Superbia

The High Council of Ost-in-Edhil, the great fortress city of the Noldor perched amid the high fells of Eregion, sat arrayed in their stately finery, and seven pairs of curious eyes stared as one at the stranger come before them. From a wide, crescent-shaped table set upon a low dais they commanded the room, their lord seated firmly in the centre with his council members arcing outwards from him. Great ribbons of tinted light streamed across the hall's expanse from the stained-glass windows studded into its vaulted walls, and they tinged the creamy marble underfoot in wondrous hues of alchemical turquoise, viridian, indigo and ruby. At the very base of the dais a wide metal-wrought circle was inlaid amid the stone, and within it a star spun of delicate veins of mithril gleamed, its eight pointed rays seeming to run with liquid flames as the gentle afternoon light lapped across it.

Framed in the very epicentre of this star the stranger was poised, gazing with mild intrigue at the grandeur of the Noldorin hall about him. As he awaited the council's commencement he stood neutrally, the oilskin hood of his dusty travelling cloak drawn back respectfully, yet guided by motives far more obscure than respect he subtly shifted his gaze to the table before him. Along its arms some council members squinted back at him, some fiddled with goblets or papers set before them, one looked abjectly bored, and the stranger's eyes skated coolly over their ranks.

To his extreme right a bulky, belligerent-looking ner sat, his eyes simmering like cauldrons of blackest pitch as he glowered down at the stranger. A challenge then, the stranger thought wryly, though one of little consequence: all bluster and little bite he had often found men of such demeanour. It took all of his willpower to refrain from arching a self-satisfied eyebrow as the ner's frown turned into an outright scowl as the nis seated next to him nudged him with her elbow, and to the nis then the stranger looked. An archaic style of robe garbed her, a shimmering cloth of gold she wore fastened at the shoulder with a great brooch of yellow amethysts fashioned into the shape of a sunflower. A pretty trinket, the stranger thought it, and as she shifted in her seat the jewels threw ghostly refractions of light over her neighbours. A charming effect, surely, yet upon the nis seated to her right it illumined nothing but an ancient pain. For beneath that nis' sweep of silver hair a livid burn puckered over her right cheek and neck; the flesh twisted and withered into a gnarled, fibrous mass of pink scar tissue, marring the elf's otherwise smooth features.

A vague sense of discomfort flitted through the stranger then, and quickly he looked away. He was no stranger to scars; indeed they seemed to haunt him, yet for this nis to bear one so heavily, to wear such hurt so openly sent a prickle of unease crawling his spine. He wondered how it had happened. He wondered if he had a hand in its doing. That thought wavered ominously within him for an instant, until with a practised ease he shrugged it aside, and coolly then he flicked his gaze to the opposite side of the table.

Upon its outermost chair a nis sat proudly, her gauntleted hands knitted together on the table before her, and evenly she met his glance. A curl of gaiety plucked at his lips, almost shyly he smiled at her, but as the seconds crawled by his friendly venture went unrequited. Truly, the stranger thought, wiping the smile from his face to stand neutrally once more, one might find more merriment in an abattoir. For further inwards along the table's curve two neri looked back at him; a flame-haired elf with grey eyes that unambiguously longed to be elsewhere, and a strange elf with skin the colour of burnished oak. Yet that in itself was not so strange; it was the green-inked tattoo that unfurled over the elf's face, neck, arms and hands left exposed that intrigued the stranger so. Along his skin the tattoo coiled, sprouted, rooted, in artistry so lifelike that almost it seemed he was truly wrapped in strands of some trailing clematis or snaking vine. Feathers and bone-trinkets were braided into the elf's swept-back hair, his eyes were the milky rheum of those who had little love of the sun, and the stranger could not help but stare.

Rarely did one see an Avarin come among the people of the Eldar, and to glimpse one come to power among the Noldor was rarer still. Even in all of the stranger's long years he had encountered but a handful of the Moriquendi, and poor stock at that. They did not scream like the others, he recalled, and hard he fought to keep his face impassive as those memories quirked through him. They simply choked out their pain in mute, scratching hisses, and no false promises of freedom could buy their secrets.

Yet smoothly the stranger looked onwards, and his gaze was drawn to the elf who crowned the very centre of the table. For there Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, presided, and with him sat the purpose of the stranger's coming here.

Black, unbound hair fell sleekly over the elf lord's broad shoulders, and through the close fit of his dark tunic the stranger could glimpse the curl and set of strong, well-formed muscles. A circlet of interwoven mithril strands inlaid with gossamer threads of diamonds was set upon his brow in antique Noldorin fashion, framing a face both young and prideful, and boldly the elf lord met the stranger's eyes. As one long accustomed to power and command he sat, leaning to his side with his right elbow propped upon the table's edge while held within his hand he examined a slightly crumpled sheaf of parchment.

