Celebrimbor found him in a clearing with no spiders. He settled against a tree trunk at the edge and watched, waiting to see if the thing that had been Sauron noticed his presence.

It did, after a time. The lump of dripping flesh it wore did not move, but its attention sharped and turned towards Celebrimbor, the power not near as great as it had been when the Lord of the Rings had cast down the high towers of Ost-in-Edhil, but with the memory of might, and filled with malice.

Traitor! Thief! You took it; you destroyed it! The words burned themselves into Celebrimbor's mind, like fingers clawing bloody gashes in the inside of his skull, and he cried out. But of a sudden the painful pressure stopped, and the mood that hung like fog in the air shifted to one of confusion, or muddled curiosity.

"You. You again. I- I hurt you?" The words hung in the air, and Celebrimbor could not determine what direction the sound came from. "You were… you betrayed me. I remember that. You deserved it."

"You killed me," said Celebrimbor sharply.

"I killed you. Thief. I killed you. It's gone; it's lost; it's gone." They seemed to be the only words he knew, his only thoughts, and soon those words vanished and then the thoughts and the being seemed to close in on itself, fold over itself, as if there was nothing that Sauron knew but the hole inside him. And yet his mind still felt like Sauron's, though shattered and ragged, like as a battle standard torn in a fight.

Celebrimbor bit his lip and stood up, his knees shaky, and walked towards Sauron. Once he might have smoothed Sauron's hair back, or tucked it behind an ear, but Sauron had neither hair nor ears now. But he had taken on a physical form and Celebrimbor reached out to touch him. His fingers sank into the flesh. It felt like pushing his hand into an open wound but Sauron's body gave way as would clay. Oh foul one, Celebrimbor thought, stricken, what you have done to yourself! But he did not pull back; he perceived that the body he was touching was only half physical and though Celebrimbor kept his mind shut he knew that Sauron would feel his touch in the spirit as in the flesh.

Sauron, he called to him with his soul; he could not bear to name him Annatar. Lost one, listen to me. Do you remember me? I can help you, I can help you regain what you lost. I know who you are, Sauron, I know you, hear my voice, come back to me.

Slowly, as if arising from some dark viscous liquid, some of Sauron's attention returned to the outside world and then to Celebrimbor. He sensed a faint muddled curiosity in what passed for Sauron's mind.

"Do you remember me?" he asked aloud. "I know you."

From somewhere in the grove a jagged voice said, with strange harmonics, "Thief. You took it. You made me kill you." But he sounded quiet and sad.

Celebrimbor thought quickly. You took it, destroyed it: did Sauron think Celebrimbor had destroyed the Ring, or that he and the creature Gollum were the same person? But Sauron had also known that he had killed him, and Celebrimbor decided to focus on that.

"You did kill me," he said again, but made his voice soft. "I'm glad you remember. It means something remains of you — you were not like this, not… jumbled, when I knew you before. And we did know each other: before you killed me you were my friend, and I… I would see you whole and ordered again. I have decided to take pity on you. Not because you deserve it, not because I forgive you, but because…"

He hesitated. He was still not entirely certain whether or not he wanted to help Sauron. But he had set upon this course and would not turn back. "Because I have decided to take pity. I want to help you remember who you are and what you did, that you may recall yourself and gather together what once was."

It was focused on him, the heap of flesh. Occasionally parts of it dripped off as molten wax from a candle, yet the drops did not fall to the ground but were pulled back into its body. Celebrimbor decided to take it as a hopeful sign, that whatever was left of Sauron did not seem to be dissolving further. He sat down cross-legged before it.

"You told me your name was Annatar," he said. "We knew each other once. Not for long, in comparison to the span of our lives, but for many years nonetheless. Do you remember?"

Sauron had earlier been unable to maintain a solid shape, but after Celebrimbor said that he took on the form of a wolf, as big as Huan and true to life, and seemingly more stable: had Celebrimbor's presence, or hearing his once-name, recalled something to him? Sauron studied him with golden eyes. The color was that of Annatar's, and Celebrimbor's heart clenched.

"I don't know," the wolf said, and it was curiosity that Celebrimbor heard from him. "It's gone, my precious, and you were gone too. Everything was taken from me." The wolf opened its mouth to talk, and Celebrimbor struggled to fight down the alarm that came to him at the sight of the long, sharp teeth — there were far more of them than canine dentition called for — and forced himself to focus.

"I killed you; I do know that. I think you were important to me once — I remember that I killed you, and I remember little else, which implies that you must have been important."

Sauron was capable of some reason then.

"You did and I was. What else do you know?"

"Of you?" It paused and now the wolf was speaking in Annatar's voice. Celebrimbor told himself that was yet another good sign, but the thought was a little one, for his heart was painful in his chest and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from crying.

"You stole it, my precious; you took it. You stole something that was mine. I had to kill it, and it was your fault, you cast it aside, you unmade it." It began moving around him, slowly, on silent feet with sharp sharp nails. Celebrimbor scrambled away, heart racing, and wondered what Finrod had felt as he died, torn apart by tooth and red claw.

"You stink of fear." The wolf traced a path around him, pleased malice in its voice. Celebrimbor was frozen and could not move, a mouse struck still before a cat. "You ought be. Trait-"

But then it stopped, and curled up next to him, shifting to something much smaller, the size of a dog, small enough that Celebrimbor could pick him up if he wished.

"Who am I; why don't I remember?" it asked plaintively, looking at him. "I don't like not knowing."

Celebrimbor was fairly certain he himself had said the last sentence as a child again and again, and a strange amusement crept past the fear; that and pity pushed away the terror.

"It's what happens when you bind all that you are to a piece of jewelry which is then destroyed," he told him, and this time was not afraid to hear a growl. He reached out, cautious, to scratch it behind its ear. He pulled his hand away after a moment and froze in sharp terror when Sauron caught his wrist with his mouth, but made himself breathe, for the teeth were now blunted and nothing hurt.

