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Growing irritation simmered under his skin as Mairon bent over his workbench. His hands were as steady as ever, and his enchantments just as meticulously cast, but he was distracted. He steadied himself and calmed his breathing, and then with skills honed over thousands of years, he pulled at the very essence of the metal under his fingertips until he felt it shift to his will. Then another guffaw filled the air, and any remaining patience burst.
“There are people attempting to focus,” he snapped, turning all the ire he could on the guilty parties even as he grasped his hammer hard enough to nearly crack the handle. “Surely there are better places to go for conversation?”
Celebrimbor gaped at him from across the workshop, and for a moment Mairon regretted his shortness with him, if only for the harm it might cause to their carefully cultivated friendship. Then the plain-featured elf by Celebrimbor’s side once again grabbed his Lord’s arm playfully. They stood close to one another, and both their faces had a healthy color that lingered from the force of their laughter. The annoyance returned.
“I’m sorry Annatar, I didn’t realize we were being so loud, Anaróron was just telling me of what the smiths in Lórien do with their excess ore.” Celebrimbor said, though frustratingly, he did not supply the answer to the question he posed. True repentance it was not, but at least he wasn’t barely containing another laugh like the elf beside him. “Come on Anaróron, we might as well take a break and leave people to their work. I will have to ask my cousin about this when she visits.”
A tension hung in the air, and none of the other smiths dared look up from their own work as Mairon seethed with eyes fixed to the door they’d passed through, linked at the elbow like children. It was annoying how easily he lost his temper, and even more so, how obvious it was to all in the room, but he couldn’t help it. They’d been going on for almost an hour. Such behavior must be a particular quirk of Celebrimbor, for Mairon could not imagine at any other elf of Feanor’s proud line fraternizing with their colleagues in such a casual manner.
Once he’d seen Celebrimbor lying in the meadows beyond the city walls with his head pillowed on his dwarven friend Narvi’s chest. So too had he once observed the elf drunkenly hanging off a human man the size of a bull while singing a most sad elven ballad with an almost deranged smile across his face. The human company in the tavern hailed him in clear misunderstanding of his lyrics while he droned on about a particularly bloody and tragic battle that Mairon had very personal knowledge of, only to finish his haunting song by burying his face into the human’s chest. Little did anyone notice Mairon watching from the rafters, fashioned as a small bat.
It wasn’t a daily occurrence luckily, but when Mairon thought over the last year, he could identify nearly a dozen incidents of overfamiliarity with castle staff and other smiths alike. After one instance of catching Celebrimbor asleep tangled with none other than the captain of the guard, he found himself deep in the libraries studying elven sex practices. Little could he find of the act itself, but he’d seen enough animals to understand the mechanics, and in that he was not interested. It was the cultural mating rituals he focused more on, for one might assume that falling asleep in the arms of another was the action of a lover rather than a friend.
When he found little of use in those tombs, he instead figured that in a city of such mixed culture, an elf might find themselves influenced by other customs most unlike their own. He revisited the idea of sex. Celebrimbor seemed happy enough to sing rowdy songs with the Edain and allowed his dwarf friend to braid his hair in his people’s manner. Might he also be influenced by the breeding instincts of the Edain? The elf certainly was a curious sort when plotting over inventions with Mairon, and more than a few times he’d expressed the desire to experiment not just with raw materials around him, but also his own spirit. He was a deeply intelligent person, and though all his reading suggested that for two elves to mate, was also to be married, if anyone might be able to find a loophole to an established law, it would be Celebrimbor. But despite his hypothesis, little evidence of such a thing did he observe. Even when he passed by his door at night, he heard no signs of base activity, though sometimes he heard the elf speaking with others in friendly conversation.
Little would he make of these habits, if not for the fact that Celebrimbor rarely, if ever, expressed such bodily affectionate behaviors towards Mairon. Long had Mairon worked in the city alongside him, often on long complicated projects, but such familiarity was not often offered. Long meaningful conversations they often had on the ramparts, and emotional confessions of past mistakes too, but seldom had Celebrimbor even touched his hand with simple affection. For its own sake it mattered not, for little did he require such daft behaviors, but if the elf was intentionally keeping him at a distance, might he also be wary of him still? Perhaps he wondered subconsciously at Mairon’s intent and trusted him not fully in his heart. Especially problematic it seemed now, as Mairon prepared in earnest to share his most beloved vision with him.
-
“Are you well?” Celebrimbor asked him later that week, joining Mairon in the gardens where he sat deep in thought. They met there often to speak over their worries.
“Yes,” he said, “the plans we’ve set for the hydroponics project are sound, and the newest shipment of obsidian is of the highest quality.”
“Of our experiments, I have little concern, for we are ever on track with such things. I wonder over yourself Annatar. You’ve seemed a bit morose of late. If something is the matter? I desire to help in any way that I might, if you would just tell me.”
Mairon froze, surprised and confused both. He might be a little stumped over their current relationship dynamic, but he was perfectly alright. The state of the smithy had never been better, and their gem craft schedule for the year was two months ahead. He almost said as much to the elf, but a sudden idea came to his mind. A small test. “I find that I miss,” he looked beyond Celebrimbor’s head and watched as a bundle of roses swayed in the wind. “The flowers that grew along the banks of my master’s domain.”
Celebrimbor’s face was ever sympathetic despite the clear surprise, though it surely was misplaced kindness. Mairon considered the moats of corpses and mud that ringed Angband by the end, when he had not the time, nor the remaining care to clean them away. He supposed sometimes plants grew there as well, though they were twisted and distorted with blight, and hardly would one consider those fell weeds ‘flowers’.
“When I think of Aulë, it is not of plants,” Celebrimbor said, “though I suppose maybe that is foolish, as he was ever close with his Lady wife. What kind do you speak of? Could we not sneak them onto the list of plants for the project we’re working on? Nobody would notice one more little addition, and I have the plans in my own office right now, though Russissë needn’t know that.”
“I do not think they would grow here, and I would not beg them to,” Mairon said, with a sad smile. “But red were the blossoms, and mighty in form, but deep and persistent. I would gaze at them sometimes when I tired from my work.”
“All these long years, and I’ve rarely heard you talk much of your time with Aulë. I’ve wondered if perhaps you wished not to think of those days at all.”
“It was simply a different time,” Mairon told him, not the first time.
When he found himself speaking over the past, he found himself both nervous to share too much, but also eager for the catharsis of putting all his complex thoughts in words. He hadn’t been particularly pleased with all his years under Melkor, but neither was he without some pride over what they’d accomplished. Hard though, to consider that for all his victories and great inventions, there were a dozen other problems he had not the time to focus on at all. And while it certainly wasn’t a good idea to admit to Celebrimbor how much he missed his wolf pack, he found himself doing just that.
