Disclaimer: With the exception of a few supporting roles and much embellishment, the characters and story still belong to Mr Tolkien.

Eregion SA 1325

The courier has presently delivered your letter. You know my sentiments: I would have you here, in Forlond, but in your absence, your warm greetings never fail to bring the Sun to this cheerless wintertime.
I wish also that you would ease my concerns regarding Annatar. Thrice, I have asked you to disassociate yourself with him; thrice now, you have not answered me. Yet he remains a guest of the Mírdain.
My patience grows thin. Once more, I ask - no, beg - of you: send him away.

Celebrimbor folds the letter. He has started a dozen letters in answer, each attesting to the great knowledge and qualities of Annatar, and each time he founders at the words 'fair-seeming'. Yet, he can do no better, for he cannot entirely trust him.

The Maia had come to Eregion in 1252 and told nothing of his unsuccessful suit in Forlond.

"During the time of my wanderings," Annatar had confided, leaning in close to be heard over the noise of the tavern, "when I had recently come to Ennor, I travelled with a caravan of dwarves returning from the Ered Mithrin. They had been apprenticed to the Mírdain, and spoke of the great works underway, of jewels that might hold the power of their maker. Naturally, you were known to me, for the great promise you had shewn in the train of Aulë. Thus did my hopes find a means of bearing, for whereas I cannot be everywhere at once, such jewels could be as seeds, spreading far and wide such gifts as I would bestow upon Men and Elves."

Only when Gil-galad's earnest warning came by courier had Celebrimbor learnt the whole of the matter.

"And now I am caught," he had said to Annatar, "for I must obey my King."

"Do you not mean to say your lover? A lover who scarcely understands you, but clings to you as a relic of his past?"

"By your own account, he allowed you only a brief interview. You name him guilty of hasty judgement, but you are guilty of the same."

"Yet, I had the advantage of knowing his thoughts, for his mind was surprisingly open to me."

This Celebrimbor had known to be a lie, Gil-galad being too wary to leave his thoughts so unguarded. Yet in the lie was a kernel of truth. The understanding that he had found so effortless with Narvi has long been missed in their intercourse. He has disappointed Gil-galad, but he, too, has wished for something more.

"He would cage you, if he could."

Thus has Annatar reasoned with him, always holding forth the carrot: the knowledge Celebrimbor so desperately wants.

I will not argue with your distrust, for I am not certain that his intentions are entirely revealed by his words of friendship. Yet I do not doubt his claim to be a Maia of Aulë, nor that he might grant me knowledge that will be of great use, not only to me, but to all of the Noldor. I assure you that I am vigilant, and that we will do nothing for Annatar that seems unwise.
Moreover, I fear that you have made a greater enemy than you perceive. You know that the Maiar can be relentless in their grudges, and so long as you work against him, will he do the same against you. Better that you should come to a truce with him, bearing in mind that he is neither Man nor Elf to be easily subdued.

The Mírdain now forge charms that permit the wearer to present the illusion of invisibility or disguised shape. Such tricks of the eye depend on the beholder; the deception is limited (for so Finrod and his companions, employing a similar trick, had failed to deceive Sauron). Such is art: the arrangement of the ordinary to appear extraordinary. When Celebrimbor was small, his grandmother kept a glass bird on a shelf. From the age at which he could understand such things, he had looked at the creature in wonder, for it should not, could not balance on one leg as it did. At last, he had grown so curious that he climbed up to the shelf, only to find that the illusion was one of suspension: it did not stand, but hung from a wire.

One is not meant to look too closely at art, lest one see the wire and soldering and flaws and ruin the illusion of beauty. In life alone can beauty be given substance, and now, having created countless objects of art, he longs to create something of substance, something of life.

Frustrated with his progress, he confronts Annatar. "The High King becomes increasingly impatient with your presence here, and I find my own defence of you ever less convincing. If you deal straight with me, then let us move on with the lessons. Else, it might be good for you to seek other realms."

"Temper is the failing of your line, son of Curufin. So the High King presses still? Has it not occurred to you that he confuses his heart with the voice of wisdom?

"Should you succeed in bringing an end to the Doom, what will you do? Will you go West? For that is what he fears. He hopes that you will fail. Trust in me, and I will not allow you to fail."

Enerdhil breaks open a mould to reveal a jewel setting of white gold; mithril, they have found resistant to manipulation of its properties, so they work primarily with gold or copper. "Pardon my candour, but such games of trust stranded the Noldor on the Helcaraxë," he says, his mouth twisted in annoyance at Celebrimbor's explanation for the delays. He, too, had been a student of Aulë, and these charms hold no mystery for him. "Who is this Maia to demand our loyalty?"

This is the price of which Gil-galad has warned him. To what purpose does Annatar test them, withholding his gifts that he might be sure of their trust? What, once he is certain that the Mírdain are under his sway, will he ask of them?

"His knowledge he offered freely, when first he came hither, but he has given us nothing we did not have, and offers more at a price. I am loath to say that he is faithless, but I do not like his manner," Celebrimbor admits.

"And yet, we are hooked already. What we might do - what you might do, híren - under his teaching!"

"Ai! Entassë caita nassë, as Rúmil would say. We have no choice but to go forward," he sighs. Therein lies the rub. His craft, which he cannot distinguish from his being, will not release him. (1)

Leaving Enerdhil to his work, he returns to his quarters. Behind the closed door of Celebrimbor's private forge, Annatar, too, is at work. He is irritated to be locked out of his own rooms and unbearably curious about the work, but has learnt, at the cost of Annatar's black anger, not to disturb him. He sends a servant to get his dinner from the kitchen and shuffles through a book of Khuzdûl poetry until he finds the thin vellum sheets on which he has begun his designs.

He reveals to Annatar his hopes, but holds back the breadth and intention. He has more in mind than reversal of the Doom - he has amends to make, if only Gil-galad will allow him the time. He keeps his drawings and notes thus hidden; if Annatar will ploy trust as a game, then Celebrimbor will hold the endgame close to his chest. He dislikes such secrets and schemes, but his father taught him well. He can meet manipulation with manipulation at need.

"Híren?"

He puts away his designs, hoping that the servant has come with his dinner, but Erestor, quite unencumbered by foodstuffs, stands in the doorway. "Yes?"

"An emissary from Forlond has just arrived."

"You may send him in." He expects Elrond, who is increasingly trusted by Gil-galad and has even taken the place at his right hand that Celebrimbor once refused. His visitor, however, is the King's Sergeant-at-Arms.

"Hîr Celebrimbor!" Moebeth greets him, bowing. "I trust that I find you in good spirits."

The elf's pleasantry and good-natured smile seem strangely out of place; surely, Gil-galad has sent Moebeth for but one purpose.

"I am well enough. What message do you bring?"

"The High King desires to speak with you personally regarding a matter of great importance. He requests that you return with me to Forlond."

"And if I refuse?"

Moebeth's smile disappears. "Then I am to take you."

(1) Entassë caita nassë (Q)
'Therein lies the rub' (the eminent scholar Rúmil has obviously prefigured Shakespeare's Hamlet). Construction: entassë, locative case of enta, that yonder; caita, 3rd person singular of caita-, to lie; nassë, thorn or spike (this was the nearest I could find to 'rub' in Quenya).