Rage; sheer, incandescent rage moiled through Annatar's golden irises. It wreathed him in its glow, it sparked and flashed like a million dying stars about him, and with a snarl of fury torn across his face he tightened his grip about Celebrimbor's throat.
"You will not strike me."
The power in Annatar's voice sent Celebrimbor's knees buckling; he gagged as the force of that puissance slammed up against him, shook him, ruptured him. Desperately he scrabbled at Annatar's wrist, his fingers clawed reddened furrows across the Maia's skin as he tried to tear himself free of that awful, suffocating hold, yet only a squeak of fright wormed out of his throat as Annatar's grip tightened.
Phosphorescent flashes of light danced at the edges of Celebrimbor's vision; bones grated in his neck as the Maia jerked him forwards, as into his face Annatar snarled, "You will not touch me. You will not lay an unclean finger upon me, Tyelperinquar, not unless I see fit to grant you the honour of it."
Desperately Celebrimbor gulped; bile came sizzling up his throat as the Maia's command wrenched inside of him, and helplessly he spluttered as truly he began to asphyxiate as Annatar marched him back across the room.
"P-please…" he choked, he begged as his bare heels skidded upon the marble beneath him, as Annatar's eyes bled like auric orbs into the blackness that hemmed in his vision. How fiercely they burned, he thought wildly; still they were so beautiful, but how cruelly Annatar sneered then as he spluttered anew, as he gasped, "P-please… I'm s-sorry…"
"No, you're not."
The hatred in Annatar's voice sliced right down to the bone. Yet even as the roar of impeding unconsciousness sounded in his ears, even as he gagged and retched in Annatar's strangling grip, suddenly, roughly he was relinquished. Backwards upon the bed Annatar slammed him down, and for one horrific moment the Maia left him there to splutter.
Celebrimbor's hands jerked up to his throat, he scrabbled at himself as if somehow he could undo what had been done; he could remove the redness that flared like some unholy necklace about his throat. But even as the air flooded back into his lungs it came polluted, and the Maia's bruised smile above him was unearthly.
"Strip," Annatar commanded; a great crackle of puissance he threw behind his voice, and such was the blind, clamouring compulsion in it that Celebrimbor keened as it gripped him, as it played like a searing whip-lash within him and forced him to move.
Frantically, desperately he shrugged out of his shirt: Annatar had told him to do it, his Maia wanted him to do it, to be all naked and sordid and waiting before him. That impulse careened through his stomach; he barely drew breath as he fumbled with the laces of his breeches, only just did he slide their waistband over his hips when Annatar ripped them down his legs.
With that violence Celebrimbor shuddered, even through the seething clamour of his lust, some struggling vestige of caution chimed in him. For something perilous seemed to irradiate Annatar's very being; corrupt and slick and sublime was the Maia standing atop him; at once sacrosanct and unholy.
The smirk that curled over Annatar's lips scourged such doubts from Celebrimbor's mind. A bolt of cramping arousal lanced up from his stomach at the glitter in Annatar's eyes, and powerless then he was to hide the traitorous stiffening of his flesh.
"You are incorrigible," the Maia sneered, wondrous and horrifying were his words and Celebrimbor merely moaned in reply. With bitter mirth Annatar reached forward, with a crunching surge of power he flipped the elf lord bodily over, and a gasp of surprise hissed out of Celebrimbor's lungs as his face and chest crushed suddenly into the sheets. Annatar's power crackled over his skin, it forced him down, and such craving pounded in his stomach as he felt the Maia move.
A sharp slap to his inner thigh parted his legs, the sting across such sensitive skin sent Celebrimbor's knees skipping lewdly apart. A flush of humiliation mottled over his cheeks as he splayed himself, as he felt Annatar slip upon the bed behind him, the Maia positioning himself between his spread legs.
"Wait… I – I didn't…"
Whatever Celebrimbor was about to say was lost into the moan that scored from his lips as Annatar ran one sharp nail down the back of his thigh. Across the pink welt of that slap before Annatar trailed his fingers; he revelled in the tight, painful jerk of the elf's body before him, he gloated in the little mewls of pain that scampered over the elf's lips with each new contact.
"Annatar, w-wait -"
So abruptly the elf's speech was severed as Annatar lunged forward, as pale hands knotted through Celebrimbor's hair and yanked him upwards. The elf's back arched as Annatar hauled him up, a grunt of pain punched out of his throat as he was forced to bend, forced to splay himself into Annatar's waiting lap. His arse pressed back into Annatar's groin, the Maia's thigh slipped between his legs and prevented his closing them, and even as the realisation of that abasement broke through him, into his ear Annatar crooned, "You would ask now for my clemency? Why?"
Soft were the Maia's words, but they were merciless. Slowly, subtly he forced Celebrimbor to rock against him, to grind himself back into his groin, and as the elf lord flushed with the ignominy of it, with such false sweetness Annatar murmured, "I am only giving you what you wanted, my lord. Only ever what you so desire, what you crave… Do you not think me generous for it?"
"N-no," Celebrimbor bleated, and all the stronger did shame flood through him as Annatar suddenly slammed him back down, crushing his face into the bedclothes. But through that motion Annatar forced his hips to raise, his legs were nudged yet further apart, and how his protesting cry muted into a filthy groan of delight as he felt Annatar finally reach beneath him, as pale, cunning fingers ghosted up his achingly hard length.
"W-wait," he breathed, something in him yet screamed out its revulsion even as it was torn asunder with need. "Please… wait, pl – oh!"
Despite himself, despite the wrongness of it all, lust screeched through Celebrimbor's body, and into Annatar's touch he thrust himself, he pressed his length into the Maia's palm. He could feel the Maia's laughter behind him, he could feel his mockery and his spite but with the screaming fulfilment of desires so long denied, Celebrimbor simply could not bring himself to care. Wantonly he rolled his hips, he coaxed Annatar's fingers yet harder up his length, he threw himself into that sordid well of desire and into it he fell apart.
Softly Annatar stroked him, such gruelling little moans seeped over his lips as the Maia's fingers swirled over the pre-come that leaked from his slit. Callously Annatar toyed with him, slicing thin white scratches over his arse just to hear him whimper, sweeping his hand down over the welt on his inner thigh just to feel him flinch, and each little humiliation only stoked the cinders of his desire to burn that much brighter.
"Annatar," he mewled, he rocked his hips back into the Maia's touch, and a squeak of pain tumbled from his lips as suddenly Annatar pinched his arse. The muscles in his back knotted in such exquisite torment as slowly, lasciviously, Annatar trailed a constellation of tortured little wheals down his inner thighs, and with each pinch Celebrimbor jumped, his length twitched and slid in Annatar's fingers as desire throbbed through him. "Annatar, p-please… oh, ohhh…"
His hands clenched into fists about the rumpled covers, he pressed his flushed cheeks into the bedclothes as if somehow that could stifle the moans that keened out of his throat. The Maia's fingertips trailed agonisingly over his skin, and how Annatar sneered as Celebrimbor writhed beneath him.
