What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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I Always Will

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Patience was not in Sauron’s nature. Neither was it in Mairon’s, Gorthaur’s, Annatar’s, nor Miaulë’s. As to Úmiuon, he was so impatient that he could hardly stay with that name for a couple of days before informing Celebrimbor that he had better think of a new epessë. In the past, he had sometimes waited for hundreds of years in order to see a plan to fruition, but even then he had always been pushing, never content to bide his time and wait for things in motion to resolve themselves. 

Perhaps, he thought, if I had kept a modicum of perspective in the past, I would not be where I am today.

Where he was in the literal sense was as far east as he had travelled since he had become aware that he was free of whatever had trapped him after his downfall. Just a short climb, and the snowpack began. He could easily cross the Pelóri here, travel towards the sea, and then what? Escape? Rid himself of the beautiful shell that half of Valinor seemed to recognize and travel with no fana to weigh him down? He had told Celebrimbor that he didn’t think he could escape, but that was not exactly true. Aman’s vast lands expanded every day — an equation set to some constant that even he did not understand. If Melkor and Ungoliant could hide in the First Age, a more subtle Maia could certainly create some foxhole for himself in the Fourth.

If you could keep yourself from the abyss. Even now it murmured to him, the emptiness lurking on the edge of his mind, the unspeakable loss that he could not look full in the face. Without the weight of a body, with no one looking for him, with no one to command, to care for, to love, the madness would soon eat him alive. And he would not escape. He would likely not make it out of Oromë’s woods before the crazed flight of his fëa would bring down the Vala himself and his eternal hunting party to capture him like a mad beast to be put out of his misery and given to unbeing, like his former master before him.

But is eternal imprisonment better? How long could he stave off the emptiness then? And would he even want to? Maybe being swallowed by the Ring-void would bring forgetfulness again; better than the certain dread of sitting imprisoned in the dark, dwelling on the dangling threads of misspent ages and potential he had thrown away.

He owes you nothing. You owe him everything. The knowledge didn’t make it any easier though, and the only thing worse than not knowing where he stood with Celebrimbor was the potential of learning that he had lost him forever. 

Sauron strode forward, bounding up the steep slope until he reached the beginning of the perpetual snow. He thrust his hands in, and concentrated on the acceleration of the snow’s Song, an action that would have been instinctual in ages past. Now, even a simple manipulation of the world took immense focus. As water first began to stream and then vaporize, an inner ache began that soon became a sharp stab of pain. He stopped when darkness began to crowd around his vision, and slowly stood, swaying for a moment. The cloud wrapped around him, shielding him from view and blocking his own vision. For a moment he lingered, imagining shucking off his body, and flying away in the cloud, untethered and untroubled. He shook himself, scattering water droplets and mist before turning back towards Ondomar. He could not bear to leave before he had to.

~

 

Sauron tried to stay out of everyone’s way. Most of the residents had a frantic air about them, even Celebrimbor, whose primary emotion towards the upcoming nuptials had been annoyance up until now. In the past few days however, every promised bit of ornamentation that he had shoved into drawers, under papers, and so out of his mind had resurfaced. Sauron had tried to talk to Celebrimbor, both about their relationship and more mundane things, and without fail, after only a minute, Celebrimbor would begin to pat his pockets, exclaim something like ‘The broach!’ or ‘the comb!’ and hurry away. It was vexing to have Celebrimbor’s attention so fragmented, and left him wondering what the point was of even trying.

He had resolved to stay, though, so Sauron mostly hid in Sildamo’s studio, unbothered by the heat, finishing the last bits of tailoring that needed to be done.

Perhaps I should petition Vairë for work during my imprisonment. He chuckled aloud, knowing full well he would not be allowed anywhere near something as powerful as the looms of Vairë.

“Stars, it is you.”

Sauron spun, feeling caught off guard laughing along at his own jokes with pins in his mouth. A small woman with a fall of silver curls stood in the doorway. Twisted scar tissue wrapped around half her face and one eye was glass. Despite that, he recognized her immediately. He removed the pins from his mouth with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Celebrían.”

“How have you managed not to have the members of this household kill you on the spot?” Celebrían asked.