Sauron released his wrist, and there were no marks on it. "Continue," he said in that voice that haunted Celebrimbor's dreams, so Celebrimbor started petting him again, biting his lip to hold in what might have been hysterical laughter. He was reminded more than anything of Thentetheg, Celebrían's long, short, self-impressed dog, who would squeeze up next to him to demand attention. How is this…

"I came to help you," he told him. "Not because you deserve my help, but because I want to. There is much I don't know about you, and more I don't know about your life, but I do know you, as you once were. I remember you — from my own perspective, mind — and I think it might help you remember if you look at my memories."

He opened his mind, and brushed Sauron's gently. Come, look, see yourself as I first saw you.

Sauron entered, and Celebrimbor reeled to feel him: ancient and incomprehensible, made of malice and fear but underneath that something small and curious. With a strength fast fading, he drew him towards the memory.


Celebrimbor heard about the Maia before he saw him. Ereinion had sent a missive to Galadriel and the next evening over drinks Celeborn showed it to him. They sat and spoke of Melian and how Melian's scion mistrusted this Maia, and they talked too of the wrath of the gods and how they had abandoned the well-loved lands of Middle-earth.

"Gil-Galad thinks this Annatar will come here," said Celeborn.

The Maia did come, and presented himself to the city government in an open meeting. Celebrimbor normally avoided such things, but this one he attended, loitering at a side door.

The Herald had been the only Holy One Celebrimbor had ever seen till now, and he had been overwhelming and beautiful and almost repulsive. This one had the same impossible beauty, but the fair form he wore was easier to look at, and unlike Eonwe this Maia' s costume hewed fully to an Elven form, with two eyes and two arms and hands of five fingers. There was no mistaking him for one of the Eldar, but he appeared like to Celebrimbor's kind, and one who would be counted as beautiful.

Galadriel and Celeborn had previously decided, despite their unease, that if the Maia Annatar asked for leave to enter the city and stay for a short while that he would be granted sufferance to do so, though they would watch him closely and not hesitate to rescind welcome. There was some debate on the council when the Maia came before them, for Gil-Galad' s warning had made it to them as well, but as usual Galadriel's will won out.

After the decision had been formally made and the Maia granted admittance, he — Annatar — bowed and let Thorndir escort him out. But as he left he turned his head and caught Celebrimbor's eyes; Celebrimbor was transfixed by the Maia as he had once been transfixed by Eonwe, but while the Herald had looked through him, Annatar looked at him, into him, and saw him, not what he was, but who he was. Shaken, Celebrimbor looked away.

In the present there was some push at his mind, Sauron grasping for more; distantly Celebrimbor felt his body gag and twitch.

"Stop," he choked out, and led Sauron on to the next memory.

Some days later the Maia came to his study, where Celebrimbor was painstakingly chipping rock away to reveal a fossil, a shell chambered and spiraled, and his presence was overwhelming. Celebrimbor smelled trioxygen in the suddenly charged air and kept himself from looking up.

"They say that you are the head of the Mírdain," the Maia said.

"I am not, and Calemir is not here, he who sits as our head," said Celebrimbor sharply, still looking through his magnifying lens at the fossil. "I am but one of the masters of our guild."

"And yet it was to you they sent me. Do you say that the heir of Feanor is less worthy than his fellows?"

Celebrimbor went still, then pushed away the lamp and lens he had been using and turned to face him.

"I long ago forsook that heritage and dislike being referred to as such. Would you have me call you naught but Aule's Servant? My name is Celebrimbor: you are welcome to use it."

The Maia studied him for a long moment, and it seemed that he looked into him and saw all that he was, and Celebrimbor shook. He had met Eonwe once, and with luck never again. Eonwe had seen through him as no one ever had, yet without any desire to understand him; it had been obvious that only a small fraction of Eonwe's attention had he been granted, and no particular care. Celebrimbor did not know how to rank the power of the lesser gods, but this Annatar too could see the desires of Celebrimbor's soul, and he thought him not far from Eonwe's might.

"I am still Aule's," said the Maia, "but I shall call you as you wish. Me you may call Annatar, for that is who I am, the one who brings gifts. But what you said now — do you say that I should not have come to Celebrimbor, he of no history at all?"

Celebrimbor had his pride, usually hidden, yet something about this Annatar made it rise from within him. "I am not the head of the Mírdain, but I do not lie to tell you I am the most skilled of our order, the greatest."

"You think much of yourself, Celebrimbor of the Mírdain, Celebrimbor of no heritage at all," Annatar murmured. "Do you wish to surpass Feanor as you claim to surpass your colleagues?"

Celebrimbor did wish to be greater than Feanor, very much indeed, and knew he never would be, no matter what he made, what he discovered, for the Eldar thought it impossible for anyone to surpass the dead man they called the greatest of the Noldor, the grandfather he had never known. If Celebrimbor rose to heights objectively higher than Feanor ever had, if his creations surpassed the Silmarils, still he would never be named more than second best, and … something in the Maia's gleaming eyes told him he had seen that resentment and thwarted ambition.

Celebrimbor's mind was suffocating, crushed, more by pressure than by pain; distantly he felt the nerves controlling his movement firing without order. But the memory went on.

"We of the Mírdain already surpass him in arguably the most important way, for here is a thing Feanor never knew: my colleagues and I, together we are greater than any one of us alone. We work together; we lift each other higher; we build and learn in concert."

Something in the Maia's presence gleamed then. "Do you."

"Yes. And we too welcome any who wish to come and work with us, to learn with us, as the people of Ost-in-Edhil welcome all who come to our city with good-will in their hearts."

