Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Annatar

Annatar talks about ships and wings; Mairon gets jealous.

 

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28. Annatar

 

Days passed, turning into weeks, and Elrond avoided holding the meeting Mairon so anxiously desired.

Instead, Gil-galad had entrusted my lord with the authority to negotiate and, where possible, sign several crucial trade agreements in his name, and Elrond had indefatigably poured his energy and wit into guaranteeing the most advantageous conditions for Lindon. As well as regular audiences with the rulers of Eregion, he had busied himself visiting merchants, guildmasters and even a delegation of craftsmen from Khazad-dûm. A few days into our visit we met Narvi, a dear friend of Celebrimbor and a master builder whose latest creation were the famed Doors of Dúrin, on the western entrance to the realm of the Casári[1].

Even though I shared Elrond’s burden wherever possible, assisting him with research to support his arguments, undertaking the production of the most sensitive documents, or dealing with other minor matters, he was often exhausted and short-tempered at the end of these gruelling days.

In the meantime, Mairon and I continued our furtive nightly encounters. Knowing Elrond would surely ask awkward questions if he learnt of my true pursuit, I often feigned weariness and requested his leave to retire early to my room, or to stroll into the night to find rest in silence and starlight. Instead I was swiftly reacquainting myself with the cruel bliss of Mairon’s attentions. After our first meeting, the familiar rituals of dominance and submission had been inextricably woven into our love making, and every evening I tasted both exquisite torment and tender pleasure in ratios dictated by his swinging mood.

Inevitably, we would talk about the affairs of Eregion and Lindon, though I had to tread carefully around confidential matters of state. He resented my reticence, despite knowing that my fealty must lie with Gil-galad, through Elrond. He also made it clear that he was irritated at my lord’s refusal to grant him an interview.

In the end, I felt obliged to breach the subject.

‘Celebrimbor has invited us to dinner tonight,’ Elrond said, folding the message that had just been delivered by a page, a shy young boy who could not stop fidgeting with the collar of his tunic while he waited for an answer. ‘You have been turning in early these days, and I cannot blame you, Erestor, but maybe tonight you would like to make an exception?’

I wavered. Although nights with Mairon were wondrous, I did not wish to raise Elrond’s suspicions by declining the invitation.

‘I would be delighted,’ I answered, wondering about the best way to convey a note to Mairon to inform him about the change of plans. It turned out not to be necessary.

‘He has also invited Annatar,’ added Elrond with an unhappy sigh after the messenger boy left with his reply accepting the invitation.

‘Is there anything amiss, Elrond? Have you yet considered Artano’s petition to be allowed into Lindon? He wished to see you to answer any queries you may have.’

‘I know, Erestor. I have eluded the meeting because I am racked with doubts, even before I hear his arguments. Everyone sings praises of the man; he has been nothing but courteous, and even helpful to our cause, mediating with some of the most unyielding guilds on our behalf. And yet...’ He frowned, and his eyes lost their focus, as though recalling memories. ‘Something about him makes me uneasy.’

‘What, exactly?’ I queried, doing my best to feign indifference.

‘Would you not say he is too fair? Too perfect?’

‘Elrond!’ I cried, shocked into mirth. ‘He is a Maia.’

‘But not like those who fought in the War,’ he insisted. ‘I stood closer to Eönwë than I am to you now. The Herald of Manwë was fair in a remote, otherworldly way, unlike Annatar who is so... desirable.’ He blushed, but continued. ‘Do the Maiar adopt that fair guise in Aman?’

My heart lurched. Though the phrasing of his question allowed me to keep my secrets safe, I was too perilously close to divulging more than was wise.

‘The Ainur are seldom visible to the Eldar in Valinor, and they normally dress themselves in fanar like those the Maiar wore during the War. Annatar may have donned his present hröa to become closer to those he seeks to aid, less unapproachable.’

‘That is also what Galadriel says. Like me, she wonders why he is here.’ He shook his head. ‘You are right, Erestor, I am being unreasonable. I will be civil to Annatar tonight, and maybe bid him to meet me tomorrow,’ he conceded.

 

~ o ~

 

Mairon and our host were sipping wine and engaged in a lively discussion about the relative merits of steel alloyants to increase corrosion resistance when we were introduced by Celebrimbor’s servant into his finely decorated dining room. They both rose from their seats to greet us. Mairon bowed shallowly while Celebrimbor rushed towards us with a bright smile on his face to embrace Elrond first, then me.

