The waning moon moved towards the edge of the inky blue sky, and the hoofs of the horse sounded drab and monotonous in the dark of the night. But Celebrimbor rode on, with only one thought in mind: to find the one who could best understand his whims and desires and share the realization he had reached.
He went to Annatar's house but was told he wasn't there - and no one in his household knew his whereabouts at this hour. 'Lord Annatar is often spontaneous,' said a young Elf apprentice, holding up a candle and down a yawn at the same time, 'At times he goes out of town in the middle of the night, claiming that some mineral lodes can only be surveyed at such hours.'
Celebrimbor had never heard of such a thing, but he had no intention of questioning it at the time. After learning the location of those extraordinary lodes, he went straight to the city gate and requested a horse, declining when asked if his guards should be notified.
He didn't have to travel far before coming across the woods named by the apprentice. Off the main road, bushes grew thicker and thicker, eventually being replaced by tall trees that stretched from the plains to the mountains. Even his Elven eyes couldn't see the end of them.
He recognized Annatar's chestnut mare from afar because she bore a saddle and bridle and thus couldn't be mistaken for an Elven mount. Annatar had clearly dismounted and walked into the woods, which was understandable given the gnarled roots and clustered rocks on the ground.
Celebrimbor left his horse outside the forest as Annatar did. As he approached the woods, he heard the horses stir and become restless, but he wished no further delay, so he simply made a comforting gesture to the nervous snorting and pawing behind.
He felt a chill come over him as soon as he entered the forest and couldn't help but shiver. Inside, it felt like a different world. Branches and trunks intertwined to form a massive net above. The leaves of the trees, large and small, appeared still at first glance, but a closer look revealed that none of them were motionless, causing the starlight to flicker like tiny flames.
The Elves of Eregion, like the Dwarves of Moria, would not tolerate any evil creature of Morgoth coming near their doorstep; the darkness, while impenetrable to Elven sight, was at best an inconvenience to him, as it made it more difficult to find the man.
Perhaps I should call out to him, he reasoned. This haphazard search is clearly ineffective.
He was about to open his mouth when his keen ears picked up a whisper deep in the forest.
He began to move toward the sound without thinking, but tripped on a dead branch. The whispering came to an abrupt halt with the crunching sound, and the oppressive silence returned.
'Annatar?' He couldn't help but cry out, as an unexplainable uneasiness crept up on him.
There was no answer.
Suddenly, he caught sight of a shadow and spun around, trying to fix his gaze on it. But there was nothing to be seen. Exhaling, he turned back to see a familiar handsome figure - Annatar - walking around an old tree so thick that it would take two people to wrap their arms around it, each step as silent as a ghost.
Celebrimbor was relieved. 'You are truly here,' he said, dismissing his previous eerie feeling, 'I have been looking for you. Was that you talking over there? Why did you not respond?'
The golden-haired man remained silent but moved closer. Faint moonlight reflected in his pale gray eyes, bright and cold, like frozen icicles for thousands of years.
This could be interpreted as insolence, but Celebrimbor was not in the mood to chastise him. Instead, he tried to keep his face neutral, hoping to hide his excitement. 'I made some headway tonight, towards the myths of creation that I have been struggling with.'
Annatar blinked. They were only a few steps apart now.
'What I will accomplish will far exceed everything we have accomplished.'
At this Annatar bolted.
Everything happened faster than words could describe. A twang close by, followed by the dull thump of an arrowhead piercing flesh and bone. A black arrow tip stained with bright red appeared between the man's shoulder blades, suddenly filling the air with a rich scent of blood.
A raspy, shrill cheer erupted from the gloom, followed by heavy footsteps. Celebrimbor, still reeling from the initial shock, realized that the only people who would speak this language were Orcs and reached for his sword, only to find that there was nothing at his side.
He was in a hurry and had forgotten to bring a weapon.
Annatar, who was badly injured, stepped forward before he could move. Despite the arrow in his chest, the man wrapped his strong hands around the throat of the enemy who charged at them. A gurgle, then a rustle of struggle, followed by the crunching sound of bones breaking under the relentless grip. That hideous expression was frozen in pure fear and despair. Annatar turned back to him after releasing the foul creature, smiled, and then swayed and fell, unable to support himself any longer.
'Annatar!'
He fell to his knees next to the man, frantically reaching up to cover the horrifying wound, trying in vain to stop the gushing blood. Sticky warmth snaked down the back of his hand through his fingers. Was he imagining it? Were these heartbeats always so slow and weak?
The face in front of him started to blur. One by one, images locked in the depths of memory emerged, as if the relentless shackles that had bound them for thousands of years were suddenly shattered. One who cast down the crown in front of the throne. One who galloped away from the great gate of an underground city. One who stood silently under a white tower, gazing out at the sky and the sea. They didn't look alike, but they were equally vivid.
Do not let him join those who have departed, he desperately pled, his heart suddenly filled with nothing but a terrible emptiness. Do not let us thus grow weary of the world.