“You should ask your mother that,” Sauron replied, scanning Celebrían for weapons.

“It’s no mystery why my mother puts up with your presence! She’s rather proud of you, you know.”

“Proud of me?” It was almost unfathomable that Galadriel would feel any positive emotion towards him.

“Well yes, but not so much in any of your accomplishments. More like how one is proud of a prize-winning stallion, or something of that nature.” Celebrían began to circle, looking him up and down with a critical eye. 

“Ah.” Galadriel appeared in the doorway. “So, what do you think?”

“He looks good. And he hasn’t said anything nasty yet.” Celebrían pointed at his right hand, still reluctant to touch him. “You did not entirely fix him.”

“No, of course not. I cannot heal what is not there. I’m sure if you were able to see his fëa, a more mangled atrocity would greet you then a single missing finger.”

“Are you quite finished?” Sauron suspected the next few days would be full of people gawking at him, and if he could end this peculiar mother-daughter inspection quickly, he would.

Celebrían crossed her arms, still addressing Galadriel. “I’m still less than pleased with being turned into one of your experiments.”

“Experiment no longer! If the lens could restore Sauron The Abhorred this well, I have no doubts it will work wonders on you,” Galadriel said.

“And who says I am in any need of restoring?” Celebrían asked.

“Well—“

“I am free of pain, thanks to the gardens of Lórien and Estë’s work, and my husband still finds me fair, and I care little for anyone else’s say in the matter. I would note that he, a great healer, has made no offer to fix me.” Celebrían’s tone held a dangerous edge.

“Don’t you want your depth perception back?” Galadriel offered. 

“Mmm. I don’t miss it that much. I was never a hunter.”

“Well, there’s no need to make a decision immediately. The lens will keep, and so will you, and you know I will love you whatever your choice.”

Celebrían sighed. “I will think on it.” She glanced at Sauron. “Do you like the marks? They’re your work, in a way. The mountain passes were always safe when Durin ruled in Moria. And your many wars left pockets of orcs everywhere, multiplying faster than anyone else. You forced us into war again and again, until violence dug so deep that my sons could not learn peace, and now—” Celebrían suddenly turned on him, seeming to snap back to the present.

“I have imagined facing you again, looking as I remembered you in Ost-in-Edhil, and fantasized about the revenge I could visit on you for the hurt you dealt to my friends, my family, myself. I find I’ve lost the taste for knife work that I used to have; you are not worth breaking the peace I have found at last. Do not mistake that for forgiveness.” 

Without any further farewell, she and Galadriel left. Their conversation drifted off, obscured by the bustle of the rest of the house.

Sauron stood for a moment, fitting the scarred women he’d just spoken to into his picture of Celebrían, the young Elf he had known in Ost-in-Edhil.

A blow, my lord, to the Elf-lord in his hidden valley. The hissing voice of the Nazgûl crawled up through the wreck of his memories. Sauron clenched his fists and went back to work on the cuff. To the Necromancer in Dol Guldor, Elrond and Celebrían had ceased to be people that he once knew and were instead part of the mass of enemies that threatened him behind their veils of power. When The Necromancer looked with his Eye across the north of Middle-earth, those swathes of obscurity had taunted him, enraged him with reminders of his failure, and hounded him with the familiar magic he had tried to wipe from the earth and from himself. 

Sauron stabbed the needle into the bust and stood. The repetitive motions were soothing no longer — he needed to strike something.

~

He went down to the smithy after that. There was plenty to do there as well; dish-ware, carafes, platters, goblets, and utensils were all being made specially for the wedding. There were plenty of able hands, but a distinct lack of a unifying vision. Írissë, Nerdanel, Fingon, and Maedhros all were liable to show up at any time, and unleash critiques on the growing number of pieces. This inevitably meant reworking everything crafted already, and then starting on whatever additional had been ordered. Then someone else would appear, despair over the previous design, and the cycle repeated itself. 

Everyone had given up but Sauron. Likely Celebrimbor or Curufin could put their foot down and force their family members to pick a single design, but Celebrimbor had refused to get involved from the beginning, and Curufin stayed mostly at Áremar. 

