Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The explosion in the forges had been sudden - one moment, Celebrimbor had been meticulously working on his latest project, his mind entirely consumed by the delicate craftsmanship; the next, a blast of heat and light had engulfed him, and the world tilted on its axis.

When the smoke began to clear, his senses were thrown into disarray. His ears rang, a high-pitched whine that seemed to swallow every other sound. His vision swam, shapes blurred and twisted in the aftermath, and the sharp metallic scent of blood filled his nose.

"Tyelpe!" Annatar’s voice cut through the dissonance like a knife, and Celebrimbor turned toward it, blinking to focus.

Annatar was there, rushing to his side. His hands were on him in an instant, warm and firm, cupping his face, brushing back his hair, fingers swiping at his forehead where blood had begun to trickle down.

His touch, usually so calming, felt strange now - too intense, too close. A shiver ran down Celebrimbor's spine, and he stared wide-eyed at the Maia who was wiping blood from his forehead.

Annatar’s words were soft but filled with concern, “Oh Valar, what have you done? We need to get you checked. You’re hurt.”

The words barely registered. The world around Celebrimbor had taken on a strange, dreamlike quality. Something in the way Annatar touched him, in the very air around him, felt wrong. There was an inexplicable shadow hovering over him, as if a darkness had seeped into the very fabric of his being. For a split second, Celebrimbor swore he saw something malevolent flicker in Annatar’s eyes.

His breath hitched in his chest. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and the edges of his vision began to blur.

Annatar’s presence, so radiant and warm, now felt suffocating, as though the room itself was closing in around him. The world seemed to warp, his mind playing cruel tricks on him. Annatar's face, so close to his, shimmered in his distorted vision - was there a smile there, cruel and dark, hiding just beneath the surface?

There wasn’t. Celebrimbor knew that. Knew that Annatar, his beloved, was simply worried. But in this moment, the rational part of his mind felt distant, unreachable, buried beneath a wave of panic that grew stronger with every beat of his heart.

“Tyelpe, can you hear me?” Annatar's voice came again, more urgent now.

All Celebrimbor could hear was his own heart racing wildly in his ears. The blood on Annatar’s fingers - it was his blood, from his head, he knew that - but in his confused state, it seemed sinister, like a stain of something far darker.

He recoiled, his body acting on instinct. He flinched back from Annatar’s touch, his chest heaving with shallow, desperate breaths. His fingers, trembling and numb, clutched at his chest as though he could somehow still the frantic pounding of his heart.

Annatar moved closer, concern deepening in his eyes, but to Celebrimbor, that concern looked like something else entirely. Why does he look at me like that? Celebrimbor thought in a haze of panic. Why does it feel so wrong?

“Stay away!” he choked out, his voice weak and ragged.

Annatar froze, his expression shifting to one of confusion and then, hurt. But he didn’t back away. He stepped closer instead, his hands still reaching out, trying to calm, to soothe.

“Tyelpe, it’s me - Annatar, your husband.” His voice was low, pleading. “Calm down, please. I won’t hurt you.”

But the words only fed the panic already surging through Celebrimbor’s veins. His back hit the wall behind him, and he slid down into a crouching position, pressing himself as close to the cold stone as he could. His vision tunneled, black spots dancing at the edges of his sight. His heart pounded so violently that it drowned out Annatar's voice, and he crouched there, staring up in terror as his husband approached.

But the shadow was gone, suddenly, replaced by the shining figure of Annatar, but Celebrimbor’s panic had taken root, twisting every breath into a fight for air. His throat felt constricted, as if invisible hands were choking him, squeezing the life out of him. He couldn’t breathe - why couldn’t he breathe?

At last, Annatar knelt in front of him, his movements slow, deliberate. He didn’t force himself any closer but reached out, his touch featherlight as he gently cradled Celebrimbor's head, bringing him close into an embrace.

“Shh, Tyelpe, it’s alright,” Annatar whispered, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos in Celebrimbor’s mind. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

He pulled Celebrimbor completely into his arms, holding him close, one hand stroking through his hair, the other pressing gently against his back. The motion was soft, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

Annatar's lips pressed softly to the top of Celebrimbor’s head, his voice steady and calm. “I need you to breathe with me. Deep breaths, my love. In… and out.”

Celebrimbor fought through the haze of panic, forcing himself to mimic Annatar’s breathing - deep, slow. But no matter how much air he pulled into his lungs, it felt like he was drowning. His vision darkened at the edges, the world spinning further and further away.

“Trust me, Tyelpe. Breathe. Everything will be fine.”

Celebrimbor clung to his voice, his body shaking uncontrollably as he struggled for air. Annatar’s hands stayed firm, one on his neck, the other gently stroking through his hair.

Yes, trust him. Trust Annatar.

Even though the panic still clawed at him - even though fear still whispered in the back of his mind that something was terribly wrong, Celebrimbor forced himself to listen. To trust. Everything will be fine.

He breathed. Slowly, shakily.

Annatar’s hand in his hair, the softness of his touch, the warmth of his body - it was familiar again. It was safe. Slowly, the edges of Celebrimbor’s panic began to dull, the sharpness of his fear blurring into a hazy, distant hum. His body sagged against Annatar, the tension draining from his muscles as exhaustion finally caught up with him. His breaths grew slower, deeper, and the darkness that had been creeping at the edges of his vision finally overtook him.

Everything went dark.

And as he slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was Annatar’s voice, low and soothing in his ear.

“Everything will be fine, Tyelpe. I promise.”

Then, silence.

.

.

.

Annatar sighed as Celebrimbor's body finally slumped against him, unconscious, his breathing evening out as the Maia’s hand, which had been subtly increasing its pressure on Celebrimbor’s neck, finally eased.

The tension drained from Annatar’s shoulders, and he allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. His fingers, so often gentle and affectionate nowadays, now moved with a cold precision as he lightly pressed a thumb to the Elf’s neck, feeling the steady pulse beneath the skin.

It was a curious feeling - this closeness, this moment of intimacy that wasn’t quite what it seemed.

"Finally," he breathed, his words barely above a whisper as he gazed down at Celebrimbor, the lines of panic on his face now softened by an eerie calm. He leaned over and cradled Celebrimbor closer for just a moment, as though in some twisted mimicry of affection. He pressed a kiss into his husband’s blood-matted hair, his lips curling slightly at the corners. "You always make things so difficult, Tyelpe."

The weight of what had just happened lingered in the air. He couldn’t have foreseen that a tiny explosion would shake Celebrimbor so badly. His panic had been a setback, a moment that threatened to break the careful spell Annatar had woven around him. It was dangerous - too dangerous - if Celebrimbor's trust began to crack. And for a moment, Annatar had glimpsed that crack, the flicker of fear and mistrust that could unravel everything.

But now, with Celebrimbor slumped in his arms, unconscious and pliant, Annatar had regained control. The pressure he had applied to Celebrimbor’s throat had been delicate, calculated - not enough to cause harm, just enough to lull him into a temporary darkness. It was safer this way - safer to put him to sleep rather than to risk more suspicion from the spiraling panic that had taken hold of him.

With a gentleness that belied his true nature, Annatar laid Celebrimbor down onto the cool stone floor, his movements careful and deliberate, as though handling something precious. The very image of a devoted husband tending to his beloved in a moment of crisis.

He knelt beside him, wiping away the blood that still oozed from the wound on Celebrimbor’s forehead. It was shallow, but it had bled more than it should have, staining his pale skin and the strands of his dark hair. It really wasn’t serious, nothing that the healers wouldn’t be able to manage, but the sight of blood on his lover’s skin stirred something dark and possessive within him.

Annatar let out a quiet sigh, wiping the last of the blood with the edge of his sleeve. “You don’t have to bleed for your craft just yet, do you know that?” he muttered, his tone a mix of amusement and irritation, though there was no real malice behind it. Not yet. He could not afford for Celebrimbor to break like this.

Annatar allowed himself a moment to admire his handiwork - the way Celebrimbor lay still, utterly at his mercy. A masterpiece brought low, helpless. The rings, the city, everything Celebrimbor had built, everything he was - would soon belong to him.

But first, he had to play the part again. The caring, attentive husband who would never allow harm to come to his beloved. He needed to be perfect, as flawless in his deception as the rings they crafted together.

The panic, the fleeting suspicion, would be dismissed as nothing more than shock from the explosion, a moment of confusion. He would calm Celebrimbor again, reassure him of their bond, and coax him back to the work that mattered.

The rings.

They were so close. Perfection was nearly within reach. And they couldn’t afford any distractions.

Annatar stood, stretching his arms briefly before turning his attention back to Celebrimbor. He would call the healers soon, let them see to the wound, but he couldn’t allow them to linger too long or ask too many questions. He would play the concerned husband, keeping them at a distance, ensuring they didn’t pry too deeply into what had transpired in the forge. No one else needed to know about the panic or the way Celebrimbor had flinched from his touch.

However, he wouldn’t call until he was certain the blood had slowed more - stopped flowing, at best - and Celebrimbor’s breathing had steadied enough to appear natural, more convincing.

Annatar smoothed out his robes, his eyes glinting in the dim light as he considered the next steps. He would be waiting when Celebrimbor woke - calm, caring, the very image of devotion. He would tell him how worried he had been, how he had cared for him, nursed him through the episode. He would ease Celebrimbor’s worries, soothe the doubts that had begun to surface.

Annatar knelt once more, brushing a stray lock of hair from Celebrimbor’s face, wiping away the last traces of blood from his forehead. His touch was light, reverent even, as though tending to something sacred.

"You’ll be alright, Tyelpe," he murmured softly, his voice a mockery of tenderness. "I’ll take care of everything. And when you wake, you’ll trust me again, as you always do."

He stood, finally stepping back, eyes lingering on the Elf before calling for the healers. His tone was sharp with urgency, laced with just enough panic to sell his concern.

He would have the healers come, dress the wound, and then…

Then, they would get back to work - as if nothing had happened.

Sauron had learned long ago that perfection required more than sacrifice. It required control.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight poured through the windows, soft and golden, casting everything in a gentle warmth. It was quiet, save for the faint rustle of fabric as Celebrimbor moved around the room, his face serene as he brushed Annatar's hair. Annatar watched their reflection in the mirror - a picture of calm, trust, and intimacy. It was another day in their perfect little world, another step toward achieving his ultimate goal.

Celebrimbor smiled at him, a soft, almost playful look that made Annatar’s own lips curve in response. Everything was progressing as planned. The Rings were nearing completion. Celebrimbor was firmly in his grasp, utterly devoted, none the wiser to the grand deception that unraveled around him.

When Celebrimbor knelt in front of him, Annatar felt the familiar touch of his hand, parting his hair, preparing to tie it back with the white silk ribbon he always used. Annatar let himself relax completely, lulled by the closeness, by the sense of security that had become almost too comfortable.

The feel of the ribbon sliding across his wrists, however, was new. Oddly, his hands were pulled together. Gently, almost affectionately, but the movement was unusual enough to make him open his eyes.

The ribbon had been tied around his wrists, knotted neatly, and his hands placed in his lap.

Annatar blinked, confusion flickering briefly before he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Untie my hands, will you? I’ll need them if we’re going to work in the forges today, love.”

But Celebrimbor didn’t move. He stayed kneeling in front of him, looking up at Annatar with that same innocent smile - except now there was something in his eyes. Something Annatar couldn’t quite place.

“We won’t be working in the forges today because, my love, I have questions. Questions that demand answers,”Celebrimbor said, his voice soft and unsettlingly calm.

Annatar’s stomach dropped, the faintest hint of unease curling at the edges of his mind. He tilted his head slightly, trying to gauge the change, but in the end he forced another light laugh, playing it off.

Annatar's chest tightened as he watched as Celebrimbor stood, his movements graceful but deliberate. His eyes followed Celebrimbor in the mirror, the light that had felt warm now glaring, sharp. There was an edge to the way he carried himself, a sharpness in his gaze that had never been there before, at least not directed at Annatar.

"Tyelpe..." Annatar tried again, keeping his voice smooth, though a growing unease rippled through him. “What is this? A joke? Some kind of game?”

He tugged lightly at the silk ribbon binding his wrists. It was soft, delicate - a lover's gesture, under different circumstances. But right now it felt wrong.

Celebrimbor’s arms draped around him from behind, gentle, as always, but something felt off. Annatar's hands were still bound. He felt Celebrimbor’s cheek rest atop his head, warm breath ghosting over his ear - deceptively gentle, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt normal again. Familiar.

But that illusion quickly shattered.

Annatar’s pulse quickened without apparent reason to. This wasn’t right. Something had shifted. What had shifted? And how? He forced another chuckle, though it was more strained than he intended.

"You said you had questions?" Annatar echoed, trying - and somewhat failing - to keep his tone light, playful. “And you thought you needed to tie me up for answers? You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, haven’t you?”

But Celebrimbor didn’t smile. His hands slid from Annatar’s shoulders down to his forearms, and then to his bound wrists, holding them in place, as though ensuring Annatar couldn’t break free.

“My love, my love,” Celebrimbor’s voice was so soft, so tender, that for a moment, Annatar almost let himself relax again.

Almost.

“I believe you’ve been lying to me.”

The words were spoken almost lovingly, a gentle caress wrapped in accusation. Annatar felt a tremor deep in his chest, but his face remained impassive. He forced out a laugh, though it sounded hollow, even to his own ears. He did not feel like laughing. Not at all. “Lying? Tyelpe, don’t be ridiculous. I would never—”

But Celebrimbor’s grip tightened ever so slightly - not painful, but commanding. A warning. A threat. The ribbon held his wrists firm beneath his hands, but it was the realization - the change in tone, the subtle tension - that made Annatar's heart skip a beat.