‘Welcome, friends,’ he cried happily, and further marked his words by slapping my back heartily. I saw Mairon curl his lips in amusement.

Over dinner, our host led the conversation, lively but dealing exclusively with local gossip and other matters of little import, while we savoured crisp leek tartlets followed by roast duck with fried apple rings and berry sauce. For dessert, his cook had whipped up cream with sweet wild honey and chopped walnuts in a mouth-watering swirl that somehow seemed to defy gravity.

Only after we left the table and made ourselves comfortable on the plump leather couches around the blazing fire of his sitting room, cradling carved goblets filled with herb liquor, did we tackle any serious matters.

‘How are your negotiations progressing, Elrond?’ queried Celebrimbor.

‘Arduous. The guildmasters and merchants of Eregion drive hard bargains,’ answered my lord. ‘However, your recommendation to your friend Narvi has opened many doors for us, regarding the provision of refined iron. I am most grateful.’

‘Good. In his latest letter he writes that his team of prospectors are hopping with excitement. Apparently they may have found the particular variety of quartz that usually lies around a vein of true-silver,’ announced Celebrimbor. ‘They had to delve deeper than they initially planned, boring through very hard rock that delayed them for several weeks, but at last the signs are promising.‘

‘True-silver?’ echoed Mairon and Elrond in unison, and the coincidence prompted them to peer at each other intently. Elrond shifted his glance to my left wrist while Mairon watched him do so. I tugged at my sleeve to cover the concealed band.

‘Yes. Not long ago I named it mithril because of its sheen, after Annatar assisted me in the crafting of the Tree that adorns the Gates of Khazad-dûm,’ continued Celebrimbor, unaware of the silent exchanges between us three. ‘Have you ever seen true-silver in Valinor, Erestor?’

‘I have indeed seen it before,’ I replied cautiously. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Mairon’s hint of a smirk. ‘Is it true that it may also be found in mountains far in the East of Ennor?’

‘Those are fanciful tales without proof.’ Celebrimbor waved his hand as though to dismiss the rumours. ‘And I am equally doubtful about the claims of the Númenóreans having discovered traces in their island of plenty.’

Mairon pressed his lips together and Elrond still stared at my wrist. I let my hand drop to my side, removing the object of his attention from view, glad for their discretion. Though Annatar had mentioned the hidebound secrecy of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, I wanted Celebrimbor to remain ignorant about the shackle and thus avoid the enthusiastic questioning that would follow if he were to learn of its existence.

‘I never saw my father’s ship while he sailed it, before he... left,’ said my lord, gulping down the contents of his goblet. ‘I always wished to know if it is really made of mithril, like Maglor used to tell me. Is it, Artano?’

‘You may easily imagine it to be so because of the hallowed radiance Vingilot carries, compared to which mithril seems dull as lead,’ spoke Mairon reverently. ‘But your father made his ship from timber hewn in the birchwoods of Nimbrethil in Arvernien, now sunken under the sea. Its planks are smooth and white as swan feathers, its oars long and golden, and its tall sails glimmer with the sheen of the argent moon. The first time it rose into the sky, with Eärendil wearing the Silmaril on his brow, the whole of Aman rejoiced at its beauty. And it was an even finer sight when your father and the army of Eagles slew Ancalagon, greatest of the winged dragons of Morgoth, casting him from the sky to crumble the peaks of Thangorodrim.’

‘One of my fondest childhood dreams shattered,’ chuckled Elrond softly.

In the silence that followed, a soft flapping coming from outside the open window sounded loud to my ears.

‘I have never seen so many bats as in this place,’ I observed, rushing to change the subject of the conversation.

‘We did not use to have so many around,’ said Celebrimbor, making a grimace of disgust, ‘but we have felled many trees around the city over the last few years. That may have unsettled them.’

‘People dislike bats without reason,’ commented Mairon, twirling his goblet in his hand, watching the clear liquid inside. ‘They are clever creatures, and harmless. The structure of their wings is a wonder, very light and akin to the build of our arms and hands, as opposed to the wings of a bird.’ He splayed his fingers before his face and wriggled them.

‘Fascinating,’ laughed Celebrimbor. ‘Maybe one day you can teach us how to build ourselves wings that will actually allow us to fly.’