“Aulë had a great many hounds,” he continued, thoughts turning to the wargs and chimeric wolves that he’d so lovingly engineered. That had been a genuine and successful work, so unlike his old master’s own process with the orcs. Celebrimbor didn’t seem to mind listening to his stories of the 'dogs,' though the elf was clearly holding back something.
Celebrimbor asked finally, after what must have been hours. “Might you go back someday?”
“Do you wish me to?”
“Of course not!” Celebrimbor exclaimed. “I would be beside myself if you left us now. But if you long to return, neither could I begrudge you that, for I remember Valinor too, even if my memories from those days are distant and young.”
“I will not return there,” he promised solemnly.
Celebrimbor was close enough to him that he could feel heat radiating off him in the cool night air, and Mairon wondered why the elf did not reach out to him then. Surely it would be appropriate to at least touch his hand or offer a light embrace, for a friend ‘morose’ in their sickness for home. It was the way of incarnates, and was Mairon not also currently in a physical body? But even as they spoke late into the night, not once did Celebrimbor touch him.
-
He stared at his body in the mirror later that night, inspecting each eye carefully. Was his symmetry so perfect as to be unsettling? No, that was ridiculous. Of the many elves he’d inspected and all the historical accounts he’d studied, this combination should be sufficient to bewitch the elves entirely. His hair was fashioned much like Felagund’s, though with changes enough that he could claim ignorance of the similarities. His eyes were closer in kind to those of Celebrimbor’s house, for most elves here were smiths also, and he wished to connect with them in a most profound way. Even his limbs hugged the line of masculine strength and sleek beauty, as long and well-formed as those of the most renowned elves he’d known. Frustratingly, an hour later he found himself in much the same position, staring deeply into his own eyes and wondering what he was missing.
A sudden hypothesis came to him then, as he thought instead of the sister of that horrid golden elf- Artanis. For when she entered the city, always did Celebrimbor act in a more reserved manner. He claimed to respect her much and delight in her company, but little did he hug and embrace her. Mairon considered dogs for the second time that night, and how a kind master might pet them even as they spoke to them in demeaning simplicity. Perhaps Celebrimbor simply saw Annatar as an equal, not befitting pity nor to be treated with patronizing affection. He felt better as he dressed again in his loose robes, though plot he did also, for to fully entrap the heart of his friend, he might try reframing their dynamic. Mairon would suffer the odd comment and pat if it benefitted him, for often his master had demanded that as well. He’d need to evoke pity, past what he’d gained from simple words.
-
Mairon waited a few days for his chance, slightly hesitant to expose such an embarrassing side of himself, but so obsessed with his theory that he could only press forward. Even should it be incorrect, he felt compelled to know for certain. His own workbench overlapped somewhat with Celebrimbor’s, for they often worked on projects together. More so, he was the one elf in this city that had an organizational system that aligned with his own. He glanced at the amethyst Celebrimbor honed carefully, appreciating the deep concentration across his face. He was quite the inventor truly, and for each thing Mairon taught him, he was also given an interesting theory to ponder. It seemed almost a crime to disturb the careful balance there, but then he reminded himself of a certain outburst of laughter Celebrimbor had disturbed him with, just days before.
Loathe was he to ruin his own supplies, but once Mairon dropped the heavy glass jar, there was no going back. The sound of breaking glass was sharp and messy, but just as he’d predicted, Celebrimbor whipped up in sudden concern. Often an apprentice might drop a beaker, but never had Mairon done so himself. He braced himself on the workbench as if pained and waited for the questions to follow.
“Are you alright?”
He couldn’t help smiling down at the table at the obvious worry in Celebrimbor’s voice, and as he looked up from his slouch, his eyes had just the same quality in them. He forced himself to shiver just so slightly before speaking.
“Of course, I suppose I’m just a little exhausted.”
“Exhausted?” Mairon was not surprised to hear the confusion in the other’s voice. “I did not know you needed rest in the same way as my people.”
He did not, but the lie had already been cemented by both his own words, and the glass littering the floor between them. He itched to grab the dustpan and correct the mistake, but he did not.
“Not in the way of your people, but occasionally I might settle my body for a time.”
Celebrimbor moved closer to him. His hands were out before him, not touching Mairon, but close enough that he must be poised to grab him if needed. Mairon released his hold on the table and swayed just slightly. He’d been right to assume Celebrimbor’s intent, for a strong hand reached out to grab his shoulder and steady him. A delight filled him then, to be proven true in his little experiment.
“You can have my pallet in the back room, if you wish,” Celebrimbor said to him, “nobody goes back there anyway, so you wouldn’t have to worry about the others wondering.”
He almost refused the offer in favor of returning to his work, as his data was already gathered, but instead he nodded and let Celebrimbor pull him away from their workbenches and towards the back room. He’d rarely gone into those supply rooms, but sure enough, there was a small pallet in the corner. It was almost charming that Celebrimbor might be so focused on his work that he’d rather take his rest here on the floor than his fine quarters.
Celebrimbor finally released him, looking a little bashful as he gestured to the little nest. “It’s not much, but take all the time you need, now and anytime you wish.” Mairon sat down carefully and looked up at him with what he hoped was a grateful smile.
“Thank you,” Telperinquar. He almost used that name to breed further closeness, but something stopped him, and as the elf took his leave, he was relieved at his own restraint. It would have been too abrupt a variation after so many years, and he still had seven months before he planned to unveil his proposal. He might have been remiss to wait so long, but there was time yet.
Little need did he have for rest, but since the exit was blocked by their workbenches, he laid back to wait out this ‘nap.’ The blanket smelled vaguely of Celebrimbor and metal both, and when he closed his eyes, he considered what it might be like to sleep here as an elf, exhausted but enraptured by a work most splendid. Knowing Celebrimbor, he would only stay still for as short a time as he could get away with, so when Mairon found himself still curled into the blankets an hour later, he had little excuse. He sat up, smoothed down his hair and re-entered the smithy proper.
“Are you feeling better?” Celebrimbor asked him. It was quite the surprise that he even noticed Mairon’s feather light footsteps, for often he got lost in his work to the point of distraction of all else. Satisfaction coursed through him.
“Yes, very much so. Next time I will be more careful to prevent such an embarrassing display.”
“It’s not embarrassing,” Celebrimbor argued. “If anything, I’m happy to know I am not the only one in need of rest. Sometimes when we are deep in a project, it feels like I’m just slowing you down with my body as it is.”
“No, that is not true,” Mairon scolded him sharply, “I have never thought such a thing.”
“Good.” Celebrimbor beamed at him then. “I’m glad to hear we might take naps both, and feel guiltless of them. Please feel free to swoon whenever you wish!"
Mairon grumbled at the mockery, but without any heat as he wondered what the chances would be of them both getting a wave of exhaustion simultaneously one day. Or rather, what Celebrimbor’s perception of that probability might be, for he’d hate to accident tip the elf off that he was being disingenuous.
