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Mairon stood at the gates of Ost-in-Edhil, freezing cold and soaked to the skin.
The rain was so heavy he could see naught but the city gates in front of him and the handful of guards that flanked it. Unlike Mairon and his horse, the guards were at least partially shielded from the elements by shallow eaves that overhung the gate posts, and they were all watching Mairon with expressions that ranged from wariness to amazement. Deeply irritated, Mairon wrapped one arm around himself in a halfway-subtle attempt to stave off the chill and shielded his eyes to squint through the curtain of rain.
It seemed like ages had passed since the Gate Warden had left to seek counsel from the lord of the city to permit him entry. Mairon’s clothing was plastered to his skin, his newly-golden hair flat to his head, rainwater running in rivulets down his face. Though it undeniably stung to present himself in such a way, he had rather thought that pity would be an effective motivator in at least getting his foot in the door in Eregion. After his failure at Lindon, he could not chance another rejection.
In spite of the cold Mairon stood tall with his spine straight, stubbornly refusing to shiver. Time passed agonizingly slowly, but at long last he spied through the downpour a mail-clad figure approaching. A beat later he noticed a second, slightly taller figure in stride with the first. Mairon frowned. Only the Gate Warden had left to obtain the lord’s counsel. The taller figure was holding something above his head, half walking and half jogging up to the gates while the Gate Warden moved in quick strides to keep up.
When the two drew near enough for Mairon to make out their features, he was taken aback. The second figure was taller than average, strong-built with long, dark hair that fell in waves about his face. Upon his head he wore a delicate circlet of silver. His features were a curious mix of delicate and severe: a strongly sloping nose and high-set cheekbones, a softness to the set of his mouth and his dark eyes.
The taller Elf’s eyebrows rose when his eyes locked with Mairon’s. He turned to the Gate Warden and said something Mairon could not hear, and the Gate Warden looked chastened. When the two arrived a moment later, the Warden pulled open the gates and then rejoined his kinsmen under the shallow eave.
“My deepest apologies,” said the Elf to Mairon, his eyes flitting briefly to the guards as he spoke. “You should not have been left out to drown in this rain. It seems the reputation of our city's hospitality has failed you on this day.”
Mairon stood a little straighter and plastered on a placid smile. "It is no great burden," he lied. "I have never minded the rain."
The Elf’s frown tilted up at the corners. “You have my apologies nonetheless."
He was holding above his head a dark cloak in an attempt to at least partially shield himself from the downpour. He looked Mairon up and down once, his eyes seeming to linger for just a beat too long, and Mairon preened. He had built this body with great care, and he knew that it would be reckoned very fair by the Eldar.
“You look freezing," the Elf finally said, and he lowered the cloak that was shielding him and held it out to Mairon. "Here, take this.”
Mairon blinked. The cloak being extended to him was sopping wet, and the moment the Elf had taken it from above his head he had gone from moderately damp to completely drenched by the deluge. The scarlet robes he wore were quickly darkening and his long hair now fell in limp, dripping waves, rainwater running down his face.
“Please,” Mairon managed to say, “I couldn’t possibly. Now you are soaked as well.”
Most bizarrely, the Elf laughed at this, as if he was delighted by the fact. He threw back his head to the sky and closed his eyes, letting the rain beat down on his face. “Yes,” he said absently, “I suppose I am.”
Mairon tracked the motion, keeping his expression carefully neutral. How very strange. Suddenly the Elf looked back to Mairon and gave a hasty bow.
“I must apologize again," he said, looking a little embarrassed. "I fear I have forgotten my manners entirely. I am Celebrimbor, I am the lord of these lands.”
“Celebrimbor,” Mairon echoed. He let the name roll off his tongue, feelings its weight. It had a pleasing sound to the ear. How interesting that the Lord of Eregion would come himself to the gates of the city to accept a guest, especially in such weather.
Celebrimbor seemed to hesitate. “And what shall I call you?”
“Oh— yes,” Mairon shook his head and ignored the way heat was trying to rise to his cheeks. “Annatar is my name.”
“Annatar,” Celebrimbor repeated. All of a sudden something lit up behind his eyes, as if he was terribly excited about something and could no longer restrain himself. “Are you really—” he began, but then cut himself off as he took a step closer. “I was told you were an Emissary sent by the Valar. A Maia of Aulë.”
Mairon made himself smile again, though it irked him deeply to identify himself as such. “I am. I was hoping we could speak.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Celebrimbor nodded, a little too eagerly. “Let’s— oh, first I must have your horse stabled and fed.”
He called on one of his guards, and Mairon, with a thin smile directed towards the chosen Elf who now would not quite meet his eye, handed over the reins.
“Now," said Celebrimbor with a clap of his hands. "Let us first get out of this rain, and then we may speak properly."
The cloak Celebrimbor had offered was still hanging limply over his arm, sopping wet. Celebrimbor held out one end of it to Mairon.
"Here," he said, "it will shield us both. I cannot promise it will keep out the rain, but it is better than nothing."
Mairon, slightly baffled, accepted it.
Together they began to walk quickly through the cobbled streets of the city, holding the cloak above them. It did in fact do a rather poor job of protecting them from the downpour, soaked through as it was, but it at least dampened the sound somewhat and made it easier to see.
"You will have to forgive me for this," Celebrimbor said, gesturing with his free hand to the makeshift rain barrier. "We are no stranger to wet weather in these lands, but rain this heavy is exceedingly unusual for this time of year. I am afraid we were ill-prepared."
"There is no need to apologize," Mairon told him, hiding a pleased smile. "You cannot control the weather."