Again, Mairon and I exchanged a knowing glance. I struggled not to smile.

‘You already have the knowledge, friend,’ answered Mairon. ‘As miraculous as flying may appear to those bound to the ground, understanding the mechanics of gliding requires no more than the study of forces in motion, using calculation techniques that you have already mastered. With the level of excellence in metalwork achieved by your people right here, amongst those of the Mírdain, you can build a structure both light and strong enough to keep a man in flight.’

‘Tell me, Annatar,’ interjected Elrond, ‘if we, people of Ennor, are already capable of crafting wondrous swan-shaped boats and full-sized bat wings, what need do we have of the aid you offer us?’

Mairon’s spark of irritation was perceptible to me, despite his polite smile. I wondered if my companions detected it too.

‘I do not deny your people’s ingenuity or their skills, Elrond, but the world has suffered grievously during the fight with Bauglir; his taint, that he infused into the earth itself, may be stopped and even healed, if we labour together. We love Ennor; why must it remain desolate and dark when it can rival Tol Eressëa, nay, even Valinor?’ asked Mairon in his voice of silk.

‘I have never seen Valinor, nor do I wish to,’ countered my lord, somewhat curtly. ‘Ennor has its own beauty, as flawed as it may be. There is no need for us to recreate the past glory of our ancestors in the Blessed Realm.’

‘Here in Eregion we do not dwell in the past, Elrond,’ intervened Celebrimbor in a placating tone. ‘We look into the future. There is much to be learnt to tame the forces of Arda and use them to our purposes, including the healing of its wounds. But why struggle to attain that curwë[2] when it is offered freely? Annatar has already taught us skills we had only dreamt of.’

‘What knowledge is that?’ I enquired, curious.

‘It is not easy to explain to the uninitiated, Erestor,’ he answered. ‘We believe it could be applied to a multitude of purposes. As an example, it may allow us to harness the very essence and attributes of live beings and pour them elsewhere. If our experiments are successful, we could imbue goodness into matter, banishing taint.’

‘Who is to say we could not discover those mysteries unaided?’ said Elrond. ‘You have always drawn great pleasure from your own achievements, cousin. Why stoop to anyone now, whether man or Maia?’

‘You sound like Galadriel. Too proud to ever admit weakness or accept assistance from anyone she deems her better,’ retorted Celebrimbor bitterly. ‘She refused my invitation tonight when she knew Artano would be here, as though by treating him with contempt he would vanish. When she insults him, she offends the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and myself.’

‘Peace, friends!’ cried Mairon. ‘Nobody has insulted me. Though I must admit, I am saddened by her scorn. Perplexed, too. For how may she resent my wish to aid her subjects here at Eregion, and through them boost her own might and glory, while she does the same, seeking to enlighten her untaught kindred of Lórinand? Why is my care for the ills that afflict Ennor unworthy in her eyes?’

I was happy to remain a listener in their argument.

‘I do not doubt the value of your counsel, Artano. But knowing Galadriel, she may object to what she considers the interference of the Belain,’ Elrond said, choosing his words carefully.

‘I sympathise with her reservations,’ replied Mairon. ‘If I may speak candidly amongst friends, as one of the Ainur I was appalled at the lack of compassion displayed by the Aratar regarding the events surrounding the Darkening. I feel they have utterly abandoned these shores and retreated with all their servants to the safety of Valinor.’

‘All their servants?’ I asked, a bit ruffled. ‘A host of Maiar fought with us to uproot Morgoth.’

‘War came too late, Erestor,’ he said, ‘and when the upheaval to defeat Bauglir and take him back in chains was over, his brethren swiftly forsook those who chose to stay. I freely came in this guise to become one of you and join you in your efforts to make these lands your home, offering my knowledge to any realm who may welcome it, but never as a mandate from the Lords of Aman. My purpose here is not to awe and rule, but to teach.’

Despite a slight pang of guilt at the smooth delivery of his half-truths, I shot a triumphant glance at Elrond, who dipped his head, seemingly embarrassed at his own mistrust in the face of Mairon’s generous words.

‘You and I are brothers in the Mírdain, Annatar,’ said Celebrimbor with pride. Mairon reached up to cradle in his palm the square silver pendant that hung from his neck and marked him as one of its few chosen members. ‘We share dreams of crafting beauty and bringing order and prosperity.’