Heat glowed from the elf's thighs; pink abrasions adorned him like perverse little roses kissed into his skin. Wetly, pathetically he panted, desperately he rolled his hips into Annatar's palm as his lust consumed him, as it sent him trembling towards his peak.
"P-please… Annatar, please…" The words fell sloppily from Celebrimbor's lips, he poured them half-muffled into the sheets in all of their indecency. "Please, please I – oh, oh fuck, f-fuck…"
With a wordless groan of pleasure Celebrimbor came; he thrust himself into Annatar's palm, slicking the Maia's fingers in his seed. Such blistering pleasure wracked him, it swarmed through his innards and set his mind reeling; again and again he whimpered Annatar's name as every little touch upon him sent him spiralling that much higher.
Slowly that ecstasy slipped from him, yet scarcely had its final tremors passed when suddenly, violently, Annatar grasped him by the hips, and in a move far more suited to the battlefield than to bedplay tumbled him over.
Upon his back then Celebrimbor sprawled, through flushed cheeks and parted lips he panted, his hair a dark, dishevelled tangle across the pillows as he glanced up at Annatar in confusion. For a moment the Maia simply beheld him, something awful glimmered behind those golden eyes, and even as Celebrimbor lay there sweaty and spent, Annatar pushed his legs open once more.
"Annatar?" he breathed, instinctively he tried to pull away as the Maia's hands came down upon him. "What – "
"Shh, my lord," the Maia crooned; a soft, hateful smile rolled over his lips as with his left hand he stroked over the muscled lines of Celebrimbor's abdomen, and the elf flinched at his touch. "Just spread your legs."
"N-no," Celebrimbor gasped; apprehension gripped him then and despite the awkward positioning he tried to scramble away. He had scarcely moved an inch when a gout of pain erupted through him, it split through his head like a hammer struck against some crumbling stone, and he stifled the urge to retch as he was forced to stillness.
Annatar smiled superciliously down at him; the Maia's golden aura seemed only to thicken in its glee as the pain numbed from him, as in its wake it left nothing but torpor in his limbs. Keenly then he felt Annatar's will press upon him; a soft caress of puissance that lulled him into serenity but for the venom that prickled through it, the vicious compulsion that commanded his passivity.
"Spread your legs for me, my lord," the Maia purred, and though his mind railed and screamed and struggled against the power that gripped him, he did as he was told. His thighs parted; a dark flush of humiliation coloured even the tips of his ears as Annatar's fingers delicately wandered over the reddened skin that was marked there already, and the stickiness that clung to him. He whimpered as Annatar moved fully between his legs then, as he forced them wider, and he stifled a gasp of mingled desire and horror as the Maia's fingers brushed over his entrance.
"No!" he breathed. "No, wai– "
A seething hiss of power severed Celebrimbor's plaintive attempt at a protest, and hard then Annatar grabbed him. The elf's left leg he levered upwards, and truly then Celebrimbor cried out as he felt two slickened fingers enter him.
He squirmed as Annatar breached him; he trembled with the degradation of it, as he felt the spill of his own seed used to ease the Maia's path. A sharp grunt of pain punched over his lips as swiftly the Maia withdrew his fingers only to push them back in deeper; he shuddered upon the covers as ardour and shame swirled to a confusing blend within him. For despite this abasement; the gross ease with which Annatar's fingers slid in and out of him, Celebrimbor's lips peeled back into a grimace of pleasure, filthy as it was he felt himself open to Annatar's touch, he felt himself relish in it.
"F-fuck, Annatar," he panted; he groaned out his lust as the Maia's fingers nudged up against something exquisite inside of him. "Oh, fuck, fuck, please…"
"What a good little slut you are, my lord," Annatar purred. The words dripped like poisoned honey from his lips. "You even to how beg."
A whimper of pain, true pain, bolted over Celebrimbor's lips as Annatar thrust a third finger up inside of him. For something fey seemed to grip the Maia then; the benevolent aura that enshrouded him seemed to curl away, it withered with the malice that festered below it, and with hatred in his eyes Annatar looked down upon Celebrimbor.
Knuckle-deep Annatar thrust inside the elf's limp body, hard, hurting; his fingers parted slightly to force the elf to open. A retching breath caught in Celebrimbor's throat, sudden tears of humiliation shone in his eyes as Annatar toyed with him, peeled him apart like he was nothing but a piece of meat for his pleasure. Yet how pitifully he moaned as with his left hand Annatar stroked up the elf's half-erect length, his nails teasing their way up the swollen, shameful veins that were rising once more beneath his flesh. Truly then Celebrimbor squirmed, for no longer did Annatar's touch delight him; every aching thrust, every insidious caress of the Maia's fingers seemed only a debasement, only an injury.
"S-stop," Celebrimbor whimpered, the breath jerked out of his lungs as Annatar rammed his fingers into him without care for gentleness. "Stop, Annatar, s-stop…"
"Shh, my lord," the Maia crooned; his voice like smoothest cream to drown the first sob that hitched through Celebrimbor's chest as he spread the elf lord just a little bit wider.
And after what seemed like a lifetime Annatar finally withdrew. Keeping Celebrimbor's legs pinned apart about the outsides of his own thighs, quickly Annatar unlaced his breeches. Into his own hand he took himself, he flexed his hips as the elf shuddered pathetically before him, as his legs strained uselessly to close about Annatar's thighs that kept him so crudely spread. Those futile little motions he rode, he grappled them, he blended them with those yet more pleasurable; memories of hot, hungry kisses, of the sweaty slide of skin upon skin, of the warm flush of his master's breath upon his chest, of how indulgently his master had smiled at him as he had hurt him, fucked him, adored him…
Swiftly he coaxed himself to stiffness, he leaned over the whimpering elf before him and with such stinging concern in his voice he whispered, "Shh now, my lord. What need is there for tears?"
The elf choked in horror as Annatar grasped him roughly about the hips, as he raised him upwards.
"Annatar, d-don't… please, please don't…"
"Quiet, my lord," the Maia crooned. "Quiet, now. I am only giving you what you wanted, what you asked of me. For this is what you want, such pleasure, such… ardour, decadence, greed. This is what you want. This is what you are…"
"N-no…"
Annatar's hands crushed into Celebrimbor's hips; a cold light glittered in his golden eyes, yet mellow and puissant was his voice as he breathed, "My lord. My pleading little lord who would beg for my touch, who craves it so ardently that he would try to take it by force. For that is all that you ever are, and all that you will ever be: the failure of your bloodline, the disgrace of your legacy. My tender, mewling little princeling who would cry out my name even as I undo him, who would lick my fingers clean for even the ghost of my affection. You know this, my lord, and you want this."