An intricate emblem of crossed hammers and shivering stars was picked out in crystals upon the curved back of his chair, and the gemstones of their own accord shone a pallid radiance out over their lord as he shifted, as he glanced back down at the letter in his hand. Dimly his eyes skated the words before him, and his brow furrowed as he re-read the strange tidings of his kin.

Fair he seems, the High King Gil-galad had penned, in his own hand no less. Not days before the stranger's sudden arrival this letter had been brought to him, the messenger that bore it only relaying his king's impetus that Celebrimbor give thought to its urgency. Fair he seems, but his words feel greased upon the tongue. Trust him not. He seems not wholly false, but neither is he true.

Celebrimbor's frown deepened, yet his dark eyes lifted to rest once more upon the stranger standing before him. No overt mark of Valinor the newcomer bore, yet to Celebrimbor's eyes his sanctity could scarcely be refuted. Blond hair fell in mellow, honeyed locks to his waist; his golden eyes glimmered with an inner light beyond the power and ken of the mortal world. A very air of effervescence seemed to shimmer about him, a slight glitter of entrancement limned the stranger in an enticing, alluring glow; promising naught but wealth and luxury and ease. No Maia had Celebrimbor glimpsed before save the accursed Valaraukar and their foul ilk in the turmoil of battle, and yet here in the gentle light of his court surely one of their benevolent brethren stood now, a serene expression poised across handsome face.

In other times they would have openly welcomed him into their city, without question or reservation he would have been revered. Yet the worry of the High King's message clouded Celebrimbor's heart; of late evil things had been stirring in the East, the Hadhodrim of Khazad-dûm grew withdrawn and wary, and vengeful ghosts now stalked the ruins of Belegost and Nogrod in the cold mountains. So the Noldor had shut their gates, the watch upon the hills and the Great Road was doubled, and even towards so fair a stranger come among them now they were mistrustful.

"Tell me, Maia," Celebrimbor said sternly, rousing himself to lean imperiously forwards in his chair. "What is your name?"

Immediately the stranger straightened, proudly he drew himself up, and the hint of a smile curled about his lips. Calmly, respectfully, his gaze swept the expanse of the high table until at last his eyes settled upon Celebrimbor, and in a rich, melodious voice he replied, "Aulendil I am named by those in the Blessed Realm, my exalted lords and ladies."

Celebrimbor's eyebrow arched, more than one of the council members cocked their heads at such an unlikely answer, but they held their silence until at last their lord remarked, "That is a noble heritage that you claim, stranger. You hail from the Lord Aulë's halls, then?"

"I did."

"You did?" The scepticism in the burly ner's voice was biting, yet fluidly the stranger turned to meet him.

"It is a matter long past, my lord," he replied diplomatically. "And it is of little concern here. Ere this age was first begun I was tasked by my master with labours that have often drawn me abroad, and it has been long since I have resided in his great halls."

The ner's eyes narrowed suspiciously, menace trembled in the clench of his jaw, yet before he could speak anew the stranger smiled, and beseechingly he spoke. "If it would better please my lords and ladies of the council, you might call me Annatar."

"The Lord of Gifts?" The flame-haired ner snorted in derision, apparently jolted from his erstwhile reveries. "The titles that you claim grow ever more audacious, Maia!"

"Peace, Vëantor," Celebrimbor snapped, and the ner's mouth twisted reluctantly shut as his lord leaned forward, an expression of mild interest caught over his face. "Let him have his say."

"Thank you, my lord," Annatar replied gratefully. Several ornate rings he wore about his fingers, and swiftly now he turned one upon his forefinger, pressing its great diamond hard into the skin of his palm as his fist closed about it. "No titles do I claim save those that carry truth, my lords. I have much that I might bestow upon you."

"Then at last we reach the matter at hand," Celebrimbor said quickly, sensing the rankling mood of his councilmen and resolving to put swift ease to the issue. "Why have you come here, Annatar? For what reason do you present yourself before us?"

The blond cascade of the Maia's hair caught in a stream of clear sunlight as he stepped forward slightly, dappling him in a lulling, ethereal glow. "The ages of Ëa have been long, wearisome and full of bitter toil for those who dwell upon these shores. For years uncounted my master, and those others of his noble brethren, have turned their faces from these realms, believing them scoured of life, or holding those of such ill repute as to be unmemorable in their fathomless thoughts. The hurts of the Noldor's rebellion sting still deep, both flesh and pride were wounded in those sad affairs, and pride is a thing hard lost even for those who are almighty. Yet with the wearing of an age, the Valar have realised their error. Should they only have acted sooner then much might have been preserved that is now lost. Much in this world might have been otherwise.

