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He could feel the ring growing ever closer. It was a deep and overwhelming sort of knowing…and the closer it came, the more his longing increased. It had been so very, very long…there were parts of himself he could no longer recall. They’d been stripped away with the loss of the ring, and the more time had passed, the more he lost. Now though…as it drew closer, he’d get flashes of memories, thoughts and feelings.
They had to have been his. Once. Long ago. He thinks…feels…knows.
But they often leave him hollow and aching. Almost…sad if that were something he thought himself capable of feeling. Maybe he’d been able to once. He could not recall…did not want to recall.
Sometimes, he wished the ring would move further away again. It was a secret, shameful sort of thought that he only allowed himself to indulge on rare occasions.
‘Come back!’ the rest of him hissed, angrily…needy, wanting, desperate.
He longed to feel its power again, longed to feel…whole. He had been shattered and weak for so long. His power had slowly, painstakingly increased, bit by bit, excruciatingly slowly…for centuries. Having the ring back would be…ecstasy, completeness. Perfection.
And yet…
‘It will ruin you!’
The voice was…broken, pained.
Familiar.
But he could not place it other than the hollow ache it left behind. Something that had been utterly…lost.
‘Come back!’
He shook his head and steeled his resolve, burying the wish to hear the voice again deep inside.
But as the ring drew closer, the voice returned.
‘Don’t you want something better than this?’
Frozen, he stared out into the dark land that stretched before him. His vision flashed once – only for a second or two – a different land, green instead of black, starlight instead of smoke. And then it was gone.
‘Come back!’
He had nearly forgotten the color green. It made him pause. Think.
‘It’s hideous!’ the rest of his being hissed. But he was not sure that he agreed.
The ring made its way closer still. He could nearly feel it, could remember well the way the gold band felt to touch. The surge of power. Completeness. Order.
A flash. The feel of calloused palms, soft skin, dark hair slipping through his fingers like strands of silk.
‘Come back!’
This time he pressed against the thought – memory? – wanting it back, wanting more. It had been gentle and soft, and for just a brief moment he fought against the rest of himself. The part that hissed, ‘Stop! Leave it.’
He wanted to feel it again. Wanted more.
But the part of him that tried was struck down, smothered and hidden away somewhere cold and dark. There were far more important things to deal with.
The ring was closer than ever now. The smell of fire and ash was constant, but he swore he could also smell gold. He remembered the way the golden liquid burned and flowed, hissing as it cooled, the scent of metal and power flooding through him.
But suddenly, there was more. Gold still, metal steaming as it cooled…and then…sweat and sweetness, breath against his neck. A cool breeze through an open window.
It left him gasping. Wanting.
‘Come back!’
‘No.’ But the rest of him sounded less sure now. Or was it…pleading? Did he want to remember? Most of him did not. But that small part that did was growing stronger.
The ring was near…so close now. Within the borders of his land.
He could nearly taste it. The power. The wholeness. Perhaps – when he had it back – he could swallow it instead of wearing it. So he’d never be parted from it again. He could taste all of his might. Stinging, metallic, bitter.
‘You’re awfully fond of desserts…’
The same voice again, but lighthearted and happy this time. A sudden burst of rich, decadent sweetness on his tongue – a welcome contrast to his previous thoughts.
And then sweeter still…lips against his own that tasted of sugar and heat and…lo—
‘Don’t!’ he screamed.
Love.
‘Come back! Come back! …please…’
The ring was on another’s finger. He felt it as he had many other times before. But it was here now, nearly within his grasp.
‘Come back!’
He was no longer sure who or what he was asking for. The ring or the memories.
It was so close. He wanted it. Craved it.
And yet…
‘Annatar…’
The name froze him. He knew that name. It was…him. But more important was the voice shaping the name.
The voice, the greenery, the touch of silky, soft hair, the breath on his skin, the taste of a kiss….
His kiss….
He felt it the instant the ring fell into the lava. It burned through him painfully – white-hot, agonizing flames that tore him apart.
And yet…
The memories were instantaneous. Clear as if they had happened minutes – not millennia – ago.
Celebrimbor. Eregion.
Light and greenery and starlight. Laughter and forge-fire and peace. Sweets and nights spent close…full of touches and taste and desire and…love.
Celebrimbor…love.
He had forsaken it all. He had destroyed it all.
He…missed it all. He missed…him.
He had forgotten – perhaps on purpose – because remembering now was even more painful than the destruction of the ring.
‘Come back!’
Celebrimbor…love.
~*~*~
He drifted. The physical pain was no more. But he had no moorings, no anchor…only the memories now. The anger was gone, snuffed out and burned up with the ring.
When he awoke, it was to a field of green. There were stars overhead, sparkling jewels in a sea of dark blue. The air was clean and cool.
He reached out with his hands, shivering at how the grass tickled his palms. It had been so very long since he had felt something physically.
He was not sure how long he lay upon the grass, but time did not seem to matter. He sat up slowly, testing the bounds of his newfound body. A part of him wondered where he was, why he was…remade. But it seemed less important than the feel of the breeze on his skin or the grass against his fingertips.
And then he felt – heard? – someone approach.
He turned. And everything else ceased to matter.
Celebrimbor…love. …here.
“Annatar…”
He felt everything rush through him instantly. Love and pain and fury and heartbreak and so, so much regret. For he had created power beyond belief. And yet it paled in comparison to this.
He fell to his hands and knees before him and bowed his head. It took him a moment to remember that the wetness he felt on his face was tears. He was crying.
“Tyelpe…” The nickname came with all of his memories, and they shuddered through him painfully.
When he felt Celebrimbor’s gentle, tentative touch upon his back, he fell further still, pressing his head into his chest and weeping.
“I’m…sorry…” he whispered the words with no little amount of pain. They were torn out of him from deep within his chest. Long held. Shameful. Broken.
And Celebrimbor simply trembled against him and pulled him in tightly, forehead to forehead, their tears mingling before falling to the green grass beneath them.
“You came back,” Celebrimbor whispered, breath soft and warm against his skin.
He pulled back and looked at him through blurry, watery eyes. He was a watercolor wash of dark hair and a warm gaze – more than he deserved – light and love.
“To you,” he answered. Simple. True.
He had not heard his own voice – this voice – in millennia. He smiled through the tears that still flowed, tasted salt, smelled the clean, cool air, mingled with the distinct scent of Celebrimbor. He felt the soft earth beneath his knees, the silken strands of dark hair between his fingers.
He pressed forward and kissed him, tasted a sweetness he had not had in ages.
And he smiled.