The Maia looked at him for a long while before tracing his way around the room, hands behind his back, peering intently at the shelves and tables, papers with sketches and equations, scale models of buildings, a miniature orrery and a jumble of half-polished lenses, ingots of gold and silver, the lamp-lights caught in latticed glass sculptures meant to represent higher dimensional shapes, a cracked iridium crucible and a cathode ray tube, the half-finished painting of a tree and some scrawled lines of poetry on the wall. He came to stand before Celebrimbor and stared at the fossil he held in his hand.

"You chip away at the coils of a dead ammonite's shell," said the Maia, lifting up his golden eyes to meet Celebrimbor's own, "I expected one of your… experience… to be playing with jewels instead. Though…" He dug his fingers through a bowl of diamonds, each imperfect but sparkling with a small but bright flame of their own, laid within the stone when apprentices had made them. He pulled his hand out and let gems cascade through his fingers.

Celebrimbor sat his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. He felt an urge to tell the Maia that those were the jewels made by students, that he himself made diamonds far finer, but refrained: as a child in his father's forge he had made worse and it would be disrespectful to the skill of those who could create such fair things even as they learned the craft.

"It is time that fascinates me above all else, not crystals and light," Celebrimbor told him. "To stop the winds from blowing away mountains and drowning valleys in dust, to forestall decay, to undo sickness and preserve that which is unjustly dying. To slow the swift years.

"Take this." He waved the fossilized ammonite in the air. "This is a design found in rocks of particular depositions only. The creature who patiently crafted these chambers with skill and dedication is dead, and given that shells of the same design are not found in younger rocks, the creature's kindred are dead too, and the homes they made now turned to stone, and empty. Should I call such destruction the will of Eru? Or should I instead speak for life and refuse death? I will not surrender to decay.

"And, well," he added, "it's interesting. No matter how worthy the goal, it is a fault of mine that I have no desire to pursue that which is uninteresting."

"I would not call that a fault, Celebrimbor of the Mírdain," said Annatar.

Celebrimbor sat back and studied him.

He was attractive, as a lodestone was attractive, or as gravity was, an indrawing force, and fair in form, with pale hair and flat gold eyes and a glow about him. There was something alien in his look, for all that his body was like one of the Eldar: something in the way he stood, entirely still till he moved, deliberately, with intent: Celebrimbor saw that the flesh he wore, the veil, the costume, was perfectly at his control.

Beyond that — the Maia was ambitious. Gil-Galad had said as much and the Maia had proved it in his short time in Eregion. By the name he used, Lord of Gifts, he was a being impressed with himself. Possibly at odds with the Valar themselves, who had said they had no care for Middle-earth, and he did not follow their scruples of not piercing hearts and minds to see what was hidden. And perhaps

"I mean to arrest and reverse entropy," he said, and watched for the Maia's reaction.

Annatar tilted his head and gazed steadily at Celebrimbor, a certain interest in his eyes, a curiosity swirling around him.

"You mean that," he murmured, seemingly more to himself. "How fascinating."

He walked over to Celebrimbor and slid a hand under his chin to tilt his head up, studying him as if he could gain what he sought from the body.

The Maia's touch sent a painless strong spark into his soul, but Celebrimbor did not move away and let the Maia turn his head as he wished, to one side and then another, curious to see what he would do; he normally disliked the touch of those not close in heart to him, but found he had no objection to the Maia's hand. And — he was an interesting being. Celebrimbor admitted to himself that any fascination was mutual. He perceived that there were secrets within him worth knowing, and Celebrimbor wanted to dig them out.

And yet he was one of the Holy Ones, claiming to be on a mission given by the Mighty, and Celebrimbor had refused Eonwe when the Herald told him that he ought to forsake Middle-earth. This Maia said that he had been sent by the Valar, but the Noldor had come to Beleriand and spoken no word of Alqualonde.

He said, "You are not the first Maia I have met. I was told by one great among your kind that it is hubris to even dream of raising up this land to heights that approach those of the lands that the gods have named blessed. I was told that to do so would be to challenge the gods, attack them, perhaps even set myself up as one."

The Maia stared at him. "What did you say?" he asked softly.

Celebrimbor suspected that the Maia already knew the answer but said, "I asked him why I shouldn't challenge the gods. In abandoning Middle-earth the Valar abandoned whatever claim of authority they might have had over those who live here. If someone need to be as to a god in Middle-earth, then better someone like my aunt, like me and my fellows, for we live in and love these lands. Any god who raises fences against those they say must obey them is no god worth worshiping."

Annatar laughed, sounding almost delighted.

In the present, Sauron said, "Oh!" and Celebrimbor's body was shaking and weak and nauseous, but the overpowering mind within his own pressed forward through the memory and he heard himself say:

"And yet before me stands one who professes to be an emissary of the Valar. Forgive me if I wonder why those claim themselves Lords of Arda would send you to Middle-earth."

The Maia smiled slowly, slyly. "The Valar are not of one mind and have many voices. My presence is an… experiment, if you will, for them if not for me. The Valar will no longer intervene in Middle-earth with might, but that need not forestall aid.

"No one of us heard the whole of Eru's music. Manwe might know more of Eru's will than any, but he does not know it all and he does not understand how the world might be made better, lovelier, blessed and more beautiful through work. His is the domain of authority, but my own lord's is that of change and improvement, making and building. Manwe does not understand that an inevitable end, or one believed inevitable, does not forestall abandoning what is now. You children of Eru build buildings. Left untended they will collapse. That is what Manwe sees as natural. But Aule, and others with him, and both you and I, I think, we understand upkeep. And understand too how a small village of crude huts might become a mighty city of stone. You are not the only one with ambitions, jewelsmith.

"As for Eonwe — that is whom you spoke of, yes? He is not like me, nor like you. He is but a herald and speaks no thoughts of his own and yet hears fewer thoughts of Manwe's than you might think. He may think you prideful and hubristic, but we two see things that he does not."