Sauron did not particularly enjoy being tapped to create the Dish-ware that Will Unify the House of Finwë, but he had begun to fixate on the problem, and felt compelled to keep working on it. He had gotten Maedhros to agree to the compromise of having Fingon’s gold star in the Finwean sun on one side, and Maedhros’ red star on the other, and abandon the idea of creating an ugly mashup of a symbol to represent their new house. He suspected that if he could just keep everyone in agreement on the etching, they could at last settle on the perfect dish-ware.

He stopped short in the doorway, his thoughts abruptly snatched from planning the next tureen by the sight of Celebrimbor at his workbench. He reached out with his mind, and then recoiled. The mind he had touched hummed at a frequency similar to Celebrimbor’s, but his thoughts formed strange shapes and moved in ways he had never seen before. No, it was clearly not Celebrimbor; he was too tall. Not-Celebrimbor turned and looked at him. He looked much like his friend, but his eyes were brighter, despite being set deeper in his face.

“Come here,” Fëanor said.

The order made him want to sneer and leave the workshop, but curiosity drove him forward — and the persistent feeling of obligation. He stopped a few feet away, already forced to look up at the Elf. Something about Fëanor’s presence made him want to listen, an alertness that was catching. He disliked it. The Silmarils had created the same urge, the spirit of their creator remade in the form of beautiful light — the kind of compulsion that drove unwise decisions and unhealthy fascinations. 

“Can you heat this chamber?” Fëanor pointed to a miniature container that seemed to be made of some kind of ceramic material. 

“Why? It’s already inside the forge.”

“The forges here are not hot enough. I require a temperature of 957 units Fëanáro. I must melt this alloy.”

Sauron wrinkled his nose. “I cannot believe even their creator would use units Fëanáro. They’re so imprecise.”

Fëanor’s brows drew together as he straightened, casting his full attention on Sauron. “Units Fëanáro were devised for this very purpose — to measure the melting point of metals.”

“Absurd to change scales based on what you’re measuring - what if you’re working with multiple materials? What if you need to melt metal, but also combine different elements and then hold the mixture at a steady temperature for a period of time? The instructions would use three different systems of measurement! I can think of few things more error prone. Not to mention the faults of a relative scale to begin with.”

“I suppose you would propose an absolute scale?”

“Obviously. I devised the Mólimavistalo Ilvanya Lesta, or MIL, for just such a purpose. Using the MIL, everyone was able to understand exactly what temperature was required for any purpose.”

“MIL.” Fëanor looked like he was tasting spoiled milk. “And what temperature would be needed to melt this lungon in units MIL?”

“6,652 MILar.”

“MILar," Fëanor spat. "You should not be permitted to create such abominations.” He stepped back and looked at Sauron significantly. “Well?”

Sauron blinked. “I cannot conduct that amount of heat.”

“You can’t? Didn’t you used to be a Maia of Aulë? What good are you if you can’t even create more heat than a forge?”

“My relative uselessness is likely why I am permitted to roam free around these grounds,” Sauron finally said, when he had recovered as much as he ever would from being called useless by Fëanor.

“It must be terrible,” Fëanor said, “to be so impotent.”

Sauron glared at him. “It is unpleasant.”

“I asked before I was released from Mandos if I would have all the facilities I did when I was alive before. I had no desire to live again in some half-state where my fingers were clumsy and my eyes dulled. Better to dwell forever in Mandos then.”

Sauron glanced around. There were plenty of empty forges and worktables; he would take his materials and go elsewhere.

“I am surprised you value your freedom so little,” he said to Fëanor as he collected a half dozen goblets that needed to be reworked. 

Fëanor frowned. “I value freedom greatly, or do you know nothing of our histories? But freedom also means being able to do what one willed, and since I delight in making and learning, the dulling of the mind and of the senses is a cage in and of itself.”

“If you are clever and persistent, many paths open up, even if your power is small and your abilities reduced. But first you must be free.”

Fëanor cocked his head at him. “You speak from experience.”

“Yes.” 

“So, what cleverness would you use to create the lungon alloy that I need?

