daylight as an unlooked-for swell of melancholy rose in his heat. For though so different, so pale and so accursedly Elven, some things remained the same. Smudges of smoke billowed up from foundries far below him; the acrid tang of metal was borne upon the breeze. However distantly, the city reminded him of home.
After a short while Aethir led him onwards, winding further west through the placid echelons of the upper circle until finally they came before the doors of an immense hall. Its domed roof sloped away before them; it dwarfed them in its sheer grandeur. Great carven pillars were set at its forefront in creamy marble, delicate murals or spiralling abstract patterns were picked out in threads of shimmering silver and gold across their expanses, and at the undeniable skill of the metalworking Annatar nodded appreciatively.
Up the grand stairs and through the doors left thrown open to the day he followed Aethir, emerging into an entrance hall no less decadent than its exterior. Above and about the doorway spells of forging and power were laid into the stone, lanterns of a swirling, intricate design were studded into the walls, and they spilled a muted glow across the flushed marble underfoot. The very air seemed to prickle over Annatar's skin as he crossed the threshold, and almost subconsciously he tugged the sleeves of his robe further down to cover himself. A shiver of an ancient puissance passed through him, and cold then grew his wonder. For though the Noldor of this city were but poor remnants of the high families of the West, a vestige of their youthful power resided within these walls, and it instinctively warded itself against him despite his fair glamour. Sourly he acknowledged it, and with a slight curl of his own puissance he slipped it from himself, and he kept his face carefully impassive as he felt that strange pressure at last withdraw.
"Annatar!" A rich, merry call distracted him from such thoughts, and with lightning-quick fluidity he righted his mood. A slick smile spread over his handsome features as he spotted the elf lord who had hailed him. Clad in plain yet well-made working attire Celebrimbor strode over, and he smiled welcomingly as the Maia shook his outstretched hand in greeting.
"It is the highest of honours to embrace you into the halls of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain," Celebrimbor said expansively, and fondly his gaze wandered over the entrance chamber before settling upon his guest once more. "I trust that you are well?"
"Exceedingly," Annatar replied. "Aethir was just acquainting me with some of the sights of your fair city. Truly it is a marvel."
"I am glad that you find it to your liking," the lord smiled, and he turned to relieve Aethir of his duties as a guide, and bade him return to his tasks within the main house. The steward bowed politely as he was dismissed, and as his footsteps receded across the marble he left Annatar and Celebrimbor alone amid the wide, airy splendour of the hall.
"Come, walk with me," Celebrimbor beckoned, and coolly Annatar slipped into pace beside him as they strolled across the hall and down a wide corridor that branched from it. "Here is the principle work place of our guild, the People of the Jewel-smiths as we name ourselves. Many talented artisans ply their trade within this city, hoping to spin riches for themselves or win renown for their skill, and the very finest of them we invite into our fold. Smiths we house, metallurgists and jewel-cutters, masons and stonewrights, all of whom could rival the works of my people in the prime of our years. Some also who show promise in their youth we take on as apprentices, and here tutor them in whatever trades they desire to learn. Under my patronage, and that sponsored by the city's commerce, we craft here what we will."
As Celebrimbor spoke Annatar gazed contemplatively at his surrounds, his eyes lingered upon the glimpses of the ongoing works through the open doorways that blinked past him as they traversed the corridor. A shower of phosphorescent sparks burst and spluttered like dying little stars as an elf quenched a livid brand of steel into a pot of viscous, greenish liquid; hammers thudded and crashed upon anvils, their wielders cast into shadowed silhouettes before the crimson glow of great furnaces left to burn, and the air about them shimmered in oily waves with their heat.
"Here the wealth of this city, of my people, is concentrated. The most precious of gemstones delved from the depths of the mountains are polished in these halls, the finest of the Gonnhirrim's mithril that they will consent to part with runs through our forges, and here we shape it."