Celebrimbor shuddered as Annatar brushed up against his abused entrance; he choked back a sob as the Maia positioned himself.
"You belong to me."
With one sinuous thrust Annatar sheathed himself to his hilt, and oh how the elf screamed as he was split apart. Yet Annatar rode the frantic clench of muscles that sought to deny him, quickly he found his rhythm, and each hard, slow thrust up inside of the elf's body sent a grunt of pain skidding out over Celebrimbor's lips.
Each slam of the Maia up inside of him shoved him an inch or two across the sheets; each grind of flesh into flesh became sore, hurting; what unwise remnants of lust or affection Celebrimbor yet held within him were banished in the horrific sense of violation. Tears prickled behind his eyes as Annatar fucked him, as the Maia used him, and perhaps more than anything that ruthless sensation truly twisted the knife in his guts.
Yet finally, finally Annatar's steady breathing changed to hot, ugly pants; each aching thrust became more urgent, more savage, and at last Celebrimbor felt the wet spill of seed up inside of him.
He moaned as Annatar withdrew himself, limply he lay upon the bed as still the Maia held him. It was just easier not to fight, he thought distantly. Annatar's words clouded their poisonous way through his mind: he wanted this, he did, truly he did.
So desperately he tried to convince himself of their truth as Annatar dipped once more between his thighs.
He gasped as the Maia's lips met welted skin; he whimpered as slowly, possessively, Annatar planted three blistered love-bites upon his inner thigh. The marks stood upon him like bloodied roses, blurred and speckled beneath his skin. They shone so vividly against the creamy whiteness of the Maia's seed that trickled from him, that daubed him in nothing but shame.
"You belong to me," the Maia breathed, and helplessly Celebrimbor nodded, his chin crinkled and his eyes full of hot, stupid tears.
Coldly then Annatar moved aside; he shrugged himself back into his breeches as Celebrimbor lay there naked and shivering before him, and whether it was blank shock or the lingering effects of his spellcraft that prevented the elf from moving even to cover himself, Annatar cared little.
A cheap fuck anyway, the Maia thought, and a sneer contorted his bruised cheek as he turned aside, as he walked to the door and tugged it open.
Yet he could not quite stifle the vindictive delight that swelled within him as he left the elf lord there aching, for one glorious moment stripped of his arrogance and his splendour and laid bare like the snivelling wretch that he was.
Nothing but vile, slippery glee filled Annatar's heart as finally he turned away, and behind him he heard Celebrimbor softly begin to cry.
The sunlight shone wearily through a haze of grimy cloud as the Council of Ost-in-Edhil trickled in to their late-morning assembly. The visiting lords of the Edain sat arranged at tables set about the grand chamber, their newly gifted rings borne proudly across many a finger. Together united in friendship and steered by Celebrimbor and his city's council, they would devise a strategy to combat the encroaching blight that gnawed at the soil, and strive to make safe the lands from the unseen terrors that stalked them.
Towards the doors of the council chamber Annatar strode, a sheaf of parchment and a spare quill tucked neatly under his arm. Formally he was attired, but a high collared shirt and the honeyed waves of hair that cascaded down his back did painfully little to disguise the bruise that stood upon his cheekbone. The purpled mark blurred over his face from where the elf lord had struck him, and spitefully he bore the wound. Let the elf's own actions undermine him, Annatar had thought as he quit his bedchamber that morn, let others among his court see him truly, and let mistrust only grease the mechanisms of his ruin.
With gratifying swiftness Annatar saw his designs take effect, for from the opposing end of the hallway, Corannon hailed him. The smith was still faintly soot-blasted from the forges, yet had had forsaken his stained leathers for more respectable clothing, and cheerfully he bade Annatar good day. Before the juncture of the doors they met, and as Annatar grasped Corannon's hand in friendship, idle amusement swelled in him as he saw the elf's brows furrow.
"My, Annatar," Corannon snorted; disparagingly he eyed the bruise upon the Maia's cheek. Yet as truly he glimpsed its depth, all shattered capillaries and sore flesh, more sober grew his tone. "What happened to you?"
Thinly Annatar smiled, with feigned innocence he reached one hand up to ghost over the tender flesh of his cheek. "It's nothing…" he said sadly. "Just… just a disagreement…"
The glimmering aura about him seemed for an instant to flicker, to fade, and melancholy spilled suddenly through Corannon's heart. But as he opened his mouth to offer some word of condolence, Celebrimbor rounded the far corner of the corridor, and in dawning realisation Corannon beheld Annatar's reaction. For the Maia seemed almost to flinch: a slight, miserable quirk pulled at his lips, and hurriedly he moved his hand from his face and stood rigidly as the lord passed them by.
"Worry not, Corannon," the Maia murmured; emptily he gazed upon Celebrimbor's retreating back, and at the bleakness in his eyes Corannon's heart blazed with concern. "We… we found our resolution…"
"Annatar…" Corannon began, yet stiffly he faltered. It was hardly his place to pry into his lord's private affairs, yet something so unsettlingly forlorn shivered in Annatar's eyes, in his friend's eyes. Something dejected, something vulnerable clung to Annatar's very being, and the desperate urge to protect him, to make right whatever had been set wrong suddenly skewered through Corannon's heart. "What…" he continued awkwardly, "what exactly was the nature of your… resolution?"
"It matters not…"
Annatar turned unhappily aside, he moved to step past Corannon and onwards into the hall. And such victory crowed within him as quickly he was halted, as the elf laid one supplicating hand upon his shoulder.
"If something has happened between yourself and my lord then I would have you tell me," Corannon said gravely. "For long years now I have been Celebrimbor's friend also, and for years longer I have known him, and his father…" Corannon's dark eyes flitted for an instant to the bruise upon Annatar's cheek, and dismayed then was his tone. "Do not think me blind to his… proclivities. To what those of that bloodline are capable of."
"It was nothing, Corannon," Annatar replied distantly, and with a wince he shrugged the elf aside. "A moment of rashness, nothing more…"
"If you say so," Corannon murmured, and darkly he squinted through the aperture of the doors to where Celebrimbor was ascending to his seat at the head of the chamber. A pall of unease settled over him as he trailed Annatar through the doors, and glancing to the Maia and his lord as he took his place at the table upon Celebrimbor's immediate left, the frostiness between them was unmistakeable.