Sauron frowned at the forge. “You only need to get a small area that hot if your miniature chamber is all that is required. If you switched fuel sources, there are several gases that would work if you can get them. Even this forge could achieve the heat you need.”

“Good! My grandson was not lying when he said you were intelligent. Although, it would be a great deal easier if you could simply produce the heat required.”

“You are much as I thought you’d be,” Sauron said dryly.

Fëanor laughed. “You are not as I thought you would be. When I found out you were one who turned to Morgoth during the dawn of Arda, I expected very little from you. But I suppose I was one of the few who could see through his fair guise and sweet words.” 

“They do say your brilliance is unparalleled.”

Fëanor flashed a smile. “In some matters.” 

At this approximation of humility, Sauron paused with his armful of materials. “What do you intend to do?”

“I must finish these necklaces before my brothers and sisters arrive. I know not what their demeanor towards me will be, but if I can soften them with a gift I will. I wish to start our relationship anew.”

“No, I meant in general. Will you stay here in Ondomar?”

“Perhaps for a time. But I want to explore the world again, and see what has changed while I was entombed in Mandos. And to explore the full breadth of Aman I will need the forgiveness of my brothers, and of King Olwë.” He grimaced. “I do not suspect that will come easily.”

“But you think it will be granted?”

“Who knows? It is certainly not owed, and of my sons only one has obtained formal pardons.”

“The rest have not asked, and one is not truly capable of asking.”

“And that is why I will try. They say that these are days of forgiveness, of righting wrongs, and granting understanding despite different modes of being. I will try to live thus — I owe Nerdanel that much.”

“You once called this place the cage of the Valar.”

“I did.” Fëanor looked around. “If this is a cage, the bars are more firmly set than ever. But I am willing to explore its confines for the time being. There is much that is good here, including the ones I love.” He frowned at Sauron’s armful of supplies. “Where are you going?”

“To modify these goblets.”

“Why not work here?”

“I don’t wish to interrupt your work.”

“Nonsense. Although there are improvements to be made to this workshop, space is not one of them. I have created objects with tenfold complexity in more cramped quarters. You’ll waste much time walking back and forth.  I see many more goblets that you must be planning to change.”

“Very well.” Sauron placed his materials back on the table. How many fewer years of captivity will this penance buy me, he thought. 

Fëanor handed him an angular rock. “Now, at the very least you should be able to tell me the composition of this wolframite.”

Sauron took the rock, mourning the work he already knew he wouldn’t be able to do courtesy of Fëanor. Perhaps he could at least learn something from the process.

 

~

The day before the wedding dawned misty and cool, the dew-covered pine needles dripping and the morning sounds of the animals muted in the grey dawn. Soon though, shouts of welcome rose with the sun, and the light and sound chased the morning stillness away. As the remaining dew began to sparkle in the sunlight, the last few guests arrived with much fanfare. 

First came Mahtan, his wife Lanë, and Nerdanel’s sister and brother with their families. The sea of red hair and booming voices woke even the deepest of sleepers. No one minded, though. Many ran to the courtyard to greet old colleagues and friends, and those who did not know Mahtan’s household hung out of windows. The grooms had been separated the night before their wedding, with Fingon staying at Áremar with his family, and Maedhros staying with his mother, so all were curious to see the meeting of Maedhros and his mother’s folk, sundered for many ages .

There were still many wiping away tears, and Mahtan and Fëanor were still hidden behind closed doors, speaking words that had been thought and revised millennia ago with little hope of ever being heard aloud, when Findis and her family arrived, save her son, who ruled in Tirion in Finfarfin’s stead while the king was absent. 

“I would not have thought Findis would choose to stay with this side of the family,” Sauron remarked, peering down from the half-hidden sill where he perched.

“On the contrary.” Tirien, Caranthir’s wife, twisted her head to see the new arrivals “Findis and Nerdanel are fast friends, it would be strange if she didn’t stay at Ondomar.” 

Soon after Mahtan’s arrival, Tirien had hauled him to the window they now sat at, conveniently screened from the inside of the house by shelves of supplies. Sauron had not spoken with her much before, but apparently compared to the invasion of Caranthir’s extended family, of whom she’d met very few, he was a likely candidate for commiseration and the lesser evil.