“Oh, really? You would never lie to me?” Celebrimbor’s voice had shifted, his tone sharpened, though it still carried that dreadful tenderness.

And then-

“Sauron.”

The name cut through him like a blade.

Annatar froze.

The room seemed to darken. For a heartbeat, time itself felt like it had stopped. Then, like ice cracking underfoot, the world shattered around him.

His mind raced, a thousand thoughts splintering all at once. How? How would he know? The name still echoed in his ears, almost like a death sentence. His mask, the one he had worn so carefully, so flawlessly for centuries, had cracked, fissures running through the calm he had cultivated for so long.

Annatar’s smile faltered. His heart pounded in his chest. He stared at their reflection in the mirror again - the perfect picture of serenity, a beautiful couple bathed in soft morning light, but beneath that image lay a growing fracture.

He looked at Celebrimbor - fully now - hoping to find some sign, some crack in his composure, something to suggest that he was uncertain about this accusation, a chance to sell it as a misunderstanding. But Celebrimbor’s face remained serene, his gaze locked onto Annatar’s in the mirror with terrifying clarity.

Annatar swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He felt as though he’d been stripped bare, his every secret laid open, and for the first time in millennia, fear began to creep into his heart.

"Tyelpe," Annatar began, his voice surprisingly steady despite the rapid pounding of his heart, "this is absurd. You’ve been working too hard, losing sleep - you're imagining things, seeing shadows where there are none." He forced a smile, as charming as he could muster, though the reflection in the mirror betrayed him. His eyes, usually so poised and confident, flickered with unease. Celebrimbor’s gaze, however, remained piercing, unyielding, with every word he said more so.

"Am I?" Celebrimbor’s voice was as soft as it was deadly, the edge of steel buried beneath the warmth he used to address his lover. He straightened slightly, standing tall behind Annatar, his hands tightening where they came to rest on his shoulders. "Imagine my surprise when I began to notice things. Subtle at first. A word here, a glance there. Little discrepancies in your explanations for the rings. In your plans. In your supposed past."

“I thought I knew you,” Celebrimbor murmured, his breath warm against the top of Annatar’s head. “Thought I knew everything. But the closer I look, the more cracks start to show.”

The room tilted. Annatar’s pulse quickened still, his breathing shallow. He tried to laugh, to shrug it off, but his body betrayed him, stiffening under Celebrimbor’s touch.

“Cracks?” he repeated, still holding onto his facade as well as he could. “Tyelpe, you’re not making any sense. What’s this really about?”

Celebrimbor’s hands slid from his shoulders down to his chest, almost tender as they traced the lines of his robes, but there was a new tension in his touch. He leaned down, his lips close to Annatar’s ear.

“Do you think I’m blind?” Celebrimbor whispered, his voice uncharacteristically cold. “Do you think I haven’t seen you? The cracks in your mask? The little slips? Did you truly believe I was so naive?”

Annatar's world - his control - teetered on the edge of a precipice. The walls were closing in, his carefully laid plans crumbling around him. His mind scrambled for a way out, for some way to regain control, to salvage the situation.

But then he truly realized - he wasn’t in control anymore.

Not of this.

Not of Celebrimbor.

Not of anything.

Annatar opened his mouth to protest, but Celebrimbor cut him off smoothly, his voice quiet, almost tender. "It started with trust, you see. I wanted to trust you. I did trust you, but now… I’ve seen what lies beneath. I see you for who you are, Sauron."

The name - his true name - was spoken with such quiet conviction that there was no escaping it. It hung in the air between them, crushing him under the weight of it.

“Tyelpe, please-”

"I’ve given you my trust, my love. Truly and completely," Celebrimbor continued, his voice softening for a moment, almost wistful. "But I see now that trust is a weapon in the wrong hands."

Annatar’s mind raced. He needed to act quickly. "I don’t know what you think you’ve-"

“Don’t play dumb with me, Annatar.” Celebrimbor’s voice was soft, almost pitying, and that made it worse.

His stomach churned. He was used to wielding the power in their relationship, guiding it to serve his ends. But now, as he stared into the mirror at the elf he had so expertly manipulated, he realized something that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

He had underestimated him.

Gravely. Completely.

“You’ve done a fine job deceiving me, my love,” Celebrimbor continued, his voice steady, controlled - infuriatingly calm. “The rings, the whispers, the doubt you’ve sown in my mind. All of it. You played your part extremely well, I’ll give you that. You truly are a master of deception. But I am a master of craft. And in craft, it is the smallest flaws that bring the whole piece down.”

Celebrimbor’s grip on his shoulders tightened, and Annatar felt a coldness seep into his bones. Celebrimbor’s expression was something he had never seen before - calm, but edged with something lethal.

Annatar swallowed, the knot of dread in his stomach tightening. He couldn’t afford this - he couldn’t allow Celebrimbor to unmask him now, when the Rings were so close to completion, when the grand plan was on the verge of fruition. But even as his thoughts scrambled for a way out, he realized how truly trapped he was.

He had been so focused on manipulating Celebrimbor’s insecurities, on exploiting his desire for validation, that he had missed the deeper resolve beneath. Celebrimbor was not as fragile as he had believed.

“My love,” Annatar said, his voice a velvet plea. “You’re frightened. I can see it in your eyes. I don’t know where this notion of Sauron came from, but I am not him. Please, let me untangle this confusion. We can talk about it. We can work through it - just as we’ve done with everything else.”

Celebrimbor’s arms remained around him, and Annatar could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against the back of his head. For a moment, it almost felt as though things could return to normal, as though this could all be undone.

And then Celebrimbor leaned closer, his lips brushing against Annatar's ear as he whispered, “You are him. I can see it now, clear as day.”

The Maia felt a cold sweat form at the base of his neck. His carefully woven persona, the layers of charm, affection, and patience - was it truly unraveling before him? He had been so careful, so thorough. He was Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, beloved and trusted by Celebrimbor and all of Eregion’s smiths. He had drawn Celebrimbor close, lulled him into a sense of security, of love. This was supposed to be a game he controlled, every move accounted for.

How had Celebrimbor turned the board?!

"Tyelpe dear," he whispered, his voice dropping into a soothing, pleading tone. "Everything I did was for our craft. For the perfection of our work. I would never harm you." He leaned his head back against Celebrimbor’s chest, trying to make his posture as vulnerable as possible. "I love you."

But Celebrimbor did not soften. His reflection remained stony, his lips barely twitching at the edges as he gazed down at Annatar with an almost predatory calm. "Love?" he echoed softly, but there was something cruel in the way he said it - cruelty Annatar didn’t think him capable of. "I believed your sweet words, once. I believed in the love we shared. But now I see it was always about control."

Annatar opened his mouth to speak, to weave some lie, some charm, but the words wouldn’t come. He had always been able to talk his way out of tight corners, to turn situations to his favor. But this felt different. This felt dangerous. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Annatar was at a loss.

Celebrimbor knew. He had known for longer than Annatar had realized. Far longer, if his certainty was anything to go by.

And the softness, the peace - had it all been a lie? No, not always, not from him. But from Celebrimbor? Annatar had been so certain he was in control, certain he had this elf utterly wrapped around his finger.

Annatar briefly looked down at his bound hands, flexing his fingers against the silk. He could still escape this. He had to. He just needed one opening, one moment to regain control.

“Tyelpe, listen to me,” he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper, desperate now. “I can explain - really. I did it all for us, for what we can achieve together. A world according to our vision. Don’t throw it away.”

But Celebrimbor only stood, his gaze steady, implacable. He looked down at Annatar, his little smile fading into something colder, more distant.

“I won’t throw anything away,” he said softly. “But I will no longer be your pawn.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes narrowed slightly, his grip loosening, but not in a way that gave Annatar any relief. He circled slowly, coming back in front of Annatar, kneeling before him again. He leaned forward, placing a finger gently against Annatar’s lips, silencing him. “It’s over now. No more lies, Annatar.” Celebrimbor’s voice was calm, but there was a darkness beneath it, a steadiness that unnerved him more than any accusation or anger ever could.

Annatar’s heart hammered in his chest as he felt the finality in Celebrimbor’s words. He had been outmaneuvered, caught in a snare he hadn’t seen coming.

There had been a part of him - small, buried beneath his grand ambitions - that had felt something real for Celebrimbor, that had thought him to be so much more than a pawn to move across the board of his game. But whatever little was left of the illusion would wither and die beneath the weight of Celebrimbor’s growing realization.

Celebrimbor’s hands found Annatar’s shoulders again, but this time they were no longer tender. Annatar’s blood ran cold. Celebrimbor’s voice was low, controlled, firm, but there was an undeniable tremor of emotion beneath it. “I gave you everything. And now… it’s about time you give me the full truth.”

And for the first time in forever, Sauron felt true, unyielding fear.

Chapter Text

The top of Amon Rudh was drenched in death. The stench of blood hung heavy in the air, and the ground was littered with the broken bodies of men and orcs alike. Beleg stood amidst the carnage, his chest rising and falling heavily, his eyes scanning the devastation.

Blood matted his clothes and smeared his face, though much of it was not his own. Still, he was wounded - his body screamed in pain, but he pushed it aside. He had no time for his own injuries right now.

Túrin was gone - had been taken by the orcs. The thought alone drove him forward, beyond the limits of his body, beyond the agony that pulsed through him. Túrin had been dragged away by the orcs, and that was all that mattered now.

Beleg clenched the hilt of Anglachel tightly, feeling the dark, cold weight of the blade in his hand. His own blood trickled down his arm from a deep wound in his side, but he barely registered the pain. He could still move. He could still fight. And that was enough. He would heal along the way - he always had.

The only thing that mattered now was getting Túrin back.

Melian’s warning echoed in his mind, a voice too soft to be ignored yet too far away to be fully heeded. 'The sword will not love the hand it serves. Nor will it abide with you for long, strongbow.'

But Beleg didn’t care about the blade’s loyalty, or lack thereof. The blade’s love was not needed. Only its edge, only its deadly purpose. As long as it cut through his enemies, as long as it brought him closer to Túrin, it would serve him well enough. He had wielded it long enough to know its strange temper, its coldness. But it had always obeyed his will.

He would not allow it to fail him now.

His keen eyes, despite the pain clouding his vision, soon caught the telltale signs of orc tracks leading down from the hill. His heart quickened. He had come to know these lands well, and the trail was still fresh. They had taken Túrin north, deeper into the wilderness. Beleg could follow them. He would follow them.

A wave of dizziness washed over him as he began to move, his steps faltering for just a moment. He pressed a hand to his side where blood seeped through his tunic. He grimaced but kept moving, knowing he couldn’t afford to stop. The wound would heal - or it wouldn’t. That was not a concern for right now. Túrin was all that mattered.

Setting off at a brisk pace, he left the shattered peak of Amon Rudh behind, disappearing into the shadowed trees below. His steps were silent, his body moving with the grace of a warden who had spent centuries guarding the borders of Doriath, but there was a desperation to his movements, a tightening in his chest that he couldn’t shake.

The silence around him felt oppressive, broken only by the steady rhythm of his boots over the rough terrain and the distant wind carrying faint traces of orcish foulness.

The trail veered sharply into the thickening forest, and Beleg followed, his thoughts consumed by a single, driving purpose. He could almost see Túrin in his mind’s eye - bound, furious, but alive. He had to be alive. Beleg wouldn’t allow himself to think otherwise.

And yet, Melian’s words kept gnawing at him, like an itch beneath his skin.

'It is cursed,' Melian’s voice whispered again, unbidden, as his fingers brushed the hilt of Anglachel. 'This sword will bring you grief.'

A shiver ran down his spine, but he shook it off. “No,” Beleg muttered under his breath, his eyes hardening. Grief or not, it would bring Túrin back. That was all that mattered.

There was no room for fear, no space for doubt. He was the captain of the wardens. He had fought countless battles, faced endless dangers - and always had he survived, always had he protected those under his care.

But something tugged at the back of his mind, a shadow of foreboding that he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

Hours passed, or perhaps it was only moments. Beleg’s sense of time had been lost, replaced by the single-minded determination that pushed him forward. His injuries slowed him, but he forced his body to keep moving, his mind fixated on the path ahead.

The trees began to thin, the air got colder. Beleg gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle deep into his bones. He could feel something shifting - something in the air, something in his bones. The road ahead was dark, unknown. Yet he followed it, for there was no other choice.

His hand tightened on the hilt of Anglachel, feeling the cold pulse of the weapon, its strange sentience brushing against his mind. It was an uneasy companion, but it had served him well until now. He ignored the faint disquiet that stirred within him, the sense that the sword itself was watching, waiting.

Suddenly, the distant sound of orc voices broke through the stillness, and Beleg’s heart leaped. He was close. Closer than he had hoped. He crouched low, moving quietly through the underbrush.

He was so close now. He could almost see him. Almost reach Túrin.

But something inside him stirred - an unease, a warning. Anglachel seemed heavier in his hand, the blade humming with a dark, almost imperceptible energy. For a brief moment, Beleg hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind.

'Not all paths are clear, even to the purest of hearts,' Melian had once said. He had not listened then. How could he afford to now?

He gripped Anglachel tightly and took a step forward, his movements as silent as a shadow.

But in the back of his mind, the unease grew, spreading like a cold mist through his veins. And this time, he couldn’t quite ignore it.

He would pay for this.

He knew it, in some deep, unspoken part of himself.