-
There was a little pink flower in Celebrimbor’s braid. Mairon had been staring at it for five minutes straight, memorizing the patterns of the petal creases and the curve of the stem. He’d have believed it to be an accident- like pollen on a bee’s legs- if not for the way the stem was carefully tucked into the groves of his dark twisted hair. Someone had placed it there.
Annatar made a couple loops around the forge before he located a similar scent on a certain dwarven smith. Light floral aromatics clung to the furthest workbench where Narvi was hard at work on a rather impressive looking drill bit prototype. It didn’t change anything, to know, but he was glad to learn all the same, for he liked the dwarf well enough. Worse would it have been if Anaróron had been the culprit.
But sadly the elf’s bond with Narvi came to a horrible head later that year when the dwarf asked Celebrimbor away on a month-long journey to Khazad-dûm for the winter. As a wedding guest, no less. He’d listened to the invitation and seethed, though neither knew of his presence behind the walls. It was inappropriate to pull an elven Lord away from his own keep on a holiday, even if it was a rather odd cultural patchwork of a celebration. Elven traditions mixed with Dwarven and Mannish in a celebration quite unique to the region. More importantly, Mairon had long planned on using that stretch of time to introduce his plan for ring forgery, and had secretly arranged not only his own speech, but also a whole evening of revelry with Celebrimbor, for always the elves were more agreeable when tipsy and flushed from celebration. He’d need to rework his whole plan should he miss the day, and as Narvi smiled and spoke excitedly of his son’s marriage ceremony with both his words and his gestures, he felt bitter disappointment.
Mairon might ask Celebrimbor to stay outright, but even should the elf agree, surely he would be secretly disappointed with both Mairon for asking such a selfish thing, and himself for his agreement. As he sat in his room staring at the wall, he decided he’d need to plan something a bit more dramatic. He didn’t act immediately but waited until Celebrimbor’s day of departure was nigh, and the winter solstice was just a month out. Then, he struck.
-
Often the two of them walked the ramparts of the city in close confidence when not in the gardens. It was a night like any other, and as they strolled and gazed out over the forest beyond the city, Mairon was struck by the peaceful edge to the night. The skies were calm and mild despite the coming winter, and the dark plains beyond the city walls took on a pretty gleam for the light of moon. For a moment a crazy thought overtook him, and he wondered if might just change his plan and give his proposal right then, under the stars. Celebrimbor was quite enthused by their current project after all, and though at its core it was barely veiled necromancy, the elf complained not. The elf had proven himself to be both capable, and uncaring of the slightly heretical edge to the work. Mairon might only open his mouth and tell him then what he wished of their partnership.
But as they approached his carefully set stage, he scolded himself for his impatience. Long had his master been burned by such impulsive whims, and Mairon also by association. Celebrimbor interrupted him before he could begin.
“I have something I wished to give you, but I couldn’t find the chance with us both so enraptured in our work this last week.”
It was an unexpected offer, but Mairon was most eager to learn more of the gift. He watched as Celebrimbor reached into his pockets and drew forth something small and gleaming. Bashful did he look as he passed it over, as if he had something to be embarrassed over. Ridiculous, for beautiful it was, startlingly so in its radiant rays of red and orange. If the silmarils had perfectly captured the light of the trees, this gem instead gleamed after the beauty of a flower. Though exquisite and perfect it was to his eyes, confusion also filled him until Celebrimbor explained.
“I feared to have gotten the flower wrong, for I’ve never met Aulë or seen his forges, but after a good amount of research with a botanist that resided a time in Valinor, we thought you most likely speaking of this. Forgive me if…”
Mairon was overcome, though little did he recognize the bloom. He wondered when had Celebrimbor managed to craft it when so busy with their collaborations. Each petal was perfectly honed and smooth, and like fire it seemed for the reds and oranges that flickered through the facets. He was eager to inspect it under stronger light.
“Thank you,” he said genuinely, “this is finely made. Perhaps more than any gem I’ve seen.” And though mockery that might seem when compared with the silmarils of Celebrimbor’s grandfather, and their more obvious power and form, he meant it true. This was fashioned for Mairon personally, and in the colors of his own soul. Again, he wondered at his plan for the evening. He would be remiss to chip this great gift should his body react unexpectedly during the unnatural maneuver he planned. He wondered if he could have Celebrimbor keep it safe for a little longer, but quickly wrote that off as an action that might arouse suspicion.
But for all the unease he felt over his plan, with such perfect evidence of Celebrimbor’s skill in his palm, he could only resolve himself. They continued along their path, and when Mairon subtlety turned them towards one particular spot, the other noticed not. The stones of the low wall looked no different from the rest, though a small selection of five distinct sections of wall had been altered. He only needed the one section truly, but the city planning council would likely study the statistical likelihood of this incident later. He took another moment to inspect his precious gift, then with a final smile at Celebrimbor, he leaned back against the wall. Stone shifted as he knew it would, and though he expected the other would hasten to his side, he’d moved just far enough that as Celebrimbor lunged towards him, he was just shy. Weightlessness was different when he was trapped in a body, and instead of gentle suspension in the air, he was suddenly forced into a rough downward trajectory.
It was the sudden realization of something that he hadn’t considered that filled him in fear even as he plummeted, and he watched with terrified eyes as the elf barely kept his feet, for his impulsive grab towards Mairon. It was only when he noted the other’s boots finding purchase on the remaining stretch of stone that he allowed himself to clutch his gem as tightly as possible and close his eyes.
The sound of bones breaking reverberated through his body with a horrific crunch, and pain followed suit. Mairon was not naturally a creature of flesh and blood, and surely it would have been worse if he was, but he was not without nerve endings either. It hurt and he writhed on the ground for both the pain and the unnatural distortion in both his spine and leg. Someone yelled something down to him, panicked.
When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but dark night air above him, but not a minute later a frantic figure hastened to him and fell to his knees by his side. The elf that swam in his vision had never looked paler.
“Annatar!”
He shifted his arm and opened his palm to reveal an unblemished spark of glimmering fire in his palm. “It is unbroken,” Mairon said in utter relief.
“What?” There were tears on Celebrimbor’s cheeks then. “Never mind the gem Annatar, your leg! What do I do? Are you…”
He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, Maiar that he was, and as he stared up at his friend, he couldn’t help but shake. This was folly, past anything he’d done in years. He couldn’t help his thoughts turning to punishments by his master long past, and dark chambers filled with screaming prisoners.
“Oh no, your jaw too!” That was a surprise to him, but as he shifted, he realized that the elf was correct.
“It’s okay, I will be fine,” he said, with little control of his voice for the looseness of his facial structure. “I just…” He did not know what he needed. He reached out to Celebrimbor.
“Don’t you dare move,” Celebrimbor told him, and for the confusing wave of pain he first thought it was another rejection of closeness. He forced his thoughts into a better order.
“I will not break further,” Mairon told him when finally, he could master his voice. “I may repair the damage with time, though I wish not to be on the ground.” He sounded weak, even to his own ears, and it was not an act.