There was a flame set in his gold eyes and they bored into Celebrimbor's own. "You know what I speak of. You too have kin who similarly are limited in their ambitions, content with what is. It is why your king turned me away. It is that which is pride, the unwillingness to accept aid. I met Gil-Galad briefly. Perhaps I am perhaps uncharitable, but I did not see in him the will to understand or heal or make new. Forgive me if I am wrong, but I did not see ambition to, as you say, ward off the ravages of time. And forgive me if I think less of him for that, though perhaps you do too."

Celebrimbor did think less of Ereinion's ambition, but he would not say so. "Gil-Galad is both kin and king to me. He has concerns and responsibilities that I do not have and I will not think less of him for it. He rules, and that gives me and my fellows in the Mírdain freedom to pursue our own work and goals.

"Besides," he added, "he too had the fortitude to remain here and rebuild after all had been destroyed in the War; he too has worked for Eriador's improvement, though in a different way than I have. And my cousin is wise. He turned you away. Tell me why I shouldn't do as he did."

Annatar gleamed at him. "Because I have much to offer you. I have worked in the forges of the Maker. There is much deep lore that Aule never taught to the Eldar. I am willing to share it, and it seems to me that you perhaps have a greatness in you, that you may be worthy of my teachings.

"Celebrimbor of Eregion, you have not departed for Valinor, though you might have. You have not forsaken this fair land. I perceive that you love this Middle-earth, as do I."

"I do love this land," said Celebrimbor softly, "and I would see it made fair and blessed, all in it preserved from decay, all that is hurt healed, all things raised to heights heretofore unseen, made greater than the lands of the West and more loved for the tears shed."

Annatar answered, "Then is it not our task to labor for its enrichment, and to raise up the kindreds that wander here untaught? I would have us reach and surpass the power and knowledge of those who are beyond the Sea."

For a long while Celebrimbor did not respond. What the Maia said… if he were sent by the Valar, any past quarrels should not matter, not when labor and love for Middle-earth was the same; he would not turn away aid and if they wished to share, their knowledge was to be delighted in. And Annatar, he had known all that was in Celebrimbor's heart, all dreams and hopes and pride and ambition, and what drove him on. How he gained that knowledge gave Celebrimbor no cause to trust him, but… you love this Middle-earth too, he thought.

Celebrimbor stood up and bowed to his guest, the bow of one equal to another.

"Be welcome to the halls of the Mírdain, Annatar of the Holy Ones," he said, "as all who come in goodwill are welcome. If you share in our labor your presence will be a gift."

Annatar did not bow, but inclined his head, not looking away from his eyes, and that sharp curiosity came over Celebrimbor again, for something in the banked fire of the Maia's presence, something otherworldly, fascinated him.

"I think we have much to offer each other," Annatar murmured. "I should be pleased to stay."


It ended, and Celebrimbor found himself collapsed on a body, unable to move, as if all his bones had been boiled to gelatin or the minerals in them eaten away by acid. Gradually he realized he was lying on something in the shape of an elf, not a beast. It moved, sitting up, and when Celebrimbor slid off it, an arm wrapped around his shoulders to hold him up, and when he could not raise his head, a hand slid under his chin and lifted his head up.

And — oh, but it was Annatar, and something in Celebrimbor's heart cracked. He could not open his mouth; he could not force his tongue to form sounds; he could do nothing but stare.

The look in Sauron's flat gold eyes was hard, and Celebrimbor burned in their gaze. "There are things I know now, things you have shown me," Sauron said, and Celebrimbor quailed at the tone in his voice. "You. You betrayed me, Celebrimbor of Eregion; you stole what was mine. I should kill you again, thief."

He stood up. Without Sauron to hold him upright, Celebrimbor fell onto the ground; he could not even manage to close his eyes in anticipation.

"I shall be gracious," Sauron said from somewhere above him, "for I perceive that you have something to return to me. You will not dare refuse me now."


It was some while before Celebrimbor came back to himself in full: even once he could move there was a roaring in his ears, a pain in his chest, a thudding heart, and it took time to force the shaking panic down, and even after the anxiety fled there was a great ache in his head.

Sauron had left him where he lay. With difficulty Celebrimbor managed to sit up and brush the dirt from his face, and he saw that Sauron had lost some of the command he had just now had over himself and seemed to be having trouble holding his shape; Celebrimbor was spitefully pleased.

"Yes," he sneered, "I do have more to offer and I shan't refuse thee now, not in this, little though thou deserv'st. When the Valar strike thee down, commit thee to the Void, I would have thee know who thou art, and why thou art condemned."

In place of Sauron's head was a great eye, and the pupil split open to reveal many sharp teeth. Celebrimbor glared at it.

The eye had now a wide smile, and its legs stalked towards him. "I could split thee open," a voice said from the air, "scavenge through the wreck of all that thou art."

It paused then, and stared at Celebrimbor and Celebrimbor stared back, not letting himself quail. But then the eye rimmed by a mouth melted into Annatar's face, and he reached out a furred, clawless paw to touch Celebrimbor's lips.

"I could break thy mind asunder, thief," said Sauron softly, "and thou deservest nothing less, and much more, for thou stolest what was most precious from me: was it thee who destroyed it? Yet I perceive thou servedst a purpose once; perhaps I might use thee once more and pull what I need out of thee."

His attention loosened then, and it seemed to Celebrimbor that something in Sauron was reorganized. He brought the blanket from the pack over, and draped it over Celebrimbor's shoulders, reaching out with what was now a hand to brush hair back from his face; Celebrimbor instinctively tried to flinch but his body couldn't quite manage it.

"This was hard on you: you should rest. Stay here, away from the trees. You will do as I command after you wake up."

