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

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Bonus Chapter: In a Kinder World

In which both Celebrimbor and Annatar each take a leap that they did not dare take in another world.

 

Celebrimbor and Annatar made a lot of decisions over the course of their friendship and collaboration. Some of them were negligible in their effect and consequence; others so momentous that they shaped the future of an entire continent and changing them would have meant rewriting history. Not always was the importance of these decisions obvious; sometimes the two friends would pass one of these great crossroads without even noticing it.

Let us look at one of these points of divergence. Here is what might have happened in another version of the story.

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And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

 

— The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

T.S. Eliot

 

Epilogue: In a Kinder World

 

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, recognised 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, found himself unfortunately 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 proud friend further away. But perhaps there were other ways in which he could reach out for Annatar, even when approaching him physically in such a moment of weakness would not be welcome.

“Annatar –” He paused when his friend looked up at him, his gaze shuttered and desolate. Celebrimbor hesitated for just another moment, before he continued:

“Whoever you were before, whoever I was before, in the Old World that is gone – these things will never stop being a part of us, but we don't have to define ourselves by our past deeds forever. We can choose to be different. We were given a new world. A new chance. And know that no matter who you are or who you might have been, there is no one I would rather build this new world with than you.”

Annatar just stared at him for a few moments, absolutely unmoving – before he was suddenly taking Celebrimbor’s face in his hands, and all but slammed him up against a great oak tree by the side of the path – and then Annatar was kissing him with such fierce, unguarded, unbridled emotion that it took Celebrimbor’s breath away. The impact had pushed the hood from Celebrimbor’s head and Annatar’s hands were fisted in his hair, not quite tightly enough to hurt, but unrelenting in pulling Celebrimbor’s head towards Annatar’s own.

At first Celebrimbor was petrified – whatever he had been expecting, it hadn’t been this.

Celebrimbor was aware that Annatar had almost certainly known of his feelings for him, since Celebrimbor had never taken great care to hide them. He might even have hoped for Annatar to reciprocate them at some point, but the idea had never grown into something beyond a distant dream, far removed from any actual likeliness to happen, and even further removed from the temerity of expectation.

Celebrimbor had allowed himself from time to time to indulge in imagining what it would be like if Annatar ever were to respond to his feelings, though he had never imagined it would be like this. If anything, he had pictured something indirect and ambiguous, a mercurial dance between allusions and certainties, drawn out for months and years –

But this was very different from anything he could have imagined. It was so sudden, so straightforward, so entirely lacking in the usual composure and restraint that Annatar usually kept so firmly wrapped about himself, that Celebrimbor was momentarily frozen with incomprehension and disbelief –

– but then, thankfully, his instincts took the reins from his reeling mind, and he put his arms around Annatar, drew him closer, and deepened the kiss.

Annatar let himself be pulled in, one hand gripping the fabric of his cloak at Celebrimbor’s shoulder, the fingers of his other hand burying themselves in the elf’s hair. Celebrimbor responded by tightening his embrace around Annatar, his hands finding their way under the heavy cloak, running over the fabric of Annatar’s robes and mapping the mesmerising geometry of the body beneath it. His fingers traced the arc of Annatar’s ribs, the line of his spine, the hard plane of his back, and the gentle crest of his shoulder blades. Beneath his palms Celebrimbor could feel the warmth of Annatar’s skin, and where their chests were pressed up against each other, their heartbeats thundered through both of their bodies. Annatar was simultaneously intimately familiar and fascinatingly unknown. He was like a map that Celebrimbor had believed he knew by heart, only for him to notice now that he hadn’t known half of the things displayed in it. Even now Annatar seemed to change in his arms, turning – if only for a moment – from a force of nature that could only be admired from afar, but never be bound or comprehended, into something more solid and tangible; a being who could be touched and held and understood in a way that made it possible for Celebrimbor to love him in the way of his own mortal kin.

Their kiss changed as well. At first, it had been sudden, feverish, and impulsive. After that initial rush of wild emotions, though, its nature slowly changed into a steady, yet relentless outpouring of feelings that both of them had been keeping under lock and key for far too long. The sheer force of pure, unguarded emotion was almost overwhelming: longing, desperation, joy, gratitude, hope – it was hard to separate one from another, because Celebrimbor wasn’t even sure anymore where his own feelings ended and Annatar’s began. In the end it didn’t matter. Their minds moulded around each other, just like their bodies: pushing and relenting, giving way and claiming space, like in a dance of opposing forces that knew each other’s cues perfectly, complementing each other's movements in perfect harmony.

