The Unread Visions of a Higher Dream II: The Light Under the Mountain by Prackspoor  

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Epilogue

In which the story comes to a close, and a journey reaches its end.

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Epilogue

 

Annatar looked at the mountainside, his face as blank as the stone before him. He scrutinized it up and down, searching for some sign of an entrance, which was made harder by the fact that the night sky was heavily overcast and a great dark cloud was currently obscuring the moon.

“I must say, this isn't what I had in mind when I prepared myself to be dazzled by your secret door,” he said. “However, if your grin is anything to go by, I assume that you have another trick up your sleeve.”

“Patience,” Celebrimbor said with amusement, stepping up next to his friend. “You will see it in a moment.”

And just as he said this, the moon came forth from behind the clouds and its pale light fell across the cliff face. Where the light touched the stone, silver lines began to trace themselves upon the stone, branching off and merging together again into in thicker lines and swirls, drawing up the outlines of the door and two trees, a crown adorned with seven stars, another eight-pointed-star beneath it, and elegant writing across the arch of the entrance.

Celebrimbor glanced over at Annatar and found his friend watching the door reveal itself with rapt fascination, his eyes roving over the inscription with especial care.

“… I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Eregion drew these signs,” Annatar read slowly and then gave him an odd look. “Of course you did,” he said flatly, turning back towards the door. “This is more in keeping with your usual flourish.”

He narrowed his eyes and then stepped closer to the stone, running his fingers over the glowing lines. “A hidden door, only to be revealed by moonlight. How do you open it?”

“How do you think it opens?” Celebrimbor replied, following Annatar and stopping beside him. “Everything you need to know is there for you to see, and that should be enough in the way of hints.”

Annatar's quirked eyebrow told Celebrimbor that his friend, too, recognized the callback for what it was, but the Maia chose not to mention it.

“The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.” Annatar read the sentence again, then looked at the other symbols and inscriptions, and then read it for a third time. He stood there for a while, pondering the riddle, when suddenly –

“Oh no, you did not,” he said incredulously, turning back to glare at Celebrimbor, who only raised his eyebrows and grinned in response.

“You know,” Annatar said slowly, his face drawn into an unreadable expression: “I honestly don't know what I expected. I can believe a lot of things, including the fact that you possessed the cheek to engrave the Star of Fëanor onto the entrance leading to another kingdom. What I absolutely cannot believe is that you elected that the best way to guard the way into a Dwarven kingdom would be to put a riddle with a pun right at the entrance.”

“Yes, no one believing that I would have enough sense of humour to do this is definitely part of its charm,” Celebrimbor replied, touching his hand to the cool stone. “Which, coincidentally, also makes it all the safer.”

Annatar harrumphed, as if he would dearly have liked to argue that point, but for logical reasons, unfortunately found himself unable to do so. They both looked at the outlines of the door, gleaming silver as if the light of the moon itself was caught in them.

“I can't believe we're finally going home,” Celebrimbor said with one last wistful glance at the gate before they both turned around and began to walk down the path along the edge of the still black lake.

“Quite,” Annatar agreed. “It was certainly a longer stay than either we or the Dwarves planned for.”

They crossed the Sirannon at an earlier point this time, using a stone bridge that the Dwarves had built. The swollen river gurgled quickly and merrily below their feet. Beyond the bridge, their path met the Great East Road, and Annatar and Celebrimbor followed it, just as they had done when they had come to the Mountains – only that this time they were walking away from Khazad-Dûm, and towards Ost-in-Edhil in the West. The road soon entered the forest. Evergreens and hollies welcomed them into their gloom, and every sound beneath the canopy of trees seemed muffled. Nightbirds called out every now and then, and once a hare broke from the underbrush and dashed over the path, a small, grey streak in front of Celebrimbor's feet, but apart from that, they encountered no one. The nighttime forest was still and peaceful.

For a while they just walked in silence, enjoying the fresh night air and their quick progress on the empty road. Celebrimbor had thoroughly lost himself in the pace of his feet and the meandering of his thoughts, so he was startled when Annatar suddenly spoke.

“Do you think your friend – Fundin – will be all right? He still appeared very busy, even when we left.”

Celebrimbor hadn't really expected Annatar to ask about his Dwarven friend. Fundin and Annatar had gotten along well enough in the end, but for the most part, they had also kept a careful, polite distance right up until they had said their farewells at the gate a few hours before.

Still, it made Celebrimbor … happy, knowing that the Maia appeared to care about Fundin.

“He will be fine,” he told Annatar. “It might take him some time, but he has assured me that the realm will settle and then reopen its doors after everything has been sorted out. That being said, our visit did make an … er, impact, and they are still working through that.”