He should… Celebrimbor doubted he could stay awake if he tried, so he took the advice and collapsed onto the ground, wrapped hasty wards around his mind, and fell into uneasy dreams, and then dreamless sleep.


When Celebrimbor awoke, the cold sun was high in the sky; his mind and muscles both ached. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, and then saw Sauron standing across from him, once more in his old form, the one he had known as Annatar; a part of Celebrimbor wondered, vaguely, if he had moved at all, but a remembered fear came upon him, and he was consumed by it. His heart raced, frantic; his lungs drew in gasping breaths, and tremors wracked his body.

Sauron smiled and sank down next to him, and when he reached out to touch his cheek, Celebrimbor bit his tongue rather than dare say 'no.'

"Hello again, Celebrimbor," he said.

"Please, plea-" Celebrimbor made himself break off, took three deep breaths, and slapped Sauron's hand away. This was not Eregion, he was not in chains, and he was more useful alive and sane: Celebrimbor would make Sauron understand that if he did not.

"So you remember my name," he said coolly. "A promising sign, and I see that you're managing to hold to the same body — pathetic, that you couldn't before."

He rose up on his elbows. "Was there a reason you overwhelmed my mind or are you just incapable of controlling yourself?"

"You think you deserve such consideration? The both of us know you took it, how it's gone, that most precious thing, it was…golden and perfect. I remember how very perfect it was."

Celebrimbor frowned. Did Sauron not…

"Do you not remember," he asked, "what your precious thing was?"

"It was mine, mine, they took it, you took it, it's lost. It was golden and beautiful and everything; how I loved it!" Sauron cried, and it seemed that in his soul he wept, but Celebrimbor stared at him.

"You don't remember," he said slowly. "You've forgotten even the details of that which you hunger for. You…"

Sauron abruptly went still, in mind and fleshy veil both. "So you took that too," he said, words as slow and contemplative as Celebrimbor's.

"Not I," Celebrimbor told him. "I took nothing of yours from you."

"Liar," Sauron hissed, and leaned towards and over Celebrimbor, "Thief. Betrayer. I should strike you down where you lie."

Celebrimbor laughed at him, harsh. "You will not. Do you want to remember what you lost? If so, you need me as I am, and you will not harm me."

He caught Sauron's eye and held it. "Sauron, look at me. You want to remember who you are? You want to remember that precious thing of yours? Do you even know exactly what it was? Do you want to remember how you made it, remember what it was like to have it? All you know now is that you lost it and that you miss it. But me, I remember. You know that, don't you; I am valuable and you know it."

There was some fell power in the air and Celebrimbor was pushed down, once more collapsed on the ground. Sauron when Celebrimbor had known him, before and after he made the Ring, had commanded much greater power. Diminished as he was, he could still twist Celebrimbor's mind into gibbering insanity.

Sauron must have known the same. He moved so that his forearms rested on the ground on either side of Celebrimbor's head and bent down to say, voice soft, "Tell me why I should not tear it from your mind and leave you a broken, shredded wreck."

Celebrimbor bared his teeth up at him in something like a grin. "Because you've tried that before, don't you remember? Of course you don't, you pathetic, miserable fool. But you did: you did leave me broken and shredded, a ruined wreck of a thing like you just now threatened and you did not get what you wanted. I beat you, Sauron; I won. Try it again, if you want; whatever you try to take from me, you shall not have. But abhorrent one, foul one, I am willing to help you and give you what you seek, though you do not deserve it."

Sauron said nothing in rely, just stared with eyes and mind alike, then blinked and it seemed that the tension passed.

Celebrimbor breathed out. He pushed Sauron back, and when Sauron let him, grasped his shoulder and used it to sit up, then stand up.

"We're in the land of Avathar, the place of Ungoliant. You might remember her — she was the spider you cowered from when your master Morgoth the Constrainer was himself constrained. In webs, presumably, and I hope you like them, for there are nothing but webs and spiders here, and we're staying in Avathar — I'm not bringing you into the lands of my own people."

Sauron was staring again, but he said, casual, "You should thank me, that I didn't feed to you a spider as you slept."

"You underestimate me; I've fended off spiders before." Celebrimbor sighed. "Though I'm disinclined to judge them over-harshly right now; I'm famished myself."

He took a step towards where he had left his bags but wavered and would have fallen had Sauron not stood up and caught him.

"How easily damaged you are," Sauron whispered sweetly in his ear, and his arms around him were gentle.

Celebrimbor fumed, but did not shake him off; he was not sure he could stand without aid. "I'd forgotten how infuriating you are."

He let Sauron lead him, though, and let him help him to sit down, taking out one of Celebrían's lembas, and the strength a bite gave had a touch of her smile and laughter. He took a long draught of miruvor too, restorative, and soon felt much more himself. But hidden Narya he did not draw upon, not in the presence of he who had been the Lord of the Rings.

"Feeling better?" Sauron asked, again in that tender tone. "Good, you can—"

Celebrimbor was feeling better, and not charitably inclined. "The answer is no, whatever it is you were going to ask. I'm not letting you in my mind again till you can control yourself and not leave me so weak, nor will I help you…" — he waved a hand — "help you attempt to conquer Aman, or remake that precious thing of yours, or take vengeance against any you think wronged you, or whatever other foul deeds you are thinking of. We can talk, though, if you wish. I daresay you haven't had any decent conversational partners this past Age or so."

Sauron's eyes glittered. "So talk," he said, and reached a hand towards Celebrimbor.

"Don't touch me!" He took a breath and decided on a topic. "You used to like the study of language. Rodhiniel — she was one of our colleagues, another friend you murdered — finally put together her phonetic Tengwar. Even the most conservative of the Amanyarin Lambengolmor have adopted it. Let me show it to you."