Annatar’s spirit was flaring wildly; bursts of light and blinding fire pierced into Celebrimbor’s own mind like solar flares. Annatar’s mind was wild and wide and open, and for just a moment Celebrimbor could sense its true dizzying, mind-shattering expanse embracing and enveloping his own mind.

The boundaries between them blurred, and vanished. They were two lenses of the same doublet, and like light their feelings were sharpened and brought into absolute focus as they passed through them both. They were two rhythm lines of the same song, merging into one indivisible melody. They were two reflections of each other, only there was no longer a mirror-glass to divide them. For just the briefest of instances, their minds became one and Celebrimbor saw both Annatar and himself through Annatar’s eyes, felt himself through Annatar’s hands, and Celebrimbor’s mind buckled before the Maia seemed to regain enough of his composure and his mind quickly withdrew enough so as not to smother Celebrimbor’s.

When they finally broke apart, Celebrimbor pulled back and gave a small breathless laugh.  “Well, that was really nice, but…” He reached up and rubbed the back of his head, which – as he only noticed now – had hit the bark of the tree behind him rather hard when Annatar had pushed him backwards. “Next time do try not to split my skull, perhaps?”

Annatar just looked at him, appearing for a brief moment almost shocked by what he had just done, and at least as surprised as Celebrimbor felt. He quickly schooled his features into a more unaffected expression. “Wouldn’t you say that it is quite bold of you to assume that there is going to be such a thing as ‘next time’?” he asked, trying to sound detached and nonchalant, likely in order to make up for his loss of control and composure, but not quite succeeding.

Celebrimbor just smiled. He felt overwhelmed by the depth of his own affection, and at the same time shaken and uncertain of himself – he wanted to pull Annatar against him as tightly as he could, but at the same time he was almost afraid to touch him, as if Annatar might shatter even at the slightest contact. In the end, he settled on a compromise, raising his hand and slowly brushing his fingers over Annatar’s cheek, then upwards, where the scar slashed through his left brow. Celebrimbor traced the fine, white line with his finger. “I do hope that it will not have been the last time,” he said softly. “Though I would never demand something of you that you are not willing to give.”

Annatar’s golden eyes had been watching him intently, flicking imperceptibly to take in every angle, every motion of Celebrimbor’s face. Now they focused on Celebrimbor’s eyes.

“When I first came to you I offered you everything that you could want, Tyelperinquar,” Annatar said. He was silent for a few moments before he quietly added, “When I said ‘everything’, I meant everything.”

Celebrimbor’s heart skipped, and his fingers froze in mid-motion as they were pushing a golden curl behind Annatar’s ear. “Annatar –”

“Ask for the world, Tyelperinquar, and I will give it to you.”

“I don't want the world,” Celebrimbor said hoarsely.

Annatar let out a soft huff. “Liar.”

Celebrimbor smiled faintly, despite his pounding heart. He took a deep breath and gave a shaky laugh. “Fine. But I don't want to have it alone and I don't want to keep it. Like any other of our works, let it pass through our hands, and then return it to itself – ”

“– changed, remade, and more beautiful than before,” Annatar finished.

This time it was Celebrimbor who pulled Annatar fiercely against himself, burying his hands in the golden hair at the back of Annatar's head, and kissing him with a ferocity that he almost didn't recognise as something that had come from within himself. His spirit was reverberating with Annatar’s words, his body touched by a frequency that went right to the core of his very being and set it to vibrate so strongly that he might just shatter.

“We'll do it together,” Celebrimbor said, breathless, as he pulled back and rested their foreheads against each other.

“I will ask a lot of you.” Annatar's voice was quiet, his eyes never leaving Celebrimbor’s.

“You have done that ever since you first came to me,” Celebrimbor replied. “I am ready to have a lot asked of me.”

Annatar pulled back without stepping out of Celebrimbor's embrace, regarding him intently, as if he was seeing Celebrimbor properly for the first time. “Yes,” he said at last. “You are.”

Celebrimbor smiled back at him, when suddenly a thought struck him out of nowhere –

Let the beauty and the power of the world be returned to itself, changed and improved –

Thoughts began racing through his head, an idea dawning on him with sudden clarity – 

He thought of the ring he had made, how it had found its source of power in Celebrimbor himself – how it had drawn on something external, rather than the strength that Celebrimbor had bound within. What if it wasn't the problem, but the solution?