The streets of Ost-in-Edhil were entirely deserted. Even with excellent eyesight Mairon could not see far through the wind-blown curtains of rain slanting down, and he spied no others during their walk to the palace.
"I have heard much about your lands," he said at length. "The craftsman of your city are of highest renown, and yourself most of all. Much have I heard of your talents, Lord Celebrimbor."
It was easy to let flattery drip like honey from his tongue, and Mairon was pleased to see Celebrimbor flush with the compliment. Celebrimbor did not demure; it was clear that he was proud of his work here, of his own skill and that of his smiths.
"You needn't address me so," was all the Elf said in response. "Celebrimbor is fine."
"Very well," said Mairon with a nod, and then repeated the name, for no other reason than that he liked how it felt on his tongue.
The conversation briefly lulled, and Mairon took the opportunity to study Celebrimbor. Mairon did not know the Elf's exact parentage beyond being of the line of Fëanor, and though Mairon had only ever met one of the Fëanorian sons, it was undeniable that the resemblance was there. It was something in the set of Celebrimbor's cheekbones, the sharp intelligence in his silver eyes.
"I grew up in Aman," Celebrimbor offered once the silence had begun to grow long. "In Tirion. I met Aulë in my youth; I remember him always being very kind to me"
Mairon swallowed his pride and said, "He is kind indeed. An excellent teacher and friend."
"I do not recall us having met in Aman," said Celebrimbor then. "The name Annatar is not one I recognize."
"No, our paths are not likely to have crossed before now," Mairon answered with a small shake of his head. "If we had met, I am certain I would remember you."
He said this just to see if it would make Celebrimbor flush again, and he was vaguely annoyed when it did not.
"I was quite… solitary in that time," he continued on. "I spent most of my hours alone in the smithies, honing my craft. But as such, I now have much to share and to teach, if you will accept my friendship. I am most eager to learn how your people have been faring, and to aid you in any way that I can."
Celebrimbor smiled at him. Despite of the severity of his features, he seemed to smile often and with great ease.
"I am certainly keen to hear more," he said. "But first let us get dry and warm."
They had reached the steps of the palace, and they climbed them now together. Mairon took in what sights he could through the heavy gloom, though beyond the ornate stonework and greenery he could not see much.
Inside, Celebrimbor handed off the sodden cloak to a somewhat baffled looking attendant waiting by the doors. "Thank you," he said as the other Elf took it in hand. "Will you see to it that towels and fresh clothing are brought to the fourth floor sitting room?"
With the attendant's acknowledgement, Celebrimbor began to lead Mairon up the central staircase and through the palace halls. The space was well-lit and warm, its stone corridors all adorned with many beautiful tapestries and decorative metalworks of all kinds. Celebrimbor seemed entirely unconcerned that they were both leaving a trail of water everywhere that they went.
As they walked, they remained engaged in quiet conversation. The Lord of Eregion was the type of person one could not help but pay attention to when they spoke; he gestured emphatically with his hands as he discussed his city, rambling on about this and that, doing a rather poor job of hiding his enthusiasm. Mairon's gaze lingered on him as they walked, on the stray droplets of water that trickled down his face and neck from his dripping hair, the shiny patch of exposed skin at his neck and collarbones. His scarlet robes were soaked entirely through, and the way they clung to his body revealed a slender but strong form, well-built arms clearly honed from centuries of smithing.
In time they arrived at a small and intimate sitting room. There was a fire already ablaze in the hearth, and Mairon was immediately grateful for its warmth. Set about it were two small sofas and several armchairs all arranged in a semi-circle, a low-lying table in their centre on which was set a lamp and a short stack of books. On a table set against the opposite wall there sat a number of plush-looking towels and two sets of dry clothing.
"There is a private space through here," Celebrimbor told Mairon as he gathered some towels and clothing in hand, leading Mairon to a door at the far end of the room. "I think these should fit you— we look around the same size."
Mairon, slightly taken aback, accepted them when they were offered. "Thank you," was all he could think to say. "You are very kind."
Celebrimbor waved him off. "Not at all. You are my guest, and I must atone for the lack of hospitality you were shown upon your arrival." Suddenly he paused with his hand on the door handle. "You eat, right?" Before Mairon could answer this, Celebrimbor gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I'm sorry, I should know that. I was quite young when we left Aman, only barely of age. I did not spend so much time among the Ainur as did many of my kin."
"I do not need to eat," Mairon told him with a smile, "but I can. I would be most pleased to share a meal with you, if that is what is on offer."
At this, Celebrimbor offered a smile of his own; a wide, disarming sort of grin. He opened the door, letting Mairon into a small storage space. "Excellent," he said. "I will leave you to dry off and change into warmer clothing, and then we may dine together and speak further."
He shut the door, leaving Mairon alone.
Mairon stood for a moment, looking around the space. Three of the walls were lined with overflowing bookcases, but along the fourth there was set a long, narrow table beneath a small window. On the table there sat even more books, and underneath it several trunks and chests had all been shoved up against the wall, some stacked on top of one another.
As Mairon wandered over and looked out the window to where the heavy rainfall was already beginning to thin, he found himself smiling. He ran his fingers over the clothing he had been given. How very strange indeed, for the Lord of Eregion to have so easily offered up his own clothing to a stranger.
After the resistance he had met with at Lindon Mairon had not known quite what to expect in Eregion, but this first meeting had gone far better than he had dared to hope. The Elf was overly eager and naive; there would be nothing at all to tricking him. Very soon Mairon would have the Eldar of Eregion under his control. Then, his true work could begin.