“You really did offend them by bringing me there, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Dwarves are a prickly bunch,” Annatar noted.

“To our eyes, perhaps. But it is not for us to judge them for their customs and traditions. I offended them, and thus I had to make amends.”

“But you didn't have to leave the ring with them, surely?” Annatar raised his eyebrows.

“It wasn't mine,” Celebrimbor replied. “It was their tools and materials that I borrowed, and it was them who granted me the shards of Aulë's lamps – for the time being. I had to return the ring to them.”

Annatar looked as if he would have liked to disagree, but thankfully he chose not to argue the point, simply shrugging instead. “If you say so.”

“Yes, I do say so. They have given us so much, and it was only fair that we returned the ring to them.” Celebrimbor threw Annatar a side glance. “If you want to have your own ring so badly, I'll just make you another one.”

This at last managed to elicit a smile from Annatar. “Now that is a compromise I could live with.”

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes. “Your understanding of a compromise is being offered an inch, and then being outraged when someone calls you out on taking the entire ell.”

Annatar just shrugged. “Your point being?”

Celebrimbor shook his head, laughing softly. “Remind me why we are friends again?”

“I gave you a list of reasons when we came here. Should I repeat them?”

“Please don't.” Celebrimbor chuckled.

“I could do it in alphabetical order, or in rising order of poignancy.”

“Don't. Or else I might decide that they are all worthless in the face of your more horrible traits.”

“As if you could name even one of those,” Annatar scoffed.

“Don't try me,” Celebrimbor warned. He could feel that his smile had grown across his face.

Just as it seemed Annatar would say something similarly pointed in response, a roll of distant thunder echoed over the woods of Eregion. Only moments later the first drops of rain began to fall.

Celebrimbor sighed. “It seems we're destined to both arrive and leave in the rain.” He knelt down and pulled the oilcloak from his backpack, then slung it about his shoulders.

They must have walked another two miles before Celebrimbor noticed that something was off. The canopy of trees had mostly shielded them from the initial drizzle, but the rain was becoming stronger by the minute, turning into a steady downpour that not even the leaves and boughs could hold off.

They came to a slight opening in the canopy where there was a bit more light to see, when Celebrimbor happened to glance at Annatar and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Annatar – what in the name of –”

Annatar looked at him with an expression that was eerily reminiscent of a cat that had been dunked in water. That is to say, he was in fact also nearly as wet as a cat that had been pushed into a bathtub. His hair was plastered to his skull, and his white robes hung heavy and sodden from his shoulders.

Celebrimbor was momentarily speechless. “What – what's going on?”

“Well, as you can see, I am enjoying the weather,” Annatar grumbled.

“But – I thought – ” Celebrimbor struggled for words. “I thought you could just take care of it with magic –” He interrupted himself, remembering what Annatar had told him about this meta-stable state in which rain couldn't touch him. Celebrimbor's face fell. “Oh. But you said it's taking a lot of energy to keep up that state and you – ”

Annatar sighed. “I currently don't have enough strength to spare for that particular feat, yes,” he finished the sentence.

Celebrimbor stared at him. “But why didn't you say anything?”

Annatar shrugged. “What was I supposed to say?”

“You could have asked for a cloak.” Celebrimbor still looked at him. “Don't tell me you'd rather walk in the rain, just because you were too proud to ask for my help.”

Annatar didn't answer, simply glowering instead.

Celebrimbor stared at him for a moment longer, then shook his head and shrugged off his backpack once more.

“What are you doing?” Annatar asked, as Celebrimbor rummaged through the contents of his backpack, shoving aside books, an inkpot, a lampstone – ah, there it was.

“What does it look like?” Celebrimbor asked as he righted himself and then swung the oilcloak around Annatar's shoulders, fastening the clip at his throat. “There, isn't that better?”

Annatar looked down, first at himself and then at the raindrops pearling off the unusually dark fabric that was now covering his white robes almost completely. Then he looked up at Celebrimbor. “You didn't have to.”

“I know.”

“I won't even catch a cold unless I want to. It really wasn't necessary.”

“I am aware,” Celebrimbor replied evenly. “But I'd still say it is even more unnecessary for you to get wet if I have a perfectly fine spare cloak right here and you could just as well stay dry.”

“Yes, but –” Annatar interrupted himself, looking strangely uncomfortable. “I only meant that you don't have to concern yourself with me. I am not an Incarnate, and – ”

“ – not subjected to our limitations and our vulnerabilities,” Celebrimbor finished for him. “I know. But that is beside the point.”