Celebrimbor bridled as Annatar slid into the chair upon his right; he glanced to the bruise borne starkly upon the Maia's cheek and coldly then he looked away. Yet for the rancour that curdled in the air between them, as the last of the foreign lords entered the hall and the doors were swung shut behind them, Celebrimbor straightened to the full height of his nobility upon the high chair, and cordially he called the meeting to a start.
Discourse upon renewed trade agreements, and supply routes from the lords whose lands were yet to be truly beleaguered, ebbed and flowed; debates flourished upon the merits of sending parcels of goods up from the South by clippers across the Bay of Belfalas and Belegaer's waves, then by barge upriver from the port of Lond Daer, or whether it would be more prudent to follow the Harad Road northwest from its sandy origins, through the rolling plains of Rohan to join the North-South Road at the Fords of Isen. Consensus grew scattered, for though sea-trade demanded the benevolence of the fickle winds and mariner's skill beyond the means of the desert lords, the roads were become dangerous, and more treacherous yet as winter drew near and the shadows grew long.
Armed parties of travellers and merchants alike were snatched from their campfires by the cloud-scudded light of the moon, with nothing but bloodied furrows scraped across the soil to mark their passing, and the wet crunch of bones in the haunted passes of the mountains. Ravens cawed and hopped among spoiling goods, they squabbled over the rotting entrails of men and horses left to fester by the roadside, and meanly they snapped at any who might dare to pass them before rising like a black pestilence upon the wind.
Yet slowly dissent was assuaged, and augmented in strength and will by the rings of power that glittered upon fingers both gaunt and stocky, the Edain lords pledged their aid and counsel in ways that they might to combat the blight. Graciously Celebrimbor accepted the lords' fealties as they were sworn, yet beside him Annatar kept only fleeting note of proceedings upon his parchment, and a rich smile curved across his lips. For all too easily he heard the lies slip over gilded tongues; pale, cunning eyes crept to him, subtle smirks curled over dusky lips, rings of lapis and citrine and onyx glinted like little splinters of his malice upon their lords' fingers, and sooner or later the rest would succumb.
Slowly the knots of his power impressed into each ring would swell, would corrode the will of the elf's fëa and replace it with nothing but jealousy, with greed and avarice and ruin. Agreements made in friendship would be forgotten, would be stripped away; those rings would gnaw all lordliness from their keeper's minds, it would render them hollow, nothing but vessels for his own command, brittle and yet so exquisitely malleable. One by one, they would forsake their people, they would bow before him like puissant little slaves, gorged on their own arrogance and bound in thrall by nothing but a simple band of metal.
At last the company of lords was dissembled, and atop the emptying hall Annatar leant contemplatively back in his chair. Corannon cast a worried glance at him, but smoothly he smiled back as the smith took his leave. Pleasantly idle were his thoughts as the lords and courtiers departed, already their steps seemed fractionally more tuneful to his malevolent drum, but he became gradually aware of Celebrimbor's gaze resting upon him.
For a few moments longer he regarded the retreating lords. Let the elf squirm, so he thought fit, and well his patience was rewarded.
"I'm sorry."
Celebrimbor's voice was low, tender; it was possessed of a sorrowful lyricism as his gaze skated the dark bruise upon the Maia's cheek. Earnestly, pathetically, he reached out towards Annatar's side; he came to a painful halt with the fingers of his right hand scant inches from the Maia's left wrist as Annatar's words bristled through him.
You will not touch me. They dredged up only shame for their necessity.
"For… for last night, I – I'm so sorry, Annatar…"
"You're sorry?" The Maia regarded him blandly, and a sneer of disdain for an instant flickered across his face. Mellowed were his words, though they jarred through Celebrimbor's mind. "Then it is forgiven, my lord. Of course, it is forgiven. You asked for my absolution, and perhaps now you are coming to deserve it."
"What?" Celebrimbor frowned as suddenly Annatar arose, as he abruptly gathered up his belongings and made to depart. "Annatar, wait -"
"Let us not dwell upon the past, my lord," the Maia purred, and as he turned aside, a great ribbon of sunlight spilled across his face. It limned him in its radiance, and yet that bruise stood like a black mark of sin upon him, and ashamedly Celebrimbor looked away. "It is ill becoming. Rather, think upon what the future might bring, whether in beauty or in pain."
With those fey words left ringing in Celebrimbor's ears Annatar swiftly departed, and the elf's eyes followed every step that he took across the empty marble.
The weeks rolled onwards, and as the first dreary veils of sleet began to drizzle down from the wintery skies, the Edain lords gradually dispersed back to their lonely corners of the world. By road and by barge they took their cautious leaves, and Celebrimbor sent retinues of his city guard to accompany their parties to the borders of Hollin, grim spears or strung bows in their hands. For as the winter nights drew in so too lengthened the darkness, and in it monsters thrived. Beasts of hideous shape were glimpsed between the clefts of the mist-strangled hills, even unto the roots of the distant Hithaeglir guttural cries scraped over the bleak moors, and as those foul ululations swept even over Ost-in-Edhil's fortified walls, the goodly folk of that city trembled in their beds.
Sleet turned to brittle frost upon the turrets of Celebrimbor's noble house, yet for the chill of the weather, slowly the iciness between himself and Annatar began to thaw. For weeks they had fenced around each other, all awkward smiles and half-finished words. But as that horrible bruise upon Annatar's cheek faded, as the Maia renewed his works within the Gwaith-i-Mírdain's halls, taking up his place again within Celebrimbor's own workroom, a tenuous normalcy reasserted itself about them.
Never did Celebrimbor quite come to articulate the feelings that clotted inside of him; of shame, abhorrence, of the awful clamouring lust that in the end won out, that banished all tempered thoughts in the wake of its greed. It clawed at his heart every time Annatar sauntered through his doorway with a new piece of artistry in hand, and slowly things were eroded that should have remained forever stalwart. Though keenly he remembered the fury in Annatar's eyes that night, violation and pleasure mingled into one confused tangle within him, laced still in Annatar's puissance were those feelings that ever strove to undermine him, snare him, bind him.
Slowly, subtly that abhorrence began to fade, it was replaced instead with an uncertain ardour, a cloying desire that seemed to scrape beneath the skin.
Such thoughts ever nipped at him, and to evade their teeth Celebrimbor threw himself into his industry. At Annatar's insistence he turned his mind to the smithying of rings to be gifted to the Hadhodrim, the lords of carven stone under their lofty mountains. Poor diplomacy it would seem to offer such mighty boons of friendship to one race and not another, Annatar had murmured into his ear, and readily Celebrimbor agreed with the sense in his words. Trade with the Gonnhirrim's cities, while chiefly that of Khazad-dûm but still those yet further afield, had lined Ost-in-Edhil's coffers with riches, and well should such friendship be rewarded.