They clove through a knot of chattering apprentices who hastily bowed and scurried out of the way as the lords strode through them, and almost without breaking breath Celebrimbor continued, "Under this roof some of the greatest works of our time have been smelted. The keenest swords have been whetted, the brightest jewels have been set amid kingly crowns, and they have made us the envy of all who look upon us. Even the skilled wrights of Gil-galad's regal court could not hope to compare to our mastery… I can only wish, I can only dream, Annatar, that the knowledge that you might bear will further augment such prosperity, it will swell us with wealth and renown."
Annatar made some neutral noise in the back of his throat; he was far more interested by a huge slab of obsidian glass that a young nis was sculpting in a nearby workroom than the arrogant preening of this elf lord caught up in his delusions of grandeur. His halls were fair, his forges were adequate, there could be little argument of blatant fact. But in Annatar's mind there were foundries far greater.
Concealed in his barren, broken lands to the East he had fashioned immense forges of iron and steel that glowed and seethed in their subterranean malevolence, ferrous mines gouged into the earth like wounds, great wheels of industry were turned by arcane pressures that he channelled up from the tortured, squirming bowels of the earth. His furnaces were not stoked by coal but by the raw heat of molten rock, the grinding anger of fiery Orodruin he harnessed and made his own, he distilled its hatred into his own vengeful projects. And for all this newfound might such things were but mere shadows of the colossal foundries that pounded still in his dreams, that lay now dead and cold under the ruins of another age.
These Elven forges were but playthings, laughable little pastimes to be tinkered with and then cast aside, and a sudden swell of churlishness rose in Annatar's heart. Was this truly the best that the Noldor had to offer? It was almost unfair of him to bother with his deceptions, if this was to be the dull backdrop to them. Yet such annoyances must be endured, he chided himself, and the shimmering aura about him grew thick as his thoughts twisted to gluttony. Encourage them, he thought, take these elves and beguile them, impress them, ensnare them within their own petty ambitions and there watch them thrash as he bound them yet tighter. Watch them twitch and jerk as he throttled the life from them.
Side by side he and Celebrimbor rounded a sharp corner, and the abrupt change in direction jolted Annatar to alertness once more. The elf peered at him quizzically, still waiting for a reply, for the assurance that he had not deigned to give. Swiftly he amended himself, and even though the repetitions were beginning to grate, affably he said, "My deepest apologies, my lord. I was momentarily lost in thought. Of course I will impart to you all that I might, for so I have given my word, and I am no traitor to promises once made."
With that Celebrimbor seemed satisfied, and for a while longer they wandered the halls. Celebrimbor proudly gave tour of the store-rooms of metals, gems, and alchemical powders; of the blast furnaces at the rear of the complex manned by burly, sweating elves clad thickly in flameproof leathers, of the arc furnace stoked by the whispered incantations of a lone thaumaturge, and the molten mithril that poured from the furnace's chute shone as brightly as the spell upon her lips.
Ever Annatar kept up a pleasant stream of conversation, asking questions where to him it felt appropriate to express curiosity, and Celebrimbor answered him well as they walked, pleasure stirring his stern features to gladness as the Maia seemed genuinely intrigued by the doings and functions of his guild. Greetings and mumbled 'my lords' washed over them as apprentices and nobles alike passed by upon their errands; Corannon clapped Celebrimbor warmly upon the arm as he wandered past sporting some magnificently singed eyebrows, and as Annatar shook his hand it was all that he could do to stifle the vindictive mirth that came bubbling up his throat.
Down an airy, wide passageway to the rear of the main house they went last, and midway down it came to an abrupt pause as suddenly a door to their right was flung open beside them. A billow of colourless smoke heralded the lunge of a panicked apprentice to a position of relative safety beside the gently steaming doorframe, and a look of utter mortification crept over the young elf's face as he noticed the two lords staring at back him. Yet before any could speak, a deep, raucous laugh emanated from inside the smoky room.
"Well, laddie!" a hearty voice boomed, and the apprentice positively quailed to hear it. "That'll teach you to label your compounds properly! Now, get your cowardly arse in here and clean this mess up! By Mahal's beard, if more of you mixed up your lithium and rubidium there'd be a good shot less of you…"
A bump and a slight fizzing noise preceded a string of rather creative obscenities, and with a terribly sheepish expression upon his face the apprentice slunk back into the room.
