Work Text:
Heat was almost as easy to get lost in as a good project. In the forges, both were abundant. There, the differences between Annatar and Mairon seemed irrelevant; there were no allegiances, no betrayals, no secrets… only searing heat and the metals it shaped. The perfect escape. Working alone, he often drifted into something of a trance, aware of nothing but the simple sensations he allowed his form to register and the narrow focus of his current creation. Crackles and clangs, hot air on his skin, an aroma of smoke, no cares but whether the iron before him would bend to his will…
“Annatar?”
He jumped, though he retained enough composure that likely only his fellow Ainur could have noticed. Without stopping in his work, he pulled himself from his daze and replied, “Tyelpë?”
“I don’t want to disturb you, but everyone else is done for the day. Are you planning to stay?”
“I’d like to finish this piece, which I expect will take me about another hour. I can close everything up when I’m done.”
Celebrimbor walked around to face him, leaning against his workbench, “If you like. But… would you mind if I kept you company? I feel like I haven’t seen you since the spring flooding began—everyone’s been in crisis mode. Or at least I have.”
“We pass each other in the halls nearly every day,” Annatar answered, layering a disingenuous hint of confusion into his voice. Judging by his expression, Celebrimbor didn’t fall for it.
“You know what I mean.”
He smiled in response. Celebrimbor took the opportunity to add, “If you’d rather be alone, I understand.”
“No. No, I’d rather you stayed,” he gave the answer he was supposed to give, with just the right inflection to lead the elven lord one step further into his trap. What was less expected—indeed, what was wholly shocking to him—was how true the words were. Did he really prefer the company of an elf to the peace of working alone?
He glanced up to see a smile that was equal parts warmth and delight and knew with certainty that he did.
How odd.
Celebrimbor perched upon the desk, careful not to disturb the papers and tools arrayed on it. He folded his hands neatly over one knee and said, “You know, it’s been over forty years since you joined us here. I know that isn’t long for either of us, but it’s not exactly short, either. At least, it’s not short for these shores. Do you feel like you’ve settled in?”
If Annatar didn’t know him better, he would have assumed such a question stemmed more from his duty as a lord and less from real concern, but Celebrimbor was exactly the kind of person to care, wholeheartedly, for all of his people. Few of his fellow council members had responded to the recent floods by personally helping with the evacuations and repairs. Those that did, he thought rather cynically, likely only did so to avoid being shown up by their leader.
“Of course,” Annatar began, another perfectly scripted answer on his lips.
He hesitated.
“I really do feel more at home,” he answered honestly, “More so than I have since… well, more so than I have in quite some time.”
Too honest. He needed to change focus.
“I’ve actually been wanting to thank you for awhile now. You’ve done so much to make me feel welcomed here, and you cannot know how much that means to me,” this would work better if he could take Celebrimbor’s hands in his, but even in the forge where the unnatural heat of his hands might be excusable, it would be too great a risk. He gripped his tools a little tighter; a convenient excuse to avoid contact. For the charade. Just for the charade. Looking over to meet Celebrimbor’s eyes, he added, “You cannot know how much you mean to me.”
Celebrimbor blinked, eyes wide, but there was not anger or scorn to be found in them. Annatar swallowed down his relief. If there was a part of his mind that was relieved for more reasons than furthering his plans, he pushed that down even further.
“I—I’m honored. And I’m glad that you feel comfortable here. I know not everyone has been welcoming to you, so I did worry. I do not want to blame people for being cautious—I’ve lived through enough to know the value of that—but caution is better suited to wartime. In peace, we must rebuild and thrive, and we can only do that if we choose to trust. I do not know how many times I have told my people that if an orc or a troll or even a balrog approached my city and asked to live peacefully as one of its citizens, I would not turn them away. I know there are many who applaud that sentiment in a crowd yet treat you like you are cursed for no better reason than my relative's distrust.”