‘I am greatly honoured by your friendship,’ replied Mairon. ‘I would be most unjust if I did not praise the sharpness of your mind, which has opened my eyes to possibilities I had never contemplated in the past. I pray that one day the Lord and Lady will appreciate this mutually fruitful partnership.’

‘Galadriel may dislike you, or what you represent, but she will not dare oppose the Mírdain lest she jeopardise the support with the guilds and our alliance with Khazad-dûm,’ said Celebrimbor, shaking his head.

‘I am glad you have found the freedom you sought, but beware you do not make an enemy of Galadriel, she is proud and fierce.’ Elrond’s tone was concerned. ‘You were never this cunning in the court of Gil-galad, Celebrimbor.’

‘And as a result I was all but forced into exile, if I wished to retain any hope to achieve my dreams.’ Celebrimbor shrugged. ‘We all learn from our errors.’

‘How true!’ I piped in. ‘In my case, I avoid all eagles and hawks, however dear they are to Manwë.’

My attempt to lighten the mood was successful. My three companions laughed and Elrond fondly squeezed my shoulder, provoking a minute twitch of disapproval on Mairon’s lips that both chilled my blood and warmed my loins. Celebrimbor filled our goblets and handed them out.

‘Raise your glasses for a toast!’ he cried. ‘To friendship. To Eregion. And to the fulfilment of dreams.’

He drank up his liquor and so did Mairon, after sparing me a private smile that made me tingle with anticipation. Elrond followed. As my lips touched the edge of the goblet the memory of one of my old nightmares flashed across my eyes: I sank a dagger into the heart of a man hanging from chains, tortured and mutilated, his eyes wild from pain. I peered into his dead face, obscured by his hair and encrusted with blood, but could not recognise him. I drank, out of defiance and to prove to myself I would not fall prey to manipulation.

Mairon was watching me intently. I knew he had noticed my shudder.

 

~ o ~

 

A few hours later I knelt in position on the polished planks of his bedroom floor, naked. I was beginning to ache. My gaze was fixed on an elongated knot in the wood, the anchor to keep my concentration from swaying. Mairon had ordered me to remain perfectly still for what seemed like hours, with my hands laced at my nape and my arms pushed back, while he had been comfortably writing at his desk, and reading a book. I was facing away from him, but I could hear the soft rasping of a quill and then the rustle of pages being turned.

Twice he noticed my slight squirming and whipped me across the thighs with a riding crop that stung like nettles.

‘What did you see, thrall?’ he asked suddenly, putting the book down. We both knew what he was referring to. I felt uneasy about bringing events beyond our relationship into our games, but disobedience was never justified in his eyes. The matter would have to wait.

‘One of Irmo’s dark visions, Master.’ I heard the chair being pushed back, and the soft fall of his steps as he approached. I dared not move my head in his direction.

He said nothing and instead raked my trembling arm with his curved fingers. It hurt when he reached a recent bruise.

‘This is not mine. Is it?’

‘No, Master,’ I answered.

‘How did you get it?’

I almost growled. He already knew.

‘I sparred with Elrond yesterday, Master. I need the exercise.’

The blow with the crop across my chest did not wholly take me by surprise, but it hurt.

‘I do not care what you need, slave. But I hate seeing marks on your skin that I have not given you. Least of all from Elrond.’

I bit the inside of my mouth to contain the incredulous chuckle that came to my lips. Was he really jealous? Either Mairon read my mind or the shaking of my shoulders betrayed me.

‘I doubt you will find your punishment amusing.’ I glanced up, and my breath caught at the wrathful fire in his eyes. Alarmed, I dropped my head until my forehead touched the floor.

‘Forgive me, Master,’ I implored. ‘He asked me...’ I immediately realised my mistake.

‘I see,’ he interrupted. ‘He is your lord and you will obey his orders in preference to mine.’

‘No, Master, only if...’

‘Kneel up!’

I did, instantly.

He wrapped a twist of rope around my wrists and joined them together, yanking hard at the knots until the bonds bit my flesh, then he pulled me to my feet and firmly tied my hands to one of the carved wooden bedposts, high over my head. When I tugged down, the rope did not budge. My heart was pounding in my ribcage, and fear coiled inside my gut.

