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As Celebrimbor strode through the palace gardens, he worried the necklace in his pocket between his fingers. It was cool to the touch, its golden chain long and delicate, inlaid rubies smooth and expertly cut. Celebrimbor took a deep breath in through his nose, forced himself to slow his pace, and for the dozenth time considered turning back and calling this whole thing off.
Who did he think he was? He was not Thingol, he was no king; Celebrimbor was well aware that he was reckoned comely, but to think that he could court an Ainur was, surely, the very height of folly. It was staggeringly, shockingly vain. And yet…
And yet.
Celebrimbor was almost certain that Annatar desired him. There were times when he was certain, but then Annatar would go and do something to make him doubt, and Celebrimbor would remember all over again just how foolish this was. But the moment they had shared in the forge that morning… Celebrimbor was very nearly certain. The way Annatar had looked at him, the way his gaze had lingered on his mouth— there was no world in which Annatar had not been thinking about kissing him. Was there?
And anyway, that was not all. Annatar had grown closer to Celebrimbor than he had to any other in Ost-in-Edhil. Whenever they found themselves in the same crowded room, at dinners or balls or feasts, always Annatar would seek Celebrimbor out— he would lay a hand on Celebrimbor’s arm or on the small of his back, the weight of his touch warm and heavy, and he would look at Celebrimbor with something strange in his eye that certainly looked like yearning in the right light.
Annatar seemed ever to be making excuses to be near to him; always offering to demonstrate techniques in the forge, sometimes taking over his work entirely. Celebrimbor had spent the better part of a year completely convinced that Annatar thought him stupid before he had finally come to realize that what Annatar was actually doing was showing off for him.
Showing off. The very thought of it was laughable. As if Annatar needed to show off for anybody. Annatar was a Maia, a smith of Aulë who had been honing his craft since the dawn of time; he had nothing to prove to anyone. And yet, where from anyone else this behaviour would have been irksome, when it came from Annatar Celebrimbor could not help but find the whole thing rather endearing.
It was silly, yes. He could admit that to himself. He could also admit that pretending to be ignorant to techniques he had actually been well-practiced in for centuries purely so that Annatar would teach them to him was, perhaps, a little bit beneath him. But… well. Celebrimbor had never claimed to be a perfect person.
The necklace, small and delicate though it was, felt heavy as a stone in his pocket. It weighed Celebrimbor down as he traversed the garden’s cobbled pathways, making his way to the quiet space where Annatar liked to sit and think. The closer he drew, the sillier he felt. Celebrimbor had been witness to Annatar’s creations countless times now, and compared to works of that calibre, the jewelry he was currently fidgeting with seemed clunky and unimpressive. Nothing more than childsplay.
Annatar liked it, Celebrimbor reminded himself. That morning in the forge, when Celebrimbor had thought for certain that Annatar would kiss him— Annatar had told him that he liked it. ‘It is very beautiful,’ he had said to Celebrimbor, and his voice had been so incredibly soft, like he was afraid to disrupt the weight of the moment, and he had been staring at Celebrimbor’s mouth while he said it, and Celebrimbor—
Had been an idiot. No surprises there, really. He had rattled off an excuse that was not at all convincing, and then he had left— of all the stupid things he could have done, he left. And then he had been forced to cajole Galadriel into moving up their scheduled counsel to the very crack of dawn purely so that he would have the alibi, so that Annatar would not discover his cowardice.
Celebrimbor cursed himself for that now. He had cursed himself for it even before he had left the forge, when he was still hurrying down the corridor with too-fast steps, leaving Annatar standing alone behind him, confused and entirely unkissed.
Regardless of what the next hour brought, Celebrimbor was confident that Annatar would like the gift. While he hoped that Annatar would wear it, he knew that at the very least Annatar would be kind about it, even if he did not think it good enough to wear himself.
Even as Celebrimbor had this thought, he wanted to kick himself for thinking in such away. The uncharacteristic insecurity that seemed ever to gnaw at him in matters concerning Annatar was completely ridiculous.
Celebrimbor knew that he was an excellent smith and craftsman. More than excellent; he had far surpassed his own father in skill, and among all the Eldar in the history of Arda he was now outmatched only by his grandfather— a fact that stung, but one he was determined to someday rectify. Yes, he was capable of making works of great beauty and skill and magic, and he was very good at what he did. And yet, something about being around Annatar made him feel as if he was walking through life with two left feet; like a schoolboy with a first crush.
When he found Annatar at last, he was seated on an ornately carved marble bench tucked away in a secluded corner of the courtyard. He was alone, as he often was, and his gaze was cast west towards the setting sun. He looked up when Celebrimbor drew near, and the easy smile that spread across his face made Celebrimbor’s chest tighten.
“Lord Celebrimbor,” Annatar said, and his eyes seemed to roam over Celebrimbor for a beat too long. Celebrimbor suddenly felt entirely underdressed in his navy robes compared to the beauty of what Annatar wore: long robes of white and silver that draped flawlessly over his slender form, seeming to shimmer with unseen jewels in the dying rays of the sun. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Celebrimbor steeled himself, trying to call on some of his usual confidence.