“It is as you say: they have suffered, and so they are over-cautious. I do not blame them,” Annatar replied. In some ways, it was true. The ones he really didn’t respect were those who complied with Celebrimbor’s inadvisable compassion without actually sharing his principles. Imagine making such a dangerous mistake and not even believing it was the right thing to do! Laughable, and Annatar intended to laugh heartily when his betrayal was finally revealed. He was perfectly willing to wait another century or two for the joy of it.
The image of how Celebrimbor would react flashed through his mind, and he quickly shifted his thoughts away.
“Still, they should not be so blatantly rude,” Celebrimbor was insisting, sliding off the desk to move closer, “Annatar—there is a festival being planned for two weeks from tomorrow, to celebrate our strong recovery from the floods. I know you often avoid such events, but could I entreat you to attend? At least for a little while.”
“May I ask why?”
“The council is not officially involved in the event, so we are allowed to attend as regular revelers. If I do not have to give a speech and spend the night building connections, I would much rather go with you than with anyone else.”
Annatar wanted to suggest they spend the night together in one of their homes, or even here, in the forges, rather than trapping themselves in an uncomfortably public spot, but he only said, “Then I would be happy to go with you.”
Celebrimbor smiled at him again, and Annatar felt an ache in his chest. He wanted to preserve that smile in the most resilient metals, but nothing would be able to capture that warmth, and if he couldn’t do it perfectly, it wasn’t worth trying.
“I look forward to it,” he said. Annatar, in spite of himself, agreed.
~ ~ ~
Celebrimbor had walked him home, chatting pleasantly all the while, and Annatar had almost been tempted to ask him to stay for a drink. The revelation that this desire stemmed from more than manipulation, however, was enough to reign him in. He needed to reevaluate, sooner rather than later.
Once he was alone, he proceeded swiftly to the innermost chamber of his quarters, one which he had warded both magically and mechanically, and in ways deliberately designed to escape notice. Inside, he meticulously locked the door behind him and began to assemble all the hidden pieces of a most taboo shrine. It was risky, he knew, to keep tokens of his devotion to Melkor, the hated Enemy of his new neighbors, but he could not bring himself to part with the memories of a happier time.
Melkor had told him to lie, to pretend to turn traitor, should the worst happen. He had tried, but the cool weight of the jewels Melkor had gifted to him at Utumno were all that kept him grounded in those days of misery following their ruin. To go with Eönwë would be to give up those mementos, and he could not bear to do so.
Instead, he took them into hiding, and when at last he thought up a plan to exact his revenge and—hopefully—bring the being he loved beyond the boundaries of the world, he brought them along in secret. Now, he revealed them only in this locked and warded chamber, with every trace of light removed from it.
In the safety of darkness, the guise of Annatar fell away, though the difference was less stark than he would have liked. Mairon prostrated himself before the small shrine, gathering all of his feelings of love and loyalty for Melkor about him like a shield.
"My lord, it has been too long since I last spoke to you, though I know I am earlier than usual. I would speak to you every day if I could, even more if I knew you could listen," he sat up, though his head was still bowed.
"My plan proceeds smoothly, as always. With each passing year, fewer people look on me with suspicion, and those who welcomed me from the start trust me to work alongside and even guide them. In about a hundred years, I think they will be not only ready but eager to assist me, however unwittingly.
There is, however, an unexpected… obstacle. My seduction of the Lord of Eregion has gone as planned, with one exception: I fear he is beginning to charm me in return. It is unthinkable, I know. An elf! And one of Fëanor's line, no less… although I suppose you always did admire him. It is an insult to everything we fought for, and yet."
Mairon sighed, stretching in an attempt to twist away the strange feelings in his chest, "Yet I cannot help but see him as different. He is not as narrow minded as his kin. Indeed, he is more open minded than any I have ever known. In some ways, he even reminds me of you, in the beginning, collecting every maia who didn't quite fit the Valar's vision. I can't believe I'm saying that of an elf, but it's true. He doesn't have your ambition, or your drive to command. He has passion, yes, but it is all for building—cities, inventions, and trust. If I had walked among them secretly while you were still here, I wonder if I could have persuaded him to be your ambassador…,” he trailed of before shaking his head, “No. Again, I allow myself to forget. His kind have always been our enemies. He claims acceptance, but if he knew, he would cast me out the same as those in Lindon.”