Once Mairon was satisfied that I would not be able to free myself, he faced me. He took a strand of my unbound hair and let it slide slowly through his fingers. He raised his hand again and placed it on the top of my head, where he stroked me so gently I gave a sigh of relief. Suddenly he took hold of my hair, pulling until the tightening on my scalp edged on pain. My cock twitched at this harshness, at the thrill of knowing I was at his mercy. Disappointingly, he released me and took a step back.

Without warning, his hard slap across my face whipped my head back against the wooden post with a loud thump. I gritted my teeth, barely stifling a howl of pain.

‘Your lordling enjoyed his defeat at your hands. It was impossible not to realise how his trousers had become too small and confining. And yet you let him embrace you; worse still, this evening you leant into his touch, before my very eyes.’

I kept silent; I had not been asked a question. The fact that both Elrond and I enjoyed sparring together and were aware of each other’s arousal had been our secret for many years in Lindon, but nothing had ever come from it, except for the morning we awoke on the same bed when Vëantur brought news from Elros.

‘Do you think I am blind to your flirting, thrall?’ Under the sharp steel, his voice held the precise amount of hurt regret to spur my guilt.

‘No, Master. I am sorry,’ I answered, dropping my head in shame.

‘You shall be. From now on, you are forbidden from touching him and from letting yourself be touched. I shall make you pay dearly for any disobedience, regardless of who starts it. You belong to me alone. Is that clear?’

Rebellious at this intrusion into my life beyond his bedroom walls, I was too slow to answer. His hand covered my throat and pushed against the post. I panicked when I began to struggle for air, tugging at the rope and thrashing uselessly. Tendrils of fear tightened in my gut and reached lower to spur my erection.

Not until dizziness had made the room spin, my knees weakened and a mix of dark spots and sparks covered my sight did Mairon free me.

‘Is that clear now?’ he purred in a voice of silk that barely disguised my danger.

‘Yes, Master,’ I coughed hoarsely. ‘I deserve your punishment.’

I warily eyed the riding crop he picked up from the table. I both dreaded and craved what he was about to give me. I had already tasted the sharp bite of the narrow loop at its tip, and guessed how severe discipline would be with that instrument in Mairon’s skilled, ruthless hands.

‘You do indeed.’

His fist hovered next to my lips and I eagerly kissed his knuckles and the handle of the whip, as I had daydreamed on the day we arrived at Ost-in-Edhil. He nudged my chin up with the crop until I looked into his eyes. Once more I fell in thrall to their intensity.

‘I shall etch my ownership into your skin. From tonight you will not forget whom you truly owe your loyalty. Spread your legs!’

Before I had time to obey, he kicked my feet to the sides, sweeping my legs apart and thus tightening the ropes on my wrists. He smiled wickedly at my wince. Ever so slowly he ran the tip of the whip across my neck, then downwards to circle first one nipple then the other, and further to my navel. I clenched the muscles of my belly at the tickling contact of leather that at any time could turn into a blaze of pain. I tensed in fear when the caress reached my groin and he lifted the crop off my skin. I begged him silently but he shook his head in mock regret. With quick flicks of his wrist he swatted my cock, not once but thrice, hard enough to hurt. I flinched with each stroke but dared not move or make a sound, well knowing the peril of defiance when he was in this mood.

‘Every moment you sit at your lord’s side tomorrow will serve you as a reminder. Your body is not yet used to the discipline you used to endure, and so far I have held back. Today, however, you deserve no leniency.’

He leant down to pick up my loincloth and my belt from the top of the small mound of clothes on the floor by the bed. Then he poked his thumb against my gritted teeth.

‘Open up.’

As soon as I obeyed, he pushed the scrunched up loincloth inside my mouth and wrapped the belt twice around my head and between my jaws, to keep the linen in place. He gave a brutal tug at the buckle to secure it, so tightly that the thick leather edges dug into my flesh. I glared daggers at him, I loathed being gagged; he merely smirked and made me face the post. I rested my cheek on the smooth wood, and braced myself for the onslaught.

With implacable precision he whipped raw my rear, my shoulders and my thighs. I bit hard into the gag that muffled my cries of agony into pathetic moans. As ever, the pain did not subside during the beating and neither did my arousal, but they were soon woven into a haze of surrender, as intimate and warm as Mairon’s softest caress. I was giddy, swaying in time to the rhythm of the blows, a dance more intoxicating than the finest wine. Every blazing stroke tied us back together.

Three or four times Mairon stopped briefly to catch his breath. The kisses he bestowed with his lips on the skin already kissed by the lash and the fondling of my tormented cock stoked my need to helpless frenzy.