Celebrimbor stared at him in shock, as if trying to gauge his words for truth or lie. Whatever he saw moved him to action, and though the feeling of arms pulling him up from the ground was excruciating, Mairon clung almost desperately to the elf, burying his face in his chest and releasing all control over his body. He felt not the thrill of victory he’d expected, but as Celebrimbor made the journey back up those familiar city streets and towards the keep, Mairon knew that he would get his way. He would hurt and suffer as he rebuilt his own body, but his friend would not leave him.
He heard many a shocked gasp on the way to his little-used bedchamber. Celebrimbor arranged him carefully atop the mattress with many small apologies for the agitation. He wished to flee his body then, for he knew that would be the easiest way to escape the lingering hurt of the fall. He did not. He simply stared at the ceiling above him and listened to the sound of Celebrimbor speaking urgently. It was hard to know if the words were for him or the healers that had invaded the bedchamber.
Long did Celebrimbor stay by his bedside with his hand clutching Mairon’s own. Blood flowed easily through the veins and warmth pressed along his own fingers. Little help would the healers be in this, but after some exhausted debate with both Celebrimbor and the lead healer, Mairon allowed them to adjust his jaw and leg a bit. He supposed it helped somewhat as he once again grabbed at the very structures of his body to knit them back together. Should he focus, the process might take an evening, but he stalled and dawdled until Narvi had left the city entirely, only daring to sit up when there was little chance of Celebrimbor riding out to meet up with him.
The next three nights the elf fell asleep at his bedside, his face pressed against the side of the mattress in a way that hardly looked so comfortable.
“Is your neck not sore?” Mairon asked on the third morning of healing as he watched Celebrimbor open his eyes. His dark hair was no longer so well maintained, and snarls had developed where the long strands were tucked behind his ears. So too was his clothing rumpled, for Mairon noted that he hadn’t even bothered to change from the same robes he wore on that first night.
It was a ridiculous level of overreaction when Mairon had told him personally that he’d have no lasting damage from the fall. If this was how distraught he was from Mairon falling just a couple hundred meters, might Mairon have succeeded in his mission with less? Perhaps he could have simply broken his wrist and gained his reward just as easily. But as wakefulness came into the elf’s eyes before him, he had to admit a certain giddiness. He had ever seen the diligent and obsessive smith, but never had such a vulnerable expression been shared with him. Sometimes the elves under his care got a glassy eyed confused look, but this was not that. There was relief in his friend’s eyes, and genuine affection.
“No more than yours, I’m sure,” Celebrimbor told him in gentle jest, but neither did he deny the question. There was no way one so bound to their body would wish to sleep in such a contortion.
“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable to sleep properly,” Mairon told him, not wanting the elf to associate caring for Mairon with physical pain, “There is much room on this bed, after all.”
“I could not,” Celebrimbor told him, averting his gaze suddenly. It made no sense at all, for Mairon knew how the elf had done just that with his captain.
There seemed little room for argument with such a concise answer, but Mairon tried all the same. “I will feel worse to see you treat your body such in my care.”
Mairon felt his victory in the air even before Celebrimbor spoke, though obvious was his manipulation of the situation. “Very well.”
That night, Celebrimbor slept by his side, though he was careful to give Mairon more space than he claimed for himself. Mairon wondered what he might do if he were to shift closer to the elf, but when he did so ever so slightly, he felt the subtle retreat of the other. He gritted his teeth in frustration, that even unconscious the elf might instinctually flinch away from him. He forced his breath to steadiness. No matter, Celebrimbor’s hand was still touching his, and in that there was victory enough. Narvi could tinker with his dwarven friends’ braids all night if it served him, but the elf was his.
-
He was glad to move his legs when he deemed the healing done, for much work did he have yet. If he leaned a bit on Celebrimbor as he tested his feet, the elf allowed it more easily than Mairon had feared. Narvi was long gone at that point, though according to Celebrimbor he’d left a gift in the smithy for Mairon before setting off. The elf himself had decided to stay in Ost-in-Edhil for the holiday as Mairon had predicted, and after a day of acting healthy if frail, Mairon deemed it time to return to normal.
Re-entering the forge after so many days was a balm to his spirit, as was the familiar elf already hard at work where he belonged. He was glad also that Celebrimbor took his meals alongside Mairon every day that week, though Mairon did not eat. They read together in the libraries, shopped for supplies, and spoke long into the night. And when Celebrimbor took to visiting his other colleagues or sleeping, Mairon forced his thoughts back to his plan. A dozen timelines shifted in his mind as he considered all the different ways his vision might come to pass. Diagrams and schematics shifted with lovely geometry behind his eyes.
That Mairon had joined the party council earlier that year had seemed to be a thing of both much amusement to the others on the board, and much confusion to Celebrimbor, who was pointedly not among the group. A lie he had ready though, prepared for when his friend finally worked up enough curiosity to ask about it. And finally, the elf did, when Mairon was forced to excuse himself from watching Celebrimbor take his supper.
“Last year, the fireworks destroyed a stretch of the main square.”
Celebrimbor waved his concern off through a bite of bread. “There was hardly any damage, and no injuries to speak of.”
“But still,” Mairon told him, “What if there had been a drunken reveler in just the wrong place?”
“There wasn’t.”
“Besides the point, I simply want to make sure the council shows a bit more restraint this year, in both their inappropriate use of pyrotechnics and their sticky fingers. Don’t forget that it was our supply closets that they raided. You must remember how long it took us to recover the stock room?”
Celebrimbor laughed at him, and he gave the elf a quizzical look.
“What?”
“That is what you truly care about, isn’t it? Not the poor drunken elves who might be exploded, but the stockroom!”
Mairon could only glare back, though he was secretly happy the elf hadn’t guessed the real reason for his sudden interest with the party council. Once he was done influencing the council, the bridge over Celebrimbor’s favorite stream would be cleared of crowds. There would be just the right balance of Celebrimbor’s favorite foods and drinks, and the mood would be something to both inspire and motivate the elf to his further potential.
-
Mairon decided after another day of watching Celebrimbor greet an old human woman with a warm hug, that he needed to shift his focus a little, for the ‘affection component’ was again missing in their relationship now that he was healed from his fall. Clearly the elf cared much for Mairon, but still he only seemed willing to breach the line of affection when Mairon was in grave danger. He considered something new. Maybe it was his own unpracticed physical manner that was scaring him away, for Mairon would admit he was less cheery than some of the targets of the elf’s touch. He considered this for a time. Whether it was in smithing or in music, practice might yield a better result. So too he might benefit by a bit more experience in the ways of incarnate familiarity. It would be silly to completely adapt to their customs, and suspicious besides, but perhaps he could modify his behavior a little.