Annatar's eyebrow rose in bemusement as he looked to Celebrimbor for an explanation, but the lord just rolled his eyes and sighed, and continued on down the corridor.
"Narvi," he remarked a few paces later, yet for his disparaging tone, a true note of friendliness underpinned it. "One of the famed stonewrights of Khazad-dûm. He has been my guest for a month or so now, in return for a favour paid to him and to his lord under the mountain."
"He seems a lively fellow," Annatar nodded, and Celebrimbor grinned at him in response.
"He does take a rather vicious pleasure in whittling my apprentices down to size. Some of those alchemical reactions he so enjoys teaching are near lethal when performed incorrectly… Ah, but strength to him! He is a most goodly dwarf, an enthusiastic instructor and the most excellent of company. You will like him, I think," Celebrimbor finished fondly, before opening a gilded pair of doors set into the very end of the corridor and striding through them.
"My workshop," he intoned simply, and placidly Annatar trailed him through the doors. A modest forge glowed in the far corner, an orderly line of leather-wrapped poker handles emerged from its cherry-red mouth to overhang a small anvil set nearby, and upon several sturdy benches laid along the walls of the room was arrayed the typical clutter of smithcraft; protective clothing, stones, tools and a multitude of minor apparatus occupied nearly every inch of space over their surfaces. Daylight filtered in from a great circular window set high into the northern wall, and the shadow of the wrought window-panes threw an eight-rayed star to hover in monochrome glory over the centre of the floor. Across it Celebrimbor walked, a sudden twinge of nervousness plucking through him as he sat himself before a bench and picked up the item upon which he had spent the morning working.
A small circlet of silver gleamed within his fingers, woven with an intricate design of wafer-thin metal teased into a delicate, open circle; a pretty bracelet to be worn about the wrist of a fashionable young nissi of the court. Almost abashedly he turned it within his hand, he tried to smooth down the edginess that clutched at him as he waited for the Maia to react, to show some sign of consideration, of acceptance of his workplace. This room typically kept private now seemed awfully exposed. Of what he expected of Annatar, of what exactly he wanted he was unsure, and the Maia stood poised with such fey elegance before him that it made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. The air seemed to close with expectation, Annatar's gaze was unearthly, and desperately Celebrimbor held to the bracelet as he waited, with painful, childlike hope searching Annatar's face for the approval that he so suddenly, so fervently wished to see.
Annatar's reaction, when at last it came, was tranquil, but it set a warm glow of triumph washing through Celebrimbor's stomach. For he simply smiled, a mellow light seemed to suffuse him as his eyes skated about the workroom, and as those wondrous golden irises settled at last upon him Celebrimbor found himself stifling an unbidden shiver.
"You are a skilled silversmith, my lord," the Maia purred, inclining his head to indicate the bracelet that Celebrimbor fidgeted with. He meandered over to examine it more closely, and the esteem, the encouragement in his eyes sent a great swell of happiness through Celebrimbor's heart. And, no matter how hard he might have later denied it to himself, it sent no small measure of relief rushing through him as well. Deprecatingly he smiled, for such was the allure in the Maia's voice, such was the terribly sensual note sent thrumming within it that it made his head swim. It banished what suave words of thanks he had marshalled and it dragged up something entirely different in their stead.
"My father named me Tyelperinquar," he murmured, almost coyly he smiled, and an instant later a pink blush touched the very tips of his ears as he realised what exactly had just come over his lips. But Annatar merely chuckled, a delighted grin curved over his face as he leaned back against the edge of the workbench.
"That is quite a mouthful," he said teasingly. But where ordinarily such words would have stung, they would have seemed barbed and venomous and Celebrimbor would have replied with acrimony in kind, with Annatar leaning there so casually, quite unexpectedly Celebrimbor found himself smiling shyly back.