“I imagine you wish to be swarmed by in-laws no more than I do,” she offered as an explanation, when he’d been too surprised to protest. “I will introduce myself to them all, but one at a time, and away from that crushing Amanyar chaos.”

Sauron nodded, as if in agreement that one-on-one meetings would be a better way to meet the family. As far as he knew, these relatives at least would not be looking to tear him limb from limb on sight, but he very much doubted they would regard him with anything other than hostility should they realize his identity. But for now, he watched from above with Tirien, and indulged in a light fantasy of being in an equivalent situation to hers — a spouse from Middle-earth who merely wished to avoid the chaotic reunions taking place in the courtyard. 

A last group rode up, just as the elves below began to scatter. 

“Fíriel is here at last,” Tirien said. “I was beginning to wonder when she would show.”

Sauron looked at the woman in astonishment. “She looks like him,” Sauron said. Tirien hummed in agreement, although she could have been thinking of several of Míriel’s descendants. Míriel’s silver hair had not been passed to any of her progeny, but her sharp cheekbones, high forehead, and straight nose were unmistakably mirrored in Celebrimbor’s face. Míriel Serindë glanced up and looked directly at him despite all the other elves vying for her attention in the courtyard and hanging out of Ondomar’s many windows. She frowned.

“Fíriel at least I will greet,” Tirien said as she stood. “I must thank her for the thread she sent us.”

Sauron distractedly said goodbye, still staring at Míriel greeting her family in the courtyard. 

~

The greetings continued all day. Tears of laughter and grief flowed alike and every hallway seemed to contain some long anticipated reunion. Sauron did not avoid all awkward encounters. After the consternation and confusion he’d caused by introducing himself to Findis’ daughter as ‘Sauron,’  he decided next time to use the unrecognized name ‘Mairon.’ He didn’t have to introduce himself at all to Erestor, who upon encountering him marched him into a side room and proceeded to castigate him for an hour about the burning of the central library in Ost-in-Edhil. When Sauron expressed surprise over this very specific cause for anger, Erestor replied, “Well, I do hope you’ve already been chastised for all the rest of the horrors you brought down on us.”

Erestor did not accept Sauron’s apology.

Later that day, a flustered Sam, smudged in flour and other ingredients, thankfully interrupted another confused introduction.

“You seem unoccupied and also like you could reach into an inconveniently tall oven,” Sam said.

“I could do that,” Sauron replied, and let himself be dragged into the maelstrom of the kitchen. He would have laughed at the thought of feeling any kind of emotion about chopping vegetables before, but the simple household duties were a relief compared to the heightening celebratory atmosphere outside.

The celebration began in earnest as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Music and dancing began, each song starting in a new mode and the teachers of the dance changing as they traveled through the ages in circles and lines, hands pressed together or joined. Wine and spirits were flowing as well; all the hard work and preparation of the previous months meant the house overflowed with more than enough alcohol and food to keep the assembled guests going for days.

From his perch on the porch roof, Sauron had the perfect vantage to see Elrond and Celebrían attempt to teach a very Mannish-inspired Third Age jig. Most of the assembly had given up, and were just dancing in whatever vigorous style they were most skilled at. The exceptions were Gandalf and Galadriel, who were managing quite well together despite the height difference between them.

Something came at him from the right; he snatched it out of the air before it hit his face. Celebrimbor hoisted himself onto the roof, having climbed up a trellis leaned against the porch. “You’ve found a most inconvenient hiding place.”

“A convenient hiding place would be entirely beside the point.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of my family.” Crawling over, Celebrimbor grabbed the wineskin from him.

“They’ve caused me problems in the past.” Sauron shook his head, chasing away talk of history tonight. They had spent enough time mired there. “I spent as long as I could gawking and being gawked at, steeling myself for tomorrow. I thought it best to remove myself from the festivities. I am trying to be on my best behavior, but there are limits you know.” 

The corner of Celebrimbor’s mouth turned up. “Very wise — if you could hold off your descent into villainy until after the wedding I would very much appreciate it.”

Sauron turned so that he could fully see Celebrimbor. He seemed made of starlight; his eyes shone in the moonlight almost as they had in his first life, and the silver undertone in his dark hair gleamed. Months of frustrated longing welled within him.