Beleg paused for a brief moment, his heart pounding.

But then, suddenly, the orcs’ voices grew louder, and in his mind’s eye, Túrin’s face flashed again - his beloved, suffering, bound, and helpless.

There was no time. No time for warnings, no time for doubts.

Yes, he would pay for this. But right now, that didn’t matter.

Right now, all that mattered was Túrin.

Beleg took a breath, steadied his grip on Anglachel, and stepped forward into the shadows.

'I have warned you, strongbow.'

Chapter Text

Celebrimbor’s head pounded as consciousness returned. His vision blurred, the cold bite of metal around his wrists digging painfully into his skin. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, the heavy scent of damp stone and iron filled his lungs, dragging him fully into the present. He was no longer in Eregion.

No longer fighting for his home.

Slowly, details came into focus - dark stone walls, an oppressive silence, and the unmistakable silhouette of someone in front of him.

Annatar.

No - Sauron.

Celebrimbor’s breath hitched in his throat as reality slammed into him. The pieces fell together in a horrifying clarity. This wasn’t Eregion. The air here was thick with malice, the oppressive weight of Barad-dûr. He tugged instinctively at the chains that held him, feeling his muscles scream in protest. The bonds were unyielding.

“Tyelpe! You’re awake.”

The voice was warm, affectionate, almost relieved. Annatar - Sauron - stood in front of him, his golden eyes gleaming, a smile spreading across his face as he cupped Celebrimbor’s bruised cheek. It was a smile that might have once brought him comfort, but now it sent a chill down his spine.

“I apologize for the confusion,” Annatar continued, his tone calm, soothing, his thumb brushing lightly against Celebrimbor’s bruised cheek. “I brought you into my fortress so no further harm would come to you. I also apologise for suspending you in chains, but I couldn’t foresee how you would react upon waking here.”

Celebrimbor’s mind raced, each word feeling like a mockery. His city - Eregion. The people. His craft. His life. He struggled to gather his thoughts, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he stared at the Maia before him.

Confusion and betrayal churned in Celebrimbor’s chest. He pulled against the chains again, but the cold metal didn’t budge.

Annatar, his Annatar, was Sauron. His tormentor. The destroyer of Eregion. It had all been a lie and the lies had never stopped, not for a moment.

Sauron’s smile faltered at the expression on Celebrimbor’s face, and he tilted his head, almost pitying. He stroked Celebrimbor’s jaw with an unsettling tenderness.

“Now, don’t look at me like that, my love,” Sauron whispered, his voice laced with false sympathy. “It’s unbecoming.” But then, his eyes lost their warmth. He sighed and turned away, letting his hand fall.

“Oh, who am I kidding?” he said, voice hardening as he paced a few steps, his golden eyes darkening with a cold, unforgiving gleam. “In reality, I’m quite disappointed in you, Tyelpe dear.”

The words stung. Of all the emotions he had expected to hear from the Dark Lord’s mouth - disappointment hadn’t been one of them. It was almost absurd.

“Disappointed?” Celebrimbor’s voice cracked, disbelief mingling with his anger.

Sauron turned back to face him, his expression no longer one of fondness but of disdain. “Yes. I thought I had married a smart elf, a true craftsman of great vision. But it seems you’ve been blind in the end.”

“Blind?” Celebrimbor spat, his rage bubbling to the surface, finally giving him the strength to push past the fog in his mind. “What are you talking about?”

Sauron’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “You didn’t see, did you?” he mused, stepping closer once more, his fingers trailing lightly over the chain that bound Celebrimbor’s wrists, as if admiring the craftsmanship. “Everything I did, everything I said, and still, you chose not to see the truth. You were so absorbed in your precious craft, in the beauty of what we created together, that you refused to see me for what I am.”

The weight of the truth hit Celebrimbor like a blow to the chest. He had seen - there had been signs, whispers of doubt, but he had buried them beneath the love he thought was real, the trust he had foolishly given.

“What happened to Eregion?” The words escaped his lips before he could stop them. His voice was tight, frantic. A part of him already knew, but he needed to hear it. He needed to hear it from Sauron’s lips, as much as it would tear him apart.

Annatar’s smile widened, though it never reached his eyes. “You know what happened to your beautiful, beautiful city,” he purred, his tone deceptively soft. “I warned you, after all.”

Celebrimbor’s heart shattered. “No… no, Eregion can’t be-” he stammered, shaking his head as if denial could erase the truth.

“You never warned me!” he shouted, his voice cracking as grief and fury consumed him. “You never warned me about any of this!”

Sauron leaned in, his face inches from Celebrimbor’s, eyes cold and gleaming like molten gold. “Tyelpe,” he said, voice low and taunting, “you’re mistaken. I did warn you. Again and again. But you…” His fingers tightened their grip on Celebrimbor’s chin, forcing his gaze upward. “You refused to see it. You could have seen everything.”

Celebrimbor shook his head, chest tight with denial. The betrayal felt endless, a yawning chasm of pain that swallowed him whole. “No,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “you never-”

“Oh, but I did,” Sauron interrupted with a laugh, the sound cruel and mocking. Annatar leaned in, his breath ghosting over Celebrimbor’s ear, his voice now a low whisper. “I told you that power would destroy everything you loved if it wasn’t wielded properly. I told you of the dangers of ambition. But you were so eager, so blinded by the craft, by the rings, that you ignored the truths right in front of you.”

Celebrimbor’s blood ran cold. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of how utterly he had been played. The memories flooded back, each conversation with Annatar replaying in his mind like a twisted puzzle he was only now beginning to see clearly.

Sauron had woven his lies so carefully, that Celebrimbor had fallen into his trap without even realizing it. Each memory surfaced slowly, disjointed, as if from a distant dream, but with it, the chilling realization that the warnings had been there all along.

.

.

.

Annatar had stood beside him, his golden hair catching the light of the forge’s fires, a soft smile on his lips as they examined one of the first ring prototypes together. The heat was intense, the clanging of hammers filling the air as the forges worked tirelessly around them.

“You know,” Annatar had mused, his voice light, as though speaking of something inconsequential, “there is always the risk that such power could corrupt. One must be careful where ambition leads.”

Celebrimbor had glanced at him, slightly distracted by the work before him. “Corruption?” He chuckled softly, wiping sweat from his brow. “You think I’m in danger of being corrupted by my own work?”

Annatar’s smile had been soft, almost sad. “It’s not you I worry about, Tyelpe.” His voice had dropped, becoming almost too quiet to hear over the noise of the forge. “What you crave might blind you to the dangers that lie in wait.”

Celebrimbor had frowned, confused by the odd turn in the conversation, but Annatar had quickly changed the subject, asking him about the next phase of the design. The words had lingered only briefly in Celebrimbor’s mind, dismissed as one of Annatar’s usual philosophical musings.

.

.

.

They had been working late in the forges again, the glow of molten metal illuminating their faces as they labored side by side. Celebrimbor had been focused on perfecting the latest ring design, while Annatar, ever calm and composed, had watched him with quiet intensity.

Celebrimbor remembered pausing. He had turned to Annatar, pride evident in his voice. “These rings will be remembered for all time. They will bring about an era of peace, prosperity, and strength.”

Annatar had tilted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he replied, “And if they fall into the wrong hands?”

Celebrimbor had waved off the question, his confidence unshaken. “With the right care, they won’t. We’ve built in safeguards, controls, after all. Nothing will go awry.”

Annatar’s expression had grown even more enigmatic then, his voice low and dangerous, but there had been a hint of something else, something Celebrimbor couldn’t quite place at the time. “Safeguards only work when one knows what dangers to protect against. But what if the danger isn’t external? What if the betrayal comes from within?”

Celebrimbor had frowned, thinking it an odd turn of phrase, but again, he hadn’t given it much thought. He had assumed Annatar was simply musing about the nature of power, as they so often did.

How would betrayal come from within when he and Annatar controlled the distribution of the rings?

But now, he could hear the undertone of regret in the words - the betrayal would come from within.

.

.

.

They had been pouring over maps of Eregion, discussing in detail how the rings would be distributed, how they might bring prosperity to the different realms. Annatar had been distant that day, distracted, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

At one point, he had set down his quill, watching Celebrimbor with an unreadable expression. “Tyelpe,” he had said quietly, “what if, one day, you found that the person closest to you was not who you thought they were?”

Celebrimbor had blinked, surprised by the sudden question. “What are you talking about?”

Annatar had tilted his head, his golden eyes searching Celebrimbor’s face as if looking for something. “Would you still love them, knowing that they had lied to you? That they had kept secrets, even from you?”

Celebrimbor had felt a strange unease stir in his chest. “I don’t understand - you aren’t talking about someone specific, are you?”

Annatar had smiled softly, but there was something almost… melancholic in his gaze. “No, no one in particular. Just a thought.”

Celebrimbor had reached across the table to take his hand, squeezing it gently. “I trust you,” he had said, his voice steady. “And you are closest to me, so there should be no problem.”

For a moment, something flickered in Annatar’s eyes - something Celebrimbor couldn’t place back then. “I wonder,” Annatar had murmured under his breath, so quietly that Celebrimbor hadn’t quite caught the words. Then, louder: “We should continue our work. The rings will not perfect themselves.”

.

.

.

The memories crashed into Celebrimbor, one after another, each one striking like a blade. He had been warned. Again and again, Annatar’s riddles, his cryptic remarks - had been more than idle musings. They had been signs. Warnings. Warnings Celebrimbor had been too blind to see.

“You…” Celebrimbor’s voice shook with barely contained rage now as he looked at Sauron, his vision blurring with unshed tears. “You deceived me. You-”

“I warned you,” Annatar repeated, his voice sharp now, cold as steel. “But you, in your arrogance, thought you could control the power we created together. You were blind, Tyelpe. And now Eregion has paid the price for your blindness.”

Celebrimbor’s heart shattered. His body trembled, the weight of his failure crashing down on him like a wave. The chains felt heavier now, suffocating. His city, his people - all gone. And he had trusted, loved the very being responsible for its destruction.

How could he have ignored all the signs, all the warnings?

Sauron sighed, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “In reality, I had hoped you would see it one day. That you would put precautions in place. That you would stop me.”

The words cut deeper than any blade. Stop him? Annatar had known - he had known all along that Celebrimbor might have been capable of stopping him. And yet, Celebrimbor hadn’t. He hadn’t even tried. He had been so blinded by love, by the allure of their shared power, by the allure of peace all across Arda, that he had refused to see the truth.

Annatar sighed again, turning his gaze to the cold stone beneath them. “But I see now that that was wishful thinking.” He looked back at Celebrimbor, and this time there was no warmth, no affection, only a cold, detached pity. “You must’ve truly loved me to not be able to see me for who I am.”

Celebrimbor’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. The truth had been there all along, woven into the very fabric of their relationship, hidden in plain sight. And he - he had been too blind, too trusting, to see it.

Celebrimbor’s body sagged against the chains, the weight of betrayal too much to bear. He was beyond words now, drowning in the horror of his reality.

Sauron rose, his gaze lingering on Celebrimbor’s bowed head for a moment. “Rest now, my love.”He turned away, his voice fading as he left the chamber. “There is more work to be done, and you still have a part to play.”

The nightmare had only just begun.

Eregion, his people, his very soul - broken at the hands of the one he had called beloved.

Chapter Text

Túrin walked like a shade, hollow and numb, as if his soul had been ripped from his body. He didn’t feel anymore, not truly. Gwindor led the way, silent but determined, glancing back at Túrin every now and then with concern in his eyes, though Túrin barely noticed.

Beleg was dead. Dead and gone. And he had killed him.

The thought consumed him, gnawing at his insides until there was nothing left but a hollow ache. His mind was clouded, thick with grief and regret, unable to see beyond the unbearable weight of what he had done.

He should be dead, too.

The only reason he still walked was because Gwindor had insisted, dragging him along through this forsaken wilderness, away from Beleg’s grave.

But what was there to live for?

Nothing. The world felt empty, as though all the color and light had drained from it the moment Beleg’s body had hit the ground. He could still see his lifeless body crumpled beneath him, still feel the horror of realizing who it was he had killed. The pain was relentless, gnawing at his insides, but even that seemed muted now. Distant. Like it was happening to someone else, somewhere else.

How could it be real?

Gwindor’s attempts to pull him out of his grief only made it worse. They felt like jagged edges against an open wound. It wasn’t Gwindor he needed to hear. It wasn’t Gwindor’s voice that could soothe the ache in his chest.

It was Beleg’s.

He needed to hear his voice again.

But it was Gwindor who was talking again, though Túrin barely registered his words. They were harsh, rebuking him for his silence, for his lack of will. But Túrin couldn’t answer. He didn’t want to. Words meant nothing to him anymore.

What is there left to say?

His eyes wandered to the landscape around them, the trees towering above in their silent vigil, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. And then, in the flicker of movement, he saw it - just for a heartbeat, a glint of silver hair. Beleg’s hair.

Túrin froze.

It was there, just beyond the treeline, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, something stirred in the void inside him. He took a step forward, his heart pounding, but there was nothing. Only the trees, rustling softly as if mocking him for his hope.

But it had been there. He was sure of it. Beleg was there.

The rest of the journey passed in the same strange pattern. Gwindor led the way, and Túrin followed, his mind drifting in and out of reality. Every now and then, he would catch another glimpse - an arrow’s fletching in the underbrush, a corner of a familiar tunic disappearing into the shadows, a fleeting sense of presence, so near but so unreachable.

Túrin’s legs stumbled beneath him. He slowed, eyes wide, straining to catch another glimpse. Beleg was there. He was there, just out of reach, but there.