"Well," he began archly, trying to salvage what of his lordly composure he could, but the Maia's smile was just so mischievous… "Um… I – I used to go by Tyelpë. My uncles used to call me that. But you could call me that too, if you wanted. I mean… if…"
It was almost too cruel, Annatar crooned to himself. One subtle curl of puissance and he could have this elf lord on his knees, he could make him beg for him, keen for him, bleed for him. It would be so achingly simple. But where then would be the fun? So he simply thinned the glamour that enshrouded him, and evenly he replied, "As you wish, my lord."
"You…" Celebrimbor faltered, he blinked at Annatar as if somehow he appeared different, as if he had suddenly stumbled into some blinding stream of light. "You don't have to use the honorific, you know," he continued more steadily. "You are my guest here. You are not subject to me."
At that Annatar looked surprised, perhaps even a hint of embarrassment flickered over his handsome cheeks, and softly he replied, "Thank you, my - … Thank you, Tyelpë. I will try as best as I am able. But I am afraid that old habits linger, and in ones as ancient as I they are not easily broken."
Celebrimbor shrugged then, with a far more decorous air he turned aside, and as Annatar wandered away to examine the jars of gemstones and semi-precious metal blocks that were arranged over a distant bench, he took up a small pair of pliers and began to tease and curl the strands of metal.
"Is it a sterling alloy?" Annatar enquired, waving to the circlet in Celebrimbor's hand as he poked through a small jar of purple amethysts. "Or do you typically work with rhodium plating?"
"Neither," answered Celebrimbor, and he squinted hard at the mesh of silver strands before delicately shifting one to a more graceful slant. "Here it is commonplace to substitute metallic germanium in place of a percentage of copper within the alloy. The Hadhodrim distil it from their scrap copper ores, and when smelted into a common sterling alloy it imbues the silver with more desirable qualities."
"Resistance to firescale…" Annatar mused, his eyes narrowed as he tried to recall the properties of such an uncommon element and its rather esoteric uses. "It will not tarnish so easily… But does it not render the silver too rigid to be worked?"
"It can be problematic if the metallurgist is not accurate in their measurements," Celebrimbor said quietly. "Such a smooth metal becomes so difficult…"
"Then your craft must become more guileful to match." At the sudden intensity in Annatar's tone, Celebrimbor glanced upwards, and from beside him the Maia smiled so disarmingly at him that for a moment Celebrimbor felt as if he had been winded.
"You mask your expertise in modesty, Annatar," he murmured at last, with some difficulty swallowing down the throatiness in his voice. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, all too keenly he became aware of Annatar's proximity, and hard he fought down the urgent impulse to reach out and just for a moment touch him. "You should prove no mean smith either, if so skilfully you are able to offer advice upon the most obscure of alloys."
"You flatter, my lord." The Maia's voice was low, seductive; his words seemed to hover in the air for longer than their natural wont. "Yet I have always loved silver the best, in all of its forms."
"Really?" Desperately he struggled to banish the hunger from his voice, almost drunkenly he stared at the Maia's handsome form; the honeyed fall of his hair, the auric rings across his clever fingers that seemed laden with such potential, the golden glitter in his eyes that was so dangerously alluring…
"It seems…" he began anew, pausing to clear his throat from the huskiness that clotted it, to wrestle his straying thoughts back into orderliness. "It seems to me that gold is more to your tastes."
For a moment Annatar seemed to falter, some indeterminate expression flickered over his face, but his voice was level as he replied, "It is a comely metal in its elemental form: pliable, ductile and stately indeed. Yet it is to silver that my heart has always been drawn. It is gentler perhaps in its sheen, yet it is far more versatile. Under a stern hand, it is far more malleable."
A thrill of unwise desire crawled up Celebrimbor's spine at the Maia's last, soft, word. Yet quickly he mastered himself, he tamed the treacherous stream of his thoughts and bound them, and he forced himself to continue speaking upon subjects of altogether more functional occupations.