“Annatar, our rings –” he said. “Their strength – they were always limited by whatever powers we imbued them with. But what if they don't have to be their own sources? What if we made them transformers? Their sources of power don't have to come from themselves, they – ”

Annatar had seen his thoughts and his eyes widened. “The primal powers of Arda – harnessed and focused, and returned to her...”

Celebrimbor wasn't seeing Annatar anymore. He was looking at a different world that had nothing to do with the material one, a world in which where all the structures of Arda were laid bare, where all the courses and connections of power became apparent in their endless circular, reciprocal nature, as if a blindfold had been pulled from his eyes –

Suddenly he felt light-headed, as if he had shifted out of his own body, and was only tethered to his flesh by a fraying line, as the torrent of his thoughts, the promise of power threatened to sweep him away – 

All his life he had wondered how Fëanor had done it when he created the Silmarils during the noontide of Valinor, and now –

Was this how my grandfather felt when he realised what he could do? Celebrimbor wondered.

“Earth. Fire. Air –” he started, almost not daring to speak. Distantly, he realised that he was shaking. “If we opened the Rings, to the bearer and the world alike –”

“Yes,” Annatar said immediately, breathless. “Yes. Tyelperinquar, you found it –”

They just looked at each other, eyes wide and breath held, their thundering heartbeats the only sound that seemed to exist.

“I was right,” Annatar said almost inaudibly, his eyes never leaving Celebrimbor's face. “I was right in coming to you, right in what I saw in you…” 

This time Celebrimbor couldn't even tell who leaned forward first, who was gripping the other tighter, or how long it lasted. He only knew when it ended – when the cold, clear air rushed into the distance between their faces, when he took deep, shaking breaths to steady himself, when the awareness of the world around him returned to him… a world that was new and strange to him, and yet at the same time a world that he knew and comprehended to a degree that he had never understood it before.

He was half-leaning against Annatar, one hand braced against his chest, perhaps to steady himself or perhaps – well, he didn't know. He felt as if he could move mountains right now if he tried, and yet at the same time as if a soft breeze might blow him away.

“This is it, isn't it?” he asked slowly, with a strange calm, and lifted his gaze to look at Annatar's face.

Annatar just regarded him for a moment, his beautiful golden eyes fathomless and bright. “Yes,” he said simply.

Celebrimbor struggled for words, no, for coherent thoughts, even. It still seemed unreal that this should have happened. That this should be the keystone that had come to him so suddenly and without forewarning. The world around him hadn't changed, at least not visibly so, and yet Celebrimbor felt as if it had been torn off its axis, as if its very foundations had been shattered, with the rules by which it operated altogether changed. Nothing was certain anymore. Everything was possible.

“What happens now?” Celebrimbor asked slowly, his voice full of wonder and surprise. Distantly, he was wondering whether he truly knew what he was asking.

Annatar smiled. “Why, Tyelperinquar, now our real work begins.” He tilted his head slightly, regarding Celebrimbor. “But before that…” He reached up and pulled the hood of Celebrimbor's cloak back over his head. It was only now that Celebrimbor noticed that the rain had been dripping on him all the while, and that he was by now thoroughly soaked.

“Before that, we should get you out of the rain,” Annatar finished. “I would be very annoyed if you had an earth-shattering realisation like this, only to return home and lie bed-ridden for weeks afterwards, effectively rendering us unable to proceed with our work just because you couldn't dress according to the weather.”

“Excuse me?” Celebrimbor sputtered. “It was you who pushed me against that tree so hard that my hood slipped off! If anyone is to blame, it is you!”

“As I said: inappropriately dressed for the occasion.” Annatar stepped away with a smirk and pulled his own hood up over his head.

Celebrimbor readjusted his rumpled clothing and tried to push the strands of hair that had come loose from his braids back under the hood. “You are impossible.”

“Yes, you keep telling me so.” Annatar chuckled as he turned and took a few steps back upon the path, only to turn around and give Celebrimbor a sly smile. “And yet I keep getting the impression that you do enjoy my company.”

“I can't fathom where you got that idea from.” Celebrimbor fought to keep his expression serious and failed.

“Where from indeed,” Annatar mused as Celebrimbor stepped up to his side, watching the elf intently, his head still expectantly, almost curiously, inclined to one side. “So?”

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes and gave Annatar's hood a slight tug, pulling it a few inches further down into his friend's face. “I stand by my opinion.” He stepped away with a soft laugh. “However, you were right about one thing, and that is getting out of the rain.” He turned around and looked at his friend. “Are you coming?”

