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

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II.1

After the upheaval of their arrival has subsided, Celebrimbor and Annatar spend some leisure time together, exploring the city of Khazad-Dûm and a very special library. On the way they discover an enigmatic piece of literature, and Celebrimbor starts teaching his immortal friend the language of Dwarves.

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II.

 

Celebrimbor woke late the next day. When he turned around in his bed and touched the lampstone on his nightstand it lit up to reveal the face of an intricate bronze clock, whose hands told him that noon had already come and gone. Considering that the feast had lasted well into the early morning hours, this wasn't all that surprising, but Celebrimbor, who usually rose with the sun, was starkly reminded that he would once more have to do without these natural reminders of the day’s passage for a time.

He sat up and threw back his blankets, gathering up a fresh set of clothes before exiting his bedroom. Yesterday's fire had long since burned down and only blackened embers were left of the coal and wood. Annatar's chair was empty, the tea can and mugs were clean and set back upon a dish board next to the fireplace, and the books Celebrimbor had given him were gone. He must have taken them with him when he had left at some point during the night.

Celebrimbor stood in the middle of the room for a few moments, but since there seemed to be naught else left to do at the moment, he gathered up a piece of soap and a towel before heading out to the water-caves in the east half of the palace complex. The caves were a sprawling marvel of rushing subterranean springs and streams both hot and cold, the walls and floors of the basins covered in scintillating mosaics of deep greens and blues. They were usually well-frequented by guests and inhabitants alike, but when Celebrimbor got there he found them mostly empty. He knelt down by a little natural stone basin and after he had washed up and changed into a new set of clothes, he carried his towel and worn clothing back to his room.

On his way to the Western Dining Hall he took a detour to Fundin's rooms, but upon knocking, found them locked. It would have been highly unlikely to catch his busy friend idle in his rooms at this hour, but Celebrimbor felt a pang of disappointment nonetheless. He slowly let his hand sink and turned around to make his way to the dining hall, deciding to resolve whatever issue was standing between them at the earliest possibility.

He took another detour to the kitchens where the cooks gracefully allowed him to pick out his own very late breakfast (which was in all honesty more of an early dinner), then entered the hall through one of its inconspicuous side doors.

At this hour, only a few Dwarves were seated at the tables, most of them taking their meals in quiet solitude, reading news leaflets or books, and only a few absorbed in whispered discussions.

Celebrimbor spotted Annatar at the table where they and Celebrimbor's old friends had been sitting yesterday. The Maia was alone and obviously deeply lost in thought, poring over one of Celebrimbor's books and writing notes down with his left hand while stirring a cup of tea with his right.

Annatar was apparently too engrossed in whatever he was reading to notice Celebrimbor's approach and only looked up when the elf stopped directly next to him.

“Good morning,” Celebrimbor said, skilfully unloading the couple of plates and his cup from where they had been stacked in the cradle of his lower arms.

“Good afternoon. I trust you slept well?” Annatar replied, looking up at him with a sly smile.

Celebrimbor initially wanted to say something to the point of how Annatar needn't be so smug about pointing out the 'afternoon' aspect, because he was allowed to sleep in for once, but – he froze and looked down at his friend, trying to figure out what had confounded him about the sentence in the first place –

– when the coin dropped and he very nearly laughed out loud.

“Stars, your pronunciation is atrocious!”

Annatar frowned. “Well, in my defence, I did only have one night of studying without anyone to practise speaking with. I'd like to see you speak Valarin for the first time without any prior opportunity to wrap your tongue around some of its longer words.”

“With great pleasure,” Celebrimbor said cheerfully. “Now, if there only was someone willing to teach me.” He raised one eyebrow at his friend, giving him a pointed look. Annatar just mirrored his expression with a slight, curious smile.

Celebrimbor sat down, facing his friend with genuine excitement. “But in all honesty, it's incredible that you can speak Khuzdul at all! How far did you get? Can you understand me when I talk at this pace?”

“Yes, though the fact that you speak mostly textbook High Khuzdul might have something to do with that.” Annatar smiled. “I plan on tackling the various registers and accents later.”

“No doubt. If you continue at this pace, you'll be giving lectures in Khuzdul before long.” Celebrimbor chuckled. “What would your poor students say to that, I wonder?”

“Not much. Most of them are still too scared of me to contribute anything of value to my lessons,” Annatar said and took a sip of his tea. “Apprentices,” he added with a soft snort.

“You should try to be less scary, then.”

Annatar frowned at him. “I am being patient and civil.”

“Which is not the same as being friendly and approachable,” Celebrimbor retorted.

“I am a master, not a mother hen,” Annatar said. “They are grown men and women and they have to learn how to stand up for themselves. What kind of journeymen will they make if they are too scared to speak to their masters, let alone stand up to them in a classroom discussion?”

“So you are saying they all should take a page from the book of – what was her name again? – the woman in your materials science class, who hails from the riverlands in the south?”