On that first day they spoke of many things together. Celebrimbor talked at length over the standard practises of Noldorin smithcraft, and to this Annatar listened intently. For while many of the principles remained the same as the practises which he commonly employed, the Noldor had developed new smelting and jewel-smithing techniques of their own in the years of their exile, and with them Annatar resolved to familiarise himself. But where Celebrimbor talked of the common difficulties that they encountered in their craft, he began to offer what preliminary solutions came logically to his mind, and eagerly then did Celebrimbor hearken to him.
Wondrous seemed his words, they belied a strange, foreign logic that was at once repulsive and intuitively attractive, and as the weeks turned, the hints and possibilities that Annatar spoke of coalesced into realities. Ways of artificing and of jewel-cutting he taught that yielded gemstones brighter and clearer than any yet wrought by the Jewel-smiths' hands, such was the grace with which he set and strung them amid glimmering nets of woven metals that in those hours they near proclaimed him a god. Yet for his skill that became more undeniable by the day, ever Annatar was pleasant, no hint of arrogance or haughtiness marred his features as he worked among all echelons of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain's ranks, and freely he would advise whomsoever might ask for his wisdom.
Seminars he would give to the shy apprentices who braved themselves to ask for his aid, patiently he would reward them, and such was his way among them that at even a hint of his praise they would blush and duck their heads aside. Upon more personal projects of the senior members of the House he would consult; arcane methods of smithying thought by the Noldor lost to the annals of history he saw revived and utilised once more, and for it their craft was greatly enriched. Jewellery, weaponry, wares, metallurgy; upon all subjects he would speak with wisdom, and eagerly the Noldor would follow where he led.
To their lord the most ardent of his attentions were given, and often he could be found at Celebrimbor's side if he was not otherwise occupied. Though at first they fenced about each other, their conversations thrust and parried as do all fledgling friendships forged in uneasy times, as the days rolled by a true sense of camaraderie began to unfurl between them. The elf was not so hateful, Annatar persuaded himself; his company was not unpleasant. Upon matters both frivolous and grave they would speak into the late hours of the night, companionably they would ride together through Eregion's wandering valleys, and cross or heated words were rare between them.
Ever an air of taut flirtatiousness hovered between them, so sharp it seemed almost uncannily natural. For Annatar's glamour was cunningly woven, subtly he cast his snares when the opportunities arose, and Celebrimbor tripped heedlessly into them.
The luxury in Annatar's smile seemed to set some tiny flare of heat to prickle in his stomach if ever the Maia graced him with it; the casual brush of his arm as they walked together seemed to linger for far longer than it should upon his skin. With increasing frequency he would have to catch himself, he would have to force himself to concentrate upon the grain of the metal that Annatar might be discussing, or the smoothness of the ring he was forging, of the modifications to the blast furnaces that he was expounding upon, instead of letting more sensual thoughts sway him.
For years uncounted thoughts of such nature had scarcely crossed his mind; passing interests in a few of the courtly nissi proved to be just that, and for years longer he had thought himself quite uninterested in intimate encounters with either sex. Yet more and more he began to notice the shapeliness of Annatar's body; the strong muscles that clenched and flexed under his tunic as he moved, the smiles that played over his lips as he spoke, as he whispered, as he laughed. The tilt of his hips as he leant against a bench or a wall was so playfully charming, the slight furrow of his brows as he concentrated was so oddly endearing, and the press of his hand over Celebrimbor's own as he corrected his grip upon a chisel sent a swell of unbidden arousal throbbing through him. Less did he come to find the Maia's occasional slip into formal titles to be unsettling; he found himself relishing in every 'my lord' that purred so softly over his lips.
He began to wonder what else Annatar's lips might do.
What other utterances might slip over them, he thought. What sharp little gasps of pleasure might he elicit with a caress, with the press and heat of his body against the Maia's own. What unlordly noises might tumble from those lips if but once he might take him, possess him, kiss him, worship him; what aching light would simmer in his eyes if one day he toppled him, crowned him, pressed him down into the pillows of his bed and fucked him…
Coldly he thrust such fantasies from himself, he tried to expunge every cloying trace of their temptation even as they seemed to seep into his skin. Such feelings were unseemly, he told himself firmly, they were wrong, they were ill-becoming of a noble lord and most importantly they were unrequited. Annatar was a guest, his guest, and never would he impose himself so violently upon another if his affections were unwanted.