Only pain could come from reminding himself of this, but it was a pain he needed to keep his mind clear from distraction.
It was less successful than he would have wished.
“It’s still nice to imagine,” he admitted, “I would greatly prefer him as my ally to my enemy. I have grown weak without you, my lord; I cannot find joy in picturing his betrayal when I reveal myself. But there can be no other way. Can there? No. I will not give up on you, and no elf would ever assist me in that, no matter how compassionate he may claim to be. I must keep my guard up, for your sake, for I lack the strength to do it for my own. I will find a way to save you, or die trying. I love you,” the last was whispered, a plea and a promise in one.
There was nothing to respond in the darkness—a deliberate reminder of where Melkor now languished—and he departed the room with lower spirits but higher resolve.
~ ~ ~
The party arrived more quickly than Annatar had anticipated, but as he made a point to avoid such events he did not have the experience to know if that was typical. Despite the quick passage of time, he had prepared an outfit well in advance. Distaste for social gatherings of elves and men aside, Annatar was nothing if not fashionable.
Not to mention, he needed Celebrimbor to be suitably awed and impressed.
“You look incredible,” spoke the very voice he was imagining. Annatar looked over, lips stretched in a confident smile as he turned to see Celebrimbor.
The grin froze as he took in the elf’s appearance. Outside of the stiff, formal garments the council insisted he wear for ceremonial purposes, Celebrimbor never wore anything he couldn’t wear in a forge: nothing loose, nothing flowing, even the Noldorin jewelry he wore tended towards the close and blocky dwarven styles. Tonight, however, he was clad in shimmering silver and green, loose and draping fabric that swirled around him as he moved. Around his throat were layers of necklaces among which he recognized the work of the Noldor, the Longbeards, and multiple styles of Men—even some of those who had taken their orders from Angband an age past.
“Is it too much?” he asked, reaching up to fiddle with his ear, which only served to draw Annatar’s attention to the tiny metal dragon curled around it. At that, his eyes widened properly.
“You would wear the image of the dragons?”
“Oh, that,” Celebrimbor gave a small laugh, “It’s become something of a trend among the adolescents in Khazad-dûm, to the horror of their elders. I think they’re cute.”
“They are,” he should have spoken in a low voice, an enticing voice, to mean you are, but all he could think of was little dragonlings crawling throughout Angband, stealing every scrap of food or jewels they could get their tiny claws on. He blinked back the memories; Celebrimbor couldn’t be allowed to see them, so they would have to wait for some darker, lonelier night to indulge.
“You should dress like this more often,” he said instead, affecting a shallow copy of his earlier confidence, “Forge-wear has its charms, but you could bring whole kingdoms to their knees looking like this.”
Celebrimbor shot him a strange look, like they were sharing a secret joke that Annatar didn’t know about, and said, “Perhaps I should change then—you know I wouldn’t want that.”
“Not even if you could improve them? Plenty of kings buy luxury at the cost of their people—you could make them support each other, as your people do.”
“That cannot be forced; it must be chosen. If these people you speak of were to ask for my aid, perhaps I would try to intervene, but I cannot command the world to care. I can only do my part and hope others are inspired to do the same.”
Annatar looked away, unable to fully hide the flash of grief. Celebrimbor was far too understanding; he had unknowingly hit very close to home. Melkor was passion and chaos against the serenity of the Valar, and he had lost too much trying to force them to lose that cool, cruel, distance.
“You are an inspiration,” he said, composing himself with great effort, “You’ve inspired me to attend one of these events, haven’t you?”
That got Celebrimbor to laugh, leaving the odd seriousness behind them as he replied, “A true feat for the legends. And as a thank you, of sorts, I brought you this.”
A slim box was pressed into his hands, and Annatar opened it to discover a thin chain made of tiny, metal holly leaves, with red stones where the berries should be, their interiors swirling bright like fire.
“It’s beautiful,” he complimented truthfully, “Your symbol—and your own work, if I am not mistaken?”