He strolled the city in a manner he rarely did under the light of the sun, surveying the colorful shops and diverse peoples both. It truly was a seamlessly behaving city, and even for the bustling businesses and packed streets, the paths had been fashioned with efficiency and beauty both. The tall fountain before him was both a focal point of all that moved through the square, but also a wedge that directed cart traffic in just the right way. Colorful mosaics were works of art, but also constructed in such a way to subtly suggest all sorts of messages to travelers.
It wasn’t hard to find an elf who might serve good practice in that complex ecosystem. Dark hair and clear eyes the elf named Cadhrion had, though perhaps not the same fine boned features as Celebrimbor. Better yet, he was no smith, so little consequence would there be in escaping him when the experiment was over. Instead, the elf was a painter who worked out of a small but colorful shop just steps from the city’s largest fountain. Little care did Mairon have for painting, and never had he considered the practice except maybe in the occasional study of pigments, but he could get past that.
“This is a fine work,” Mairon said from inside the elf’s shop as he inspected a painting at random. Impressive beams of painted light reflected off the well-formed chest plate of the painting’s subject.
Cadhrion looked startled at his comment, but also there was the all too familiar satisfaction any craftsperson might have under compliment.
“I fear I failed to perfectly capture the beauty of the hero I wished to capture, but it delights me to hear your approval, Lord Annatar.”
“You do yourself an injustice by critiquing your own work so,” Mairon said, “for if you don’t advocate for your own skill, how might others?” At the hurt look on the other’s face, Mairon worried that he might have ruined his chances entirely. He forced a more serene expression onto his face, reminding himself that little would it benefit him to guide this elf as he would the smithing apprentices. It mattered not if the painter gained confidence in his work. “I only speak so since the painting has moved me so.” He reached out and grasped the painter’s shoulder, though it felt very odd to do so.
“I… you may have it in that case, if you wish,” Cadhrion told him with a nervous flush, shifting from one foot to the other. Mairon was surprised with the offer, but more assured in his dealings with this elf for it. Surely the work might fetch a good amount of coin, both from the technical skill that went into its creation, and the raw materials spent on it. Mairon had little need for a painting, especially not one of a familiar golden-haired elf shining in the sun as he crushed a balrog under his boot. The painting might have been more pleasing to him had it been more accurate- with messed hair and brains leaking from the subject’s pretty head.
“I would feel much like a thief to take your work like that,” Mairon said. The humble approach seemed to work better on the painter, and Mairon noted the exact moment Cadhrion put down his defenses. He tightened his grip on the other’s shoulder.
“Then perhaps I might trade you of something of your hand Lord?” The elf said then, eyes turning to the fine bracelet that encircled his wrist. Such covetous greed for Mairon’s works was nothing new, but he minded it not. So too did he notice the other’s eyes on his body when he turned again to the painting for another appraisal. Such a response was normal as well, though it was not precisely what he was looking for with this interaction.
“That is a fair trade I’d say,” Mairon lied. “And I wonder if I might see more of your work in the coming days, for I have been wondering much over elven art as of late.”
-
“What do you have there?” Celebrimbor asked him later that day when he caught Mairon entering the keep with the thick canvas under his arm. With a sigh, he turned the portrait to his friend. The elf froze and stared. When finally, he spoke, his words were almost a whisper.
“It is quite lovely in composition, and clearly a technical victory but…” Celebrimbor looked away, his face tight and guarded. “You didn’t paint it, did you?”
“No.”
“Thank goodness.” The laughter was thick and warm, and Mairon couldn’t help smiling to hear it despite himself. “Why do you have a portrait of Glorfindel the Golden crushing a goblin under his heel?”
“I do believe that is a Balrog,” he stated dryly as his friend fell into a second wave of even more spirited laughter.
“Huh… And what is it for, dare I ask?” Celebrimbor asked finally. “For if you mean to hang that over our workbenches in the smithy, I will have words for you.”
“I most certainly do not,” Mairon said. He passed the canvas to the other, and though confusion dotted Celebrimbor’s gaze, his hands tightened over the frame all the same. Mairon turned on his heels and escaped quickly before the elf might realize his intention.
-
He visited the painter occasionally after their first meeting, but faster the elf was to stare at his body than offer any true friendliness, and when Mairon finally resolved to brush a strand of hair from his face, Cadhrion’s responded with a touch was on his hips. It was but a light brush of fingers, but the intent was clear. Mairon allowed it for a few seconds, but while the elf surely could not detect his disapproval through his veiled expression, Mairon had little intention of letting the little painter mate with him. It was shocking even, for though the people of this city might be different from the more conservative elves he’d read of, neither had he known the elf for more than two weeks.
He trailed a hand over the elf’s cheek anyway, only to feel him shiver. He could feel the elevated pulse of blood under Cadhrion’s skin, and when he opened his eyes, his pupils were wide and dark. The reaction made him mildly curious, but not enough. “I fear I have to teach a metallurgy class in just ten minutes,” Mairon said, watching as the elf swallowed in disappointment.
“Will you come back after, perhaps?” Cadhrion asked him.
“If I’m able,” Mairon said with a low liquid voice that seemed to enrapture the elf further. It was perhaps not the exact reaction he’d been probing for, but he supposed there was a certain appeal to this level of control. If he wished it, the elf would surely do whatever he might ask of him. He wondered then at Celebrimbor, and if he might also be so easily brought to heel with nothing more than the mere suggestion of coitus. Would his own dark eyes take on such a sheen, and his own body grow tight under Mairon’s hands? He thought not, but with such shared biology between elves, he could not say for certain.
For the practice, he pulled the other to him and put the barest kiss on the corner of his mouth, as he’d seen done before. It felt odd and awkward, but the elf minded not the closeness, and Mairon gloated in victory as he fled the painter’s shop.
But as he presented his teachings to the smithing apprentices that night, he couldn’t help taking extra time to work with each student, only to finish many hours late. Little did he think of Cadhrion over the next few days either, not more than a simple letter sent by courier apologizing for his sudden business. It would do no good to make an enemy of the elf completely, for perhaps someday he’d benefit from an ally in another guild.
-
That the painter elf might appear a week later in the keep proper, was most unexpected. Mairon considered the laws of probability as he stood alongside Celebrimbor to watch the painting guild set up their work in a gallery more often used for scientific lectures and gem displays. He decided the elf must have manipulated the situation somehow. Two dozen paintings found their way onto the walls, and despite being uncaring of such arts, Mairon had to admit that many of the works were quite impressive, not least of all the work of Cadhrion. Though the style of his painting was much the same as that he’d used to paint Glorfindel the Golden, this subject was both more reserved and impressive. It looked a bit like Mairon truly, though his hair was redder than gold, and his nose was slightly different.
Celebrimbor recognized the style as well, even as Mairon tried to direct him away from the exhibit and towards their workshop. It did not work. His friend also clearly noticed a most familiar bracelet on the painter’s wrist, and unlike Cadhrion, Celebrimbor knew well how much the piece was worth. Long had Mairon worked on it by his side, with all the best materials imported from Khazad-dûm. He waited for the question that he was sure would follow, only to be surprised at the silence. He almost offered up an excuse unbidden, but then Cadhrion noticed them.