He did not wish to waste paper, so he used a stick to draw the tengwar and tehtar in the dirt. Sauron's presence lit up with interest — the man when Celebrimbor had known him could reliably be drawn into a discussion of linguistics regardless of the situation — but somewhere inside Celebrimbor was an ache, for he had to explain everything as he went: Sauron had forgotten not just himself but the lore he had once delighted in too.


After another day, Celebrimbor felt solid enough to travel and he wished to depart from the grove, suffused as the air and soil was with Sauron's presence: it suffocated him. He had nowhere to walk to nor any place to go, but had a deep desire to keep moving, to not be trapped.

Sauron followed along without complaint. When they first started walking, Sauron had grown wispy and did not talk, a shadow or dark gust of air, but just as Celebrimbor became concerned he had assumed the form of a bloody-fanged wolf and started to speak again, mostly ramblings about how his precious had been stolen from him, or threats, but when he became silent Celebrimbor talked instead, and prattled on about topics that would have interested Sauron of old, microscopy, or paint pigments, or the transmission of radio signals. It seemed to help and the next day Sauron had worn his elf-like form, the one Celebrimbor had known in a previous life, and kept to it as he was able.

There was one great benefit of Sauron's company: he had neither seen nor heard a single animal since he met him and the trees too were silent and did not wail. It was reason enough to stay and Celebrimbor did not bother to keep his bow strung; two days after they left the grove he packed it away.

"Such weapons will not protect you from me," Sauron sneered when he saw Celebrimbor stow it away and take out the cuir bouilli case that held his jewelry.

"I am well aware," said Celebrimbor sharply. "But weren't you listening earlier when I said we are in Avathar, land of Ungoliant? I know you're having trouble maintaining a body, but hearing is a fairly valuable sense; I can explain how it works if you're incapable of remembering. No, you are hardly the only threat — I have no wish to be eaten by a spider."

"Wise," said Sauron, and his smile was sharp. "The lesser arachnids here would just devour your body, but some of the great ones, old and mighty and hungry, would eat your soul and leave nothing remaining of you."

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Let's hope to avoid them then. Something tells me that you would not fare any better if you become a meal."

Sauron's presence abruptly went cold, the malicious amusement gone. "Likely not; avoidance is best. I shall keep watch against them."

Celebrimbor found that vaguely reassuring. If there was one thing he could trust in it was Sauron's will to survive.

He returned his attention to the gems, deciding to wear only a diamond bracelet and earrings of bright silver with white jewels and let Sauron take his own turn examining the jewelry. Many of the works were wrought of gold, though Celebrimbor himself rarely wore it unless alloyed with a white metal. He tilted his head and watched as Sauron put on earrings of gold and sparkling yellow gems; he had thought he would like them. Celebrimbor had made them shortly after returning from Mandos, and kept them, and never worn them.

"Should I trust you to keep to this form?" he said. "It would displease me if you lose my jewels because you can't manage to keep your ears in place."

"What, and lose something you made for me?" His words and voice were sweet, but there was malice in it and Celebrimbor froze as Sauron reached out to tilt up his chin.

"A token of what you owe me."

Celebrimbor jerked away and packed the case away; it kept his hands steady. What am I doing here, with him?

"No," he said. "Let them be a reminder that once you knew beauty." He looked up and caught Sauron's eyes. "A reminder that there was good in you once. And as a reminder, Sauron, that I know you better than you know yourself."


To Celebrimbor's surprise, Sauron had not pushed for more information on himself; Celebrimbor did not know why. There were periods where Sauron went away, caught up in himself perhaps, with that desperate desolation radiating from him. But when he was aware of the world, he listened and responded. He was not a pleasant person, but he had never been one, and Celebrimbor found his attempts to intimidate or scare him, while occasionally terrifying, more pathetic than anything and he knew Sauron made his threats mostly for his own entertainment.

Sauron was perfectly willing, seemingly pleased, to talk of deep lore. Celebrimbor should not have been surprised at that, though he was: it had been over four thousand years since Sauron had last had an intelligent conversation and he was still very clever, for all that he needed to be taught like the newest apprentice.

"Anyways," Celebrimbor said, "gold remains the metal most willing to accept enchantments and the one with the most innate power, an excellent catalyst and conductor, yet unreactive and strong and steady, the noblest of the noble metals. But there is one great drawback to using it, namely its corruption: there is still within it a touch of your old master Morgoth's evil and hatred of all life."

"Who?" said Sauron.

"Sauron," Celebrimbor said slowly. "Do you not remember who Morgoth is? You might have called him Melkor, if that helps."

Sauron tilted his head. "No, I don't believe I do. By your reaction I should?"

"Yes, you should; he was your master once, though you became your own later. It was before you made the Ring."

"A ring, a ring. Yes…" Sauron had stopped, a certain sense of anxious discovery about him. "It was a Ring, my precious. I knew it was gold and round and perfect, but I remember more now. And it… gone, gone forever."

He stopped at that, gone perfectly still, neither blinking nor breathing.

Celebrimbor stopped too. He had said 'Ring' without thinking, forgetting momentarily that Sauron had not previously remembered what exactly that precious thing of his was. But he did now and Celebrimbor was not sure that Sauron's heart was even beating. He decided it would be best to approach the conversation neutrally, even sympathetically.

"It is," he said. "I am sorry. I know what it was made of."

The edges of Sauron's body began to blur and he grew translucent. A sudden gust of air stirred shadows that seem to grow from his form and almost blew them away.

"It was everything," he said desperately, but his voice had become translucent too.

Quite alarmed, Celebrimbor quickly reached for Sauron's hands. They felt strange in his own and he thought of a phase transition between a solid and gas, though he felt no growing temperature nor pressure; he feared they might sublimate away. He did not dare to grasp them tightly, but instead brought Sauron's hands together and folded his own around them, a barrier.