And yet…
Annatar could be fey and obtuse when he so chose, that much at least Celebrimbor had deduced of him. He would flatter, he would tease and hint and toy until at the last he would withdraw, he would leave such awful desire cramping through Celebrimbor's innards that more than once he almost broke, he almost had buckled. But pride had asserted itself with a vengeance within him, with steely decorum he had wrestled down those thoughts that he dared not cozen, that he dared not question the origin of, and steadfastly he clung to Annatar's friendship. But for all that the Maia remained aloof of him, never truly did he rebuff him, and that tantalising sliver of hope ever preyed upon Celebrimbor's heart.
The crescent moon shone thinly through the slurry of the clouds, casting a sickly wash over the steep, frosty slopes. The wind moaned through the gullies and ridges that cracked over the high passes of the Hithaeglir, and within their depths, evil things stirred. Fell jaws opened, thin tongues licked over serrated teeth as the things wakened, as luminous eyes slitted open in the gloom. For centuries they had endured amid the caves of the mountains, they had lurked in the hollows of the hills, and by moonlight they hunted when their bellies grew cold and empty. Yet now they were glutted, through bloodied meat and flailing limbs they had crunched not a week before, and it was not hunger that now drew them from their dormancy.
A scent was borne upon the breeze, a message scrawled in an ancient tongue and through blackest sorcery disseminated upon the winds. The words lapped and tickled at their gnarled ears, through skull and hide the message flitted, penetrated, commanded, and instinctively the creatures understood. They hearkened to the words, these feral beasts that scourged the mountains and made obeisance to none save their own savage delights roused themselves from their slumber. Unveiled under the night sky they emerged, bones cracked and fur bristled as they stood, and as one, they obeyed.
Annatar at last stepped away from the balcony, a wearied expression clouding over his features as he wandered back into Celebrimbor's sitting chambers. The lord, from where he sat entrenched behind his writing desk leafing through the seemingly endless accords of the city's renewed trade agreements with Forlindon, Vinyalondë and Mithlond that Tirlossë had presented him with earlier, paid him little heed save for a slightly puzzled glance. After one final glance over, Celebrimbor quickly lettered his name upon the documents and stamped them with his seal, before bundling them together with a neat length of ribbon and setting them aside.
Annatar meanwhile had sunk himself deeply into one of the plush couches that were positioned about Celebrimbor's stately room, sprawling there tiredly as he reached for a glass of sparkling cider that was placed upon the low table before him. The bittersweet tang of the drink upon his tongue helped to soothe him, it numbed away the acrid taste of sorcery and as he arranged the pillows more comfortably behind his back he noticed the elf subtly eyeing him from his desk. Celebrimbor, for his part, made every attempt to be surreptitious, yet as his eyes lingered across Annatar's body he felt his gaze become more certain. The jewel-studded rings that the Maia wore shone so marvellously against the duller metal of the cup in his hand, the heels of his boots were perched so elegantly upon the wooden arm of the couch, the slight part of his thighs as he reclined was so terribly alluring…
Quickly Celebrimbor stifled such thoughts, he tried to dispel the familiar squirming sensation that turned in his stomach, and as his eyes flickered to Annatar's face a sudden concern brushed through him.
"Are you all right?" Haggardness clung to the Maia's usually smooth features, and limned in the faint wash of the moonlight he looked all too pale. "Annatar?"
"I am fine," the Maia replied, somewhat throatily, before quickly swallowing down a large mouthful of cider. A sheen of bubbly liquid stuck upon his lips, and for one sickening moment it looked as if his mouth were slicked in bile as he continued, "Do not concern yourself with me. This day has been… full of labour, both in body and in will. Yet it has brought its triumphs. It seems almost an age since the sun has risen…"
"You press yourself to hard," Celebrimbor said concernedly, for truly Annatar's scattered trail of speech perturbed him. "Take some rest if you need it."