“Yes. I’m surprised you never caught me working on it. I was worried,” Celebrimbor stepped forward hesitantly, “Can I—could I do the honors?”
He should say no. Any prolonged contact increased the risk of his true nature being discovered.
“Of course.”
The dazzling smile he received in return was worth the risk, or at least it felt that way in the moment. Celebrimbor circled behind him, and he moved his hair out of the way lest he slip up and let it burn him. Long, calloused fingers brushed the sides of his neck as the chain was draped around it, and he fought back shivers. How long had it been since he’d been touched so gently?
(It didn’t matter. It was all a charade. It didn’t matter. There could be no truth in any of it.)
“There,” Celebrimbor stepped back, barely lingering. He didn’t mention the heat radiating from his skin; maybe he thought Maiar could blush more than for show. Annatar certainly wouldn’t disabuse him of that notion.
Side by side, they headed towards the festival. It was everything Annatar thought it would be: loud, messy, and crowded.
With Celebrimbor at his side, he almost caught himself having fun.
At least, until the eating and drinking and shopping and talking made way for dancing. Desires aside, he couldn’t dance with Celebrimbor, and he wouldn’t push him away by demanding that he sit the whole night out. Still, watching Celebrimbor whirl through the streets in the arms of countless others was more grating than he had expected.
Four dances passed before Celebrimbor made his way back to him.
“You’re sure you won’t dance?” he asked, hope shining in his eyes.
“Perhaps some other time.”
To his surprise, Celebrimbor didn’t spin away into the crowd, instead coming to stop at his elbow.
“Surely you’re not tired already, Tyelpë?” he turned to look at him more fully. Celebrimbor was watching him, not the festivities, “No, but I’d rather spend the rest of the night with you. Do you want to leave early?”
“You would want to?”
“Of course. I’m glad you came, and that I got to celebrate with my friends, but there will be very little but dancing for the rest of the night. We could take a walk, maybe—the city will be nearly deserted, you know.”
And so they walked, quietly, until they reached a small park far from the noise of the crowds.
“Sometimes the crowds remind me of Valinor,” Celebrimbor admitted as they sat together on a stone bench, “The parties there were so extravagant, they seem almost like a dream.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Valinor? Not really. The place I remember is gone—I’m not even sure how much of it was real, and how much of it is just the gold-tinged memories of a child. Many people call it a happier time, but to me, it was an emptier time. The lack of grief and anger is not the same as the presence of joy and passion. No, I rather like it here,” he gave Annatar a look that suggested he might have meant something more than just Eregion.
Annatar gave him a brief smile, but it was tinged with his own grief for Utumno, a time and place when he and Melkor and all those on their side had been truly joyful. Where they still talked of what would come after Melkor’s victory, of what they would build—where thoughts of war with the Valar and Iluvatar’s Children were merely footnotes in their grand plans. Where they had held their own festivals, and the crowds hadn’t bothered him when they were filled with friends and allies rather than smiling enemies. Was it worse, he wondered, to know he could never see it again, empty though it may be, or would it be worse to be in Tyelpë’s shoes, able to go back and see everything changed and distant from the place he remembered?
“Do you miss him?” Celebrimbor asked, suddenly. Annatar’s eyes snapped to look at him, “Miss whom?”
Celebrimbor waited a moment, letting them both feel a tension in the air, before shrugging, “I know how it feels to miss someone long gone… I thought I recognized that look in you. I simply assumed, given… well… that the person might be a he. My apologies for overstepping.”
He made to stand, but Annatar reached out before recalling himself, drawing his hand back to his lap.
“It’s fine,” he said, quietly, “I—you’re right. There is—was—someone. I lost him many centuries ago, but I cannot forget the shape of the sky the first night I looked upon it and realized I was alone. The mortals like to say that time heals, but with every passing year, I feel as if the… void he left behind only grows.”
Celebrimbor stayed at his side, a supportive presence despite the heavy silence that settled over them. Annatar wished he could think of something to say to break it.
His companion beat him to it, “Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone else?”
