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Mairon runs his fingers forward along the line of Celebrimbor’s jaw until Celebrimbor’s cheeks rest upon the palms of his hands. With great gentleness and care he coaxes Celebrimbor’s face upwards and towards him, until Mairon can lean forward himself and press their foreheads together for a few tender seconds. He closes his eyes, cherishing the moment, cherishing the feeling of Celebrimbor’s cool brow upon his own.
“Be well,” he murmurs at last, pulling away for a moment only to replace his forehead with his lips to gently kiss Celebrimbor’s brow. It is only after this that he drifts away, hands running back along Celebrimbor’s jaw until they are too far apart and Mairon can touch him no longer. “I shall return.” He lingers for a moment in the doorway to cast a glance backwards at where he lies upon the bed, then turns sharply and leaves.
Celebrimbor does not respond.
He has not spoken in some three weeks now.
Celebrimbor has always been so lively. It was one of the qualities that endeared Mairon to him at first. To see him as he is now, a shell of his former self…
…Well, it simply is unexpected.
It had truly bewildered him at first. For several days after bringing him home, Mairon had valiantly attempted to get Celebrimbor to rise, to speak, to respond. Fortunately he still ate when Mairon carefully pressed morsels of food to his lips, but otherwise made no movements at all.
Starvation was not necessarily a messy way to die, but it was disturbing. Mairon has no desire to see his Celebrimbor gaunt and frail like that. If Celebrimbor had refused to eat, Mairon would have no choice but to force it upon him.
After all, Celebrimbor cannot die.
He simply will not allow it.
As long as he lives, Mairon will let him carry on with this strange behavior as long as he needs to.
This… tantrum, as it were.
Mairon closes the door to Celebrimbor’s home behind him. He hums a singular sharp, piercing, magical note, and the door seals itself tight with a sharp clicking noise. Less trapping Celebrimbor within, and more keeping any unwanted pests out. Ost-In-Edhil remains abandoned by elves, but that does not mean other unsightly creatures are absent. And he can hardly threaten the mice away with his appearance without also potentially scaring Celebrimbor.
So. Magic to bind Celebrimbor’s home, rather than simply using his key.
Fortunately for Mairon, Celebrimbor’s lack of movement means Mairon does not fear leaving him unattended. He had at first watched over Celebrimbor like a brooding hen, scarcely traveling more than a few feet from his side at a time. Yet as the days passed and it became clear Celebrimbor was incapable of harming himself, Mairon allowed himself the freedom to leave briefly. At first it was only to fetch things he required: clothes from his old home, new linens for the bed, food for Celebrimbor. He never strayed too far from the house, and never for too long.
Now, however, he trusts Celebrimbor alone for long enough that he can take care of this ongoing problem.
He steps down from Celebrimbor’s door and onto the streets, but lingers at the front of the house. Though he never truly discovered from Celebrimbor when he had sent the other elves away, enough time has passed that plants have overgrown their beds and begun to run wild, slithering up the walls of houses, choking out the brick. The streets are positively overgrown, with the areas furthest from Celebrimbor’s house clearly suffering the most.
While Celebrimbor may not be speaking to him now or even leaving his own bed, eventually he will improve. When that time comes, it will be important that his city is not crumbling under the weight of overzealous plants.
Once more, Mairon finds himself rolling up his sleeves and delving into something new for the sake of Celebrimbor.
First it was cooking. Now he must garden.
How novel.
He wraps his hands around the thin trunk of some vine rising from Celebrimbor’s flowerbed near the base. At one time it may have been a decorative ivy but now, to Mairon, it is nothing more than a weed. He wrenches it free from the earth, pressing his lips together in a frown when dirt flies in every direction.
He shall have to sweep when all is said and done.
He shifts the plant to one hand, then reaches out for the base of another large plant growing from the same flowerbed. He pries it free from the ground with a sharp tug, then yanks it until it releases the roots it has laid upon Celebrimbor’s bricks with a sharp pop pop pop.
This plant joins the first in his grasp, and he turns away from Celebrimbor’s home, dragging the two helpless vines with him.