The hard bedpost, the wooden floor, the room, the world, they all vanished. I had no freedom, no voice, no hröa, no will. Only the too clear awareness of flames of pain and lust leaping ever higher in their fight to conquer and devour me at Mairon’s command.

Much later I vaguely realised he was cutting my hands free and lifting me carefully onto the bed, on my front upon a pile of pillows precisely arrayed under my waist so that my erection found no friction against the sheets. When I feebly tried to reach down, he pinned my forearms to the mattress. Burying himself deeply into me felt as though he wished to hammer down his final stake and claim my hröa as his property. His every thrust brought a searing wave of pain to my flayed flesh that warred with the scorching desire that flared within.

‘My beauty,’ he sobbed against my neck as he found his release, while I groaned my frustration and pain.

He rested his weight on me for a while, rocking gently until he was completely spent. Every move grazed my abused skin, shooting barbs of fire through my whole body. I whimpered through the gag, voicing my disappointment at being denied pleasure and hating the feel of my face pressed against the bed, soaked with my tears and dribble, now cold.

At last he took pity. His fingers fumbled with the belt buckle until the strap became loose and the cloth was mercifully prised off my aching mouth. He turned me on my side and kissed the places where the leather had bitten me. My jaw was too stiff for speech, but I pushed my pulsing cock against his leg in mute supplication. He withdrew his contact.

‘Maybe tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you please me well. Or maybe not.’

‘Mairon...’ I whispered. He shook his head. ‘Master...’

‘Shhh, slave. Do you remember what I once told you, when sweet Nikteháa conquered your heart?’

I nodded unhappily. “I would have clapped you in chains and driven you delirious with desire until you forgot that any others ever existed.”

He kissed me again, around the eyes and cheeks, following the dry trails of my tears. ‘When I am satisfied you have paid for your errors, I will make your prize good.’

‘I know, Master.’ With a sigh of exhausted resignation I nestled in his arms, and his cool palm soothed the heat of my bruised skin while I relished the warmth of his breath ghosting over my cheek. 

‘Who do you belong to?’

‘You, Mairon. Forever.’

My heart thundered with joy at his smile, brighter even than his eyes. The meaning of my own words suddenly sank in. Against all odds I was his, despite the scheming of Manwë and his Doomsman. Maybe Eru smiled upon us.

Not even Mairon’s dark jealousy could make a dent in my happiness.

A while later he sat up on the bed, and helped me carefully to his side. Lifting my left arm, he bared my mithril shackle from its leather disguise and trapped my wrist firmly in place with his hands covering the metal all around. Words of Power left his lips in a deep rumble, making my skin tingle at the sudden release of charged energy. I watched his brow, knit in concentration, become beaded with sweat as the cuff grew hot until it glowed red. Amazed, I felt nothing but a pleasant warmth on my skin. His spell was protecting us both from the blazing metal.

When it was over, he dropped my arm from his grasp. He closed his eyes, exhausted, and leaned back onto the headboard. This weakness only lasted an instant, before he snapped his eyes open again and waved my concern with a smile.

‘What did you do?’ I issued my silent command, as I traced the familiar patterns on the gleaming metal with my fingertips, but the shackle remained closed.

‘It answers to me again,’ he said.

Immediately, it snapped open. My skin was as white as milk underneath, not having felt the sun for hundreds of years. Mairon made to remove the cuff but I placed my right hand over it, protectively, before locking it shut over my wrist once more.

‘It reminds me of you, Mairon, every day and every hour. I wish to keep it.’

‘By all means, friend.’ His white teeth flashed in a mischievous grin. ‘Though you are unlikely to forget me tomorrow. Or the day after. Or...’

I yelled a curse when he swatted me lightly on the back.

The chains he clapped me in were invisible to the eyes of all others, but Mairon fully delivered his threat; by the time he allowed my release nine days later, I was driven delirious with desire and had abjectly vowed not to spare a single lustful thought on Elrond ever again.

 

 

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[1] Casári (Quenya) translation of the dwarvish word Khazâd, used by the Dwarves to refer to themselves

[2] curwë (Quenya) defined by Tolkien (HoME XII, The Peoples of Middle-earth) as “technical skill and invention” (kurwe), as opposed to “’Philosophy’ in its older applications which included Science” (nolme).