But… it couldn’t be. He was gone - dead by his hand. But there, just beyond his reach, he could see him. Walking alongside them, following the same path.

“Come on, son of Húrin,” Gwindor called ahead, his tone sharp with frustration. “We cannot afford to slow down.”

Túrin barely heard him. He stared into the trees, his heart pounding. And then the wind stirred, brushing against his face, and with it came a voice - soft, familiar. Finally, Beleg’s voice.

“Túrin.”

His breath caught in his throat. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare answer. He didn’t want to break the fragile illusion, if that’s what it was. If he spoke, Beleg might stop. He might disappear entirely, and Túrin could not bear the thought. So he kept silent, his lips pressed together as he clung to those fleeting words, those fragile glimpses of the one person who had ever truly loved him. Beleg’s voice continued, a whisper carried on the breeze, soothing and calm.

“You’re not alone, my love. Keep walking. I am here.”

Túrin’s heart ached with longing, his grief swelling like a wave that threatened to drown him. He wanted to scream, to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, beg for Beleg to return to him. But he couldn’t.  He feared that if he opened his cursed mouth, if he reached out, Beleg’s voice would fade forever, leaving him truly alone.

So he stayed silent, trudging forward, letting Gwindor lead him wherever he pleased. All that mattered was that Beleg was still with him, even if only as a shadow that lingered at the edges of his perception. The whispers continued, comforting him, urging him on.

“Do not despair, Túrin. I will not leave you. I am with you, always.”

Túrin’s throat tightened, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. The wind caressed his face like Beleg’s touch, gentle and warm. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, torn between the desperate need to believe the whispers and the cold, cruel reality of Beleg’s absence.

“You are not alone.”

But how could he not be alone, when the one who had stood by him through everything, the one who had been his closest companion, was now buried beneath the earth, never to return? How could he not be alone, when his hand had been the one to deal the fatal blow?

“I’m sorry,” Túrin wanted to say. “I’m so sorry.” But he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk silencing the voice.

“Do not dwell on it, my dear,” the voice would whisper, and for a moment, Túrin could almost believe it was real. That Beleg was walking just behind him, his presence as strong as it had ever been. “I forgive you.”

Túrin’s steps faltered, his chest tightening as a lump formed in his throat. He wanted to believe it. More than anything, he wanted to believe Beleg’s forgiveness was real. That it could somehow undo the horror of what he had done. But he couldn’t bring himself to accept it.

How could Beleg forgive him? How could anyone?

But then, Gwindor glanced back again, his expression hardening. “You haven‘t spoken a word since we left. Will you continue to walk in silence, or has your grief truly robbed you of all sense?” he snapped, his patience wearing thin.

His voice cut through the illusion, bringing Túrin crashing back to the cold, harsh reality - and Beleg’s presence would fade again. The glimpses would vanish, and the forest would become just a forest once more.

Túrin’s heart would sink again into that familiar pit of despair, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Not to Gwindor, not to anyone. How could he explain that Beleg still spoke to him, that he could feel him beside him? Gwindor would never understand.

If staying silent meant hearing Beleg’s voice a little longer, Túrin would endure it. He would bear the weight of his grief, his guilt, if it meant that Beleg’s soft whispers wouldn’t abandon him.

So he followed Gwindor, a ghost of his former self, his eyes constantly flickering to the edges of the path, searching for those fleeting glimpses of Beleg - those strands of silver hair, the brush of a cloak against the trees - his ears straining to catch every whispered word. He let Beleg’s voice guide him, comfort him, even if it was only an echo of the past.

“Keep walking, Túrin. We will meet again when all is said and done. Do not lose hope.”

But hope was a dangerous thing. And in grief, one could go mad.

He no longer knew how many days had passed since Beleg’s burial, nor did he care. Time had lost its meaning to him, blurring into an endless march through gray landscapes, empty of all life except the flickering ghosts in his mind.

His beloved’s presence lingered in every shadow, in every movement of the wind through the trees now. Sometimes, when the light was just right, Túrin thought he could see him clearly - his silver hair catching the sunlight, his bow slung across his back, his steps light and soundless, just like always. But the moment Túrin would reach out, try to follow, Beleg would vanish, leaving only the aching void behind.

Still, he clung to those fleeting visions, desperate for them. They were all he had left.

But Gwindor was beginning to notice. And Gwindor didn’t approve.

“We shall travel to the pools of Ivrin,” Gwindor declared one evening. His voice was steady, determined. “There you will be healed, Túrin, of this madness that consumes you.”

Túrin froze, his heart seizing at the words. He had recoiled at the thought - healing? What did Gwindor mean by healing?

What if healing meant losing Beleg forever?

The thought of it only filled Túrin with dread. His hands tightened into fists, his breath coming shallow. He couldn’t bear the thought. He didn’t want to be healed if that was the cost.

Gwindor’s words echoed in his mind, over and over again, scraping against his raw grief. “You will be healed of your madness at last.”

Madness. Was it truly madness? To see Beleg in the trees, to hear his voice on the wind? If that was madness, then Túrin would embrace it. He would rather walk in this twisted shadow of reality, where Beleg was still with him, still speaking to him, than be “healed” of it and left with nothing but the cold truth of the grave. The truth that he had lost Beleg forever.

“Túrin, my dear, keep walking. Don’t keep him waiting.”

The whisper came again, so soft, so close, carried on the wind that rustled through the leaves. Túrin’s heart clenched painfully, and he nearly stopped in his tracks, his eyes searching the trees, the rocks, anywhere for a glimpse of silver hair or a shadow moving in the distance. But Gwindor strode ahead, his pace relentless.

Túrin trudged onward, each step heavier than the last, his heart sinking deeper into the mire of grief. He hadn’t answered Gwindor - he had only drawn further into his silence, clinging to it as if it were his last defense against the crushing reality waiting to swallow him whole. He was silent because, in silence, Beleg still spoke to him. In the silence, the glimpses of his beloved shimmered just beyond reach.

Yes, it was torment, but what was freedom without Beleg? Without the voice that kept him walking?

And to let go of him, to be “healed”? It felt like betrayal. And Túrin wasn’t sure he could bear to betray Beleg again.

What if the waters of Ivrin washed away the grief, the torment? Would they wash away Beleg too? The faint, fleeting presence that still lingered, that kept him tethered to something, even if it was madness?

Túrin looked at Gwindor’s back, his lips parting as if to protest, but no words came. What could he say? He hadn’t spoken since Beleg’s death, hadn’t told Gwindor about the whispers, the glimpses, the moments where he could feel Beleg, like a heartbeat just out of reach. Gwindor wouldn’t understand. He’d scold him for his silence, for his refusal to confront reality.

To him, Túrin’s silence was a sign of madness, something to be cured, something that needed to be fixed. But to Túrin, it was the only tether keeping him from plunging into the abyss. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t.

Gwindor, as if sensing the weight of the silence behind him, glanced back. His brow furrowed as he looked at Túrin, his eyes flickering with both sympathy and frustration. “You cannot keep this up, Túrin,” he said, his voice stern. “Enough of this silence. You grieve, and you are lost in it. But you will not find peace by wallowing in your despair.”

Túrin shook his head, just barely, but enough for Gwindor to catch it. He felt his stomach churn. What was the point of healing if it meant being truly alone? He hadn’t yet told Gwindor, but he feared that once they reached those pools, Beleg would be taken from him completely.

“You are not mad, Túrin. I‘m right here.”

That whisper nearly broke him. He had thought of himself as mad for so long now, tormented by guilt, by grief, by the cruel twist of fate that had taken Beleg from him. But to hear Beleg say it - that he was not mad - made something within him tremble.

“At the pools of Ivrin, you will find healing,” Gwindor continued, his voice carrying the weight of certainty. “There, the madness that grips you will be washed away, and you will be made whole once more.”

Túrin felt his throat tighten. He wanted to shout, to scream at Gwindor to stop. Did he not understand? To be healed of this so-called madness would mean losing the only part of Beleg that remained. Would Gwindor ask him to sever that last, fragile connection?

“I am still with you,” Beleg’s voice came again, softer now. “But I cannot follow you to where Gwindor leads.”

Túrin’s breath hitched. He could feel the world spinning around him, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like a boulder. Healing. Madness. Grief. They were all intertwined, pulling him in opposite directions.

His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. He swallowed, trying to push down the swell of panic. Could he tell Gwindor the truth? Could he explain what he was seeing, what he was hearing? That he was more afraid of losing Beleg’s ghost than he was of losing his own sanity?

“I…” The word came out like a rasp, unfamiliar in his throat. His voice cracked, unused, but it was a start. Gwindor stopped, turning fully toward him, his eyes sharp, waiting for more.

Túrin shook his head again, his eyes lowered, and the words died on his lips. He couldn’t explain it, not to Gwindor. How could he make him understand? That the madness was all he had left, that if he let it go, if he let Beleg’s presence slip away, there would be nothing left of him.

“Túrin,” Gwindor’s voice softened. “Do you not wish for peace?”

“Do not follow him,” Beleg’s voice whispered urgently now, a flicker of desperation in the wind. “Stay with me, please.”

Túrin’s breath came faster, his heart pounding in his chest. Peace. What peace was there without Beleg? Without his voice, his presence, his love? Could he live in a world where even the memory of Beleg’s voice was washed away?

“I… don’t know…” he whispered, his voice barely audible, almost to himself.

Gwindor frowned. “You speak of madness as if it were a gift. It is not, Túrin. It is a chain that binds you, and it must be broken.”

Túrin turned his gaze away, staring out at the darkening horizon. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves, and for a moment, he thought he saw Beleg’s figure standing in the distance, watching him. He could almost make out his beloved’s familiar smile, soft and kind, filled with understanding.

But Gwindor stepped closer, his brow furrowed in concern, and startled, Túrin took a step back, recoiling from the promise of healing. If it meant losing Beleg, then it wasn’t healing at all. It was death. True death. A death of the spirit, of the heart.

He didn’t want to let go.

And yet, what choice did he have? What could he do but follow Gwindor? He walked on, his heart torn between hope and despair - he followed Gwindor, even as his heart cried out for Beleg. Even as the wind carried more whispers of his beloved, telling him to stay. Even as every step felt like it was dragging him further away from the one thing he wanted to hold on to.

“I do not wish to be healed,” Túrin thought bitterly, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words aloud.

But what could Túrin do? The path was set, and he could only follow it, even as the shadows of his grief threatened to swallow him whole.

The wind was quiet now, and the forest felt more desolate than ever.

Chapter Text

The day had started with the kind of warmth that promised an oppressive heat later on. Celebrimbor, ever practical, had advised Annatar as they prepared for a day full of errands in Eregion.

“The sun will be unforgiving today, love. We should cover our heads and keep to the shade whenever possible,”Celebrimbor had said, tying a light cloth around his own head, his dark hair tucked away beneath it.

Annatar, seated by the window, glanced lazily at the sky. “Tyelpe, really. I’m a Maia. The sun holds no power over me,” he replied, waving a dismissive hand in the air as though brushing off even the concept of a sunburn.

Celebrimbor, adjusting the light cloak he had chosen for protection, shot him a look. “The last time you brushed off one of my warnings, you spent an entire afternoon sneezing from that strange pollen in the fields.”

Annatar raised a brow and gave an exaggerated, pompous sigh. “That was different. I underestimated the plants, but the sun? Really? I don’t fall victim to worldly phenomena like mere mortals.” He imitated Celebrimbor’s voice in an almost sing-song tone, “‘Oh, Annatar, do be careful of the sun, you’ll get a heatstroke, oh the delicate Maia!’” He smirked.

Celebrimbor just shook his head with a knowing smile, letting the matter drop. “Fine. Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Annatar always seemed to have a rebuttal whenever he voiced concerns, no matter how minor. And so, they had ventured into the city, Annatar uncovered and smug, as usual.

As expected, the errands were many, and the day dragged on. The sun climbed higher in the sky, its relentless heat reflecting off the stone streets of Eregion. Celebrimbor had kept his head covered and stuck to the shade as much as possible, while Annatar, true to his words, strolled confidently along in full sunlight, his golden hair glinting under the bright rays.

Every now and then, Celebrimbor would glance at Annatar, who had started looking a little less composed with each passing hour. Still, everything was fine - until it wasn’t.

By mid-afternoon, as they stood in the bustling marketplace, Annatar had grown noticeably quieter, his usual witty banter replaced with occasional, vague nods. Celebrimbor could see the way his golden skin had flushed, his eyes glassy in the heat.

“Annatar?” Celebrimbor asked, growing concerned as they waited in line for fresh produce. “Are you alright? You’re looking a bit… pale.”

Annatar waved his hand dismissively, though the gesture was weak, strained. “I’m fine. Maia, remember? Immortal. Untouched by such… mortal inconveniences.”He squinted up at the sun with irritation. “It’s… just a bit warm, that’s all.”

But Celebrimbor had seen that look before, not often, but often enough - Annatar’s complexion had paled ever so slightly, and there was a bead of sweat at his temple. Annatar rarely perspired.

“Annatar,” Celebrimbor started again, more firmly this time, stepping closer to his husband. “I don’t think you're fine. You should get out of the sun.”

Annatar waved him off again, but the movement was sluggish this time, and his breath hitched as he swayed on his feet. “Tyelpe, please. It’s nothing. Just… heat, I’ll-”

And then, without warning, Annatar’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed - like a golden, elegantly wilting flower - right into Celebrimbor’s arms.

