Tallow candles sputtered and flickered deep into their molten lakes when at last Artanáro joined him. From the darkness of the hall into the comfort of a hearth-warmed room the young king strode quickly, his heavy cowl billowing like a mantle of midnight in his wake, shimmering as it was with the glint of crystalline stars upon its velvety background. Artanáro's hood he threw back and for a moment the guest stood standing rigidly while he regarded the elf who calmly poured him a glass of mulled wine. From his close proximity he could nearly feel the heated brews warmth as it sent curling wisps of white above it to laden the air with it's spiced aroma.
"You're late." Celebrimbor commented dryly, setting the carafe back onto the carven wood table.
"You knew I would come?" Artanáro accused, voice hinting at indignation though his expression softened as the warmed mug met his chilled hands. He gazed into the swirling liquid, the ripples distorting his face until only a fall of dark hair crowned with a silvery glint could be distinguished.
His thoughts were as turbulent as his drink and calmed just as slowly. For a while he stood mute, alternately drawing deep droughts of wine and staring at the fire crackling golden behind a screen of colored glass - his mind lulled by the dancing rainbow hues upon the hearthstone.
At last he sighed.
"Why did you tell Celeborn and Galadriel to leave?" Artanáro asked in a quiet voice resounding with authority. "And why did you allow this - 'Annatar' to stay?"
Now truly looking upon Celebrimbor for the first time he noted the weariness of ages etched in an ever-young face. Grief had left its mark and idly the thought flitted through Artanáros mind that in some dark way it suited the scion of Fëanor. Grief had found much fertile soil in that line...a line from which he himself was only partly removed.
"There was no need for you to come all this way to ask that, Náro. A carrier pigeon would have given you the same result - though perhaps with less depth. Which altogether may have been better..."
"I have heard more than enough to justify the journey." Artanaro replied, his tone growing cold. "I have heard how you ordered Galadriel to depart. How you undermined her authority - she is your elder and the daughter of Finarfin! On what authority did you have her leave?"
A subtle quirk of Celebrimbors brow brought Artanáro to a halt as the elder elf whispered. "My own."
For a moment Artanáro held his tongue, his argument thrown rudely into a wall that had appeared from nowhere. Yet before he could challenge it Celebrimbor spoke again.
"It was decided between us that she should go."
"Why would she agree to leave?"
Celebrimbor readjusted himself with a grace that was almost painful to behold and the young king wondered if he might some day possess such easy regality in his old age. Yet Celebrimbors eyes gleamed with an unearthly light filled with dark mischief.
"To unravel a very curious mystery."
With this bait Celebrimbor waved one hand to indicate the couch beside him and after a stiff nod Artanáro took a seat, sinking into the deep downy cushions with the realization of just how exhausted he was after the long hard ride from Lindon. This had been a conversation nearly a month in the making - it had best be good.
"You're on the hunt of something if I know that look." Artanáro commented and his answer was a self-satisfied smirk.
"Indeed. Yet breathe not a word of this or our ruse will be in vain."
Here Celebrimbor paused, head up and alert as he listened and sensed for any presence that might yet intrude upon them. Once he was satisfied of their seclusion he spoke hurriedly and in a whisper so low Artanáro scarcely heard it even with his sensitive ears.
"You are right to distrust Annatar. I was doubtful but now that I have met him I know of what you spoke. Galadriel and Celeborn are of like mind - this maia is up to no good."
"Then why is he staying and not Galadriel?"
"Because a maia he is, though a foul one. And that raises many questions that need answers." Celebrimbor stated gravely. "Few maia have ever brought harm to us - but of those in Aule's service one in particular is well known for his malevolence. Galadriel and even I spent many long centuries in Aule's halls - yet never have we met this 'Annatar'. Nor will he speak his true name to us."
What chill had been driven from Artanáro in the warmth of Celebrimbors study returned a thousandfold as the implications of this riddle became clear. Nearly breathless he was when he spoke;
"So has our enemy returned? An agent of our great foe? Whom does this Annatar serve?"
With a bitter growl Celebrimbor whispered. "I have asked him that directly, and to this he said "truly none but myself - for of my own will I am here to assist." and if that be the only truth he has so far spoken then our straits are dire indeed."
Artanáro set his cup down, his trembling hands unable to bear its weight any longer. No sound but the pained hitch of breath in his tightened chest could be heard; yet in a second he lifted his face to look at Celebrimbor.
"Please...please send him away." The young king whispered, fear rasping his voice. "I don't want him to stay here with you - you can't put yourself at risk like this!"
Gentle hands reached for his and Artanáro failed to hide the shudder that rippled through him.
"No! No, you can't let him stay if he truly is our enemy! Cast him out!"
"Artanáro..." Celebrimbor whispered, his voice steady and calm. With his free hand the Noldo gently stroked the younger elfs cheek, fingers running with tender care over the dampened flesh.
"Already my people have begun taking council with him. Already strange rings of great power have begun to be forged. I can not command them to stop without driving them underground, and then I would be blind as to what they have crafted. Only by allowing them this folly can I keep an eagles eye on their works - and his."
Slowly the comforting hand slid from Artanáro's face.