Annatar raised one eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

“You always speak of looking out for me,” Celebrimbor continued. “And yet you are continually surprised when I try to do the same for you. This has nothing to do with you being a Maia and me being a mortal; or indeed, with needing help or being able to fend for yourself. I don't care if you were there when the universe was made, or if you can create stars in the palm of your hand. I am your friend, and you are mine. You will step in the way of a Balrog for me, and I will pull you out of the abyss afterwards. You want to look out for me, and I want to do the same for you. It is like with the rings we are making: the connection goes both ways.”

To stress his point, he reached out and took Annatar's hands in his own. Annatar let it happen, looking first at their hands, then silently up at Celebrimbor, as if he couldn’t quite see where his friend was trying to go with this argument.

“I know you introduced yourself to me as the Lord of Gifts,” Celebrimbor said, looking down at the circle formed by their joined hands and arms. “But you are no mere lord to me any longer, as you well know. You haven't been something so mundane as that in a long time. You are my closest friend, my brother. And I hope I can be the same to you –”

“How can you doubt that?” Annatar said sharply, but Celebrimbor interrupted him by slowly pulling him closer, until they were almost chest to chest and nose to nose. Annatar's eyes widened, his shoulders tensed briefly –

“I never doubted you,” Celebrimbor said – quietly, almost inaudibly, over the slow, steady drip of the raindrops around them. “I only know that you are used to giving.” Celebrimbor looked him straight in the eye. “But, Annatar … love is not a one-way connection either. Allow me to give something back to you. Allow yourself to receive.”

It was hard to make out Annatar's expression in the dim half-light of the night, between the wild clouds that were chasing each other over the sky, the wind, the rain, the moon. He could feel the warmth of Annatar's hands in his own, the electrical crackle of nerves that coursed through both of them, a closed circuit, brimming with a strange static that seemed to build, and build, and build –

“Tyelperinquar –” Annatar said, and his voice was strangely raw, not at all like the composed tone that he usually spoke in. His fingers tightened around Celebrimbor's hands. “I can't ask that of you, to bind yourself to me when you don't know everything there is to know.”

He didn't say 'about me,' but Celebrimbor heard it nonetheless, as clearly as if Annatar had spoken it aloud. Celebrimbor would have said that he didn't care, but he knew that this conversation was not about him. Not truly.

“Do you want to tell me?” he asked instead, still holding Annatar's hands – not holding him in place or constraining him, but not breaking the connection either.

Annatar looked back at him, and for all that had happened over the past few weeks, Celebrimbor had never seen him look so open, so raw, so torn. His grip twitched, like he wanted to extricate himself one moment, then hold on tighter the next. Celebrimbor could tell that he wanted to share his secrets so badly, but there was still something that was holding him back.

Celebrimbor knew the feeling all too well. He had had it around Narvi, he had had it around Fundin, and he had had it around Annatar as well. Some things he still had not told even one of them, to this very day.

Celebrimbor closed his eyes briefly, then took a step back. The tension eased immediately.

“You can tell me whenever you are ready,” he said quietly. “Just know that I will be here. I will wait, as long as it takes. As long as you need.”

Annatar didn't meet his eyes for a moment. For just that fleeting instance, there was nothing ethereal, nothing immortal about him. He just looked miserable and conflicted, with his wet hair, the raindrops that were trailing down his face like tear-tracks and dripping from his chin, the slightly ill-fitting oilcloak, his evasive gaze –

Celebrimbor would have stepped forward to embrace him, but he knew that it wasn't the right thing to do right now. It would only push his friend further away. He wondered if there was something he should say, something he should add in order to assure Annatar of their friendship… but perhaps it would be better to leave it be for now and allow Annatar to come to Celebrimbor on his own terms.

He waited as Annatar gathered his bearings, and finally looked up at him.

“Thank you,” Annatar said, very quietly.

“It's nothing, really,” Celebrimbor said, with an easy nonchalance that he did not feel. An opportunity had been missed and was gone, and they both knew it. But it wouldn't be the last. They still had time. And if time was what it took to make Annatar open up to him, Celebrimbor would give him all the ages of the world.

Celebrimbor took another step backwards, half-turning around. “Come on,” he said with a slight smile. “Let's get out of the rain. If we travel quickly, we can make it home in two days.”

Annatar regarded him for a moment longer, then pulled the hood of the oilcloak over his head, and at last he smiled back as he stepped to Celebrimbor's side. “Yes. Let us go home.”

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Chapter End Notes

Don't click away just yet. There's still something hidden after the epilogue...

For those of us who do not want to go on:

 

← Go back to read Part 1 of this series: Equinox

→ Go on to read Part 3 of this series: The Unread Visions of a Higher Dream