My master wishes now to make amends for such a slight. The Powers have sent forth emissaries from the Blessed Realm to aid the remnants of the Noldor in the world's perils. Ones such as I, we have been sent to guide those left still adrift, to share the wealth and gifts of Aman long since denied to those they once deemed faithless and accursed.

So my master has decreed my purpose, and upon his errand and with his mighty will I have come unto you, my lords and ladies. I pray only that you might honour me in this, and through me accept the gifts of the Valar sent forth to you now."

A long, contemplative silence rolled through the hall as the council pondered such wondrous words, and patiently Annatar awaited their response.

"You come in the guise of friendship, then?" Celebrimbor at last enquired, squinting down at Annatar as if he half-expected some vile deceit or treachery.

"I do," Annatar replied simply. "Forth from my master's realms I have come freely, and to you now I offer my aid in all that I might."

"And what might you aid in?" The golden-clad nis asked, and keenly she peered down at him.

"In whatsoever my lords and ladies might see fit to ask of me." Annatar did not move, he stood serenely at the centre of the mithril-wrought star, yet as he spoke the air of the hall seemed to thicken, a glistening aura coalesced like an intoxicating mist about him. It curled and slid and beckoned with the flow of his voice. "Skills I possess, powers I wield, and they should be the envy of even the most decadent of your dreams. Of many things I have knowledge: of counsels to the great and wise, of secret wisdoms and ways of the earth, of beasts, of incantations, of empires and riches and conquests, and yet…"

The lulling chant of Annatar's voice fell away, and as if abruptly ripped from some pleasant reverie Celebrimbor jerked backwards in his seat. A blurry sensation was left ringing in his ears, the pressure in the room seemed for an instant to buckle and re-align, yet where such things might once have sparked caution in him, he was only filled with an elation, a wonder of all the tantalising things that the Maia had spoken of. Yet looking down now Annatar he seemed almost humble. Vanished was that aura of subtle bewitchment into a mood of almost childlike bashfulness, and a strange, sudden surge of endearment rocked through Celebrimbor's heart.

"I must profess, my lord," the Maia said coyly, "a certain… proclivity, a passion, indeed, for smithying. In jewel-craft and metallurgy I find my delight; the forge is where my heart truly lies, in the crash of anvils and the thrill of metal, for these are as sweet to me as any flowing river or flower budding in the meadow."

Celebrimbor's smile widened, eagerly he shook aside the slight ring that still hovered in his ears, and he leaned forward once more in his chair.

"You are skilful in metallurgy, then?"

"I do not wish to boast, lord. Modest skill I proclaim, and no more."

A dark, throaty laugh burst through the hall then, and frigidly Annatar turned to face the burly ner who rebuked him. "Take care now, my lord," the ner rumbled, "for here is one who speaks guilefully. Pride and false contrition mingle in one tangled passage over this Maia's gilded tongue!"

Resentment flickered in Annatar's eyes, but swiftly he wiped that irk from him even as Celebrimbor rounded upon his errant councilman.

"Patience, Corannon," he said sharply, and the ner looked away, sweeping the dark fall of his hair behind his shoulders as he huffed discontentedly to himself.

"My council," Celebrimbor continued, mastering his brusqueness and proceeding more evenly, "hear me well. If a Maia of Aulë's host offers to us even his modest knowledge then he is not lightly to be turned aside. The wonders that lie beneath that exquisite roof live still in my dreams, fairer than all imagining. If Annatar could teach us but part of that skill, if he could replicate even a fragment of the works that lie within that house then we would be richer for it indeed. Such works we could forge, such things we could make; artifices and jewels that might rival even those of my forebears…"

"Have you knowledge of weapons of war, Annatar?" the gauntleted nis upon his left asked, and eagerly she peered down at him.

"Weapons of war, my lady?" he countered smoothly. "With such devices I have had some… passing experience, yet such crude things have never moved my heart to joy. For it is given to the secret gemstones that lie in caverns yet unexplored, to the silver crowns that might adorn the worthiest of heads."

"Come then, Annatar," Celebrimbor mused, drumming his fingers contemplatively upon the tabletop. "Tell me, could you teach of what you know? This knowledge, is it yours to impart? Could you equal the works of your blessed kindred, or indeed my own?"

"Perhaps, my lord," Annatar said softly, "I might surpass them."