“Please, I have to know.” Sauron thought better of his plea as sudden doubt smote him. “Or don’t say anything if I have no chance!”

Celebrimbor laughed softly and looked at him with incredulity. “It’s strange to be the one with all the power this time.”

“What?” Sauron started back, realizing he’d been unconsciously leaning towards Celebrimbor. “How could you say that? You’ve always been the one in control. Yes, even then. I could tear through every inch of your body, sift through whatever remained, and yet I still felt powerless, unable to leave until I had—“ He swallowed. “Until you had died.” Sauron looked away, unable to meet the sadness in Celebrimbor’s eyes.

“Mere months after we first spoke I realized my plans to learn your secrets and send some more subtle spy in my place were useless — I could not bear to leave you and not play some part in your dreams that you were in the midst of.” Sauron continued. “And I’m not surprised I came here when I was disoriented and without self and memory. It’s like your Third Age model.”

“Hm?” Celebrimbor’s mind opened up to him, in what seemed to be an automatic response to confusion. He waited for a moment, not sure if Celebrimbor really wanted to speak through their bond.

When he did not pull away, Sauron shared an image of a blue and white sphere spinning through darkness. Then he slowly exposed more and more of his comprehension of the sun. Not Arien as she was in Aman, a woman driving a chariot across the sky, bearing a yellow flower and reflecting its light and warmth with all of her strength. No, the sun in Middle-earth was now a sphere of almost incomprehensible power.

Sauron tried to show him the heat and pressure forging light that fed life throughout Arda, but even through the filter of his mind, he could tell the dizzying brightness of the process was hard to focus on for any length of time. 

“Like that,” Sauron finally said aloud, his mind now spiraling away from the sun with haste, revealing a net of rocks and gas spinning around it.

“We are like the uniting particles that power the sun?” Celebrimbor asked, still trying to comprehend what he had seen.

“No!” Sauron  pressed his lips together. “I am trying to be romantic. You are like the sun, pulling me around you so that I can’t help but be near.”

“Like that?” Celebrimbor said. His eyes were misaligned and he was swaying slightly. Concerned, Sauron scanned through his body, looking for some hidden malady. He detected the influence of wine, but not that much. The dizziness seemed to come from Celebrimbor’s thinking mind, unspooling into the heavens trying to order what he had just said into some numerically bounded concept, although something else also overwhelmed his senses. It’s you, Celebrimbor signaled, and Sauron saw a vision of himself as he was now, fëa at the surface of his own body, light spilling from him enough to glint off of his simple jewelry, his own pull as strong as what he had just shown Celebrimbor.

“Yes, like that. As I said.” Sauron tried to not to pry, but he could feel a strength of emotion welling between them that sparked treacherous hope in his heart.

“As you said,” Celebrimbor repeated. “You know, I’m not sure if you’ve ever said you loved me so clearly. Yes, there were vows and promises, but we were always more focused on what we could do than how we felt.” Sauron tried to protest, but Celebrimbor would not let him speak. “How could you know that —” his thought encompassed the entire web Middle-earth was caught in and the life-giving radiation of the sun — “And not try to see it for yourself?”

“I only cared for Arda.” Sauron saw Celebrimbor connect snatches of what he had shown with a dozen natural processes, irritated curiosity behind his imaginings, and he almost laughed at how obvious Celebrimbor thought every link he saw. With millennia in Middle-earth, the ties from beyond had never occurred to Sauron. 

“Yes, of course! You are right — it’s not some isolated phenomena that only appears beyond the airs of Arda, we could —” Sauron stopped himself. “ You could study them here with some guidance. I think I am almost out of time.” He spoke without self-pity, but a note of grief still escaped as he thought of ending this short, strange chapter in his life. And then — he realized he had taken the image of the dark walls of Mandos from Celebrimbor’s mind. 

“You do not know for certain what your judgment will be.” An ancient door filled their minds, crafted of slabs of stone, rough and unpolished. “You do not know the Void will be your fate either,” Celebrimbor said softly.