“Lord Annatar,” he greeted Mairon warmly before grabbing his hand much too casually, with an all too besotted flush on his face. It was exactly the type of reaction Mairon had trained into him, but now it felt very amiss. “Lord Celebrimbor,” Cadhrion said finally, as if a bit like an afterthought. Mairon was as if frozen, unsure what to do under Celebrimbor’s gaze.
“Cadhrion,” he said finally in his most courtly voice, proper but not overly friendly. “Is that the work you were telling me about the other day?”
“Yes, I was most excited to show you.”
Mairon was dragged off then. He was mildly impressed at the young painter’s nerve, to ignore the lord of the keep so brazenly. He listened to the young artist’s rambling story over the painting while nodding, as if interested. Cadhrion had not gone so far as to draw Mairon outright, but little mystery was there in the shape of the eyes that started back at him from the canvas, or the tone of his face.
He felt the brush of the other standing much closer to him than was proper, even as he felt a pair of eyes boring into his back, and when he finally turned back towards where they’d abandoned Celebrimbor, Mairon was both nervous and quite happy with what he saw. He liked the heated possessiveness that turned the elf’s face into something not unlike a snarl, and he felt something a bit like justice. His friend schooled his expression into something milder then, but that meant little, for Mairon had already seen his displeasure. But while it was an intriguing reaction, little did he like the thought of Celebrimbor thinking him so easily seduced, and even as he basked in the way Celebrimbor bristled, so too did he feel the need to calm the misunderstanding.
-
“Hello,” Mairon greeted his friend later that night in the library, when both Cadhrion and his artwork was packed up and sent away from the keep. It’d been a little bit of a pain to find Celebrimbor at all, as he didn’t often visit the library at such a late hour. He sat down on a low red couch across from the elf, trying to read the other’s mind from his guarded face, but getting nowhere. While is was somewhat unfortunate that the painter had chosen to show up, little could he change the past. Besides, he'd learned of a curious possessiveness in his friend that he’d never seen before.
“Annatar.”
“Is something the matter?” Mairon asked, just managing to swallow a grin. It wasn’t as if he’d let the painter braid flowers into his hair or lay upon his chest, but from the gaze Celebrimbor set on him, it was if he’d mated with the brat in the middle of the conference hall, for all to see.
“No.”
He wasn’t quite sure what to say as the conversation turned stagnant. He’d expected an argument for all the ire he’d seen on Celebrimbor’s face earlier and had prepared many ways to win the debate, if only the elf would play along. “You are wondering why I gave him the bracelet? I suppose I should have asked you first, given you helped with the design of it.”
“I’m not wondering that; you forged it, so it’s yours to give to who you wish.”
The game seemed suddenly less fun, with Celebrimbor posing none of the engaging conversation he often provided. And so instead of offering all the reasons why he had every right to flirt with the painter, Mairon chose instead a path of less violence.
“I sought him out to help with the solstice, for we needed an artist to coordinate the decorations. I thought the bracelet was the proper enticement to convince him without the burden of working out a long a convoluted contract.” He shrugged, structuring his face in confused ignorance.
Celebrimbor looked at him then, long and hard. It was when Mairon saw the first shred of doubt on his friend’s face that he relaxed.
“I’m not sure your bracelet was the only enticement.”
“What do you mean?” Mairon demanded, adding both confusion and a healthy dose of irritation to his question, for Celebrimbor knew well how little Mairon cared for his own knowledge gaps.
Celebrimbor looked suddenly embarrassed, averting his eyes back towards the book loose in his lap. “Don’t concern yourself with it, it’s not...”
“Tell me,” Mairon pressed him, suddenly wanting very much to hear Celebrimbor put his little sordid theory into words. “If you know something amiss with him personally, we can find someone else.”
“No, nothing like that,” Celebrimbor shook his head, “I only mean, he seemed quite taken with you, and in a rather inappropriate fashion for court.”
Mairon laughed then, for the put-upon expression on his friend’s face was rather ridiculous. “Surely you’re exaggerating. Many people act like him, it is no rare thing for a young elf to be a bit over eager about their work.” Mairon was so close to mentioning Celebrimbor’s own behavior with Narvi and Anaróron, but he stopped himself.
“Fine, I’ll leave it alone Annatar. But I shall give you a hard time should he one day resolve to attempt to drag you into his bed.”
“Impossible,” Mairon said, truthfully. “For I wish that not, and his thin arms would have not the strength to force it.”
Relief and horror filled Celebrimbor’s eyes then. “I didn’t mean he would attempt to force you, only that he might try to convince you of it.”
“In that case, his chances of success are even smaller. Come now, this talk is dull. We might both be better served by instead discussing our plans for the new shipment of meteorite fragments.”
“What, they’ve arrived?” And just like that, his friend was back, and the danger had passed.
“It’s why I sought you out in the first place. Come on, there’s work to be done.” Long into the night they worked in the smithy together, sorting the fragments by quality and filling out an inventory of all they’d received. Next, they went over the schematics and corrected a few calculations, for the incorrect assumptions of weight they’d made.
“Forgive me,” Celebrimbor said later, as the two of them finally closed their notebooks for the night. They were the only two still there, and the morning was not long off. “It was not right of me to criticize you earlier. I have no claim to what you may do, and no right to pry.” He looked terribly unhappy, and Mairon wished to clear the distress from his face.
“Think not of it,” Mairon told him, “It warms me to know how protective you are of me.”
Celebrimbor looked away, clearly embarrassed, but less upset for the easy forgiveness. The next day, Mairon proposed the need for an artistic contractor for the solstice to the party council, if only to better establish his alibi. And though he had no desire to speak again to the painter, he had another missive sent to him with summons. Surely it would be easier to escape the painter if the weight of a whole festival dropped on his plate just a couple weeks before the day.
-
Things went smoother after that, and as the festival drew closer and closer, his easy friendship with Celebrimbor remained strong, if mildly changed for his recent endeavors. The unforeseen consequence of his accident on the rampart was a tension that seemed to come over his friend as they took their evening walks. Somedays Celebrimbor went as far as to suggest walks in the woods instead, and should they climb the steps to the city walls, Mairon wasn’t so blind as to miss the way Celebrimbor moved always on the outmost side of him. His regard for Mairon’s safety was a good addition to their relationship dynamic, but he wondered still what he might do should his plans be insufficiently convincing. It was tiring to worry so much, and as if against his will, he felt his thoughts begin to drift.