Celebrimbor's eyes grew wide, and a snort of disbelief leapt from Vëantor's throat. "You play a dangerous game, Maia," he sneered, but from the opposite side of the table the golden-clad nis leant forward.

"Hush," she tutted, "you rebuke him too hotly. Temper your mood, and think well. If Annatar is true to his word then we may make this realm a place of wealth at which even the Hadhodrim in their malachite halls would blush and stutter with jealousy."

A murmur ran about the table then, ambitions and doubts warred in many a narrowed eye, and Annatar awaited their resolution. Passively he stood, yet with an ease that bordered dangerously upon insolence he toyed with the rings about his fingers, until at last the burned nis turned to him.

"You speak fairly, Annatar," she whispered, her voice scarce more than a husky susurrus amid the hall's airy pillars, "but for your beauty I sense there is yet guile in you."

"Not so, my lady," he replied, a look of genuine hurt moiling across his face, and plaintively he continued, "I have answered your questions with naught but legitimacy."

"A serpent may seem beautiful, yet such radiant scales mask the poison that festers within it."

"You wound me, my lady. Openly I have come before you, humbly and with promise of aid that my heart longs to deliver. If only by your grace it was allowed."

"Then I have one thing that I would yet ask of you, Annatar."

"Anything."

"You are newly come to these lands, so you proclaim, upon errand from your master out of the West. Yet you speak our tongue with fluidity, with a practised ease that I would not look for in one newly come to these shores. Tell me then, how came you by such fluency?"

"You flatter me, my lady," Annatar smiled. "Too kindly you speak of me."

"Answer the Lady Gilthariel's question!" Corannon growled, yet after a savage glare from Celebrimbor he subsided into a grudging quiet.

Irritation flashed through Annatar then, but long ere such plans were formed he had thought up his lies, and they flew like silk from his tongue. "Languages have always come easily to me, my lady. Many tongues of more complex syntax and vocabulary prevail in Aman, and one must be fluent in all, for failing in such would be a grave discourtesy. My time spent in residence with the Lords Gil-galad and Celeborn, and the Lady Galadriel upon these shores has given me ample opportunity for practise in your noble tongue. Such lyricism it possesses, such flowing vowels… I only wish that I had opportunity to venture to these lands and learn it sooner, to enrich myself of its beauty…"

At that the Avarin elf at last stirred, and though his voice was quiet, it was not friendly. "You weave your words like cobwebs, Maia, yet honey drips from your teeth. What flies do you seek to ensnare within them?"

"None, my lord," Annatar replied, and desperately he stamped down the haughtiness which quavered in his tone. But though caution nudged at him to stop, pride spurred him to continue, and with an oily smile he said, "Save for those who might fly unwarily. Or those who dare the spider's patience."

A muscle in the Avari's cheek flexed, but to that answer he remained stonily silent. Yet a grudging and somewhat admiring chuckle emanated from not a few council members' throats.

"He is a fiery one, my lord," Vëantor remarked wryly, and the gauntleted nis beside him nodded in agreement.

"He is slippery," the Avari hissed, and for the blankness of his eyes Annatar could feel the vehemence behind his stare. "His words may carry double meanings that we cannot fathom, or they may carry no meaning at all. Smoke and coils, spirals and knots, a twisted path he seeks to lead us down, and to follow might lead only to ruin!"

"Come now, Iskandar," the nis said amicably. "You are unjust in your judgment. Annatar has presented himself fairly, albeit boldly, and where haughtiness leads one cannot expect abject submission from its victim."

At that Annatar's eyes narrowed. The Quendi had grown sharp in their word-plays as the millennia had turned, yet he was sharper still. So he endured their mistrust with a veneer of docility, and with a contrite, pleading look he sought for Celebrimbor's aid, a calculated earnestness he left shining in his eyes. But the lord seemed otherwise lost in thought; he gazed dazedly into the far recesses of the hall, and Annatar's ploy did not quickly avail him.

No matter, he thought, for certainly now he had their attention, if only their favour might be garnered a little more readily.

Quickly he wrestled down the rill of impatience that prickled through his chest as the council stared contemplatively down at him. Endurance would be his saviour here, he savagely reminded himself, and pride his undoing, and with a saccharine smile affixed across his features he looked pleadingly to the high table one more, to the lord who in the end would take the convincing. And to him Celebrimbor at last responded.

"The High King has spoken in ill favour of you, Annatar," he said slowly, carefully weighting his words to gauge the Maia's reaction to such news. "Might you tell us as to why this could be?"