Now plant-life, much like animal-life, does not necessarily care for Mairon’s presence in the wake of his service to Melkor. While animals may take the active approach of running away from him where he roams, plants simply choose to wither even with his best attempts to coax their growth. If anything, plants have a greater awareness of his true nature. While Annatar certainly may have been able to approach a horse without it fleeing from him, plants continued to die in his presence despite the disguise. Some poor houseplant Celebrimbor had gifted to Mairon as a housewarming present had simply given up on life within a few weeks, much to Celebrimbor’s dismay.
In Mairon’s opinion, he has not done much to warrant the strange, innate hatred life seems to have towards him.
Well, not yet anyway. Today may change that.
He walks briskly to the city center, where the houses make way for a large, open space. Festivals of various sorts had once been held here. Vendors had once sold their wares here. Children had once frolicked here.
Celebrimbor had once tripped and fallen into the fountain when he had been too distracted by his own ramblings and failed to notice where he was walking.
The city center is now barren, devoid of all elven life. The stones are cracked and uneven. The fountain is dry.
Mairon drops the two vines he holds inside the fountain. They are quickly joined by several others Mairon wrenches from nearby flowerbeds within the city center and just beyond, until Mairon has a rather nice pile of plants within the cracked and broken fountain and he is left dusting dirt from his hands.
While Mairon would prefer to not do this within the fountain, but alas it is already broken. He was already planning on replacing the pipes anyway. What does it matter if the heat warps them further?
Sparing no further thought, Mairon reaches out.
The pile of weeds burst into flames.
He dwells just long enough to confirm the fire has taken root amongst the vines before withdrawing his hand from the blaze. It is only then that he turns from the fountain-turned-bonfire and picks his way across the city center to locate more overgrown plants that have outstayed their welcome in his city.
Or Celebrimbor’s city, rather.
He does not have to travel far. The city is absolutely strangled with them, after all. But it will not be for long. Not by the time Mairon is through.
He travels back and forth numerous times from the city center, gathering vines and tossing them into the blaze until the sun is well overhead and the fire has been burning for some hours.
Gardening, much like cooking, was not something Mairon anticipated he would partake in during his long lifetime. He has never had a need, nor interest in such affairs. Such things were better left to elves.
Now however, staring at the blaze in the middle of the city, watching as choking black smoke pours into the sky, Mairon can only tilt his head to the side. Perhaps there is a reason elves garden. There is something oddly cathartic about sweeping through the city and clearing the streets. He had not anticipated he would find this task enjoyable, but it does delight that part of him that wishes to bring order into the world.
These plants were unsightly.
Now they are gone.
Wonderful.
Of course, there is still much of the city left to clean. One day is hardly enough time to clean the entire city on his own, but he has made good headway into this task. He shall have to return to Celebrimbor soon to feed him. And then of course he will have to watch over him for the night to ensure he is alright.
Tomorrow, however, he will continue. By Mairon’s estimate, it will only take a few days to strip the city of all of its plant-life. Then, of course, he shall have to sweep all of the dirty from the streets, and dust away the spiderwebs and mouseholds. Then he can make headway on repairing the city itself.
It was never going to be sustainable to simply care for Celebrimbor. Eventually, Celebrimbor will cease this little tantrum of his. When that time comes, Mairon simply must ensure the city is prepared for him.
Celebrimbor will surely not feel happy if his city is in shambles when he can once again walk its streets.
Mairon is very thoughtful in that way. He doubts others would think to straighten up like he has.
The fire crackles, smoke billowing and-
Mairon pauses, shifting, turning to better hear a noise at the far reaches of his hearing. Something just barely audible beyond the crackling of the fire before him. He closes his eyes and leans into the sound, trying to hear it once more-
Knock knock.
Mairon presses his lips together in a tight frown.
Someone is knocking upon the gate.
Hmm.
How strange.
His first instinct is a thief, but that is ridiculous. What sort of thief would knock upon the gates? Yet all of the elves are gone, sent away some time ago. There is no reason for any of them to return now. No one has called for them to return. And prior to this moment, no one has knocked upon the gates since his arrival.
Mairon simply cannot think of who may be there.
Well, the gate remains locked and the walls very much impassible. Whoever is knocking upon the gate will surely take a hint and leave when their knocking proves useless. There is nothing for them there.
Eventually, if he ignores it long enough, the knocking will stop.
Mairon turns and leaves the fire to smolder out, swiftly departing back to Celebrimbor’s home. He sees no reason in being distracted by the would-be visitor who will soon be gone.
He has much more important matters to see to.