“I would prefer it, though,” said Sauron, speaking aloud what he had hardly allowed himself to think. “To finally end it all would be better than what will happen if I am forced into perpetual inaction.”

He could feel Celebrimbor pushing back the whirling madness that suddenly rose to the surface of his mind. “End it all?” Celebrimbor frowned. “Is it not a matter of whether you are imprisoned with hope of parole in Mandos or whether it is a final banishment to the Void with Melkor? In either case—a” He stopped and tried to understand what Sauron tried to share between them. True nothingness was difficult to communicate.

“It’s a problem of language — you use Cúma to describe everything outside Eä. But there is a difference between being outside of Eä and being unmade, although in the latter case you are still outside of Eä.” Confusion still clouded Celebrimbor’s mind. Sauron continued, “The latter is what happened to Melkor. His spirit isn’t floating somewhere on the other side of the Doors of Night. That would be no punishment, he willingly explored outside of Eä. He is unmade, Void. To the extent that he could be; he sank much of himself into the very core of Arda.” 

“What? How could he explore outside of Eä? Is Eä it not by definition everything? And then—” Celebrimbor finally understood what he meant by ‘Void,’ but a thousand more questions sprang up in the answer’s wake. “No, I won’t let that happen. Not now — what will I do if you are…” He took a shaky breath, still not meeting Sauron’s eyes. “Surely you know my answer? When we’re together, wonders are at my fingertips that I would otherwise never even think to look for. My eyes are uncovered, I understand my own heart better!” He finally looked up, and groped for Sauron’s hand, covering it with his own and catching their fingers together. “It is not that I am changed — I have known who I am for a long time, but the world around me seems to change. It is better, brighter with you. And I didn’t want to hope, but it’s too late! I have glimpsed what I hadn’t even dared consider, and I can’t let go of this vision of what we could be.”

Sauron could hardly grasp the confession of love delivered like a diatribe. “So, it is the same for you,” he said, suppressed hope blooming.

“Now. Now! You are content to go to any fate that is determined for you? What happened to the person who sought to wrest the strands of time to his own command? Who was so discontent with following a marred pattern that he would rather follow the Marrer himself than fall into the place prepared for him among the Ainur?” Celebrimbor looked furious, although his voice stayed low to keep the dancers below them from noticing their rooftop perch.

“Neither would you want me to flee from the consequences that have finally caught up to me!” Sauron pointed out. A smile still spread across his face, even as the impossible situation they were in was put in such stark terms. “You would only have me if I am striving to face what evil I have done, yet that likely means you cannot have me at all.”

“Why are you smiling? This is terrible.” Celebrimbor’s grip on Sauron’s hand almost hurt. 

“Because you are mine.” 

“But nothing is solved!”

“Although I will help you try, you’re never going to solve the world, Celebrimbor.”

“You won’t help me! You will be unmade, or imprisoned, and we’ll be forever apart.”

“You don’t know that.”

Celebrimbor groaned, but Sauron could feel the anger dissipating, and a wry amusement growing over their swapped arguments. He held up the wineskin, still gripped in his other hand, and Sauron obliged, uncorking it with his own free hand.

“It can never be simple, can it,” Celebrimbor said, after drinking deeply from the skin.

“You would get bored.” Sauron accepted the wineskin from Celebrimbor and took a sip, before making a face and just managing not to spit out the wine. “Ugh. I still have not acquired the taste for alcohol. I can taste the poison.”

“A little poison is fun, if you know what you’re doing.” Celebrimbor stared at him for a moment, his eyes moving down to his mouth. He leaned towards him, and finally their lips pressed together, embracing as they hadn’t since the world hewed to a different shape. Sauron could feel Celebrimbor’s spirit settle against his own, the last barrier removed, no longer holding himself away from the strange contours of his own soul. He could taste the wine on his tongue as they kissed, poison transformed to sweetness between them. 

Celebrimbor broke the kiss, turning his face as Sauron tried to follow. “Do you still want a new name?”

“Other than Sauron, the Abhorred? Yes, that would be nice. If you have another name ready to mock me though, I’d rather kiss you instead.” Sauron leaned toward him again, feeling that every moment apart was a moment wasted.