Celebrimbor barely caught him, staggering under the sudden weight of the unconscious Maia. For a brief moment, he stood there, blinking in disbelief as he held Annatar in the middle of the bustling marketplace. Passersby gasped in shock, curious eyes turning toward the spectacle of the great and powerful Annatar crumpling in the middle of the street, though most hung back in awe or fear.

“Oh Valar,” Celebrimbor muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and amusement as he crouched down, gently lowering Annatar to the ground. “I told you this would happen.”

He glanced around and, with the help of a few nearby elves, carefully lifted Annatar and moved him into the shade, propping him against a cool stone wall. Annatar’s face was pale, his breathing shallow but steady. Celebrimbor knelt beside him, wiping a hand across his own brow as he studied his husband’s pitiful state.

“‘I’m a Maia, I don’t fall victim to worldly phenomena,’” Celebrimbor mimicked Annatar’s earlier arrogance, shaking his head. “And yet, here you are, passed out from a heatstroke like an idiot.”

A gentle breeze stirred, providing some relief from the heat, and Celebrimbor pulled his waterskin from his pack, carefully wetting a cloth and dabbing it across Annatar’s forehead and cheeks. The crowd had dispersed, their curiosity sated, and Celebrimbor was left alone with his unconscious husband.

It wasn’t long before Annatar began to stir. He blinked his eyes open, squinting at the sky above, clearly confused. “What…?”

“Welcome back,” Celebrimbor said dryly, not bothering to hide his amusement. “You passed out. In the middle of the city.”

Annatar blinked again, his disorientation giving way to embarrassment. “I… what?”

“Heatstroke,” Celebrimbor said, shaking his head as he continued to cool him down with the cloth. “You did fall victim to worldly phenomena, despite all your boasting.”

Annatar groaned softly, leaning his head back against the stone wall, still looking far too regal for someone who had just collapsed in public. He shifted slightly, his pride bruised more than anything else. “I'm fine. I don’t need… a hat.”

Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow. “Really? You passed out in front of half the city though,”

Annatar groaned again, this time more out of embarrassment than discomfort. “Fine, maybe… a hat next time.”

Celebrimbor chuckled softly, relieved that his husband was coherent enough to be embarrassed. He helped Annatar get up slowly, steadying him with an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you home before you decide to collapse again.”

Annatar leaned heavily into Celebrimbor as they began to make their way back through the city, the concerned gazes of the fellow citizens following them.

As they walked, Annatar sighed, his voice still weak but laced with his usual stubborn pride. “I will never hear the end of this, will I?”

“Not in a thousand years,” Celebrimbor teased, pressing a soft kiss to Annatar’s temple.

Annatar said nothing, but the small, defeated sigh that escaped him told Celebrimbor that this particular battle had been won. And as much as he enjoyed his little victory, there was no denying how adorable Annatar looked, all flustered and flushed, and more than a little humbled - caught off guard by the one force he couldn’t charm or outwit: the sun.

.

.

.

Annatar blinked slowly, his vision swimming as he tried to focus. He could barely remember how he’d gotten from the scorching streets of Eregion to the cool, quiet safety of their chambers. The last thing he recalled was collapsing, his pride taking a monumental hit as Celebrimbor hovered over him with that exasperated, but ever-patient look on his face.

Now, lying sprawled out in their shared bed, Annatar groaned softly as the pounding in his head became more unbearable. His entire body felt like it was on fire, fever creeping through him in waves, while his stomach churned with nausea and dizziness that made the room spin. He closed his eyes again, trying to gather the strength to move - or, at the very least, to complain about his condition.

“Tyelpe?” he croaked, barely able to muster the energy to form the words. His voice cracked, a far cry from its usual elegance. He felt something cool swipe across his forehead, and he opened his eyes just enough to see Celebrimbor sitting beside him, tending to him with a damp cloth.

“Shh, don’t move. You’ve made quite the spectacle of yourself today, my love,” Celebrimbor said, his voice laced with amusement as he gently wiped the sweat from Annatar’s brow.

Annatar groaned again, his pride warring with his physical state. “Why does it hurt so much?” he muttered, his golden eyes half-lidded as he stared up at Celebrimbor. “It feels like my head will explode any moment now. Do you worldly beings endure this on a regular basis?” His tone was more accusatory than sympathetic, as if blaming all of Eregion for the fact that he was suffering.

Celebrimbor’s lips twitched, fighting back the smile that was threatening to break through. “Well, not on a regular basis. But yes, sometimes we do suffer from such things. Though we usually avoid heatstroke by wearing hats,” he added with a smirk. “And we don’t usually make such a fuss about it.”

Annatar opened his eyes just a fraction more, glaring weakly up at him. “Oh, very funny. Is this revenge? Are you mocking me while I’m in my most vulnerable state? I’m suffering.”

“Of course not,” Celebrimbor replied, though the glint of amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

Annatar winced, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. The cool cloth helped, but only just. “This is unbearable ,” he moaned dramatically, his voice barely above a whisper. “It feels as though I’m being punished for something.”

Celebrimbor had to bite his lip to keep from laughing outright. Annatar, the mighty Maia who claimed to be above the ailments of the world, reduced to this feverish wreck - pathetically dramatic and utterly miserable - was, if Celebrimbor was being honest, rather amusing and almost endearing.

“I warned you,” Celebrimbor reminded him with a small, amused smile as he dipped the cloth into cool water again. “I told you the sun would be brutal today. I told you to cover your head, but no. The great Annatar is immune to such trivialities.”

Annatar scowled weakly, though it lacked any real menace. “I don’t recall you telling me that I would die in the sun,” he muttered, his voice still hoarse. “Had you been clearer, I might have heeded your advice.”

Celebrimbor let out a soft laugh, unable to resist teasing him. “Die? You passed out for all of five minutes, Annatar. I think you’ll survive.”

Annatar narrowed his eyes, though it was more of a pout than a glare. “Five minutes too many. And how did I even get here? You didn’t… carry me, did you?”

Celebrimbor smirked, the amusement clear on his face now. “Well, you weren’t exactly in any shape to walk. So yes, I might’ve carried you a little. Just when we neared the palace. It wasn’t that far.”

Annatar let out a mortified groan and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, how humiliating.”

Celebrimbor leaned down and kissed the top of his head, still cooling his feverish skin with the damp cloth. “Oh, don’t worry, love,” he said with a gentle smile, “I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

Annatar peeked at him through his fingers, still looking miserable but clearly relieved. “Good. If anyone found out…” he trailed off with another groan, clutching his head as the pain flared again. “Ugh, why does it hurt so much?”

Celebrimbor couldn’t help but smile affectionately at his husband’s theatrics. “It’s just a headache from the heat, nothing more. You’ll be back to your usual, insufferable self by morning.”

Annatar groaned again, rolling onto his side as he clutched his head. “This is all your fault,” he grumbled. “You didn’t make me wear a hat.”

Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I tried , my love. You refused.”

Annatar’s lips twitched into a weak smile, though he kept his eyes closed. “Mmm, yes… well, you should have tried harder.”

Celebrimbor laughed softly, leaning down to press another kiss to Annatar’s temple. “Next time, I’ll make sure you’re well-covered, even if I have to tie a hat to your head myself.”

Annatar let out a contented sigh at the kiss, the coolness of the cloth and Celebrimbor’s presence easing his discomfort, if only slightly. “Yes, yes, do that,” he murmured, his voice already softer, sleepier. “But only the finest hat, something befitting a Maia.”

Celebrimbor smiled fondly, watching as Annatar’s eyes fluttered shut again. “Of course, nothing but the finest for you,” he said, though his tone remained playful.

Annatar let out a long, dramatic sigh, finally resigning himself to his fate. “You’ll remind me of this every time the sun shines too brightly, won’t you?”He muttered, as he tried to ignore the pounding in his head.

“Oh, absolutely,” Celebrimbor said cheerfully, placing another kiss on Annatar’s fevered brow. “But only because I love you.”

Annatar huffed, but he leaned into the touch, his pride bruised but not entirely broken. “I suppose… that makes it a little better.”

Celebrimbor smiled down at him, stroking his hair tenderly. “Rest now, my stubborn Maia. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Annatar sighed, letting the warmth of Celebrimbor’s care wash over him. “Fine. But next time, you’re the one getting a heatstroke.”

“Not a chance,” Celebrimbor replied with a grin. “I’m the one with the hat.”

Annatar still mumbled an incoherent response, but within moments, he had drifted off into a fitful sleep, his feverish body finally relaxing under Celebrimbor’s gentle care.

As Celebrimbor watched him sleep, still smiling softly to himself, gently brushing his fingers through Annatar’s hair, he couldn’t help but think how ridiculous Annatar could be sometimes. But even now, in all his drama and stubbornness, he was still, somehow… endearing.

Chapter Text

The air still smelled of sweat and iron as the skirmish came to a close. Beleg wiped the sweat from his brow, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield, looking for Túrin. When he finally spotted him a few paces ahead, standing among the fallen orcs, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of relief.

“Are you injured?” he called out, his voice filled with concern but tempered by familiarity.

Túrin, still catching his breath, looked down at his body, checking his chest, his arms, even twisting slightly to see his back. “I don’t think so!” he called back, sounding almost surprised. He felt fine - no pain, no sign of any serious damage, and certainly nothing he couldn’t handle.

Beleg visibly relaxed, a grin creeping onto his face as he sheathed his sword. “Wonderful! Me neither!” He was just about to approach with a chuckle when his gaze dropped to the ground behind Túrin - and his expression suddenly turned grave.

“Of course you aren’t injured,” he muttered with a frown, “you’re only leaving a trail of blood behind. Let me see the wound.”

Túrin blinked, confused. “I… what?” His brow furrowed as he glanced down again, now spotting the streaks of red staining his boots and the ground beneath him. “I don’t feel any pain.”

Beleg was at his side in an instant, kneeling down to inspect him more closely. “It might be the adrenaline,” he muttered, “but you’re clearly injured. Come, sit down.” His tone left no room for argument.

Grumbling slightly, Túrin allowed Beleg to guide him to a nearby rock where he sat, propping one leg up as Beleg pulled his boot off with a practiced hand. Sure enough, there was a gash across the top of his foot, the wound still bleeding steadily, though not dangerously so. Túrin stared at it with a look of mild disbelief. “I didn’t even notice…”

Beleg let out a soft sigh, the tension easing from his shoulders as he realized the cut, while ugly, wasn’t very deep. “It’s a shallow cut, bleeding like mad, but nothing serious,” he muttered, pulling out a small pouch of bandages and herbs from his belt. He began cleaning the wound with quick, efficient movements. “I swear, Túrin, you could have a spear through your chest and still claim to feel nothing.”

Túrin smirked, though it was strained. “I would never let a spear through my chest.”

Beleg shook his head with a laugh, carefully wrapping the bandage around Túrin’s foot. “You say that now, but with the way you charge into battle… it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Túrin flinched slightly as the pain finally caught up to him, a dull throb radiating from the wound now. Of course, he would never admit it, but Beleg noticed the brief flicker of discomfort on his face. He tied off the bandage securely, then looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Ah, there it is. I was wondering when you’d actually feel it.”

Túrin shot him a mock glare. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, yes,” Beleg said, standing and offering his hand to help him up. “But let’s not push our luck. I’ve bandaged you up, but I don’t want to hear about it later if you reopen the wound.”

Túrin took his hand and rose to his feet, testing his weight on the bandaged foot. It stung, but it was manageable. “I’m sure you’ll hear about it either way,” he said with a smirk, earning a playful shove from Beleg.

“You know, you don’t have to play the invincible warrior all the time,” Beleg said as he stepped back, his voice light, but tinged with affection. “You’re allowed to feel pain every now and then.”

Túrin scoffed lightly, trying not to wince. “Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can still walk.”

Beleg let out a bark of laughter, his eyes twinkling. “Walk you shall. But if you’re limping halfway home, don’t think I won’t notice.”

But as it turned out, Túrin could walk without limping - and so, they began the trek back home through the dense forest. The battle had left its mark on the land, but the tranquility of the woods soon began to return. Birds began to sing softly in the trees once more, and the scent of pine and earth filled the air, calming the lingering tension.

Túrin could feel the dull ache in his foot more now, but he wasn’t about to complain. Instead, he shot a glance at Beleg, who was already looking ahead, focused on the path that would take them home.

In moments like this, Túrin realized how grateful he was. For Beleg’s steady presence. For his unwavering care, his quick wit. And for the sense of home that he felt whenever they walked side by side.

As they continued their journey, Túrin’s lips curved into a small smile, the pain in his foot a distant afterthought.

Chapter Text

The air in the chambers of Ost-in-Edhil was still, save for the gentle flicker of the fire in the hearth casting golden light over Annatar as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was quiet - Celebrimbor had left early that morning to tend to the final details of the rings, leaving Annatar alone. Normally, he would have joined him, eager to oversee the last steps, but something had kept him behind today, some elusive feeling that tugged at his attention.

The room felt different without Celebrimbor. His presence filled spaces, made the still air hum with energy, with life. But now, it was only the distant crackle of the fire and the soft murmur of wind outside.

Annatar’s gaze fell upon a small, unassuming box on the corner of the desk. It was plain, made of smooth wood, something Celebrimbor had likely carved with his own hands, polished and perfect. It had been left slightly ajar, the contents barely visible - fragments of parchment, crinkled at the edges from use. His curiosity stirred, and, with a languid motion, he opened it further.

Inside were notes.

A small smile tugged at his lips. He had almost forgotten about these.

But now, he recognized them immediately - their handwriting mingled together, annotations on progress, musings about their work, and… other things.