If Celebrimbor expected some twisted flash of concealment, or some tiny, telling motion that would indicate a deception, then he was left sorely disappointed. For Annatar merely sighed, and genuine rue seemed to move him as he said, "High King Gil-galad is venerable and strong, and in many things he is wise. Yet in refusing the offer of aid that my master has presented to him I fear that his wisdom has been blinded. For a month I resided in his realm, alongside the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn and their charming daughter also, and many things we spoke of in friendship. Yet for my sincerity, ever they seemed cold to my entreaties. I do not wish to speak ill of such esteemed Quendi, but I must speak plainly, my lord. Truly I am unsure as to why my offers were checked with such chill regard. I was displeasing to them in some way, perhaps? That was never my intent, though such things may come to pass."

"Displeasing?" Celebrimbor repeated, and a little more searchingly did his eyes run over Annatar's tall, lithe form. "In what manner may you have been displeasing?"

An expression of genuine distress broke over Annatar's face then; the light in his eyes flickered and dimmed as falteringly he blinked, and beseechingly he replied, "I… I do not know, my lord. I came to them as I do to you now, with the desire and purpose only to fulfil my promises, and to make my master proud."

"Then freely might we allow you to do so!" Celebrimbor announced, and in astonishment the council swivelled as one to face their lord. "My council," he continued passionately, "where others have cast their lot aside, why should we hesitate to grasp this opportunity? Their loss shall give seed to our benefit! Gil-galad was overhasty in this decision perhaps, for I see no harm in giving Annatar lodgings within my house and my realm. If indeed his promises hold true, and I have no good reason to see why they should not, then we will be enriched beyond our deepest desires for it."

"My lord," the burned nis rasped, and solemnly she shook her head. "Perhaps we too act in rashness and not wisdom. If the High King Gil-galad, nay, if the Lady Galadriel gave pause in taking aid of Annatar then perhaps we should also. I do not think that they would lightly spurn a Maia come out of the West, and it speaks ill that they have."

"Pride often leads the heart astray, Lady Gilthariel," Celebrimbor replied sharply, and imperiously he looked out over the hall. "The Lady Galadriel seeks no boon of the Valar, and readily she would accept none, even in so fair a form."

"Is it pride that blinds hearts, my lord?" she persisted. "Or is it vain ambition? You have heard how this Maia speaks, my lord, you have seen how he weaves his enchantments. Even now his smiles turn to smirks; some cloying miasma hangs about him, and it blinds you to what you do not wish to see! This benevolence that he wears is but a mask for something far more perilous!"

"Accusations you spit, Gilthariel," the gauntleted nis said heatedly, and with a well-suppressed glee set bubbling inside his stomach Annatar allowed her to argue his case. "What proof have we that Annatar is false?"

"What proof have we that he is true, Ennemirë?"

"The light of Aman shines within him," Ennemirë pronounced, and awe brushed through her voice as she gazed once more down at Annatar's form. For as the council had bickered, almost imperceptibly he had parted his lips, from deep within himself he had uncurled the tiniest swell of puissance, and he breathed it into the glamour that shrouded him. There he leached his power, and there it blossomed, it unfurled; it clung to his shoulders and sang of serenity, it gleamed in his eyes with such sage benevolence, it wove through the rings upon his fingers with the lure of promises to be fulfilled, with treasures unnumbered, glories beyond measure, of riches, temptations, desires…

"It is a false light," Gilthariel croaked, and her hoarse whisper sent Ennemirë tipping back into her seat with a shudder. About himself Annatar relaxed his enchantment, into a tender glow it faded once more, into an evanescent shroud that shifted and moiled so enticingly about him. "It is a witch-light. A forgery."

"Nay, Gilthariel," Celebrimbor said, and though his voice was firm, he gazed at Annatar with the lolling, desperate un-focus of one heavily inebriated. Hungrily he stared, recklessly, as though he wanted to crown the Maia standing before him even as he tore him apart.

"Nay," he repeated, and at the renewed determination in his voice the council subsided into cool silence. "I am the lord of this realm and this city, and I have made my decision. Annatar offers us a gift that would be foolish to refuse. Freely he has come, elegantly he has stood and endured our questions and indeed our scorn with patience, and he has answered well. Are we to treat such a mighty artificer, one of Aulë's golden host who might offer us so much, as if he were some vile spawn of Morgoth come crawling from his hole? No. I will not have it so, lest it be said that my halls are filled with the crude and the discourteous.

I cannot speak for the counsels of my kin. I know not what has led the High King and Lady Galadriel to reject Annatar's boon, yet let such decisions be their own.

As Lord of Eregion I welcome you to my halls, Annatar, Aulendil, noble Maia of Aman! Here, under my protection, I would have you as my guest for as long as you should please yourself to stay. And if indeed you would seek to bestow upon us your wisdom then gratefully we would receive it! Lord I am also of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the jewel-wrights of this city, and such knowledge as you might impart would enrich us beyond all measure. Be at ease within these walls, friend."