He should feel a satisfactory glee at that, but all he felt was warmth at the prospect of being trusted with something so precious. Celebrimbor was so open, so trusting—a secret of his was an unimaginably rare gift. He nodded.
“I still love my father.”
Annatar watched him carefully. That hadn’t been what he was expecting, but at the same time… it made some sense.
“I hate him, too, not only for what he did but for the way he rationalized it. I thought that would override any sentiment, and yet. I looked up to him and respected him and was inspired by him and no matter how much I hate what he became, it never changes that. Isn’t that awful?”
Annatar considered that for some time before asking, “Would you rather the love went away, or the hate?”
“I don’t know.”
Annatar didn’t know either.
After awhile, he said, “I feel as if I should offer up a secret of my ëala in return, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to share.”
Would he ever be? The answer should have been a resounding no, unless he meant his big reveal, but he knew in his heart that wasn’t the truth. His resolve was crumbling faster than he had ever anticipated, and he was beginning to see glimpses of a future he had never planned for. It was as terrifying as it was enticing.
“You don’t have to,” Celebrimbor was quick to assure, “but if you ever do want to, I’ll always be ready to listen.”
And what could that make him feel but more warmth?
~ ~ ~
When he finally returned home that night, Annatar allowed himself the luxury of sleep. As a maia, he didn’t technically need it, but it did have its benefits. Giving the conundrum that was his growing feelings for Celebrimbor time to simmer was, currently, at the top of that list.
The next morning, he risked visiting his shrine again. Two visits in as many weeks was a dangerous frequency, as was visiting at an hour when many of Ost-in-Edhil’s regular citizens were up and about and might call on him, but Annatar knew he was fast approaching a crisis.
“I am here again, my lord. I need your guidance. Tyelpë… I cannot convince myself that he and I are on opposite sides. Does that mean we are not, or does it mean I have gone too deep? With every passing day, he reminds me more of you—not of your might, of course, but of your spirit. He may be hesitant where you would be bold and calm where you would be rash, but the way he cares, the way he holds his convictions… He told me he both loved and hated his father, and he wasn’t sure which part he wished would go away. You once confessed something so similar to me, although you were determined that you would stamp out every last speck of love. Is it terrible to think you would understand each other? Maybe even like each other? Is it ridiculous? What am I supposed to do?”
He curled in on himself, “What would you want me to do?”
He thought back to his orders to surrender in the event of Melkor’s defeat. There had been the ghost of a plan, to work his way into the Valar’s good graces until he was in a position to betray them once again and free his lord. It had been a rather weak excuse; Mairon would have a much easier time amassing power through the allies and resources they already had.
Despite dedicating his entire life to unraveling Iluvatar’s plan, when all the cards were laid on the table, Melkor had wanted him to choose safety over revenge.
Mairon swallowed. Melkor would not have wanted him to suffer for a revenge plot that only barely had a chance of freeing him.
He breathed in deeply, letting the darkness settle over him for another minute before he mechanically dismantled the shrine once more and departed to go and place his fate in the hands of an elf.
~ ~ ~
“Annatar?” Celebrimbor looked surprised to see the maia on his doorstep that morning—fair, considering Annatar preferred to visit in the evening, “Is everything alright?”
“Not entirely,” he answered, “Tyelpë, there’s something I need to tell you, where no one else can hear.”
Responding to his seriousness in kind, Celebrimbor ushered him into his house. He led them to the upper sitting room, a large space with curtained windows and an opaque door leading to a balcony.
“Will this do?”
Annatar nodded, perching on the edge of a chair, muscles tense. Celebrimbor sat down across from him with more ease, though his posture was too straight and his hands clasped too tight in his lap.
“I,” he began, before standing up abruptly. He began to pace, aware of Celebrimbor’s eyes tracking his every move.
“I haven’t been entirely honest with you. Or really at all. I was not sent here from Valinor.”
Celebrimbor watched him calmly, no flicker of surprise on his face. Annatar frowned, “I was not sent here by the Valar at all. I came here of my own volition, on purpose, and under a false name.”