"I am fine," came the distant reply.
"Come," Celebrimbor tutted, and a more playful tone lilted in his voice as he teased, "What shall my people say of me as a host, then? That I run my guests ragged, flaying their knowledge and skills from them as if they were but slaves to pleasure me?"
The elf scoffed derisively, but a supercilious smile curved over Annatar's lips. He yawned widely upon the couch, before leaning over to refresh his glass of cider, and he lifted it up before him to idly appraise it as he steered the conversation elsewhere.
"Of late I have noticed a trend among the younger apprentices," he remarked casually, swirling the cider within his cup and watching as the little bubbles burst and fizzed before him. "They wear a remarkable array of adornments about their ears, both neri and nissi alike. Studs, cuffs, rings, and others of stranger make. Is it a custom among your people to adorn yourselves thusly?"
"What? Oh – " Of instinct Celebrimbor's hand flew to his ear, where several elegant rings were pierced through his helix alike to those which Annatar had described. The Maia watched his movement curiously, and with a sigh Celebrimbor arose, milling about his desk and settling himself upon a couch laid perpendicular to Annatar's about the table, and helping himself to the cider in turn. "Well," he continued, "it is not a custom, per se. Perhaps you might consider it more of a fashion? The waxing and waning of trends…"
Annatar looked quizzically at him, and almost self-consciously Celebrimbor fiddled with the rings in his ears. "Do you… do you not do alike in Aman?"
"It is not a common thing among my kindred, no," Annatar replied. "I merely wondered…" The ghost of a smile touched his lips, but the simmer in his eyes belied more than the simple friendship that his words wove. "Such fashions suit you well, my – " Hastily Annatar caught himself; Celebrimbor was not quite sure whether he was disappointed or delighted by it, and smoothly he continued, "Tyelpë. They are most handsome piercings."
At the sound of his name emphasised so carefully over Annatar's lips, a shiver of most definite pleasure slid down Celebrimbor's spine, but desperately he tried to hold on to composure as he murmured, "Thank you."
But that look, that damnably, innocently seductive look in Annatar's eyes drew the words from him, like slippery eels they were hauled over his lips before he could quite restrain them. "They would suit you too, I think. Maybe… I mean, if…"
The stumble in his voice was cringe-worthy even to himself, but graciously Annatar smiled, and with an air of such devastating nonchalance he dug his hooks in just a little bit deeper.
"You flatter me, my lord," he replied, his voice soft and low. "But I could never hope to compare."
A blush mottled over Celebrimbor's cheeks, and abashedly he buried his face in his cup. He fiddled again with the rings in his ears as the silence between them stretched on, Annatar was quite happy to leave it there to curdle, until at last the elf muttered, "My father made them for me, when I was young."
"Then he was a skilled smith himself," Annatar said, yet a he spoke a strangely resentful look came over Celebrimbor's countenance. "They are kingly gifts."
A long silence seeped through the room, a silence filled with only venom, until bitterly Celebrimbor said, "My father was no king."
A frown crossed Annatar's brows, he raised himself up and twisted about on the couch to face Celebrimbor more easily, and into the well of acrimony that he had quite unintentionally stumbled across he delved cautiously. "You speak as ones estranged."
"Did you ever meet him?" Celebrimbor snapped, and something terribly close to desperation quavered in his voice. "He used to frequent Aulë's halls, with my grandfather. Long, long ago…"
"I did not have the pleasure."
"Then you cannot know truly of what I speak. He was…" Words failed him, an angry spasm quirked over his lips, it felt like someone had sewn his throat shut with wire, and his knuckles grew white and bloodless as his fingers clenched about his glass.
But sagely Annatar nodded, something about him seemed for a moment to mellow, and a wince of genuine sympathy curled at the corners of his smile. "Yet still you love him."
"My father was a difficult person to love," Celebrimbor spat, and he glared down into the frothy remnants of his cider.
The quiet between them became slowly biting, but into it Annatar finally murmured, "He treated you cruelly?"