With a soft sigh, Annatar carefully lifted one of the notes from the box. The parchment was creased from being hastily folded and unfolded, and there was a smudge of ink where one of them - he couldn’t tell who - had dragged a thumb over the words. The scrawl was messy, hurried, written in the in-between moments of forging, when exhaustion had blurred the lines between work and affection.

“ Tyelpe,

The alloy is nearly perfected. You’ll find it, as always, more refined than the last attempt. Though I must admit, my mind is not on gold alone. Perhaps if you weren’t so captivating, I might get more work done. Alas, my thoughts return to you.
Yours,

A. ”

Annatar let out a low chuckle, tracing the faded ink with his thumb. It had been a strange time, those long nights and endless days spent in the forge together. They had barely slept, fueled by the thrill of creation, by their shared passion for the work - and, of course, for each other.

Sleep deprivation, of course, had softened him, as had the intoxicating, dangerous closeness of working side by side with Celebrimbor. He had allowed himself to be caught in the warmth of it, like basking in the sun too long - almost forgetting…

He shook his head and pulled another note from the pile, this one in Celebrimbor’s precise hand.

“ Annatar,

I’ve made adjustments to the silver casting molds, though I suspect I’ll need your eye before finalizing it. As for captivating distractions… I can hardly speak. You’ll find me in the forge, but you’ve taken my focus. It belongs to you, it seems.

T. ”

The memory of those days now flashed vividly in his mind. How their conversations had shifted from work to whispered words meant only for each other, fingers brushing as they passed tools, eyes meeting with unspoken understanding. Annatar, in his guise as the fair and benevolent companion, had found it surprisingly easy to fall into the rhythm of it, to indulge in the connection. To be wanted, needed. There was power in that, too, after all.

He pulled another note from the box, this one written in his own hand again. He didn’t even have to unfold it to know what it said. He remembered this one vividly, the moment he had written it, leaning against the forge in a rare quiet moment while Celebrimbor was lost in concentration.

“ Tyelpe,

But do you realize how beautiful you look, my love, when you’re so deeply engrossed in your craft? It is enough to drive a Maia to distraction, and that is no small feat. I find myself watching you more than my own work, simply because I cannot look away.
Yours,

A. ”

Annatar had never been prone to sentimentality. But in those endless hours, when they had lived on the edge of exhaustion and brilliance, it had been different. The forge had become their sanctuary, their world, and in that world, love had woven itself into every moment.

He continued reading through the notes, each one more sappy than the last. There were updates on the rings, yes, but they were so often accompanied by small observations - about the way Celebrimbor’s hair had fallen in his face and how Annatar had wanted to brush it aside, about how Celebrimbor had caught Annatar staring and had kissed him, metal dust and all, in the middle of a project.

It was amusing, how their past selves who had written these notes seemed so far away now. The rings were nearly complete, their purpose so much clearer now than it had been in those early days. But there was something… bittersweet about those moments, about the strange simplicity of the time they had shared.

But still… it was nice to remember. To indulge in the nostalgia, if only for a moment.

Annatar chuckled softly, remembering how deliriously tired they had been back then, their days and nights blending together in a haze of metal and fire. Celebrimbor’s handwriting grew messier toward the end of each note, almost as if he’d been writing them while half-asleep and his own writing didn’t look much better. Annatar continued reading.

“ Tyelpe,

I had a dream last night. You were there, by my side as always, but it wasn’t in the forge. It was a place far away, somewhere brighter, free from the weight of our work. I wonder, will we ever find such a place? Or is this all we will ever know?
Yours,

A. ”

Annatar paused, his fingers tightening on the note. That one was unexpected, a whisper of something deeper he had once entertained, a foolish hope that perhaps, perhaps he could share something more than power and ambition with Celebrimbor. He had almost let himself believe it.

Almost.

He set the note aside, pulling another one free, this one worn from being handled many times.

“ Annatar dear,

I know we have our work ahead of us, but I look forward to the day we can rest. To a time when our hands won’t be stained with gold and silver, and we can simply… be. There’s a peace in that thought. I hope you’ll stay with me when this is all done.

T. ”

Annatar felt a tightness in his chest as he read the words. Celebrimbor’s hope had been so simple then, so naïve. He had believed in the purity of their connection, the bond they had formed over their shared work. He had believed in him . Annatar closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. There had been a time, a fleeting moment, when he had considered staying. When he had forgotten his true purpose.

But now, standing on the precipice of his plans coming to fruition, he knew better. That time had passed, and with it, the illusions of what they could have been. Power was what mattered. The One Ring would be forged soon, and when it was, the deception would be complete. Celebrimbor’s trust would be his undoing.

Another note caught his eye then, written in his own hand.

“Tyelpe,

My jewel, you speak of the rings as though they are the pinnacle of our achievement, but I find myself thinking that the true marvel is you - your mind, your hands, the way you bring life to all you touch. I look at the rings, yes, but I also look at you, and I am reminded that there is nothing more perfect than this moment we share.

Sleep well, my love.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, though it was tinged with something bitter. He could hardly believe he had written such words.

He set the note down, staring at it for a long moment. Those days - those nights - had been different. They had been partners in every sense of the word, united in a single purpose, wrapped up in the joy of creation, unaware of the storm that loomed on the horizon. Or, at least one of them.

A shame, really, that things could not go back to that time.

And now, as he stared at the pile of notes - those tiny pieces of affection they had exchanged in the midst of their greatest work - Annatar couldn’t shake the pang of something akin to regret. Perhaps things could have been different, in another world, another time.

(Maybe he‘d take the notes with him once he left - it was worth considering. A relic of what could have been. A reminder of how close he had come to forgetting himself.)

He closed the last note and set it aside, leaning back on the bed, his mind swirling with memories. Annatar knew well enough that time had moved on. They had moved on, their work more serious, their purposes more defined. There was no going back.

The door creaked open then, and Celebrimbor stepped in, his presence immediately filling the room with warmth. He paused, noticing the box in Annatar’s lap, and smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Reading through those old things, are you?” Celebrimbor asked, walking over to sit beside him.

Annatar smirked, holding up one of the sappier notes. “It seems we were both rather… sentimental during those sleepless nights.”

Celebrimbor laughed, a sound so bright it made Annatar’s chest ache. “We were more than just sentimental. We were delirious.”

“Delirious with love, perhaps,” Annatar mused, his voice softer now.

Celebrimbor leaned his head against Annatar’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. “Delirious or not, I wouldn’t trade those days for anything.”

“No,” Annatar agreed quietly, “neither would I.”

And then, suddenly, Celebrimbor had asked for a note to be read aloud, and Annatar, ever theatrical when the mood struck him, had picked one of the sappiest of the bunch, drawing out the words with exaggerated emotion as he recited it. They laughed together as the silly, lovesick words filled the air, their shared amusement bouncing between them.

Celebrimbor soon took his turn, reading in a voice that was gentler, almost teasing, but still heavy with affection. Each note they passed to the other seemed more delirious, more absurd in its lovestruck ramblings. Laughter echoed through their chambers, spilling over into the corridors.

Annatar laughed so much his sides ached, the sound surprising even him. He had never known this kind of joy before coming here, to this forge, to Celebrimbor. His past had been one of dark ambition and cold purpose, but here… he had found someone who understood him, who challenged him, who loved him in ways he had never imagined possible.

Annatar leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips as he reached into the small wooden box once more, pulling out yet another crinkled, ink-smudged note. Celebrimbor watched him expectantly, the teasing light in his eyes mirroring the easy laughter they had shared throughout the evening.

Annatar unfolded the note with exaggerated care, the theatrics deliberate. His voice dripped with mock-seriousness as he began to read, “ ‘My beloved Annatar, if you continue to work without rest, I fear you will soon forget the difference between metal and flesh, and may try to forge my heart anew… though I must admit, it already belongs to you.’ ”

Celebrimbor’s snort of laughter was immediate, and Annatar found himself chuckling along as well again, their voices mingling in the warmth of the room.

This had been their game for the past hour, plucking one absurd, lovesick note after another from the box, reliving the delirium of sleepless nights spent working on the rings, fueled by exhaustion and affection. It was… nice.

Too nice. It felt like a brief return to those earlier days.

Annatar’s chest tightened briefly as the next note slid into his hand. Celebrimbor noticed nothing yet, his own gaze still dancing with amusement as he waited for whatever over-the-top declaration would follow.

But this note wasn’t filled with playful flirtations or absurd analogies about love and craftsmanship. It was a quiet musing, written by Annatar himself on a night when the fire had been low, and the weight of their task had begun to press in on him. His fingers traced over the familiar ink as he read it silently to himself:

“If time were under my command, I would keep us here, forever caught in the rhythm of creation. The work, the warmth, the laughter… you by my side, every moment. A part of me knows this cannot last, but I wish, oh how I wish, these nights would never end. If only time would bend to our will, and we could forge not just rings, but eternity itself. Time feels endless here, with you, and I find myself hoping it will stay this way, that the world beyond our forge will forget us, leave us in this quiet madness forever.”

The memory struck him, sharp and uninvited. The yearning he’d felt then, the strange, aching wish to freeze time, to keep everything just as it was. That wish seemed so foolish now.

He hadn’t realized when his smile had faded, but suddenly the room felt smaller, the laughter quieter. His throat tightened, and when he blinked, he felt the unmistakable sting of tears pricking at his eyes.

A shame things couldn’t stay like this. A shame that they were nearing the end of this chapter, that the rings were nearly complete, and that he… had his own plans.

They both knew, even then, that nothing lasted forever. Not time, not the quiet joy they shared, not the peace between them. It was a bitter irony, that in finding Celebrimbor, he had also found something he would inevitably destroy. Their work, their ambition, would change everything. Had changed everything.

Annatar didn’t cry. He never cried - had never cried before coming here - never felt this much before. But now, here, in the dim glow of the fire, surrounded by the remnants of their past, he found himself blinking back the moisture that blurred his vision.

Celebrimbor, oblivious to the shift in his mood, was still smiling, reaching for another note to read aloud, but he paused when he glanced at Annatar’s face. The smile faded from his lips, replaced by concern as he set the note down.

“Annatar?” Celebrimbor’s voice was soft, gentle. “My dear, are you alright?”

Annatar shook his head, quickly swiping a hand across his cheek. How pathetic, he thought bitterly, to be brought to tears by something as simple as the inevitable passing of time.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice betrayed him. It cracked, and the tears refused to stop, slipping down his cheeks despite his efforts to hold them back.

Celebrimbor didn’t press him. Instead, he moved closer, wrapping an arm around Annatar’s shoulders and pulling him into a warm, comforting embrace. The warmth of it was grounding, soothing, and for a moment, Annatar let himself lean into it, let himself be held.

“You miss those days, don’t you?” Celebrimbor asked softly.

Annatar didn’t answer right away. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy with the weight of everything that had changed since those early, delirious days. He missed the simplicity, the quiet joy, the innocence of it all before the shadows of their work, of his work, began to creep in.

Finally, he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. “Yes,” he whispered. “I miss them more than I care to admit.”

Celebrimbor pressed a soft kiss to his temple, one hand resting lightly on the back of Annatar’s neck. The other hand reached out, gentle and warm, resting against Annatar’s cheek, wiping away a tear that had stubbornly lingered.

Annatar closed his eyes briefly, leaning into Celebrimbor’s touch. The gesture was tender, too tender for someone like him, who had always prided himself on his control. And yet, in this moment, he couldn’t deny how much he craved that warmth.

The elf’s thumb brushed against his cheek again, this time not to wipe away tears but simply to comfort. “But we’re still here, Annatar. We may not have those sleepless nights anymore, but… we’re still together. It hasn’t changed so much.”

Annatar wanted to believe him. He wanted to cling to that warmth, to the idea that maybe things hadn’t changed so much after all. But he knew better. It would not - could not - stay like this.

Still, for now, for just this moment, he let Celebrimbor’s words soothe him. He opened his eyes and forced a small smile, lifting the note he had been holding.

“Would you like to hear it?” Annatar asked, his voice a little steadier now.

Celebrimbor nodded, though the concern hadn’t entirely left his expression.

Annatar cleared his throat, glancing at the words one more time before he began to read aloud. His voice was quieter now, less theatrical, but filled with the same tenderness that had been present when he had first written it.

As the words spilled from his lips, Annatar felt the weight of them, the truth behind them. How desperately he wished for this - this , right here, the simple comfort of being by Celebrimbor’s side, unburdened by the future.

When he finished, Celebrimbor leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You were always the more poetic one,” he teased lightly, though there was a seriousness behind his smile.

Annatar chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “Sleep deprivation, no doubt.”

Annatar briefly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, wishing that this moment, too, could last forever. But deep down, he knew better than to believe in forever. Some things were destined to change.

Celebrimbor lay down on the bed then, pulling Annatar down beside him. “Now,” he said with a playful grin, “which one of us was going to read next?”

Annatar found himself smiling, settling beside Celebrimbor and letting the warmth of the elf’s body soothe the ache in his chest. He didn’t know how much longer they would have, but for now… he could pretend that they still had all the time in the world. For tonight, he would pretend that this happiness could last forever.

And when the time came to break Celebrimbor’s heart - he would deal with that then.

Chapter Text

The forge was alive with the soft glow of molten metal, the faint hum of magic woven into the very air. Celebrimbor and Annatar had long since given up on the concept of time, letting the rhythm of their work, the creation of the Rings, carry them through the long hours. They hadn’t slept properly in days - not that either seemed to care particularly much.