Still, there was no reaction. Was this the elven version of the mortal’s “shock”?
“In one thing, I did not lie. I am a maia. Are you not curious where I came from?” He stared at the curtains, not wanting to see the dawning fear and hatred when he answered the question that was about to be asked.
“Angband, I assumed.”
He whipped around, gaping as Celebrimbor merely raised an eyebrow at him.
“You knew?”
“I guessed,” he shrugged, standing up but not yet moving from his spot, “And I guessed you held a rather high rank there. Was I correct?”
Annatar was reeling from this revelation, but he managed a nod. Tyelpë had known? And he hadn’t said anything! Hadn’t thrown him out of the city! Hadn’t even, perhaps, told anyone else his suspicions (for surely someone would have demanded blood)! But why?
“I was Melkor’s Lieutenant,” he explained, almost absentmindedly as his brain was busy processing other thoughts.
Celebrimbor took a step. Closer.
“Why are you telling me this now? It’s been forty years. I would think you would have either said it right away, or when we became close, or wouldn’t have said it at all.”
Annatar looked away again, “I came to this city with the intent to trick you all. I was going to befriend those useful to me, though early on I decided to seduce you. Because you were the most useful, and because it felt like another triumph over your family,” he glanced back and saw the first real stirrings of uncertainty in Celebrimbor’s expression, “but mostly because I wanted to. You're enticing. And then I intended to betray you all, trick you into creating the means of your own destruction. Countless times, I imagined you and your colleagues’ looks of horror when I revealed my deception.”
Celebrimbor took another step towards him.
“So what changed? Unless this is supposed to be that reveal.”
He shook his head, “Of course not.”
“Then what?”
“I,” he twisted his hands together, “Gradually, something did change. You made it change. And one day I woke up and realized I couldn’t stand the sight of you in pain anymore, not even in my imagination.”
One more step and Celebrimbor was right in front of him, reaching out as if to take his hands.
“Please don’t,” Annatar took his own hasty step back, bumping into the chair behind him, “My ëala exudes a heat that is painful for the Eldar to touch,” he looked down at his hands, “I am sure I have used it on more than one of your kin.”
“Is that why you always refused to touch me?” Celebrimbor walked closer until he was back in easy reach, “You know, if I was scared of burns, I wouldn’t have become a smith.”
With that, he slowly, carefully slid a hand over the curve of Annatar’s jaw, settling on his cheek. His other hand reached for one of the maia’s, fingers clasping his tightly. He stood, just like that, for a long moment. Annatar held a breath he didn’t need.
Celebrimbor blinked, frowning slightly, “I must say, the way you were acting, I expected it to burn at least a bit. Are you sure you’ve burned elves with your touch alone? They weren’t just afraid of you?”
“I think I would know,” he answered, “But what do you mean? Aren’t you hurt?”
He shook his head, “Not at all. You’re very warm, I’ll grant you, unnaturally so, but it’s almost pleasant. Not painful,” he paused, “Do you think it might respond to your feelings? That your hatred of elves was fueling the fire, so to speak?”
“I suppose that’s possible,” he replied, still shocked that Celebrimbor wasn’t recoiling from him. For his part, Celebrimbor grinned widely, “Well, all the better, in my book.”
Moving slow enough that Annatar could have stopped him, Celebrimbor closed the distance between them to place a tender kiss upon his lips. Annatar all but melted at the contact, bringing his arms up to encircle Celebrimbor now that he no longer feared hurting him. He had been alone for so long, had despaired of ever again feeling the comfort of an embrace and knowing that it came from a place of understanding and care, not deceit. How could he begin to make peace with this outcome? How could he do anything else?
Time passed around them as they rejoiced in the solid, physical reality of the other, but even for immortal beings time would not stop. Eventually, they found themselves seated side by side on Celebrimbor’s couch, his arm still around Annatar as if he never wanted to let him go.
There was more yet to say, however, so Annatar steeled himself and said, “There is one last confession I need to make.”
The look on Celebrimbor’s face was serious, but he did not retract his touch.