“It’s difficult!” Celebrimbor protested. “I still call you Annatar in my mind most of the time.”

Sauron sat back with a sigh. “It’s a false name. And it reminds me of hurting you.”

Celebrimbor pursed his lips. “I should make you live with that.”

Sauron leaned his head on Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “You can call me whatever you’d like to; I will accept anything you give me.”

“Maybe you need to live with it,” Celebrimbor said slowly. Celebrimbor’s image of Annatar drifted between them, a golden figure perched amid papers and half-wrought prototypes, complaining about something just to keep Celebrimbor talking to him. It met his own memory of a thirst-broken voice repeating ‘Annatar’ over and over, in a haze of confusion and fear.

“I had feared that you had changed too much,” Celebrimbor continued. “After all, I’ve lived with you for years and I didn’t know it was you, and before you regained your memory, there were only glimpses of the person I remembered. And you have changed. I’ve been watching. Annatar of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain would never have been caught mending sheets — it would never have occurred to him.”

Sauron frowned, concerned at the direction of the conversation. “I had nothing else to do.”

“That has never spurred you to action in the past. You were helping.”

“Are you saying I’ve never been helpful before now? I remember many times assisting you and others among the Mírdain.”

“Sometimes you helped! I do recall a few times you deliberately misled me.” Celebrimbor held up a hand, not wishing to discuss the amusing or tragic times that had occurred. “But it was never like this. You were never willing to do something tedious if someone else could do it, especially if no one would recognize the work.”

“I don’t know what the point of this is,” Sauron huffed. “I’ve been trying to be helpful because I knew you would see that. It was purely selfish.”

“Lies! Tell me, how would I have known all the countless hours you spent mending; you never mentioned it. Or the number of times you alone made and remade those goblets and carafes, or that you even worked on those at all!”

“Well, clearly you know! So maybe I was right that you would see my attempts at appearing good in your eyes.” In a way, this was exactly what Sauron had hoped Celebrimbor would say, but he had not realized that he actually had seen his efforts. He had not actually been thinking about Celebrimbor as he and Írissë argued over the last minute dish-ware she needed. He had been more absorbed in trying to imitate her requested stylings, while creating something that used less metal than her son’s design. Nor had it occurred to him that others might mention to Celebrimbor how he had been pulled into work in the attic or the kitchen.

Celebrimbor shook his head, laughing at him. “So you see, you are not the same, yet I still know you. How can I think of you as anyone other than Annatar? After all, you still like to give gifts.” He held up their joined hands to show the bracelet he still wore.

“I can’t believe you still wear that clumsy thing,” Sauron said, ruefully eyeing the simple craftsmanship. “‘Annatar.’” He tried the name, unearthing the moniker after ages of disuse in his mind. “Perhaps I can learn to live with it.” He ran his thumb over the bracelet. “I would still like to make you something better than this.”

“Who knows what tomorrow will bring.” Celebrimbor leaned back to lie on the roof, looking at the stars moving in their unchanging paths. “But if the future holds a world where you and I can make things for each other, I think any gifts of jewelry should be discussed beforehand in great detail.”

Sauron leaned on one elbow, looking at Celebrimbor’s silvered profile. “Fair enough,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss him again.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Visitor for making sure I use dashes correctly, suggesting ways to make the emotions hit harder, and yelling encouragement at me.

Úmiuon - Q. Not-cat

Mólimavistalo Ilvanya Lesta (MIL) - Q. Perfect Measure of Energy-Changing. Based on the Rankine Scale, an absolute scale developed to work with Fahrenheit as opposed to Celsius. Yes. Sauron forced his empire to say things like, 'Brrr, kind of chilly. How cold is it today?' '492 MILar.' Sauron saw no problem with this, because saying three digit or longer numbers in Black Speech is very economical, only three syllables, unlike in many languages where it's over ten. Yet another reason why his subjects should abandon their old, illogical tongues.
I'm harassing Sauron as usual, but Fëanor's scale, modeled on the Newton Scale, is also pretty silly.
Thanks to undercat for helping me with the Quenya and enabling and encouraging this academic catfight.

Cúma - Q. The Void

Eä - Q. The total created Universe