Seven rings of power then Celebrimbor laboured upon, one each for the lord of the noble Dwarf families descended from Aulë's original blaspheme, and how miserably ironic Annatar thought it as he aided the elf in his works.
Their entire race was a mistake, a blemish upon the works of the One, and yet still they were allotted their right to live. A place was made for them in the annals of the world, yet when in his youth he had made a little mechanical creature of his own to please himself, a little clockwork thing of squeaking fur and whirring heart, how cruelly it was whisked from his hands. How brutally they snatched it, those fickle deities who would permit one creation and yet condemn another. Ticking and frightened his little thing had crawled to him, and they had flung it upon the flames to burn.
He had watched it melt, watched its limbs snap and warp even as it scrabbled to tears itself free, he had heard it scream for him as he was forced to betray it. As his patron had held him fast and forced him to watch, truly then had the first splinters of hatred kindled in his heart, and in the long millennia since, they had only festered.
To the Gonnhirrim's strongholds messengers bearing Celebrimbor's noble sigil were sent riding, and as the swift hooves of their mounts pounded over the miles to their gates, Celebrimbor worked upon his gifts. Into the forges of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain he retreated, and like a sly shadow haunting his steps, in veiled enmity Annatar would follow.
"What do you think of it?" Celebrimbor asked one day, turning from the red glower of the forge behind him. A stout ring of burnished gold he held aloft in a gloved hand, and with narrowed eyes he appraised it.
From his nonchalant lean against the warm bricks that lined the furnace's maw, Anntar's head tilted, and lazily he appraised the trinket in Celebrimbor's hand. A condescending smirk curled over his lips, and without word he roused himself, sauntering across the room and absently toying with the metallurgic instruments that lay strewn across a workbench nearby.
Over tongs, over clamps, over serrated little blades he ran his fingers, and how eagerly he longed to wield them, to see them puncture through metal and flesh alike, to see the elf's skin part so deliciously beneath them. Wistfully he turned aside from that temptation, yet amid the detritus a length of ribbon lay coiled, and this he picked up, weaving it through the fingers of his left hand and about his wrist as Celebrimbor cleared his throat.
"Well," the elf demanded, the ring gleaming now upon his bare palm as he cast his glove aside, and Annatar's lips pursed at the boldness in his voice. "What do you think of it?"
"It is a marvel, my lord," the Maia replied. The words were greasy upon his tongue.
"Is that it?" the elf said sharply, and irksomely Annatar looked back at him. "Do you have nothing else to say? That is unlike you, Annatar. Typically you are overflowing with advice, whether looked for or no. Or indeed, criticisms." Something gluttonous bled into the elf's tone then, something in his mood changed and slyly he continued: "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
Well indeed Tevildo, self-proclaimed Prince of Angband and feline master of its kitchens, would have supped upon the elf's tongue torn bloody and raw from his throat, but quickly Annatar batted such lecherous thoughts aside.
"Did I not say, my lord," he purred, and with every ounce of thinning patience within him he fought to disguise the ire in his tone. "Truly, you have surpassed yourself in competency."
Something strange rolled in the Maia's tone, sordid temptation squirmed in Celebrimbor's guts, and he laid the ring aside.
"Is that flattery?" he pronounced, his voice a low murmur against the muted roar of the furnace. Forward then he stepped, and framed against the glowing coals, his eyes gleamed like crucibles of dark, writhing flames. Yet where he half-expected Annatar to recoil from him, to rebuke him, motionless the Maia stood, leaning coyly against the workbench with a serene expression illumined across his handsome face.
Desire rushed through Celebrimbor's innards; recklessly, heedlessly it spurred him forward, and it seemed as if hot cinders of lust had been flicked along the inside of his chest as with each of his steps Annatar's fingers drummed a slow, salacious rhythm upon the bench top. Those beats resounded within his skull, they stirred up things that he would sooner ignore; a night of pain, of hurting, of abuse, and yet so seductively Annatar looked to him. For a moment Celebrimbor hesitated, the gleam in the Maia's smile seemed all too predatory, yet need twisted inside of him.
A starving, feral light poured into his eyes, and how Annatar revelled in the glory of it.
Suddenly the elf snatched for him, he lunged forward to grasp him, hold him, force him, fuck him; but with painful ease Annatar sidestepped him. He left Celebrimbor's audacious hands curling on air.
"Oh, Tyelpë," Annatar murmured, so gloatingly sorrowful was his tone as he threw a swell of puissance behind it. The embers of the furnace glowed; a pulse of light threw the room into rich, bleeding redness. "You forget your place."
"Nay, Annatar," Celebrimbor breathed; though his mouth seemed suddenly coated in the taste of metal he glared at the Maia before him. "Perhaps you forget yours."
For perhaps it was the menace in the Maia's voice, or the insolent grin cleaving over his face, but something rose with Celebrimbor then, an ancient ghost of anger seized him and it filled him with its power. He felt the Maia's will redouble upon him, but with sudden puissance to match he thrust it clean aside.
"Do not presume to threaten me, Annatar," Celebrimbor growled, proud and stern he stood; yet coolly the Maia smirked at him. And with a force that nearly drove the breath from his lungs, fury ripped up from Celebrimbor's stomach; Annatar's impetuousness was suddenly all too galling, and before he even knew quite what he intended he whipped about, his hands came up and snared through the lapels of Annatar's shirt, and after one savage moment of torsion he slammed Annatar backwards. Shock flared in the Maia's eyes as his head crunched back into the wall, and such delicious victory spiralled through Celebrimbor then that he thought he might drown in it.
"What are you going to do, Annatar?" he sneered; foiled, corrupted lust spurred him far beyond decorum as he ran his hand up the Maia's neck, as one finger lingered possessively upon his lips. With such vindictive delight he felt Annatar's breath quicken against him, below him; he rolled out his shoulders with the pleasure of it, pressing his bulk a little more firmly into Annatar's slimmer frame and crushing the Maia back against the wall.
"It's your move, little Maia," he growled; blind desire dripping from his teeth. "What are you going to do?" His thigh pushed between Annatar's legs, forcibly he parted them as he pressed himself yet closer, and hungrily he breathed, "Are you going to force me? Are you going to make me beg?"
Without care for a reply his lips crushed onto Annatar's in a scornful, voluptuous kiss, and finally he felt the Maia's response. For swiftly Annatar's hands groped upwards, such careless arousal stabbed through Celebrimbor as he pressed himself into that motion, but swiftly he found himself faltering. For where that touch should have been submissive; been tender and fragile and shivering for him, Annatar's nails raked up his neck.
Suddenly Annatar's lips scorched against his own; a swell of blackest puissance seethed through the room, and it sent Celebrimbor reeling in its clamour.