As Celebrimbor spoke on, Mairon felt himself considering again the planes of his friend’s body. Though the elf was limited by his incarnate form in some things, his body was solid and strong. A necessity for Mairon’s upcoming forgery plans, for the work would be long and thankless. He watched as Celebrimbor’s fine fingered hands fidgeted with the hem of his tunic, a quirk the elf got when excited over his work. Mairon remembered the feeling of them as they interlocked with his own, both the strength and the softness both. He shook his head as he suddenly remembered Cadhrion’s aroused eyes as they peered up into his own, and then how much finer Celebrimbor’s were. Even had Mairon been created with a need for bodily pleasures, little need would have for Cadhrion now.
“It’s getting cold,” Celebrimbor mused from beside him.
He looked warm enough within his heavy cloak though, and happy too, so Mairon simply nodded to the sentiment. There was often a gleeful energy in the air during the time before festivals. Mairon felt it too, though perhaps his own excitement was for different reasons. He had not completely solved his dilemma concerning Celebrimbor’s bodily hesitance to him, but he’d made a little progress. And otherwise, everything was going exactly to plan.
-
Ost-in-Edhil was beautifully lit with a hundred lamps of Mairon’s own creation on the night of the festival. Deep hues of blue and purple were cast onto the white stone walls of the city, and artful woven banners hung down low overhead. Music filled the air, and countless booths offered all manner of pastries and citruses. Mairon had personally approved each vendor after subtlety screening their wares. Last year Celebrimbor had been most upset to find a man had smuggled in fighting roosters, and this year, no such perversions were allowed. Even the skies had cooperated by providing a light but unoffensive littering of snow to complete the image of incoming winter.
Mairon had dressed himself in a red tunic under white fur though little did he feel the true bite of winter. The gems he wore flashily on his ears and around his neck were all by Celebrimbor’s own hand, though he’d debated quite a lot before settling on such a bold statement of devotion. As soon as Celebrimbor completed his duty by announcing the festival in a hasty yet rich voice, Annatar hastened to his side in preparation for the night. Much he had planned and suffered for this, and as he beheld Celebrimbor’s own ornate festival robes, he couldn’t help his satisfaction of how well the two of them complemented each other in dress.
“It looks almost like we coordinated!” Celebrimbor greeted him happily, eyes falling immediately to the red flower gem upon Mairon’s chest. His cheeks were a bit pink from the cold air, and Mairon could see his breath in the air. And truly, Mairon had coordinated, though he’d never admit to slipping into the other’s closet in the form of a small black cat to inspect both the coloration and the textures of Celebrimbor’s selected garb.
“I cannot say I mind it,” Mairon said with a smile of his own.
As they wandered beneath ornamented streets side by side, Mairon felt peaceful for knowing the location of most of Celebrimbor’s elven friends. His fellow smiths were currently partaking in an archery contest, as arranged by the roster he’d set with the council. By the time Mairon suggested attendance to Celebrimbor, the group would be long gone. So too were his elven councilor friends tucked away in a dozen other locations. As for the friends of dwarven and human make, Mairon was less certain, as they were more prone to unexpected movements and seemingly arbitrary distraction. It wouldn’t be so horrible to encounter a few though, for they would make his friend happier for their presence, and hopefully more agreeable as a result. And unlike the elves who might spend hours stealing Celebrimbor from him, humans and dwarves would be easier to divert with the simple promise of ale or food.
A human tart vendor waved them down just minutes later before forcing a whole assortment of sweets into Celebrimbor’s hands, and Mairon’s by association.
“You are too kind….” Celebrimbor said gratefully, “though I’m not sure how we’re supposed to eat all these.”
The aged woman patted Celebrimbor’s hand in clear affection, but Mairon found that he didn’t begrudge her that, for she turned to him as well with a smile, though he did not know her. They continued on their path up the city streets, and when Mairon sniffed a lemon tart and bit into it, Celebrimbor stared at him in shock.
He licked the powdered sugar from his lips as he considered the interaction of sweet and sour on his tongue. The texture was unexpected, but it was mildly enjoyable.
“What?” He asked at the scrutiny.
“I’m just surprised. I haven’t seen you eat anything since that horrid supper with my cousin.”
“I’m simply helping you, for I know you would feel guilty to waste a gift from a friend.”
Celebrimbor looked surprised at his answer. “And what do you think?”
“It’s good,” Mairon said truthfully, “Try it.” It perhaps wasn’t such a polite thing to offer a half-eaten tart to another, but Celebrimbor took it from him all the same, fingers brushing over his own. Mairon’s pulse quickened at the sudden feeling of success. He was learning.
By the time they’d finished the selection of sweets, Mairon was quite certain he wouldn’t eat anything for the next hundred years. Drink something, he might be convinced of though, for the next stop on his agenda was the alehouse, now fashioned in winter ornaments and serving spied mead from a large pot. He’d have to be very careful in this step, for though he wanted his friend to feel a certain warmness in his core, too much and anything he might say would carry less weight. He wouldn’t want Celebrimbor to feel tricked or forced into agreement to his plan, and neither did he wish for his friend to find one of his drinking partners and ruin himself for the night in drunken celebration.
To that end, Mairon offered to collect their cups. He got one for himself as well, so he might gauge the ethanol content in the brew. He also knew that Celebrimbor would be more careful if Mairon also partook. He needn’t even bring the cup fully to lips before realizing with some concern that even the air above the mug’s rim was thick with ethanol vapor.
Unfortunately, Celebrimbor had not waited by the door as Mairon suggested, and when the elf instead came up to him, little could he do to stop Celebrimbor from taking the mug in hand before Mairon had a chance to subtlety pour some out. Despite the slight miscalculation, Mairon could only drink his own wine as well, if only to maintain symmetry. For Maia that he was, he’d long considered Celebrimbor his equal.
As they sat together on the bench outside the tavern with their mugs, Mairon couldn’t help the sudden apprehension that filled him. What if Celebrimbor said no? He’d focused much time on arguments and justifications, as well as a few ways they might get started in the work, but if the elf wanted naught to do with this project, there was little he could do but proceed alone. He listened to Celebrimbor ramble on about a new crucible design he’d just thought of, even with a drink steaming in his hands and the festival lights all around them. It was not what one might expect an elf to concern themselves during a time of rest. Mairon took another sip of the spiced wine and drifted lazily under the pleasing shape of Celebrimbor’s words. The elf was vital, he decided. They would proceed together, or not at all.
-
Mairon bet against Celebrimbor on the archery charts once they finished their wine, for the pure thrill of competition. Little did it matter who actually won, but it was fun to argue with him all the same. Next, the two of them took up conversation with a similarly tipsy dwarf who neither of them had met before. He was from Khazad-dûm like Narvi, but was both older and more grumpy than Celebrimbor’s friend. Mairon found that he liked him a lot, and when finally Celebrimbor grabbed his arm and pointed over to a fruit vendor instead, he was shocked to realize how much time he’d wasted in conversation.
He shook his head when Celebrimbor offered him some sort of melon, for he was very much tired of eating. It was the sudden sight of the painter Cadhrion outside the music venue that next disrupted his plans.