Celebrimbor wiped the sweat from his brow, blinking tiredly but refusing to stop. The spark of inspiration still flickered in his mind, and he wasn’t about to lose it. Tools clinked softly, metal whispered as it cooled, and there was an air of reverent silence punctuated by occasional soft words between them.

Celebrimbor scribbled something on a scrap of parchment then, and slid it across the table to Annatar, a small grin tugging at his lips. Annatar, engrossed in his own delicate etchings on a ring, barely glanced at it. When he did, however, a low chuckle escaped him. The note was simple:

“ I think I’m going to fall asleep standing up, but if I do, catch me, will you? - T ”

Annatar smirked and replied, quickly scratching a response below Celebrimbor’s note and sliding it back.

“ Only if you catch me first. I‘m just as worn-out, and I’d rather we collapse together. - A ”

Celebrimbor’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he read it, but he only shook his head, stubbornly returning to the work at hand. There was a playful competition between them now - who would tire first, who could push through longer. The quiet thrill of it fueled their dedication even more.

Hours passed like this, with the forge lighting their faces, the sound of their shared labor surrounding them like a cocoon. They worked with a seamless rhythm, the heat from the fire warming their skin and blurring the edges of fatigue. Every so often, Annatar would sneak glances at Celebrimbor, marveling at his grace, his focus. The soft affection in his eyes was clear, even as he carved runes of power into the gold of another ring.

Celebrimbor turned to Annatar then, squinting at the delicate band of gold that shimmered beneath his gaze. His concentration was admirable, but his movements were slower, more deliberate now, evidence that exhaustion was tugging at the edges of his sharp mind. Annatar, sitting across from him, was no different. His usually smooth and elegant motions were now sluggish, but still full of purpose.

“I think,” Celebrimbor muttered, voice thick with fatigue, “I’ve stared at this ring so long it’s started talking to me.”

Annatar chuckled softly, his eyes narrowing playfully as he glanced at the elf. “And what does it say, hmm? Does it whisper sweet things? Or does it scold you for not letting your body rest?”

Celebrimbor gave a lopsided grin. “Something about rest, definitely,” he said, though he didn’t pause his work. The rings were nearly complete, and the drive to perfect them outweighed any need for sleep. He sighed and reached for the piece of parchment at his side. “I should write that down,” he teased, scribbling in a hurried, messy scrawl: " Ring speaks to me. Says I should sleep. Will not listen. "

He slid the note across the table to Annatar, who picked it up with an amused smirk. “Delirious, are we?” Annatar asked, though his eyes were shining with warmth. He glanced down at the note, and without hesitation, he scribbled underneath Celebrimbor’s words: " Sleep is for those with no better company. "

They continued in this way, passing notes instead of conversation, their sleep-deprived minds too foggy to follow conversation.

In the dim, flickering light, another small piece of parchment caught Annatar’s eye, stuck under one of the tools. He fished it out, smoothing the corner where it had crumpled and squinting at the hastily scrawled words.

" A masterpiece requires no sleep. Only you, beside me, perfects it. - T "

Celebrimbor had probably written it a while ago, barely able to keep his eyes open, when they worked too long without speaking. Annatar couldn’t suppress a chuckle as he held the note up for Celebrimbor to see.

“What’s this, my love? Scribbling more poetic nonsense while I was concentrating?” Annatar teased.

Celebrimbor, still hunched over his work, managed a lazy smile. “Better nonsense than nothing.”

They worked in companionable silence for a while after that, but as the hours stretched on, their movements became slower, more languid, the weight of exhaustion pulling them closer to each other. Celebrimbor’s hands slipped once, causing a soft curse to slip from his lips. Annatar set his tools down and moved behind him, wrapping his arms around Celebrimbor’s waist.

“We need a break,” Annatar murmured into his ear, voice hushed in the quiet of the forge. His fingers brushed over the worn fabric of Celebrimbor’s tunic, lingering.

Celebrimbor leaned back into the touch but didn’t stop working. “A break means I’ll lose the idea.”

“You’ll lose your mind first.”

With a soft laugh, Celebrimbor paused at last, glancing at the rings strewn across their workspace. “Maybe. But I’m keeping you sane, aren’t I?”

Annatar tightened his arms around him. “Barely.”

He reached for another piece of parchment, quickly scribbling something before tucking it into Celebrimbor’s hand. The Elf glanced down, eyes scanning the note in the low light.

" If you’re keeping me sane, then I’m already lost. "

Celebrimbor snorted, folding the note and placing it in his pocket to join the growing pile of small messages. He turned in Annatar’s arms, pressing his forehead against the Maia’s. “Why are you so extraordinarily sweet when sleep-deprived?” Celebrimbor murmured, his voice a drowsy slur.

“You bring it out in me, Tyelpe.” Annatar’s smirk softened into something gentler, his eyes tracing over Celebrimbor’s face, memorizing every detail in this fragile moment.

“Hmm,” Celebrimbor hummed in thought. “I’ll fall asleep right here,” he mumbled. “You know I will.”

“I know,” Annatar said, tilting his head, his hand gently brushing through Celebrimbor’s hair. His touch lingered, affectionate but delicate, as if savoring the simple closeness. “But there is still work you wanted to finish.”

“Mhm.” Celebrimbor didn’t move, eyes closed, resting his head against Annatar, not realising how the Maia was already reaching for another strip of parchment and pen.

“ I’ve lost count of how many rings we’ve made, but I’m sure I’ve never loved creation more than this night with you. Stay awake, just a little longer. I want to see your smile. - A ”

Celebrimbor read it with a sleepy grin, his heart swelling with warmth even as his body screamed for rest. He pressed the note to his lips for a brief second, then scrawled back a reply:

“ Only if I get to see your smile in return. I think I’ve forgotten how to count altogether, but I haven’t forgotten how much you mean to me. - T ”

Annatar took the note, reading it over slowly before shaking his head in mock disbelief - his heart fluttering, feeling the love in those messy, sleep-deprived words. “You really are delirious, aren’t you?”

“Possibly,” Celebrimbor admitted with a crooked grin. “But it’s better than sleeping.”

They both knew the rings were nearing completion. This phase of their work was consuming, demanding their full focus, but it was the late hours - these delirious hours - that had brought them closer. More than the forges, more than the magic they shaped. In the haze of exhaustion and creation, they had found each other.

But the haze of exhaustion would soon claim them, if it continued on like this.

But still, it had taken another pile of short notes, another bunch of absentmindedly exchanged kisses, and another long stretch of fighting the inevitable - exhaustion tugging at both of them, sleep always just out of reach. But neither of them wanted to stop, their hands still busy with the creation of the rings, their minds buzzing with the shared focus that had driven them through so many nights now.

Eventually, though, exhaustion claimed its first victim.

Annatar, his focus still sharp despite the heaviness in his limbs, hadn’t noticed the subtle shift at first, hadn’t registered the quiet that settled over the forge until-

Thump.

He turned, frowning slightly, only to see that Celebrimbor had slumped over, his head now resting against the cushioned bench he’d been sitting on. The elf’s body was half-draped across the seat, his dark hair cascading down the side, bathed in the soft, flickering glow of the dying fire.

Annatar couldn’t help but smile, warmth spreading through his chest. So this is what finally brought him down.

Celebrimbor had been fighting sleep for hours now, stubborn as always. But even he couldn’t hold out forever. Now, sleep had claimed him fully, leaving him in a quiet, much-needed slumber.

He set down the tools in his hand and, on impulse, reached for a strip of parchment. With a quick, fond flick of his wrist, he scribbled down a note:

" You fight sleep the way you fight everything else: stubbornly and with all your heart. Even unconscious, you remain the most beautiful being I have ever laid eyes on. "

He set the note down beside Celebrimbor’s resting form, but after a moment, he hesitated. The forge had grown quiet, the ring they’d been working on cooling on the anvil, their tools neatly arranged. The world outside felt distant, almost unreal in the tranquil warmth of the room. Annatar’s shoulders, so often tense from the weight of his plans and ambitions, began to relax.

Normally, he would tease Celebrimbor for passing out so unceremoniously in the middle of their work, but there was something peaceful about the way Celebrimbor lay there now, completely relaxed in the dim light.

He hesitated only for a second, glancing down at the ring in his hands. There was always more work to do, more refinement to achieve. But exhaustion tugged at him too, more insistent with each passing minute. With a quiet sigh, Annatar set the ring aside.

He knelt beside Celebrimbor then, brushing a few strands of hair away from Celebrimbor’s face, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. He could feel the slow, steady rise and fall of the Elf’s chest, his breathing deep and even. For all the power and wisdom Celebrimbor carried, in these moments, he seemed almost delicate.

For the first time in days, there was no rush, no urgency. Annatar took a deep breath, the scent of smelted metals and fire filling his lungs.

A wave of affection washed over him, so strong it nearly caught him off guard. In this quiet moment, with the forge lit by the last embers of their work, it was just the two of them. No rings, no grand designs - only this shared stillness.

Annatar stood and stretched, his eyes never leaving Celebrimbor. He couldn’t resist.

With a quiet exhale, he slowly eased himself onto the bench, lying down beside the Elf. He curled up partially atop him, careful not to wake him, resting his head on Celebrimbor’s chest. The familiar warmth of the elf‘s body beneath him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, soothed something deep within Annatar. All that mattered was the quiet sound of Celebrimbor’s breath, the subtle beat of his heart beneath Annatar’s cheek.

For a few moments, Annatar simply lay there, letting the quiet wash over him. His hand slipped into Celebrimbor’s, fingers interlacing naturally, and he closed his eyes, allowing the exhaustion to finally take him.

His mind drifted, but not to thoughts of rings or power. Instead, he let himself think of the peaceful days they had spent together, the quiet mornings when they would wake beside each other, when the world felt distant and unimportant. He thought of the notes they exchanged, the little moments of tenderness woven between their work, and how they had somehow found each other in the midst of it all.

At last, as Annatar’s consciousness slipped away, he whispered into the stillness, his words barely audible. “Let it… stay like this. Just a little longer.”

And for now, it did.

The rings could wait. The world could wait.

Tonight, there was only this - the peaceful rise and fall of their breathing in perfect harmony, the simple joy of being together.

A quick, little sketch of my design for Tyelpe, my dearheart! ;D

Chapter Text

Celebrimbor startled awake, his head jerking up from the workbench, the cold surface still pressed into his cheek. His fingers twitched around the tools he had been using, and his eyes squinted against the dim light of the forge. He blinked, trying to make sense of where he was - until he felt a familiar hand sliding gently through his hair. That touch could only belong to one person.

“When did you fall asleep, dear?” Annatar’s voice was soft, like silk, but beneath the gentle tone, there was something else - a subtle, quiet edge that Celebrimbor couldn’t quite place in his grogginess.

Celebrimbor straightened, rubbing his eyes. “Ah, I didn’t mean to. I just… lost track of time,” he mumbled.

Annatar’s hand stilled in his hair, a slight tug that wasn’t painful but sent a clear message. “You promised me,” Annatar said, his voice smooth, almost too gentle. “You promised you’d finish one of the rings for me today.”

Celebrimbor’s heart sank. He glanced at the incomplete ring on the table, its design intricate and delicate, but still far from done.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the long hours and endless tasks had taken their toll. Still, he hated the feeling of breaking his word, especially to Annatar. The disappointment in Annatar’s voice, subtle but there, struck him harder than any rebuke would have.

“And I will,” Celebrimbor said quickly, turning to face Annatar, his eyes wide with sincerity. “Don’t worry, my love. Everything for you.”

Annatar’s fingers resumed their soothing movements in his hair, and the Maia leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. “Thank you, Tyelpe,” Annatar whispered, his tone dripping with warmth. “I really appreciate it.”

The warmth of Annatar’s praise washed over Celebrimbor, easing the tension in his chest. He smiled, leaning into the touch, eager to please, to bask in that affection. Annatar’s praise always felt like a light in the darkness, something that made everything worthwhile. He would finish the ring tonight. It didn’t matter how tired he was - he couldn’t let Annatar down.

But just as quickly as the warmth settled over him, Annatar’s hand pulled away, and the air between them shifted.

“You’ve been working so hard,” Annatar continued, now walking around the bench, his golden eyes fixed on Celebrimbor in a way that made him feel both cherished and scrutinized. “But you fell behind, didn’t you?” The question hung in the air like a dagger, softly spoken but cutting deep.

Celebrimbor swallowed, looking down at the half-forged ring. The knot in his stomach tightened. “I’ll catch up," he insisted, though his voice wavered slightly. "I promise. I just-”

A finger pressed against his lips, silencing him. “Shh. There’s no need for excuses, my love. I’m not angry. Just… a bit disappointed.”

The word hung in the air. Disappointment. Not anger, not rage - just that soft, crushing weight of disapproval. He hated that feeling more than anything, the knowledge that he had let Annatar down, even in some small way. It gnawed at him, pulling him deeper into a need to fix it, to make it right, to make him proud again.

Annatar leaned against the edge of the table, his eyes not leaving Celebrimbor. “You’re such a good craftsman, Tyelpe. Brilliant, really. One of the finest I’ve ever known. That’s why I asked you to help with these rings. But…” He trailed off, a sigh slipping from his lips. “When you fall behind… well, it just makes me think maybe I’ve asked too much of you.”

Celebrimbor’s chest tightened. “No, no, you haven’t. I can handle it. I want to handle it.”

Annatar tilted his head, the corners of his mouth curving into a small smile. “I know you do. And that’s why I trust you. But, love… I’d hoped this one would be done by today.”