His stomach clenched; with Annatar's hands pressing him still into their kiss it was all that he could do not to gag as unbidden desire was ripped up from his stomach, as it clawed and rent like a physical presence within him, ruinous in its urgency. Suddenly then Annatar relinquished him, their lips came unlocked, and far, far beyond voluntary control Celebrimbor dropped hard to his knees. Black ardour howled in his stomach, it scratched and it burned; it left him panting up at Annatar like a bitch in heat.
For in such aching perfection Annatar loomed over him, gentle and golden and untouchable; and he was but a cringing dog at his feet, unworthy even to lick his boots. But then how awfully the Maia smiled, that illusion shattered, and something else Annatar became; beautiful and yet rotted, foul and corrupt and irresistible, and desire wrenched so hard in Celebrimbor's stomach that he keened with the ache of it.
"Hush, my lord," Annatar crooned; he stroked his nails over Celebrimbor's face, and thin white scratches bloomed in the wake of his fingers. How pitifully the elf whined for him, gasped for him; how deliciously he shook as his black will superseded even the enormity of the elf's arrogance and bound him to obedience.
"Come," Annatar breathed at last, slightly he relaxed the clench of his power upon the elf and how wretchedly Celebrimbor scrambled to attention before him, his irises blown wide with hopeless, adoring lust. "You see, my lord," the Maia murmured; slyly he uncoiled the ribbon wound about his left hand, and with his right he tilted the elf's chin further upwards. "Submission can be such a gentle thing, in the end. It can be so easy…"
And how Celebrimbor shivered as Annatar looped that ribbon about his neck; he trembled with desire as the Maia tightened it, as he tied it in a beautiful bow at his throat.
Celebrimbor moaned as Annatar withdrew from him; so kind was his touch, so caring, so loving, and how he craved it; so perfect was the ribbon like a gentle collar about his neck, so pretty was the bow beneath his quivering jaw. Into the palms of his hands held demurely by his sides Celebrimbor's nails dug bloodied crescent-moons as he nuzzled his face into the Maia's retreating fingers, as wordlessly he begged for his affection.
So wondrously, so generously then Annatar indulged him; each touch of those cunning fingers across his skin was as a searing brand pressed to him, but oh how Celebrimbor ached for him.
A scoff of laughter echoed from Annatar's throat as more fervently Celebrimbor nudged his face into his hand, as so utterly he abased himself, and as a man might bestow a dainty upon his whimpering pet, Annatar took the elf's cheek and raised his head. Tender was his touch, but what scorn rolled in his voice as at last he purred, "Such a clever boy, aren't you?"
Crowned in all of their indignity those words hovered upon the air, and with a simmering smirk Annatar took his leave. Sweetly his hands seemed to linger upon Celebrimbor's cheek as he stepped aside, and the elf arched himself to follow the fleeting ghost of that sensation.
Yet cold and alone amid the dimming embers of his forge Annatar left him, a bow about his neck and shivering upon his knees.
The presentation of the Dwarven rings was no modest affair. The storemasters fretted over their dwindling supplies as barrels of mead and wine were divulged from the cellars, followed by steaming platters of cured meats gently smoked anew, and heaped plates of breads, cakes and scones laid generously over the low tables of the grand hall. Once more Celebrimbor's house was bedecked in ceremonial finery, and amid the Elven sigils, the seven banners of the noble lineages of the Gonnhirrim unfurled proudly from the ceiling.
Eagerly the dwarf lords had answered Celebrimbor's entreaties of friendship, and in splendour befitting their indomitable race they came forth from their delvings with parties of their kindred. Axes, maces, and thick hexagonal shields were borne across stout arms as the four families that dwelt in the far distant Orocarni mountain range came forth, and from the desolate wilds beyond the lands of Rhûn they issued forth clad in gear of war. Upon squat, goat-like creatures some rode, or others upon the stunted bison native to those lands, and upon the barren plains at the juncture of the rivers Carnen and Celduin the families met, and through the sparse lands of Rhovanion they marched west in great company.
Through the Greenwood they came; with ivory horns they announced themselves upon the borders of Oropher's kingdom to the north, and they passed along the Old Forest Road at the borders of his heartlands, as might all travellers who came in friendship. The Sindar of that realm were yet strong and haughty, and from concealed boughs amid their great forest they kept a vigilant watch upon the Road, but as the Dwarves marched with Celebrimbor's name upon their lips, they allowed them their passage. Over the fords of the Anduin some leagues south of the roaring Carrock they waded the river, through secret passages long since delved through the Hithaeglir by their forefathers they marched, until at last collected in company upon the eastern banks of the Bruinen they rallied themselves once more. South into Noldorin lands they descended, and through the craggy fells of Hollin they passed in strength of arms unparalleled to Ost-in-Edhil's northern gates, guided by Celebrimbor's scouts who had met them amid the fractured hills and bade them welcome.
Arduous had been their march, even for so hardy a race, for no short distance had they come, and by night their vigils were ceaseless. Their goats bleated restlessly in the haunted hollows of the hills, and their bison lowed mournfully as snow drifted down from the skies, yet without unhappy incident they arrived to the city, and for that Celebrimbor was gladdened.
The three families from Moria travelled far more swiftly. By sumptuous barges upon the slow Sirannon they had come, and their companies were armed only lightly. Composite short-bows of ivory and the hoary hide of some subterranean beast were held in mithril-gauntleted hands, for though the waters of the sickly river frothed and bubbled against the hulls of their craft, no fell beast yet dared the perilous swim across the current. Safely then they passed the waterways, and the grilled entrance to Ost-in-Edhil's eastern docks dropped sharply behind them as they were ensconced into the city's secure embrace.
Wary was the entrance of some of the Hadhodrim into Celebrimbor's halls: still some clutched the wounds of history close to their hearts, and suspicious were their glances even as they feasted, and they kept their knives within easy reach. Yet needless was their caution, for with genuine warmth they were received, and soon enough laughter and talk echoed boisterously about the hall.
Upon a time, a herald called for quiet amid the raucous chatter, and loftily Celebrimbor stood from his chair upon the dais. With a placid smile upon his face Annatar watched as the elf lord stepped before the high table, as he made an elegant gesture of friendship to nobles and common-folk alike who graced his hall this night, and then commenced a short speech upon his purposes for convening such a giving of gifts. Such prattling Annatar endured, he toyed with his goblet of wine and tried to prevent his smile from becoming unduly sardonic as the elf poured out his ambition. But with far more interest then he roused himself as the giving of the rings commenced.
Upon Celebrimbor's left stood not Corannon but Narvi, most eminent of the few Hadhodrim smiths who had come to reside amid the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and garbed in a ceremonial corslet of polished livery he proudly bore the seven Dwarven rings upon a velvet cushion. Contemplatively Annatar gazed at them, unsullied but for the little seed of hatred he had planted within each, and how ardently he bade them give swift fruit to his labours.