"No," the elf sighed, "No. It's not that. Well… no. Insofar as, he never struck me. He was not hurtful, not physically, though his tempers were… frightening. But perhaps it was his disappointment that was the cruellest."
"In what way would you have disappointed him? Many skills you possess, and in many traits you are admirable and strong."
"I was not always as I am now," Celebrimbor pronounced bitterly, and his gaze wandered to the cold night skies framed above his balcony as he spoke. "In my youth I was different. More wilful, perhaps, stubborn. Spiteful, even, I have heard it said...
Expectations were laid before me, but I wished not to be so rigidly bound by them. My father demanded excellence, rigour, in things that he deemed proper for a prince of the royal house to be educated in, to the exclusion of all else. I was supposed to be his heir, his prodigy, the silver-handed scion of the great Fëanáro come again to Arda, and I… I wished to have no part in it.
I did what was expected of me, many things I wrought and I made, for a talent in smithcraft was impressed, nay, enforced upon me. But ever I did so with dispassion. Ever my father was frustrated with me. It was a waste, he said, a bloodline squandered, a legacy despoiled…"
Celebrimbor's lip curled, and sorrowfully, hatefully he continued, "There was this look in his eyes, and I knew that I had failed him. I would learn of all manners of ancient lore from the great scholars of Tirion, I would commit it to memory or when I was older I would publish it anew, and when I spoke to him of it he would merely nod and smile blandly. I would ride with my uncle in his hunts, I would bring down the prize stag with my own arrow and my father would turn away in disgust. Ever as I pursued my own interests, as I achieved my own purposes, it was drowned in the weight of his failure."
A chill breeze rustled through the room, deeply Celebrimbor inhaled, and at last Annatar murmured, "I am sorry."
"Don't apologise."
"I only meant – "
"I do not want your sympathy," Celebrimbor said sharply. "I do not want your condescension. Failure ill-becomes me, I have little patience for it and I entertain it not. Perhaps my father has shaped me for better in the end, or perhaps not, but that is a matter aside. I have exceeded his expectations of me. I have led my people through a cataclysm of his creation. I have forged this realm alone, I have given them a sanctuary from the perils of the world and I have made it prosperous. By my own hand, by my will alone this was achieved, and I will suffer no sycophantic smiles for my efforts."
"My lord," Annatar intoned, and a sudden spiral of hope bored through Celebrimbor's heart as the Maia inclined his head respectfully. No trace of disdain marred him, no soft sorrow moved him; evenly he met Celebrimbor's stare as he raised his head, and for that Celebrimbor was grateful. A strange tension lingered between them for a moment, before wearily Celebrimbor sighed, he ran a hand through his hair and a short, rueful laugh jumped to his throat.
"I have not spoken of such matters for years," he began slowly. "They are heavy counsels…"
"Then I thank you, my lord," Annatar replied, and searchingly Celebrimbor looked to him. "For deeming me worthy to bear them."
At that Celebrimbor did not know whether to smile or to silently grieve, and for a while he did not respond. Yet after a few minutes of tender silence between them, at last he murmured, "Are you truly a friend, Annatar?"
It was almost painful to smile back, to affix a mellow grin across his face when so desperately he longed to tear it off, to assume himself, declare himself, take this whining elf lord and dash him bloodied across the stones. But stoically he pushed aside such temptations, though he had cast his net he was far yet from reeling it in, and into the glamour that shimmered about him he pushed every ounce of earnestness and false, lingering supplication that he could.
To one knee upon the floor he twisted himself, a hint of enchantment played upon his lips as he took Celebrimbor's hand within his own, as he raised it up and kissed him softly upon the knuckles.
"In all things, my lord," he said quietly, demurely, and the words poured like silver over his tongue. "In all things I am your friend."
Fluidly then he stood, he swiftly bade his goodnight and exited the lord's chambers, leaving nothing but silence in his wake, and Celebrimbor staring hungrily after him.
A huge thank you to those of you who were so supportive of the first chapter of this little enterprise, and I hope that the second lived up to the standard. Until next time, theeventualwinner! x