Graciously Annatar smiled, viciously he stamped down the great fizz of delight that boiled up inside of him, and merrily he said, "This I will, my lord Celebrimbor, and esteemed lords and ladies of the Council. Your generosity is without equal in these lands, and well I shall repay you for your kindness."

About the high table some faces grew stony whilst others grinned, but Annatar looked only to their lord.

"Good," Celebrimbor nodded, and fondly he looked down upon the rather chuffed Maia standing before him. "I have only one command of you, Annatar, for in all other things you are my guest and not my subject. I bid that you abide by the laws of this city laid down by the Council and I. Strange they may seem to one come from such lands of peace and plenty, but darker times fall upon my realm. Fell tidings out of the East reach my ears, creatures howl upon the moors at night, and evil things stalk the mountain paths when bright Arien departs these lands. The safety of my people is paramount, and none are to pass the walls of this city after nightfall save by my personal consent. Furthermore, all sightings of any foreign bird, beast or man are to be reported immediately to the city guard, of whom Ennemirë here is commander. Do I have your assent to these terms?"

"Readily, my lord," Annatar nodded. "Your prudence in such matters is admirable."

"Then we are agreed!" Celebrimbor grinned, and almost impishly he raised his head. "Welcome to Ost-in-Edhil, Annatar! May your labours here be fruitful!"

Before the high table Annatar bowed deeply; he sank forwards into a stray ribbon of ruby light that sifted in through the stained-glass windows, and his mouth was streaked over with vivid, bloody crimson as he murmured, "I am most certain that they will be, my lord."

"Excellent! Now, the hour grows late. Have you gear with you?"

"Some small possessions, my lord," Annatar replied, straightening from his bow with a small flourish of his fingers. "My pack and arms I left with your guard ere I entered this hall."

Celebrimbor nodded briskly, and as the council members sensed their unspoken dismissal and began to retire for the evening, Celebrimbor called, "Aethir!"

A few moments later a young elf strode into the hall, bowing smoothly as he drew to a halt at Annatar's side.

"Find our new guest suitable rooms, Aethir," Celebrimbor commanded. "Ensure that his belongings are brought to him quickly, and that he is made comfortable in all that he might desire."

"Right away, my lord," Aethir replied, and he nodded respectfully to Annatar before requesting that he followed him.

"Annatar," Celebrimbor called suddenly, arresting the Maia's rather saucy pirouette upon his heel into a slightly wobbled halt. A pained grimace caught for an instant over Annatar's face, yet quickly he squashed down his slighted vanity, and pleasantly he looked to the Elven lord who stood above the emptying table. "If it would please you, I will visit you in a few hours hence. I would know that you were well housed, and perhaps we might talk a little more extensively of what gifts you might have to bear."

Though phrased politely, there was no question in Celebrimbor's tone, and inwardly Annatar smirked. Yet smoothly he replied, "Of course, my lord."

And with a surge of pleasure that took every ounce of his self-control to repress he caught the expression of naked, burning ambition for an instant flare in the elf lord's eyes. Tightly he clung to his veneer of geniality; desperately he wrestled the triumph in his voice down to something that he fervently hoped sounded demure as he continued, "Your company would be a pleasure."

Grey moths flitted about the candles that softly illumined Annatar's chambers, and as Celebrimbor knocked at the door the Maia's melodious voice bade him enter. Into a modest yet elegant suite of rooms set into a high tower of his house the lord stepped, and across the entranceway he spied Annatar lounging upon a low couch set before the balcony. A cool night breeze wafted through the wide, open arches, rustling at the pages of the book that the Maia was leafing through with one hand whilst poising a goblet of wine in the other. A slight smirk curled about the edges of his lips as he read, a strange, almost steely glint shone in his eyes, but as Celebrimbor approached, that expression transmuted into a radiant smile that lit up his features. The ever-present shimmer about him seemed to hum out its contentedness, and as if his mood was somehow contagious Celebrimbor found himself smiling back.

"You seem very comfortable," he said lightly, and as he stepped a little nearer, with a fluid, feline motion Annatar swung himself about on the couch, shifting his bared feet from its end so that Celebrimbor might sit. "I trust that Aethir has provided you with all that you required?"

"Indeed he has," Annatar replied, and indulgently he grinned over to his host. He languidly straightened himself into a more formal sitting position, flicking the book shut behind him as he enquired, "Would you care for some wine, my lord? It is marvellous..."