The way Annatar said it, so tender, so soft, made Celebrimbor’s stomach churn. There was no harshness in Annatar’s tone, no accusation. Just… disappointment. And it stung more than any sharp words ever could.

“I’ll fix it,” Celebrimbor said quickly, standing now, his fatigue all but forgotten. “I’ll finish the ring right now, it'll be done by tonight.”

A pleased hum came from Annatar, who stepped closer, cupping Celebrimbor’s face in his hands, the warmth of his skin almost intoxicating. “Of course you will, my dear. I know you will.” Annatar whispered, brushing his thumb over Celebrimbor’s cheek. “You’re such a sweet thing, always so eager to please.”

The praise felt like a balm, easing the sting of the disappointment, but it left behind a deeper ache. Celebrimbor leaned into Annatar’s touch, craving the warmth, the approval. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing it. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing disappointment in Annatar’s eyes again.

And yet, even as the words were meant to comfort, there was an unspoken weight to them, a reminder that not living up to expectations was always just one step away. Annatar’s hand slid down from Celebrimbor’s face to his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before pulling away.

“I’ll leave you to it, Tyelpe.” Annatar placed a kiss on his temple, a tender gesture that sent shivers down Celebrimbor’s spine. “I’ll be waiting.”

Celebrimbor nodded, his mind already racing, calculating how much time he had, how fast he could work to make up for lost time. His hands shook slightly as he picked up his tools, the weight of Annatar’s gaze heavy on him, even as his lover stood and walked away.

Celebrimbor remained by the workbench, staring down at the unfinished ring. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of pride and pressure building inside him. He couldn’t fail. Not now. Not when Annatar trusted him so much, when Annatar had showered him with affection and praise.

But the exhaustion was creeping back in, and even though his hands reached for the tools, his mind buzzed with doubt. How far could he push himself? How much more could he give to prove his worth?

Annatar’s voice echoed in his mind: I’d hoped it would be done by today.

And Celebrimbor couldn’t - wouldn’t - let him down.

(And Annatar knew it. Knew exactly how to pull the strings. Praise, affection, disappointment - a never-ending cycle that left Celebrimbor constantly seeking approval, always desperate to please. Always afraid of falling short.)

Annatar smiled as he left the room, confident that Celebrimbor would push himself to the brink just to win back his favor. Just as he always did.

.

.

.

Later that night, as Annatar sat by the window, deep in his own thoughts, a soft knock echoed through the chambers. Annatar’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. Just as he had expected.

The door creaked open, and in stumbled Celebrimbor, his steps uneven, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. But even in his weariness, there was a bright, almost feverish pride in his gaze.

“I did it,” Celebrimbor mumbled, barely above a whisper, as he staggered toward Annatar. His steps were slow and unsteady, his body practically on the edge of collapse. But in his hand, gleaming in the dim light, was the ring - the one Annatar had asked him to complete.

Annatar rose from his chair, a slow, deliberate motion, and moved toward the elf with a soft smile. The sight of Celebrimbor, worn down but so eager to present the ring, sent a thrill through him. This was exactly what he had wanted. Exactly as it should be.

“You have, haven’t you?” Annatar said warmly, his voice as sweet as honey as he took the ring from Celebrimbor’s trembling hand. “Such dedication, Tyelpe. You always exceed my expectations.”

The elf’s face lit up at the praise, and his body swayed toward Annatar, like a moth drawn to a flame. He leaned into the Maia’s touch as Annatar cupped his face, his thumb brushing gently over the sharp line of Celebrimbor’s jaw.

“I only did what you asked,” Celebrimbor murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned further into the touch. “I promised I’d finish it.”

“You did,” Annatar crooned, guiding him closer, his other hand resting against the small of Celebrimbor’s back, pulling him into a soft embrace. “You’ve done exactly as I knew you would, my love. You’ve made me very proud.”

The effect of those words was immediate. Celebrimbor practically melted into his touch, a small, exhausted sigh escaping his lips. He leaned into Annatar’s palm like a flower turning toward the sun, soaking up the praise as if it were his very lifeblood. His head lolled then, Celebrimbor‘s forehead resting against Annatar’s shoulder, and Annatar could feel the deep, slow breath he took - a breath of relief, of satisfaction.

“Thank you,” Celebrimbor whispered, his voice barely audible. His hands gripped Annatar’s robes, holding on like he needed the touch to stay grounded. “I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you.”

Annatar smiled, an almost imperceptible smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You could never disappoint me, Tyelpe. You are everything I desire.”

Celebrimbor’s response was a soft sigh, already drifting between wakefulness and sleep. He was so pliant, so eager for Annatar’s approval. Wonderful.

Celebrimbor’s body swayed again, and Annatar’s arms were there to catch him, pulling him closer still. “You must be tired,” Annatar murmured, his voice soft, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his golden eyes. “Come, rest now.”

Gently, Annatar guided him toward their bed, helping him out of his robe, his movements tender, calculated. Celebrimbor was nearly asleep by the time he sank into the soft blankets, his body heavy with the toll of his work. Annatar sat beside him, the ring still clasped in his hand, though his gaze remained on Celebrimbor’s serene face as he lay sprawled out, his breathing deep and even.

Reaching down, Annatar carefully carded his fingers through the elf’s dark hair, the motion slow and soothing. Celebrimbor’s lips twitched into a faint smile, even in his sleep, at the familiar touch.

“You may rest now, my love,” Annatar whispered softly, his golden eyes gleaming as he turned the ring over in his fingers, inspecting the craftsmanship. It was flawless, as he knew it would be. “You’ve done incredibly well today.”

With Celebrimbor finally still and peaceful beside him, Annatar’s gaze shifted fully to the ring once more. He held it up to the light, admiring the craftsmanship, the subtle yet powerful energy coursing through it. Celebrimbor had truly outdone himself once again, and now, the plan edged ever closer to fruition.

Annatar smiled to himself, his fingers still gently threading through Celebrimbor’s hair, a gesture as calming as it was possessive.

Celebrimbor made a small sound in his sleep, shifting slightly under his touch, but remained deeply asleep. Annatar continued his gentle ministrations, the perfect picture of a loving partner. And yet, behind those golden eyes, plans moved forward, gears turning as he thought of the next steps to take.

“You always do well when you listen,” Annatar whispered, his tone as soothing as it was dangerous. He glanced at the sleeping elf, whose trust - whose love - was now so perfectly intertwined with obedience.

Exactly how it should be.

Chapter Text

The night was serene, the air cool and still. In the quiet of their chambers, the world outside ceased to matter. Annatar sat beside Celebrimbor, his sharp golden eyes softened by the tranquil glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows. The elf lay fast asleep, his face turned slightly toward Annatar, lines of worry and fatigue gone. He looked peaceful now, away from the distractions of the world.

Finally, Annatar thought. Finally, he is mine again.

No smiths to demand Celebrimbor’s time. No eager students with prying eyes, unworthy of the privilege they took for granted, always surrounding him in the forges. Annatar could feel his patience thinning each time they interrupted the flow of brilliance that Celebrimbor so effortlessly radiated. They did not deserve to bask in his genius. How could they possibly understand what it was to stand in the presence of such brilliance, such purity? They could never truly understand him. He would need to do something about them.

But for now, all was well. Here, in this quiet hour of night, there was no one else. Only him and his precious Tyelpe.

The elf’s expression was serene, softened by sleep, and his dark hair fanned out against the pillow, glowing faintly in the moonlight. He looked like a vision, silver threads gleaming in his hair, the embodiment of calm and brilliance all at once. Annatar couldn’t resist reaching out, letting his fingers lightly trace the delicate line of Celebrimbor’s jaw, his touch featherlight as he admired the beauty before him.

Telperinquar - silver fist - his name fitted him perfectly. Silver, pure and untarnished, strong and delicate all at once. Celebrimbor’s brilliance was raw, untouchable, a light that stood above all others, and it belonged to him. Only to him.

Silver and gold. That was what they were.

Annatar’s lips curled into a small, almost possessive smile. Tainted gold - that was what he was. Darkened, corrupted. But that only made his connection to Celebrimbor more beautiful, didn’t it? They elf made even him shine in a brilliant light. They were intertwined, inseparable, melded together like precious metals forged in the fires of destiny. Silver and gold, interwoven.

Annatar’s eyes drifted to the small box by the nightstand, pieces of jewellery he had crafted specifically for Celebrimbor. Delicate silver, adorned with subtle but intricate designs, as if the stars themselves had been captured and threaded into the metal. Annatar took an earring from the box, holding it up to the moonlight for a moment before gently, almost reverently, placing it on Celebrimbor’s ear.

The elf stirred beneath his touch, but he didn’t wake.

Good.

Annatar smiled to himself and picked up a silver hair clip, weaving it gently into the strands of Celebrimbor’s hair, watching as the moonlight caught in the metal. This is what he truly is, Annatar thought with quiet admiration. A being of silver, of light, of purity. Something utterly perfect.

He reached for a few more pieces - delicate silver hairclips that glittered like stars. Slowly, reverently, he began placing them in Celebrimbor’s hair, turning him into the very image of Annatar’s vision.

Annatar’s gaze lingered on the sight, a small smile of satisfaction crossing his face. This is what Celebrimbor truly was, what he should be - a being adorned in beauty, in the elegance that only Annatar could provide. He was not merely a smith, not merely a craftsman. He was a masterpiece himself, and Annatar was the only one who understood how to display that brilliance.

His hands, his mind, his very soul - they were flawless, unmarred by the filth of the world. Annatar’s heart quickened as he thought about it. How rare it was to find something so perfect, so untouched.

And he would keep him that way. He would make sure Celebrimbor’s light stayed pure, untouched by those who were unworthy to bask in it. He should not be surrounded by unworthy admirers and sycophants. He should be adorned in reverence, his brilliance fully on display for Annatar’s eyes alone.

As he placed the final hairclip, his fingers brushed over Celebrimbor’s brow, and the elf stirred beneath him. His eyelids fluttered open, and those bright, grey eyes - normally so sharp, so aware - were now soft, drowsy with sleep.

“What are you doing?” Celebrimbor murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, his hand reaching up to touch his ear where Annatar had placed the earring.

Annatar’s lips curled into a smile, warm and adoring. “Nothing you need to worry about, my love,” he whispered softly, his fingers brushing over Celebrimbor’s hair as though the elf were made of the most delicate glass. “You deserve to be adorned in silver, like the moonlight itself. Rest now, Tyelpe. Let me take care of you.”

Celebrimbor gave a sleepy sigh, barely registering the adornments in his hair or the weight of the earring now hanging from his ear. His gaze was hazy, half-lidded as he blinked up at Annatar, his expression caught between confusion and affection. “You’re… ridiculous,” he mumbled, but there was no bite in his words, only a faint, fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

Annatar chuckled softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Celebrimbor’s forehead. “Perhaps,” he murmured against the elf’s skin. “But I’m also right. Sleep now, my love. You’ve worked so hard today.”

Celebrimbor sighed, his eyes fluttering shut again, too exhausted to argue. “Mhm… only because you asked me to,” he muttered, his wakefulness slowly slipping away once more.

Annatar’s smile remained, but something darker flickered in his golden eyes as he gazed down at Celebrimbor.

Yes… because I asked you to.

And you would do anything for me, wouldn’t you? The thought filled him with a surge of possessiveness so strong it nearly took his breath away.

“You should sleep too,” Celebrimbor muttered drowsily, the words fading as sleep began to pull him under. “We’ve been working all day…”

“I will,” Annatar lied smoothly, his fingers carding through Celebrimbor’s hair with deliberate care. “In time.”

The elf’s eyes fluttered shut again, too tired to argue, too content in the quiet of the night. But sleep was the last thing on Annatar’s mind. His gaze remained fixated on the elf, watching as he drifted back into the deep, untroubled slumber he so desperately needed. So pure, Annatar thought. So untouched by the darkness that lurks in this world.

Annatar’s fingers continued to comb through Celebrimbor’s hair, silver glinting between his fingers like stardust. Silver and gold, he thought again, interwoven perfectly. Two things that didn’t belong together, yet here they were - melded, bound by something more than just circumstance.

Annatar sat back, watching. In the moonlight, with the silver adorning him, the elf looked like something otherworldly - a vision of beauty and perfection that Annatar couldn’t tear his eyes from. This is what you are meant to be. He thought, his fingers lightly brushing over the hairclips he had placed.

He leaned down, his lips brushing lightly against Celebrimbor’s forehead. “You are mine ,” he whispered, his voice no more than a breath. “My silver. My light. Now and always.”

Annatar settled back against the pillows, his gaze never leaving the elf’s face. He belongs to me, he thought again, with a possessive certainty. Celebrimbor’s brilliance, his kindness, his pure heart - it was all his to protect, his to nurture, his to adorn, his to preserve from the unworthy.

And when the time came - when all the pieces were in place - Celebrimbor’s light would shine brighter than ever. Brighter than even he could imagine.

Annatar’s gaze darkened slightly, though his smile remained soft. Yes, his.

His to take, when the time came.

But not yet. For now, he would let Celebrimbor rest, let him dream. Annatar would keep watch, ensuring no harm came his way.

Annatar leaned down once more, pressing a final kiss to Celebrimbor’s temple. “Sleep well, my love,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the night.

And with that, the night stretched on, peaceful and still, and Annatar stayed by Celebrimbor’s side, content to watch over his sleeping elf, his heart swelling with possessive adoration. Celebrimbor was perfect - everything he was not - and Annatar would make sure that brilliance stayed pure.

Because this is exactly what love is, after all. A blend of admiration and obsession, devotion and control.