At the herald's bidding, the dwarf lords stepped forward in turn, and first among them came Durin Longbeard: King of the Dwarrowdelf and of Khazad-dûm, wealthiest and most powerful of the Dwarf lords upon Arda. Clad in cloth of gold and richest sapphire he ascended the dais, his plaited beard dripping with interwoven seams of gemstones, and to the ancient among their kindred it was said that in that hour the Dwarrowdelf's king was as Durin the Deathless come again to Arda's shores in might and in splendour. Narvi bowed low as the lord ascended the dais, a dazzling crown of geometric design laid upon his brow, and youthful and merry was the king's smile as Celebrimbor laid a ring set with a crystal of deep amethyst upon his forefinger.
Long had their peoples been friendly; both Noldo and Dwarrow alike had strove hard for the unlikely alliance between their realms, and at this recognition of such friendship now Durin smiled as the ring glittered splendidly upon his finger. Years before, Celebrimbor had aided in the forging of the eastern gates of his realm; inlaid with Elvish ithildin were the doors that Narvi had carved, and from such a cooperative gesture had stemmed only prosperity for both their peoples. A few respectful words in Khuzdûl Celebrimbor offered, broadly he smiled down at Durin, and with a bark of cheerful laughter the dwarf stepped aside.
To Luin Firebeard, the venerable lord once of Nogrod in its prime, was gifted a thick ring of green jade, its band an unbroken circlet of stone. Deeply he bowed before Celebrimbor as he accepted the ring, and the sharp tattoos that cleft over his chin and forehead crinkled as he grinned up at the elf lord. Through bushy eyebrows as wild as flame he appraised the ring, and the bands of mithril woven through the ruddy thicket of his beard flashed as he smiled approvingly at the trinket upon his finger.
Then ascended Tor Broadbeam, ruler of Belegost while that city had stood, and retreated to Moria in the wake of its ruin. Luin clapped him upon a chubby arm as the lord wobbled to his feet before Celebrimbor; his rotund cheeks flushed a bright pink beneath round, blue eyes. His mail was of overlapping azurite scales, a kingly heirloom of Belegost's quarries, and it strained as the lord heaved himself fully upright. Yet grandly at last he stood, indefatigable as the warlike boars that he bred in his great holds beneath the mountains. To him was presented a chunky ring of hematite, and graciously he thanked Celebrimbor for the boon.
Garbed in an armoured headdress of bristling lames of steel stepped forth Khemmel Ironfist, Scourge of Helcar's Abyss and Warmonger of the East, feared dwarrowdam of the Ironfists, who alone among the families of the Gonnhirrim passed their rule down through matriarchal lineage. From Orja, who awoke alongside Khairún Ironfist from Mahal's sleep millennia ago, Khemmel claimed her birthright, and with eyes limned in streaks of blood-red ochre she squinted fiercely up at Celebrimbor. For a moment she glared at him, but as she raised her hand to him her mood softened, and a thin smile curved over her lips as the elf set a slender band of silver set with a snowflaked obsidian gem about her scarred forefinger.
Behind her came Storn Stiffbeard, the young lord of the northernmost caverns beneath the Orocarni's peaks. Proudly he held himself, but being only newly come to lordship following the peaceful demise of his father, he stood a little nervously before Celebrimbor. The flint arrowheads that capped the ends of his moustache swung as he bowed stiffly before the elf, but warmly he smiled as Celebrimbor raised him up. Offering a few fortifying words in Khuzdûl, Celebrimbor laid an elegant ring of strawberry quartz upon the dwarf's finger, and admiringly Storn gazed at it before bowing once more before the elf.
Oroth Blacklock, the thaumaturge-lord of the East moved forward then. Wispy robes of sable gauze fluttered atop a burnished chainmail shirt, and the lower half of his face was veiled in a cloth patterned with runic designs as he stepped before Celebrimbor. An invocation of Mahal's benevolence he whispered in a throaty dialect, his eyes closed and the sacred kohl markings across his brow smudging as he spoke. The gold thread bound through his dreadlocked hair glinted as that earthy puissance innervated them, and behind the proceedings Annatar took a hasty gulp of wine as that foreign power lapped uncomfortably at him. Yet soon the dwarf's prayer faded, and a ring of chalcedony was placed upon his finger, its band milky blue and handsome against his dusky skin.
Last of all came Gorak Stonefoot, lord over the scattered, tribal peoples who populated the southernmost reaches of the Orocarni. Clad in patterned leather hide and bone-crowned he stood before Celebrimbor, and the thick metal piercings that punctured his eyebrows and lips gleamed as he was gifted a mighty gold ring inlaid with an orange garnet. Gratefully it was accepted, it nestled amid the skulls of many a tiny creature cracked and broken and worn across Gorak's fingers as trophies, and with that final presentation a great cheer broke through the hall.
Slowly the roar faded, and attentions returned to feasting and merriment. Celebrimbor took his place again at the high table, and a sudden thrill of excitement rattled through his lungs as Annatar turned brightly to him.
"It was well done, my lord," the Maia said jovially, and though light his tone, a great swell of happiness flooded through Celebrimbor's heart at the mere hint of his praise. The tips of his ears flushed a delicate pink, and bashfully he smiled down into his goblet of wine. His gaze up from its rim, and so luxurious was Annatar's smile, so fair and radiant was the aura that shrouded him that it stole the words of thanks clean from Celebrimbor's throat.
Adoringly he looked to the Maia, his dark eyes skated over Annatar's strong chest, over the cleft of tendons at his throat, over the glittering rings that clustered upon his own fingers. Yet to Annatar's throat Celebrimbor's eyes were drawn back; they hovered upon the great ruby threaded upon a net of silver metalwork that glinted above Annatar's lapel, and joy skimmed through Celebrimbor's heart to see it.
"You wore it," he murmured; he took a long draught of wine as he beheld the necklace about Annatar's throat, his necklace, made and gifted years before and long thought lost to Annatar's disfavour.
"It was a handsome gift," Annatar said softly, and moved by such tender caprice he reached to envelop Celebrimbor's left hand within his right. The cold metal of rings pressed into Celebrimbor's palm, but the elf barely felt it for the pleasure that raced through him in such piteous gratitude for Annatar's touch. "And admiringly given. Why then should I spurn it?"
"You're impossible," Celebrimbor sighed, ruefully he smiled, but oh what an unseemly gasp ripped out of his throat then as Annatar withdrew his hold, as he slipped it instead beneath the tabletop and ran his hand down Celebrimbor's thigh.