“Is it worse than admitting to being the Lieutenant of Morgoth who was, until recently, planning to betray me and everyone and everything I care for?”
There was levity in his voice, but he wasn’t joking. Annatar shrugged without a shred of flippancy.
“That is for you to decide, isn’t it?”
Celebrimbor inclined his head, “Go on, then.”
“I don’t know how well it was known outside our borders, but Melkor and I are—were—together. I knew I loved him in every sense of the word since the day I decided to betray Aulë and leave Almaren for the freezing wastes of Utumno. He is, as you know, banished from the world, condemned to an eternity of suffering in the Void. He is gone, but my love for him has never faded. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you, too, but I did. And now, I don’t know what to do. It would be so easy to say he is gone forever and you are here, but how could I live with myself if I abandoned him to that? It seems unfair to lay this at your door, but… you promised to listen if I had a secret to tell you, and I am selfish.”
“You and Mor—Melkor?” Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow, “Hmm. I wouldn’t have guessed, but I find I’m not entirely surprised, either. And now you find yourself trapped between an easy peace and an impossible loyalty.”
Annatar nodded, watching carefully as Celebrimbor used his free hand to grasp his chin, grip as firm as iron as he physically held his gaze, “Was he cruel to you? Or were you his exception?”
Annatar’s eyes grew misty—something Celebrimbor had never seen before—as he replied, “He was kind, in his way—our way—to many of us in Utumno. He has always been my chosen lord and god, but in those years, we were all friends, though I doubt the Valar would have ever recognized it. In Angband… Melkor was still kind to me, when he remembered to be. However, the love he held for me did not outweigh his obsession with your grandfather’s cursed gems. I was often sent away on errands, or unable to see him for anything besides war councils. Through that distance, he hurt me, yes, but he never harmed me. Even at his most distant, he still honored me as any god ought to honor their most pious worshiper. Does that satisfy you?”
Without releasing his hold, Celebrimbor answered, “I believe you. Annatar—do you prefer to be called Annatar or something else?”
“It’s fine. Mairon and Annatar are both fine. I once thought they were separate, one real and one false, but whatever might once have been true, there is now no distinction between them worth preserving.”
“Well, Annatar is more familiar to me—and safer, come to think of it—so I will stick to that for now. Annatar, if Melkor were to return tomorrow, would you still think of me?”
Annatar froze, “If you mean, would I refuse to return to him? Then no. But would I forget you? Also no. I don’t know precisely what I would do, but I mean it when I say I love you. That isn’t going to just disappear.”
“Good. You are not the only selfish being in the world: I want you to be mine. I do not know if I could help you if I knew it would mean losing you, even when my own convictions oppose the cruelty of unending confinement for any sentient being.”
Eyes shining with a desperate hope, Annatar asked, “Is it that simple? He is your people’s greatest Enemy.”
“Oh, do not mistake me. I will have plenty of requirements if I am to help you free him. But I would choose to face the challenge of building a world where your people and mine can live side by side over having to face you in battle any day. We can negotiate the particulars later. As long as we are honest with each other, we will have time.”
Annatar nodded. The relief and unfettered delight at Celebrimbor’s promises would take time to settle into reality in his mind. For the time being, he wanted only to be held. He nestled his head against Celebrimbor’s shoulder, pressing a light kiss to the side of his neck. Celebrimbor reached up to card his fingers through his hair, and Annatar sank further against his body.
“I love you,” he whispered against warm and inviting skin, “Whatever the future may hold, I need you to know that. I love you, and I will want this for the rest of time.”
“I love you, too,” Celebrimbor answered, scattering soft kisses over his forehead and cheek, “I’m so glad that you chose to trust me. I hope you always will, just as I will choose to trust you. My beloved.”
Each and every one of his senses was focused on Celebrimbor, leaving him adrift and grounded at once. As he lost himself in their embrace, he realized that this all-encompassing warmth provided more comfort than even the searing heat of the forges could. For once, he neither doubted nor worried over the genuine sentiment of his thoughts; he was precisely where he wanted to be, and he intended to stay.