"It was not," he said urgently. "I know its loss, the Ring's loss, was so much. But it wasn't everything. I told you, Sauron, I knew you, and most of our time together was before you made the Ring. That Morgoth that I mentioned before? You served him for eons, far longer than the few thousand years that the Ring existed. You are more than it."

No no it was everything my precious!, cried the swirling, foul-smelling vapors arising from Sauron's vanishing body.

"Sauron," Celebrimbor said, panicked, "Gorthaur, Annatar—" At that a small part of Sauron looked at him and Celebrimbor stared back with eye and soul. "Listen to me. You are more than the Ring; you are more than its loss. Of course you are. If it were all of you, neither of us would be here talking to each other. You have been hurt. You have lost something, lost so much. But you weren't destroyed; there's still a you and I know you want to survive this. Please."

There was a long moment of stillness, time turned viscous, before a sigh ran through the ground and the trees shook. Sauron's hands slowly resolidified and the borders of the body he wore sharpened and once more became distinct from the air. Celebrimbor closed his eyes for a moment in relief.

"It's still gone," Sauron said quietly, and once more in the voice that Celebrimbor knew so well.

"I know," Celebrimbor said in reply, and lied, "I'm sorry."

Sauron continued to sharpen as his attention reformed. He twisted his wrists so that he grasped Celebrimbor's hands himself and dug his nails into them, not at all painful but with the potential for pain.

"You're not," he said. "You're not sorry it was taken from me; you did it yourself."

So Sauron did think him the person who had cut the Ring off his hand, Celebrimbor thought. He licked his lips, which had gone dry, and said, "I did not, though I understand why you might think so. Sauron, we haven't talked of the Ring. I am willing to do so now."

Sauron's eyes gleamed. "So talk."

Celebrimbor stared at him for a moment before shaking his hands free and looking around for somewhere to sit down. There was a stone covered by lichen red and black, and growing in geometric pattern; he wondered vaguely if it were toxic and settled against a tree trunk instead, one of the towering ones with pale bark and high branches. He turned his gaze back to Sauron and pushed down the urge to shout at him.

"Do you remember who destroyed the Ring?" he asked.

Sauron bent down to kneel before him, an arm's reach away. "I thought it was you at first, for you were the thief I remembered, but it cannot have been, of course, since you died before the Ring was unmade. No, your crime was to steal it from me, and hide it away."

"Sauron," said Celebrimbor slowly. "So I am clear. You think I stole the One Ring from you, the one you made?"

"Who else would the thief be? You betrayed me, you stole from me, and I did remember you, and with… loss, yes, but fierce hatred too."

Celebrimbor's heart clenched a little at that, but he ignored it. "I did not take your Ring from you; I didn't even try. That was someone else, a mortal man named Isildur, and he is dead and beyond your reach. He cut off your finger, I am told. You were fighting at the steps of the great tower of Barad-dûr. You had just killed his father and the Elven King, my cousin Gil-Galad. You were… you had recently been drowned. Does any of that spark a memory?"

"The Tower… I made that too, brought forth stones from the earth by my will alone to build them high."

"You enslaved the very rock, yes. But do you remember that mortal, or that fight?"

Celebrimbor had a sense that Sauron turned inward and they were both silent for a long moment.

"You weren't there," Sauron said after some time.

Unless you still had my body as a standard, Celebrimbor thought. Though if Sauron had kept Celebrimbor's corpse for so long, it would move from insulting to almost endearing.

He said, "I was not there, for I was then dead. It was Isildur son of Elendil, not I, who cut the Ring off your hand."

"Elendil," Sauron mused. "The heir of Elendil. It sounds familiar."

"I thought it might have. You fought another heir of Elendil, his name Aragorn. Or your armies fought him, I suppose. They were fighting when you were cast down."

"But it wasn't him. I… I feared him, I think, but he wasn't the one who had my Ring, that precious thing of mine."

Celebrimbor breathed in. My precious, Sauron had been calling the Ring, as Frodo said that Gollum had. But he had said too that Gollum had hated the Ring even as he loved it, and Celebrimbor wondered if it were true of Sauron as well. He decided not to ask now.

"You're right, it wasn't Elendil's heir who unmade it. It was a creature named Gollum, who had borne your Ring for many long years, even as it sought to make its way back to you — you might say it missed you too. But Gollum with the Ring fell into the fires whence it was forged and was with it unmade. He is dead, even as you are not. There's no one to revenge yourself upon."

I fell into the fires echoed between them, but Sauron smiled slowly. "You think there is no one to revenge myself upon?"

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes. "Not for the Ring's loss. Those that took it from you are dead and beyond your grasp." It was not entirely true, for Frodo, Sam, and Bilbo all lived, but Celebrimbor would not speak of them.

"And if anything you owe me thanks," he continued. "You would never have forged the Ring without me: without me it would not have been made. We discovered Ringcraft together, you and I; it was our joint labor. You made the One yourself, but I made three Rings of my own, forged by my hands and no others. That is perhaps why you think I took the Ring from you, for you considered yourself to have a right to those Three. I disagreed, and, well, you tortured me to death in our dispute over totalitarian dictatorships and the disposition of property. But I never so much as touched the One, let alone took it. What I did do was hide the Three from you, my Rings."

"No," said Sauron. "No. You stole something of great value, and I know nothing of any three."

Celebrimbor bit the inside of his cheek, not sure how best to respond. Sauron had been angry, very angry, at how the Three were kept from him and Celebrimbor had no wish to experience that again. But he was yet uncertain exactly what Sauron's thing of great value was, and though it made his heart hurt, he did not discount the possibility that it was he himself.

"I made three Rings," he ended up saying. "They were somewhat like yours, though not so… not so precious. But they were very powerful and you wanted the power they could summon."

Sauron had turned all the focus he could summon — which was not as much as it once had been — on Celebrimbor, an attentive, evaluating regard.