About the elf's knee he squeezed suddenly, and such delight trilled in him as Celebrimbor jumped, as his strangled squeak of surprise was lost into the general noise of the hall. Merrily Annatar watched as a half-playful scowl twisted over Celebrimbor's brow, and hard he raked his nails back up the elf's thigh, leaving rumpled furrows across the velvet of his breeches.
"Don't…" Celebrimbor breathed, nervously he glanced to the hall's populace as well concealed from casual view Annatar tapped his fingers lasciviously upon his upper thigh. "N-not here…"
Plaintive was the elf's whimper, but how swiftly his body undid him. For Annatar's hand slipped subtly to his groin, through the soft cloth of his breeches the Maia palmed him, and powerless Celebrimbor was to restrain the sigh of pleasure that emanated from his parted lips.
"Composure, my lord," Annatar smiled mischievously. A little harder he stroked, and slowly Celebrimbor flushed crimson as he felt the traitorous stirrings of flesh coaxed to attention. "It is the foundation of diplomacy, after all…"
The Maia's words were but a pleasurable hum in his ears; hot waves of desire rippled up through him as more firmly Annatar cupped him, teased him. A throaty moan loosed from him as those sensations only built, hard he gripped into the edge of the table in order to retain some sort of lordly poise, yet his eyes were glazed with lust as Annatar touched him anew.
Instinctively his thighs parted, his fingertips showed white with the pressure of his grip as he strove for self-control. It was debased, he thought desperately, it was sick, he would not frot himself against Annatar's hand like some wanton whore, not here, not ever, but how the crude desires that seized him begged their difference. Into Annatar's touch he ground himself; wantonly, flagrantly he rolled his hips into the Maia's palm, desperately he bit back the scandalous moan that welled up in his throat as –
"Annatar!"
Hard Dwarven inflections rapped out the Maia's name, and instantly Annatar straightened. An indignant noise somewhere between a choke and a moan emanated from Celebrimbor as the Maia withdrew from him utterly, and hastily the elf lord lunged for his goblet of wine and buried his flaming cheeks within it. Yet the source of their interruption did not seem to mind, indeed she scarcely paid heed to Celebrimbor's strange motion and instead beamed only at Annatar.
"My lady Aldvís," Annatar smiled in return, and such genuine happiness seemed to suffuse him as he laid eyes upon the dwarrowdam that Celebrimbor near seethed with jealousy to behold it. With a neat flourish the Maia stood, quickly he rounded the table to stand before Aldvís upon the steps of the dais, and he bowed low before her.
"Your radiance remains unchanged with the passing of the years, my lady," Annatar purred, and a giggle dimpled Aldvís' rosy cheeks as Annatar took her hand within his own and laid an elegant kiss upon her knuckles.
"You are too bold, Annatar!" Aldvís exclaimed, her cheeks glowed as Annatar grinned at her then, and a baleful harrumph of envy emanated from somewhere behind them as Celebrimbor pointedly turned his attentions elsewhere. Ignoring the elf's pouting, cheekily Annatar replied, "For one so fair as my lady Aldvís, nothing but boldness would ever suit."
A peal of laughter she sent spiralling towards the ceiling, and happily she took Annatar's arm as it was offered, and together they skirted the hall in pleasant conversation.
"You are kept well, my lady?" Annatar enquired at length, and the gold-capped ends of her elegant beard twinkled as she nodded up at him.
"We continue, so my people say. But I am well, yes. I come with my lord Durin to see these lands once more, as noble and jewel-smith among his people. I come to see these rings that you and your lord have made." A wry smile turned the edges of her lips, and at Annatar she cocked an eyebrow. "Tell me, you think them fairer than mine that I have made?"
To that Annatar was mute, an almost nervous quirk flitted over his face, and at him then Aldvís chuckled.
"Come," she said, and companionably she patted him upon the arm. "I did not mean offense."
"I took none, my lady," the Maia replied, and their conversation ebbed as they were enveloped into a lively tangle of Tor Broadbeam's boar-riders. Once safely extricated, with a flagon of Dwarven whiskey apiece in hand, both Annatar and Aldvís came to a sheltered alcove near the far doors of the hall, and there they idled.
The liquor's spice tingled pleasantly down Annatar's throat, and expansively he surveyed the hall, his auric gaze coming to a rest upon the guards who stood at attention about several parties of the Orocarni-dwellers. Thickly mailed in both chain and plate they were, and soon enough Aldvís followed Annatar's line of sight.
"You have heard news here, then?" she sighed, and sadly she looked upon the armed parties of her kindred. "Of the East?"
"Nay, my lady," Annatar said, and the half-truths dripped like quicksilver over his tongue. "Little news reaches us of the world without, I am saddened to say. With each passing moon the scouts return wounded, raving of demons upon the moors, or not at all, and any messenger birds that dare the skies are sorely punished for their bravery. Marooned upon an isle and cast adrift by the murky tide we sit, blind and starving. Tell me then, why do your brethren march so heavily armed? Surely in so great a number, no harm would yet befall them upon the road?"
"Evil tidings, Annatar," Aldvís replied sadly; and desperately Annatar fought to keep the dawning smirk from his face as the dwarrowdam continued. "Fell things they come out of the East now. There is no light upon the horizon. Shadows only, and fear. The tower is risen, they say, messengers they come frightened before my lord and our court. A tower, a black tower in the shadowed lands, wicked and strong. Fire burns in the mountain behind, the earth rumbles and quakes. These are grave tidings, Annatar. The darkness is come again to these lands."
Such victory seized him then, it scorched through his veins, such crowing pride elated him until it the shimmering aura about him seemed redoubled in its viscosity. A malicious smile clove across his face, and to Celebrimbor seated in his high chair then Annatar whipped about, and how his eyes gleamed with menace.
For weeks now his ravens had cawed it: fire and smoke in the shadowed lands, and the tower beyond the dark mountains, yet tenuous was his belief in what truths even their sharp minds could convey. Yet here such rumours were confirmed, and oh how they delighted him.
"Indeed," he snarled, he cared not to disguise the thrill in his voice as success blazed in his heart, as plans so long set into motion began to truly coalesce, and from him Aldvís suddenly recoiled. But he cared not for her plight, such malevolent glee burned in his heart and it thrust all other emotions from him; it filled the void of his spirit and set it aflame. His shadows would roll across the lands; they would fester, smother, devour.
The darkness come again, Aldvís had said, and circumstantial friend though she was oh how her naivety was pitiful. The darkness snuck back to these lands like a thief, like a squeaking little ghost of his master's terror?
Nay, his darkness was not merely come again, Annatar thought, and his smile was unearthly as that thought bubbled within him.
His darkness was ascendant.
Thanks everyone for being really patient with the update of this chapter, and I hope the wait was worth it. More to come soon! theeventualwinner x