An expression of exasperation and annoyance combined crossed Annatar's face. “Alane. And no, Valar forbid that I would have to deal with more students of her type.”

“She's not scared to voice her opinion even to you, if I recall correctly.” Celebrimbor grinned.

Annatar rolled his eyes. “Only if you want to call hair-splitting and constant heckling valuable contributions to a lesson. All she does is argue and challenge me on every point I am trying to convey.”

“And who did she learn that from, I wonder?” Celebrimbor laughed softly. “She's a quick study, I'd say.”

Annatar narrowed his eyes slightly. “Even so, her first aim should be to gain a solid working knowledge of metals, not to butt heads with her teacher. She can challenge me as soon as she has something sensible to say and the learning to back up her cheek.”

Celebrimbor stifled a laugh. “Ai, Annatar, you should be more appreciative of your student's enthusiasm.”

“If her knowledge of metallic conductance were on par with her fervour for disrupting my lectures, then perhaps I could appreciate her enthusiasm more easily, but right now all she is doing is working herself towards a permanent ban from my classroom.”

“Somehow I do not think that would be enough to keep her out. She seems to be determined to pursue materials science. Also, she is rumoured to be quite taken with you.”

“What,” Annatar said flatly.

Celebrimbor forced himself to keep a straight face and took a bite out of his bread, merely raising his eyebrows slightly.

“And you know this how?” Annatar added after a drawn-out pause.

“People talk,” Celebrimbor said, shrugging and taking a sip of his water. “Students most of all. And seeing how I am quite approachable, some of them even confide in me every now and then.” He winked.

Annatar briefly rested his forehead in his palm. “I think I'll pass on the gossip.”

“You really should try it sometime, it's amazing what you can learn when people are not afraid to talk to you. For example, did you know that you apparently have an entire host of secret admirers?”

At Annatar's aghast expression, Celebrimbor only barely managed not to laugh out loud. “If Daeror is to be believed, then the percentage of apprentices who are even more fascinated by you than by your lectures is staggering. It seems that what you lack in approachability is offset by the aura of mystery surrounding you, which apparently makes you a most intriguing enigma in the eyes of our younger apprentices.”

“Merciful stars.”

“Ah, don't pretend you are not flattered by this.”

Annatar frowned. “Hearing that most of my students come to my lectures in order to stare at me like lovesick puppies rather than partake of the knowledge I want to share is hardly flattering.”

“Bear with them,” Celebrimbor admonished gently. “Most of them haven't seen their first or second century come and go yet – and for nearly all of them it is also their first time meeting a Maia. They're hardly as used to one of the Holy Ones walking the hallways and holding lectures as the older members of the mírdain. It is to be expected that they'd be engrossed with you. You must seem to them like something that has stepped out of a storybook of the Old World.”

“I still fail to see how knowing any of this is of interest to me.” Annatar rested his chin in his hand and regarded Celebrimbor intently. “I'm sure there are much more intriguing things to be learned … what do they say about you?”

“I wouldn't know. They are hardly going to tell me. But if you'd like to know, you'll just have to ask around.” Celebrimbor winked. “Just be sure to tell me afterwards; I'm sure there are a lot of delightful stories going around the mírdain that even I am not aware of.”

Annatar smiled slowly, slightly baring his teeth. “Do you think asking around would yield better results before or after I learn not to be so intimidating?”

Celebrimbor hid his face in his hands. “Stars, you are impossible.” He glanced over at the book open before Annatar. “But I do know for a fact that asking anyone here in Khazad-Dûm about anything – regardless of the subject matter – will go a lot smoother if you actually know how to pronounce Khuzdul.”

“Ah, quite.” Annatar turned a bit, so he was facing Celebrimbor. “How else would I inquire about my Elven friend among his Dwarven acquaintances?” He slid the books toward Celebrimbor. “In that case, how about you teach me how it is done, Master Tyelperinquar?” His tone was teasing, and his eyes were bright with the challenge.

Celebrimbor took it in stride, pulling the book towards himself and opening it up. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than teaching such an eager student. Listen and learn,” he said, before pausing to look directly at his friend and add, “and see that you keep up.”

Annatar's smile grew a bit wider when he recognized the phrase that he himself habitually used whenever he was introducing a difficult new topic to his own apprentices.

They spent another few hours going back and forth on the basics of Khuzdul pronunciation, until Celebrimbor judged that they wouldn't be getting any further without additional reading material on phonetics and phonology and closed the book.

“That is as much as I can teach you, I am afraid,” he said. “For the finer points of the language we'll have to visit the library. Do you want to go there?”

“I was wondering when you would ask.” Annatar looked at the clock that was hanging on the far wall of the hall. According to its hands, they were nearing the ninth hour of the evening. “Is the library open at night, though?”