Annatar stepped up to his side. “Wherever you go, I shall follow,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mirth and affection, and despite his teasing tone Celebrimbor knew that the words had been spoken only half in jest.

“Yes, I know,” Celebrimbor said.

They looked at each other for a while, and a great understanding seemed to pass between them as a new reality asserted itself.

When they both turned to walk on, they stayed close to each other, their shoulders nearly touching, and the knuckles of their hands brushing against each other with each step. There was a strange feeling expanding in Celebrimbor’s chest, like a growing bubble of joy and gladness. His steps were quick and long, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he had been able to walk on air in this moment.

There was a sense of change in the air: of great shifts, second chances, and new beginnings.

He thought of what Annatar had said: Now our real work begins.

In this very moment, just when they both crested a hill and the trees fell back to reveal the wide plains of Eregion stretching out before them, the cover of clouds tore open and the moon bathed the world around them in silver.

A soft wind rose and seemed to gently push at his shoulders from behind. A few strands that had come free of his braid fluttered into his face and Celebrimbor brushed them aside.

What will you do now, Tyelperinquar? he thought he heard a voice on the breeze ask him. He didn’t recognize it, and yet it felt familiar, like a memory from his earliest childhood, only barely remembered. It reminded him of fire and heat, of gold and silver, of strong, sure hands that took Celebrimbor’s hands in their own and guided him through the unknown motions of a new technique.

Will you take this step? Will you take what is within your reach now? the voice asked. Do you dare?

Do I dare? Celebrimbor wondered, but deep inside he already knew the answer. He looked at Annatar who was standing beside him and looking out over the land stretching out before them, doused in silver and moonlight, and Celebrimbor knew that his friend was seeing the same thing he was seeing when he looked out there: a world that impossibly wide, incomprehensibly vast, and full of potential. And theirs.

Yes, Celebrimbor thought. This is our new beginning. Our chance to restore what has been lost. To remake and rebuild this world. And perhaps our chance to create something that has never been created before.

The prospect should have frightened him, perhaps, and yet Celebrimbor didn’t have it in him to be afraid. Not here, not now, with Annatar by his side, and both their minds leaning against each other, while shared ideas and visions blazed like comets through both of their minds.

He felt nothing but elation and a thrill of excitement, like one might before making a leap from a high cliff and into unknown waters.

The past was already falling away behind them: already paling, already half-forgotten. Ahead lay the future, wide and promising and theirs for the taking: theirs to grasp and change and create. All they had to do was to reach out.

And we will.

He reached out and Annatar’s hand found his own halfway. They looked at each other, but there was no surprise there, as if they both had always known that it would come to this. Annatar’s mouth quirked up in a smile, and Celebrimbor returned it.

“Shall we?” Annatar asked, lifting one eyebrow. There was no need to explain what he meant: they seemed to understand each other completely now and words were no longer needed between them.

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said.

And when they stepped forward together this time, they moved as one.

 

Not all that was dark remains bitter,

not all that was shattered is lost.

Cold ashes may hide diamond-glitter

and all hardship be yet worth its cost.

 

From old embers a new fire will be woken

when winter days turn into spring.

And the ones whom the old world left broken

in the new world shall rise and be king.

---

Chapter End Notes

This is a second, alternative epilogue that I wrote primarily for myself, because the fact that Celebrimbor and Annatar didn't even get their Big Damn Kiss after all that has happened over the course of the story was giving me near-physical pain.
As it is, I think some of you might have felt the same, so for all those of you who were hoping for romance to finally make a tangible appearance in this story- I hope this chapter could deliver.

I still think that the first epilogue accurately depicts what would realistically have happened at this point in time, and at this point in Celebrimbor's and Annatar's relationship.
However, sometimes you just want to have nice things for yourself. (And the characters, as it were.)

I'll leave it up to you to decide which one really happened. Just pick whatever ending you prefer.

And this is it.
We've reached the end of this story and all its variations and that means some thanks are in order.
I want to thank RaisingCaiin for her patience, her expertise, and her time - and all in all for being a wonderful beta reader! Also, I want to thank her for bringing a certain poem to my attention that found its way into this chapter and fit in as perfectly as if it had been its missing keystone.
I also want to thank everyone who read and commented on this story. I'm so happy I could share this story with you, as well as your excitement and your investment into my horrible favourite Second Age duo. I appreciate every click and kudos, and your comments made my day!

Thank you all so much! Take care!

 

← 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