“It is a beautiful evening, is it not?”
Annatar’s placid smile turned up a little at the corners. Heat was trying to rise in Celebrimbor's cheeks.
“It is,” Annatar agreed.
“I was hoping you might join me for a walk through the gardens.”
It sounded stupidly, embarrassingly romantic when Celebrimbor said it like that, and he instantly wished he could take it back. But Annatar’s smile widened, and he rose, offering Celebrimbor his arm.
“I would love nothing more.”
Celebrimbor managed to keep his mouth shut, knowing that if he tried to speak he would only say something lame and ridiculous like ‘really?’ or ‘oh, uh, okay.’ He took Annatar’s arm with no further words exchanged. Annatar was warm at his side, close enough that Celebrimbor could smell the scented oil he had used in his hair; something deep and earthy, vaguely spicy. Vetiver maybe? They began to walk, and Celebrimbor did his best not to trip over his own feet.
Together they strolled through the gardens at a slow, meandering pace. They made their way through rows upon rows of flowers in bloom, along winding pathways lined with bushes of herbs and ripening berries, past burbling fountains of white marble and towering trellises adorned with ivy and clematis. The evening air was fresh and crisp but the breeze from the southwest was warm, and gradually, Celebrimbor found himself relaxing.
Conversation with Annatar always flowed easily. As they walked they spoke of craft, as they often did, until the conversation turned to the city and to Celebrimbor’s other duties, then to his childhood back on Aman. Annatar asked, as he did on occasion, about Celebrimbor’s years in Beleriand, a matter which Celebrimbor deftly avoided and on which Annatar gracefully backed off and did not press. At last they reached a shallow knoll facing west, overlooking a rocky cliffs-edge.
Here they stopped, and looking west they stood in comfortable silence for a long while, watching the sun slowly sink below the horizon. The sky was all alight with splashes of orange and pink and violet, darkening very gradually, until at last the pale sliver of a crescent moon began to rise behind them in the east.
“Your land is very beautiful,” said Annatar at length, speaking softly, as if he was reluctant to break the silence. “It is well to enjoy such sights with such wonderful company.” He was looking not out at the beauty of the landscape but at Celebrimbor, and he was smiling, and Celebrimbor’s heart was in his throat.
“I have something for you,” Celebrimbor said all in a rush, before he could talk himself out of it.
Annatar raised his eyebrows, his expression turning curious.
Celebrimbor closed his hand around the necklace in his pocket. It was warm to the touch, and he wished he had not spent the entire walk fidgeting with it. He also suddenly regretted not having wrapped it in anything. He had thought to do so earlier, but had been afraid of coming on too strongly. Steeling himself, he set the necklace in Annatar’s outstretched hand, letting the chain pool in his palm.
He watched anxiously as Annatar looked it over for several long, excruciating moments. Finally Annatar held the piece up to the last golden rays of sunlight, a small smile playing on his lips.
“It truly is beautiful,” said Annatar thoughtfully. “It was well for you to think we might get a closer look in better light— it really was quite dark this morning.”
Celebrimbor frowned. “I…”
Running a finger along the chain, Annatar examined it carefully. “It is very nearly perfect, but you can see now in this light some very minor imperfections which may next time be improved upon.” He glanced to Celebrimbor. “Do you see?”
Celebrimbor hurried to smooth over his expression and cleared his throat. His heart was sinking in his chest.
“Where?”
Annatar took a step closer so that their shoulders were touching, his silver-gold hair mingling with Celebrimbor’s dark waves when Celebrimbor leaned down to look more closely.
“Here,” Annatar murmured, laying his finger near to the joining of one of the jewels. Celebrimbor could feel the heat of him, was close enough he could have pulled him into a kiss with ease, were he brave enough to do so. “It is very slightly crooked. Do you see? And here, too.”
Celebrimbor did not see, but he nodded, dully. “Yes, I see what you mean.”
Annatar smiled at him, warm like the sun breaking through clouds. Celebrimbor forced another smile of his own as the necklace was slipped back into his own palm.
“Next time, certainly, you will get it perfect,” Annatar told him. “Perhaps we can practice again? Tonight, maybe? Or—” He seemed to catch himself with a small shake of his head. “Perhaps you are busy. Forgive me. Any time you are free.”
His golden eyes were turned on Celebrimbor with such overwhelming kindness, and Celebrimbor could have kicked himself. He was exhausted from the sleepless night, feeling embarrassed and ashamed and silly for having thought there was even a possibility of he and Annatar…
Celebrimbor cut the thought off at the knees. Annatar was kind and gentle and was letting him down easily, and Celebrimbor would not begrudge him for anything, least not this. It was not Annatar’s fault that Celebrimbor’s heart had led him astray.
In spite of his exhaustion and the sting of Annatar’s rejection, Celebrimbor could not find it in himself to decline. He thought it unlikely he would ever be able to deny himself time with Annatar when it was offered, regardless of how it pained him when they parted. He made his smile wider and pushed down the hurt festering in his chest, slipping the necklace back into his pocket.
“Tonight is good.”
Annatar offered him his arm once again, and Celebrimbor took it, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped upside down and his whole body seemed to thrill at the contact.