"Certainly," Celebrimbor shrugged, and he wandered over to the open balcony to lean against its rail. Yet as he crossed the room, furtively he glanced down at the book that Annatar had been reading. The tengwar lettered over its front were smudged with age, yet its title was still more than discernable, and at it Celebrimbor arched an eyebrow.

With two goblets of wine in hand Annatar moved to join Celebrimbor at the balcony, and in tentative silence for a while they stood, each sipping at their wine and beholding the countless stars unfurled in the clear sky above them. The moon shone full, illuminating the sheer crags of the hills in an ethereal silvery glow, and far beyond them the high peaks of the Hithaeglir glimmered like spires of liquid mercury. Below the balcony's sturdy rail the cliff scraped away to a vertiginous drop, and as the wind shifted Celebrimbor could just hear the great rush of the confluence far below wherein the rivers Sirannon and Glanduin mingled and whirled, before passing away as the Mitheithel to the south-east. A far-distant howl pierced through the peaceful night, a wolf screamed its hunger to the skies, and at its cry Annatar smiled softly. His shoulders slumped a little as he leant both elbows against the railing, his head bowed as the cry's echoes died away amid the broken hills, and the tranquil quiet flowed on unbroken once more.

"My uncle composed it, you know," Celebrimbor said abruptly, the words jumped unexpectedly to his lips, and Annatar's gaze shifted curiously to him. "The book… the poem that you were reading. The Noldolantë. The great lament of my people…"

"Your uncle was a talented wordsmith," Annatar murmured, and his gaze wandered to the distant hills once more. Absently he reached up with his free hand to rub at the side of his neck, and as his fingers met flesh he winced faintly. "He had a strong shield-arm, so I have heard tell."

Celebrimbor tilted his head in puzzlement. Many things were said of Maglor Fëanorion, but that was not common among them. The Maia took another placid sip of his wine, and with growing interest Celebrimbor watched him. Quite plainly, Annatar intrigued him; that much he would not even try to deny to himself.

The very manner in which the Maia held himself was foreign, it was new and powerful and ancient and pure all tangled together. The words that dripped from his lips were enticing; each hint of knowledge, of wealth or power or luxury that Annatar implied sent Celebrimbor's heart soaring with desire, each veiled barb or sly observation that the Maia wielded like spears served only to fascinate him the more. And yet entwined with the sweet and the sharp, there was somehow also the melancholy; a softness, a vulnerability that at times seemed to irradiate the Maia's very being.

It was downright bizarre, Celebrimbor thought desperately, as he tried to wrestle his straying thoughts back into coherence. It was unnatural to feel so deeply, to feel so poignantly and so complicatedly for someone who was in all aspects yet a stranger, but still it was. Strangely, stupidly, blindly, inexplicably, something about Annatar made Celebrimbor grieve for him. And yet all at once he wanted to possess him, devour him, take everything that he could give and rip it away and destroy him. Exploit him, protect him, befriend him, crown him; it all melded together into one confusing crush and for a while left him speechless.

After a few contemplative minutes Annatar at last roused himself, alertly he lifted his head to mark the passage of a squeaking little bat that flitted by the balcony, and using that small motion as a lifeline against the treacherous current of his thoughts, Celebrimbor forced himself back into polite conversation.

For a while they spoke in friendship, wine and words flowed easily between them, and they talked of many things. Celebrimbor told of the recent plights of his people; of flurried skirmishes with goblins in the mountain passes, of hungry shadows that roamed the desolate moors, and for a while their converse was grave. But joyously Annatar told of his metallurgy, of things that he had learned of his master and things more that he might teach, secret things of his own devising that his brethren dared not attempt, and with fawning wonder Celebrimbor listened to all that was said.

In return he wove tales of the ancient might of Beleriand, of the bravest of the deeds of his Noldorin kin. A dreamlike smile drifted over Annatar's lips as Celebrimbor spoke more cagily of his father, yet passionately of the deeds of his grandfather, and of all the greatness that they had achieved before their ends. Warmly the conversation blossomed once more, slicked by wine and genuine good humour, and for many hours they laughed and talked as friends long sundered.

Yet upon a time such pleasantries shifted; Celebrimbor leaned eagerly forward upon the couch where they both now reclined. His dark eyes sparkled with heat, his cheeks were flushed with wine, and a clumsy, almost wistful grin twisted over his face as he looked searchingly towards the Maia.

"Your eyes are mesmerising, Annatar," he murmured, his speech a little slurred with drunkenness, and graspingly he laid his hand upon the Maia's shoulder. Annatar stiffened as the elf's hand came down upon him, and he remained rigidly, painfully still as Celebrimbor continued, "They are full of shadows, but also full of light, like stirred chalices of molten gold."

