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Annatar felt paper-thin.
He, who was as multidimensional as life itself, had the impression that he’d been flattened on an anvil and hardened into a singular core of confusing, contradictory desires and thoughts.
As an exceptional smith and craftsman himself, he wanted—nay, needed to know—how this mere mortal had managed to put such a spell on him that he caught himself earnestly contemplating the most unusual and unpardonable of betrayals.
He, who’d never doubted his purpose or plans, now found himself hesitating to deal the final blow.
Picking up the heavy smithing hammer he’d cast down in an ungracious, undignified fit of pique, Annatar tried to focus on the project at hand.
It was of minor importance and its creation should not have taken him more than a few moments—for now, he was alone in the forge.
Something within himself baulked at the impulse, as natural as breathing was to the Children, to use his uncanny Powers to bend the dully gleaming metal to his will.
No, he thought, Celebrimbor was a gifted smith himself, and he’d be looking for the telltale marks of fusing, plying, and cautious hammering to learn how to reproduce such a marvellous gift.
Annatar’s lip curled in dismay as these last words seemed to echo through his skull—he yearned to impress and amaze Celebrimbor.
Even when he turned his perspicacious eye inward to scan his own motives and reflections, he couldn’t discern why Celebrimbor’s soft eyes and sharp smile had such a devastatingly disarming effect on him.
True, he was gorgeous, but so had his father, his uncles, and his grandsire been without ever threatening to lead the Maia astray. There had to be something more to this scion of a doomed house than mere beauty, skill, and a surprisingly compelling voice.
“Ann—” The greeting was swallowed in a scream, followed by a resounding thump.
Faster than any mortal eye could perceive, Annatar had whirled around and rushed to Celebrimbor’s side.
“I’m fine—It was entirely my fault,” the Elven prodigy chuckled sheepishly, but when Annatar tried to pull him up—measuring and restraining his unnatural strength now that the first wave of blind panic had subsided—Celebrimbor winced in pain.
Like a wolf seeking a hidden foe, Annatar scanned the pool of dim light in which the other was curled up and finally, snatched up a roundish pebble of mineral scrap.
Holding it aloft with triumphant accusation, the Maia had to consciously control his fingers to keep from pulverising the offal in a surge of vengeful hatred.
“Messy,” he mumbled to himself. Celebrimbor and the nascent tension between them were not unlike this discarded piece of lacklustre stone—it had broken off a much bigger, more impressive piece to roll into the shadows from whence it had mercilessly toppled the one who’d created it.
There was a distinct warning in this unfortunate, insignificant accident—Annatar chose to disregard it.
“Yes,” Celebrimbor admitted graciously. “I really should pay more attention and sweep the floors better. As I said, I can’t blame anyone but myself.”
Irrational anger flashed through Annatar’s mind—just like this seemingly worthless chip of dull stone, Celebrimbor was woefully fragile.
Torn between the innate desire to protect and the acquired taste for destruction, the mendacious envoy of darkness rather than succour stilled.
When Celebrimbor’s lip slid, warm and soothing, against his firmly set mouth, Annatar now felt like the anvil, shivering under the mighty blow of an unseen hammer, instead.
“You worry too much,” Celebrimbor smiled as he picked himself up slowly. “It was but a small tumble—I’ve survived much worse.”
There’s much worse to come, Annatar thought, but he couldn’t bear speaking those words aloud for fear of shattering this precious bubble of comfortable, comforting companionship.
A small part of him, an errant sliver of shiny hope, having splintered off the core of his terrible resolve, was afraid to bring the very catastrophe he was so dreading about by speaking it into existence, so he kept his peace.
“Where…” Celebrimbor looked down on him in puzzled astonishment. “What did you do with it?”
“Never mind,” Annatar replied quickly, conjuring up a reassuring, suave smile. “We can sweep the forge tomorrow. Let’s go over—I want to make sure you’re not seriously injured.”
“I’m telling you—I’m fine. I wanted to help you with the project; it would be unfair to let you do all the work on your own, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m almost done anyway,” Annatar said and let his hand curl carefully around Celebrimbor’s wonderfully muscular, warm upper arm to lead him out of the forge. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Naturally wary of surprises in the forge, Celebrimbor frowned, but he knew better than to struggle against the deceivingly gentle hold. “If you say so…”
Steering the reluctant Elf away from his workspace, Annatar imbued his voice with the thrumming vibrato of seduction as he repeated that he intended to inspect Celebrimbor’s limbs thoroughly to ascertain that he’d not suffered any hidden injuries.
This time, Celebrimbor didn’t demur even though he felt profoundly foolish. He’d planned on spending at least a few hours helping Annatar before thanking him profusely for his teachings.
If there’d been the odd thought about other diaphoretic activities, Celebrimbor wasn’t to blame for that—Annatar simply was far too beautiful and enchanting while forging for a mere mortal to keep his focus from wandering from time to time.
“And you’re sure you don’t want help? Wait until I’m crafting something, and you are barred from seeing or touching it before it’s finished,” Celebrimbor teased.
Fortunately, the cool air outside the forge hit him unexpectedly and made him blink so he didn’t see the grimace of alarm and dark premonition flashing across Annatar’s hitherto placid mien.
“I’ll put on the kettle,” Celebrimbor chirped, hastening ahead to prove that his mobility wasn’t in the least impaired.
“Yes,” Annatar called weakly, letting the treacherous pebble slip into his pocket as a constant, bleak reminder of all the realities and fates none, not even he and the great Fëanáro’s blessed grandson, could alter or change. “I’m right behind you.”