Celebrimbor continued, "That is why I know more of your Ring than you do: I know how it was made and what you poured into it. It was our craft, Sauron, yours and mine, and we made Rings together, our joint labor. I never touched it, that… most precious thing of yours, the One Ring, but I know the theory, I know how you made it. Once I would have said that you were the only person in the world who knew more of it than me, but looking at you now, I am the one who knows the most. I know what it looks like — do you? You have forgotten much."

"So that was what you stole," Sauron murmured. "My knowledge, my skill, my Art; you took it, you stole it. I knew you were a thief."

Celebrimbor was always annoyed when people attributed the growth of fields of study to a single person; Ringcraft had been both of their work, Sauron and Celebrimbor, but not just theirs, for others of the Mírdain had contributed. He said, testily, "It was a joint project, a collaborative one. You were capable of that once."

Sauron ignored him. "But no, you stole more than that from me, and not those Three: I know that, for all that I don't remember them. It was something precious too, though lesser in value than the Ring; how could you?"

Celebrimbor did not know what to feel about what Sauron had said.

"I'm not sure what you speak of," he told him instead, "but I did not steal the Ring from you. Nor did I steal the Three, they were never—" Celebrimbor stopped. It did not matter, not like it had once.

He looked at Sauron and a mix of pity and contempt came over him.

"You're so stupid," Celebrimbor said. "Did you never think about what you were doing to yourself when you made the Ring? You made it from yourself, used your soul as you did the metal and with as little regard. Did you never realize that you were a person too? You broke so many precious things, and yourself among them."

There was a long moment of silence.

Sauron broke it and said, "It's still gone. It will always be gone, my Ring. I want it, I need it; I can never have it again."

"It is gone and will never come back, no matter what you do or desire," Celebrimbor agreed. "Yet you told me before that you want to remember, that you dislike not knowing: Sauron, do you want to? Or would you rather wallow in your pain and loss for eternity? You've always been curious and I know a part of you wants to survive or you wouldn't have found yourself here. Whatever else you are, whatever else you hunger for, you want to survive. You've done terrible things to yourself in the past to survive, to live, cutting out bits of who you are. Consider that."

Sauron again was silent. Celebrimbor placed his hands on Sauron's thighs and leaned towards him and a little over him, willing him to listen.

"You're here," said Celebrimbor. "You haven't melted away into nothingness, nor become a faint, unknowing, unconscious shade of loss and hatred. You're coherent. You can speak. If the Ring's loss and your hatred towards those that destroyed it were all there is too you, you would not be talking to me. I perceive that in the very core of your being you've already chosen survival, and that means that something in you was not consumed by the Ring's loss, even in the first moments after it was unmade."

Sauron tilted his head, examining him, and said, "Whatever hurt I caused you must not have been so great for you to be here too, though perhaps it is just out of guilt at having hurt me more, you thief. But you may be right. There might be more than the Ring's loss. I'm not sure, but it might be interesting to see."

Celebrimbor drew back and forced himself to take deep breaths, as smooth and even as he could, and tried to push his rage aside. He was not sure Sauron even remembered how he had slowly flayed his skin away or painted it with acids, or shattered bones or torn out teeth. This particular moment was not the time for anger; a time would come later. Carefully, thoroughly, he packed it away.

"To see what, whether or not you can piece you back together?" he said. "I see no reason why you can't. Others have. I've done it for myself, you know. You were… you did your work well when you murdered me. I was a broken thing, shattered, when you were done."

Again silence from Sauron; it was jarring, for Sauron had spoken so much before, had never been so silent when someone talked at him. Celebrimbor had not even suffered through one of his monologues.

"You seem whole now," Sauron said eventually.

Celebrimbor smiled crookedly. "Well, all the parts were still there. I just had to put them back together."

It had taken a long while. He did not remember much of Námo's prison, but he knew most of his time in it was spent repairing himself, carefully sorting through the pieces that were him, carefully turning them over to determine the proper position and laying them in place. Had such a labor not been needed, he would have left Mandos much sooner, for all that was in him had yearned for life.

"I don't know if you still have all your pieces," he told Sauron. "But you have enough, I think, if you want to try."

"I will remember better what was precious to me, will I not. Perhaps I could even…" Sauron trailed off. He stood up, then spun around and began walking.

"Come along then," he said briskly. "You said you know the mechanisms by which the Ring was made. You may begin by telling me about them."

"I'm not yours to command," said Celebrimbor, annoyed. "And I can't explain it to you yet."

Sauron stopped, and when he turned his head to look back there was a banked fury about him.

"You barely remember Endórean geometry," Celebrimbor said hastily. "You fool: you threw away all you knew of lore in pursuit of the power you utterly lost. Now you couldn't understand even the most basic metamathematical equation underlying the Rings."

"Then teach it to me," said Sauron, and began to walk again.

Celebrimbor stumbled after him, and rambled about perfect solids, and wondered once more what he was doing.

Yet he did know what he was doing. When he had escaped to Námo's prison, what was left of Celebrimbor had lain in a stupor, if the naked soul could be said to lie, but over time he had come to awareness. His first thought had been, it doesn't hurt, and sometime later he thought, I loved you, and, how could you, and slowly he began to remember who he was and what he had done.

If Celebrimbor could remake himself, Sauron could too. Whatever else might be said of him, he was not lazy and did not fear work. But Celebrimbor had just convinced Morgoth's lieutenant to survive, had kept him from unmaking himself, when instead he might have let him slip into nothing more than a foul smell in the wind. He did not know if he had done what was best, but he knew he had chosen it.


Author's Notes:

The dialogue in the flashback draws upon some of Tolkien's writings about the motivations of the Eregion Elves and some of Annatar's lines are adapted from what he says in the Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales.

Thentetheg - "Shorty McShorty," Celebrían's dachshund. Lit. "short-fem-dim.