An awful moment of silence rocked through the room, until forcibly Annatar smiled, and tightly he returned, "Thank you, my lord."

"They are very beautiful." The hot flush of Celebrimbor's breath tingled up the side of his neck as the elf leaned even further forward, and as best as he could within the elf's tightening grip Annatar turned his head aside.

"You flatter me, my lord," he said stiffly, subtly trying to twist his shoulder free of the elf's hold. "Such words are praise beyond measure, and of them I am undeserving."

"Might a craftsman and a lord not appreciate beauty when he sees it?" Celebrimbor's voice had grown sharp, his fingertips pressed uncomfortably hard into Annatar's shoulder until at last the Maia swung back around to face him. And for an instant the look of anger, the look of rage and hurt and such unfathomable hatred in Annatar's eyes robbed them of their beauty, it set them ablaze in ugly flames.

Do not touch me.

The words erupted in a gout of pain within Celebrimbor's skull, it felt as if someone had slammed a hammer into his stomach, and that sudden agony sent him reeling backwards in shock. His hand leapt free of the Maia's shoulder as if his tunic had scalded him, and instantly that pain subsided, it vanished so utterly, so quickly that Celebrimbor was not entirely sure if it was real, or just some aberrant, potent delusion brought on by the wine.

As he looked back to Annatar his mouth tasted soured, his head throbbed unpleasantly, but an instant later a dreadful concern lanced through his heart. For if he felt unwell, then all the more Annatar looked it. Ashen-faced the Maia sat, staring off into the star spangled night, and it seemed that a great weariness had been tipped suddenly upon his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Celebrimbor whispered at last, as the silence that stretched between them became cavernous, became unbearable. "Annatar, I am sorry… I - If I have caused offense then I meant nothing by it. I am not sure what possessed me…"

The breeze blew Annatar's hair across his face as he turned aside, and his words too were veiled as he sighed, "It is all right, my lord. The fault was mine. Such words… such words should not be met with cold regard." For a moment Annatar wavered, it looked as if he were about to say something more and earnestly Celebrimbor watched him. Yet such torrid hopes went unanswered as the Maia stifled a yawn, and wearily he continued, "Might I beg your leave for the night, my lord? The hour is late, and I have journeyed far this day."

"Of course," Celebrimbor said apologetically, and hastily he arose from the couch. "If we may meet on the morrow, then? Two hours past noon, in the central hall of the House of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. I will have Aethir escort you."

"It would be my pleasure," Annatar purred, and as his host bade him good night and departed, he meandered over to his bedchamber, plucking up the discarded book from behind a pillow of the couch as he did so.

The pressure of the elf's touch still lingered unpleasantly upon his shoulder, and his smile curdled into a scowl as he tried to shake that sensation away. Not in millennia had he been touched like that, so derisively, so possessively, and the mountains of this earth would crumble into dust before he permitted some filthy elf lord to ever do so again. Mistrust, arrogance, conceit, ambition; these things he could twist, these things he would cozen and stroke and charm to his own purposes in anyone fool enough to cross his path. But this, he wondered, slowly dampening the candles as he wandered his way to his bed, this was… unexpected. Perhaps the glamour that he had woven about himself was altogether too alluring, as for a moment the elf's such brazen, unwarranted attentions had caught him entirely off guard.

However, some small, smug thing in him chimed suddenly, such attentions were not without use. That thought grew in his mind, and elegantly he stroked its vain little fire. For if this elf lord in his arrogance, in his oh too delicious blindness chose to tumble so willingly into his trap, then why not let him? Encourage him, entrance him, swallow down his own disgust and snare the lord yet deeper. It would not be so great a sacrifice, after all. Conducted upon his own terms, it might even be amusing. And if laughs and touches and flirtatious little smiles would help to grease the ruinous pathway that he wrought then all the sweeter might be the elf lord's slide, all the more gutting might be its end.

To the morning then, he thought, and a gluttonous smile curved over his lips as he stripped off his tunic and settled himself comfortably within the bed. The book he flicked back open across his lap, but though his eyes scanned over the printed words, his thoughts raced far beyond them.

To the morning then, and to whatever new games the dawn might see begun.

I really, really hope that you have enjoyed the beginning of what promises to be a very fun little series! The next chapter will be up just as soon as I can get it written (provided you don't all turn around screaming 'oh god no stop!') And as usual, all comments are treasured! Yours, theeventualwinner.
EDIT: Thanks guest reviewer who pointed out that I needed to watch my plurals vs singulars in Sindarin. Your help was much appreciated :3