"I have a plan. For there is powerful magic at work here - magic that can only be countered by it's equal. The smiths working with Annatar have divulged the spells woven into the rings to me - I believe that with what strength is in me I can craft rings to counter their strength. Rings that will hold those lesser at bay, and by this their evil may be checked."
A dullness came over Artanáro. The familiar set of Celebrimbors jaw told Artanáro there would be no dissuasion. In that moment Artanáro remembered everything he had ever heard of the line of Fëanor and their renown stubbornness in adversity. He could only hope their renown curse would not reveal itself as well. Yet as he gazed upon this noble figure, an elf born before either sun or moon, raised in the sacred light of Aman and carrying it's radiance still in his star-gray eyes, he feared for the day that light might fade. Few things in the world were still pure, untouched by evil.
All at once Artanáro pulled away.
"I feel..." He gave a short, rueful laugh. "Like a fawn that has not got it's legs yet. I'm still spotted and weak, trying as best I can to toddle after my elders, tripping over my own feet."
Looking up he forced the tears hard from deep blue eyes, for all his royal trappings appearing childlike and frail.
"I...can't do this on my own. I'm not that strong...I know that the Ñoldor look up to me and want, need a strong king. But this...this silence is killing me! Yet if you will not reveal the truth then neither will I. But of this task - if it must be done then let it be done by me - if one of us must fall it cannot, should not be you."
Celebrimbor gave a heavy sigh but what words he might have spoken were broken by the flash of movement from Artanáro as the elf whirled from his chair to kneel before Celebrimbor, hands grasping the elder elfs in an unspoken prayer even as his forehead rested heavily on his knees.
"Please...please do not risk yourself! Please...if he finds out...if he suspects who you are or tells the dark lord of your station...if he really is of the enemy he'll kill you if he learns of it..."
In the fading candlelight Artanáro shuddered to think of what horror the future might hold. War, terror and despair had been their lot for so long now that they scarcely remembered what joy felt like...and now just as goodness had returned evil had begun worming it's dark tendrils about them once more. Celebrimbor had been with him in Nargothrond, had been lost for many years and found again in the harbors of Sirion. It was Celebrimbor who had gathered the scattered Noldor and with a grace discordant with his heritage had guided their people for a hundred chaotic years between the fall of Gondolin and the sinking of Beleriand.
It was Celebrimbor who had set Artanaro upon the Noldor throne and crowned him king.
"...Náro."
Slowly Artanáro felt his head lifted and drawn upward to meet the shimmering starlight of Celebrimbors eyes.
"You have been entrusted with Lindon and it grows peaceful and prosperous under your hand. You are stronger than you imagine yourself to be...and far more noble than you realize. It is not often that a heavy crown is paired with a kind heart. You are no fawn but a Lord of the world. Believe in yourself, as I believe in you."
Those words echoed in his ears and Artanáro wished that he would hear them always, like a mantra to join his fractured mind. Slowly he stood, disheartened by Celebrimbors resolve. His departure was far overdue, and the ride to Lindon would be long.
"You...will be careful?" He questioned.
"As careful as I can." Celebrimbor replied, rising as well. "You take care of yourself, and our people. I will handle business here."
Artanáro turned away, heaviness echoing in his footsteps. Yet he turned a moment later.
"If you ask it of me...that our places be exchanged...yet I know the answer..."
A sad smile tugged at the corner of Celebrimbors lips, working it's way inward until a bitter laugh dissolved it. "You are in the spring of your long life, and many centuries under both stars and moon have I seen. I would not have the realm of 'Gil-Galad - fairest of Elven-Kings' fail while I draw breath."
With a gentle blush upon his face Artanáro bowed and his eyes from their lowered vantage regarded the sole adornment Celebrimbor eternally wore; a glinting golden ring upon his right hand emblazoned with diamond and crowned with silver.
"Take care of yourself, my King."
Celebrimbor gave the slightest of bows in return. "And you as well, Artanáro."
With the younger king gone the true severity of the situation returned to embrace Celebrimbor in its cloying miasma. Ominous had been the tidings coming to Eregion of late - of beasts of rage and bitter hate creeping into the forests of the world once more. And though Annatar spoke kind and wise words he sought ever to ingratiate himself to Celebrimbor, ever seeking to lure him in with glimpses of power and temptations of darker pleasures. No, it had not gone unnoticed by Celebrimbor though he feigned innocence. Evil was indeed awake.
If all they feared came to pass, if the enemy in their midst was an agent of Mordor hidden beneath a sweet veil...then indeed his first target would be any bearing the crown of the Ñoldor, and not least of all their High King. While such a simple ruse may blind their people to the truth surely the cruel doom upon Finwë's house would not be so easily deceived.
Celebrimbor cast his eyes right to a heavy oaken chest that never opened, keeping within it's darkness a finely silver crown carefully hid. Weary with the weight of that ancient curse Celebrimbor poured another drink and as the spiced wines scent rose to tease him his face was loosened its anger at the bitter draught poured for the Noldorin Kings in their exile.
"My waltzing with this 'Annatar' is surely above all dangers I have yet faced. Dearest Náro...I would have you live a little longer, for the life of a High King is a short thing indeed."