“Hells,” Mairon muttered as he found them out in the open, just feet away from the elf. Celebrimbor noticed immediately who it was, and Mairon could do nothing but grab his hand and tug him backwards to hide behind a large basket of bells and pine boughs.
“What are you doing?” Celebrimbor whispered by his side, fruit in hand. Mairon didn’t have any words that might excuse him, but he figured that doubling down was the more dignified response.
“You were right about him,” Mairon said simply, “the painter.”
“Even after you’ve shown yourself to be disinterested?”
“I have not specified things in quite that manner, though neither have I spoken to him more than necessary. You may laugh at me later if you must, but for now, I rather not deal with him. I feel rather odd now and am not sure what to say to scare him off.”
“You’re drunk!” Celebrimbor finally exclaimed, as if it was some great discovery.
“No, I’m not. If either of us is at all influenced by the wine, it would have to be you. Now eat your fruit so you might metabolize it better.”
Celebrimbor ignored him, setting his half-eaten melon rind right on the stone wall behind him like a miscreant. “Here, I shall help you with your artist problem.”
Celebrimbor strode out from their hiding place with his hand tight around Mairon’s wrist, drawing him right in the direction of Cadhrion, then clutched to Mairon’s arm more fully as the painter noticed them. Even through the layers of clothing between them, it was warm and horribly distracting as Celebrimbor’s side pressed into his own. He smelled of spiced wine and lemon, and Mairon decided that perhaps he himself was slightly altered from the ethanol content in his blood. Enough so that he wondered then what Celebrimbor might do to ward off the painter. But it seemed that even when flush with wine, Celebrimbor wasn’t capable of anything too wicked, for all he did was hold Mairon close to him as Cadhrion looked on with disappointed eyes. Then Mairon was pulled into the thrum of the crowd, and away from him. Since night had turned, the city truly was a bit raucous, and drunken laughter and song surrounded them both. It was chaotic, and for all the glee and good cheer, Mairon couldn’t help thinking then of a battlefield.
“He looked rather sad, didn’t he?” Mairon said as they finally broke free from the square, leaving the crowd behind them and leaning back against the wall to recuperate from the frenzy and discomfort of the crowd and painter both. “A pity.”
Celebrimbor broke into laughter. “Do you expect me to believe you feel even an ounce of true pity for him, Annatar? Because I cannot manage to believe such a thing.” Celebrimbor was correct of course, but neither did Mairon make habits of wasting alliances he’d forged, even those of little consequence.
Mairon had to factor an extra hour into his calculations to account for the surprisingly potent wine, but as they listened to the great ballads that welcomed in the winter season so sweetly from a terrace overlooking the main square, he didn’t mind one bit. Little power did most of the light happy songs have, but neither was he unphased by their obvious beauty. And even more did the elf by his side seem to enjoy them, his face open and happy as they listened to the songs that reverberated through the city.
When an hour passed, Mairon once again commenced his plan. Luring Celebrimbor out towards the boundaries of the city was easy as could be, for he knew how much his friend desired quiet and peace following celebration. Distant song and jubilation echoed from behind them, and a low glow of colored light seemed to radiate from the town center, but both took of a more blurred and dreamlike quality from so far away. The streets were pristine so far from the party, with a light littering of untouched snow. They wandered a time in silence until Mairon finally stopped at his chosen location, cleared of revelers.
“There’s something most important I was hoping to speak with you about,” Mairon began, gazing out over the frozen stream at the young grove of pines beyond. They were alone there, in all the glory of the night, close together as if to share warmth.
“Of course,” Celebrimbor said easily. His eyes had regained their clear intelligence, but still he seemed fully at ease. His small smile was all the encouragement Mairon needed, clear evidence of proper priming.
“There is a project I’ve long considered, but not mentioned for its unique qualities.” Snow had begun to fall, but it was still light enough to bother him not. He watched as little flakes of it stuck Celebrimbor’s hair in contrasting patterns of black and white.
“What do you mean?”
“It is yet an untried art that some may be wary of. But from all that I’ve calculated, it should be sound if treated by careful and sharp minds. I thought you the best choice to ask, for obvious reasons.”
“You mean that I might be more likely to break the rules with you, Annatar?” There was something playful on his face, but underneath there was also a wary curiosity.
“I mean rather that you are the most brilliant smith I have met before,” Mairon said outright. “All the rest is just a warning, as to be fully transparent with you over my aims. That said, I would debate with you over the statement regarding rule breaking, for while there are general conventions of what may be right and wrong according to one’s upbringing and custom, I have never known there to be anything as absolute as the rule of which you speak. We are a city of mixed cul-” He jumped at the sudden finger brought to his lips, a most rude order to stop talking.
“You do go on,” Celebrimbor told him, though his smile lessened the harsh edge of his words. Had anyone else dared such a response, Mairon would tear their finger off. Instead, he stood there, staring back at the elf with wide eyes, even as his lips tingled at the contact. “Now stop your infernal scheming and tell me of your proposal.”
And so, he did. Mairon could only drop into the more genuine manner he used when at work as he poured his vision out to his friend. He spoke honestly of matter and form, and all the passions he’d considered all these long years. He nearly forgot to breathe for all the words he suddenly felt compelled to share, and his soul was as if pulled wide open and on full display. When finally, he forced himself to silence in sudden worry that Celebrimbor would again order him to silence for his rambling, he found the other’s eyes wet and entranced. He nodded and told Mairon ‘yes,’ as if it were so simple a thing.
Mairon froze. He had what he wanted. He’d won utterly in his mission, though all the true work of their hands was yet to begin. The promise of this vision that had sparked and gleamed beyond his eyes for centuries. Celebrimbor smiled back at him with a shared expression of wonder and commitment, and never had Mairon felt such a strong pull of fate. Hardly did he think as he reached out then, and in horrible lack of self-control he kissed Celebrimbor right on the lips in utter joy.
Celebrimbor burned like fire against him, all around him, but still it was not enough. Mairon knew not what moved him then, but easy did he fall into the all-consuming draw of their mingling thoughts. Then as a sudden fear seemed to fill him at his wanton impulsiveness, steady hands grasped him hard and pulled him ever closer. Celebrimbor kissed him back with a passion unknown to him, and for the small approving groan muffled between their lips, he could only quake.
“Annatar.”
His own false name had never sounded so musical and desperate, or so fully his own, and he realized that Celebrimbor’s hands had found their way to cup his face, possessive but gentle both. “Long have I forced myself away, for you have ever moved my heart as no other has. Is this truly your will?” His voice was as vulnerable as it’d ever sounded, but hopeful and bright too as Mairon stared into starlit eyes.
Mairon nodded in a daze, overwhelmed. An arm moved to encircle his own waist and draw him even closer. “I understand not all that I wish for, but I would take it all the same.” His words were too honest, too open and weak, but as Celebrimbor drew him again into another kiss, he found he cared not.