Celebrimbor stood and stretched, cracking his spine with a relieved grimace, then grinned down at Annatar. “You’ll find that one of the great advantages of living under the mountain means that any diurnal rhythm is entirely moot. The Khazad live and work in shifts as it suits them best, but there is never such a thing as ‘closing time’ down here.”

“Ah,” Annatar smirked. “I see why you would have enjoyed that. Your atrocious sleeping habits would be rather less obvious here.”

“Well, quite.” Celebrimbor chuckled. “It was nice not to be the one with the worst sleeping habits for once. Although you must admit that I have improved considerably ever since I began teaching regular classes again.”

“Do your students know that they are the only thing keeping you from relapsing into your frankly disconcerting habits, and forcing you to sleep at regular and reasonable times instead?” Annatar raised an eyebrow.

“Probably. I’ve never made much of a secret of it,” Celebrimbor laughed. “But come now, I thought you wanted to visit the library!”

When they left the hall, Celebrimbor leaned a bit closer to his friend. “By the way, I think your eating habits have drawn attention.”

Annatar threw him an oblique look. “Have they now?”

“You are kind of a curiosity here, mind you, and as such you're likely watched closely. I believe they’ve noticed you haven't been eating any meat yesterday and today. They must be thinking that you are shunning the finest part of their cuisine in favour of Elven fruit and honeycomb. I think I might have to mention your habit of keeping a meatless diet to them.”

“Well, we should do that if you consider it necessary to avoid another diplomatic outrage. Though I feel obliged to mention that ever since we have come here, we've gone to great lengths not to step on anyone's toes. And if I have to be considerate of their cultural sensitivities, they'll just have to be considerate of mine as well,” Annatar replied. “Sina tanan.”¹

Celebrimbor laughed quietly, then turned to face his friend once more. “Of course. Now let's go and find the library.”

*

They left the palace and Celebrimbor led the way down the fairly narrow but well-lit tunnels, until all of a sudden the magnificence of Hadhodrond opened up in front of them with wide halls held up by pillars under colorfully illuminated ceilings. Annatar followed half a step behind him, noting once again the dream-like surety with which his friend navigated the maze of tunnels, streets and thoroughfares, while taking his time to regard his surroundings with all due attention: houses and stores, taverns and villas on stone-lined streets and alleys. The main streets were lined by tall orange lanterns, whereas smaller alleys branched off in the bluish sheen of smaller, rounder lamps. Stone walkways and bridges arched above them, leading up to even higher levels, which were glowing with the green, blue, and orange light of the various lamps.

There was also a smooth wall of rainbow-coloured glass, shining out like a diamond become visible inside a cracked stone, incredibly high above the bustle of the city.

“This is the back wall of the library,” Celebrimbor said. “From there, you have a marvellous panoramic view of the entire city – light and movement everywhere! But the library is not directly accessible from the city side – we will have to take our way around the city and come in from the back. Follow me.”

Even this late in the evening, the streets were full and light shone from every window. Just as Celebrimbor had said earlier, Dwarves did not adhere to the rhythm of the sun and moon to mark their days, and whoever stayed in a Dwarven city for a few weeks likely adapted quickly to their habit of rising and sleeping at unusual, irregular hours.

They passed by taverns with tables standing outside on the pavement, where folks of all trades and races were sitting and eating, some engaged in heated discussions, others keeping to themselves with a pipe in the corner of their mouth and a book in their hand. There were workshops and pharmacies, lantern-makers and coin-changers, jewel-smiths and merchants selling finger foods at little stands. Elves, Men, and Dwarves mingled freely, each going about their own businesses: lives and conversations and affairs interweaving and splitting apart and intertwining again like tens of thousands of threads.

“There are so many watch-makers here,” Annatar observed, turning his head to look at the fine golden mechanisms laid out in the glass window of a shop.

“Of course there are,” Celebrimbor replied, laughing. “When you don’t have the sun and the moon to orient yourself by, keeping time exactly by mechanical means becomes very important. As a consequence, the Dwarves have become incredibly apt at creating timekeeping devices in all forms and sizes, and the clocks they create last for hundreds of years without gaining or losing even a second.” To underline his words, he pointed up at a massive bronze clock that seemed to hang in mid-air of the great cavern, four clock-faces facing the four cardinal directions of the hall. Even from here, the intricate clockwork of thousands upon thousands of interlocking cogwheels was visible. The pendulum that drove its internal mechanisms, which was slowly swinging back and forth below the clock corpus, had to be over forty feet long.

They rounded a corner. To their left, the thoroughfare opened up into a wide circular square directly beneath the clock, and Annatar saw that the pendulum was indeed nearly touching the ground – its end bore a bronze tip pointing downwards, which was lazily drawing the course of its swings in a round bed filled with white sand, each swing leaving a new line in the intricate pattern just drawn in the sand. Around the circle filled with sand, there were raised golden markings positioned at regular intervals, similar to a sundial.

“Farkantur's Pendulum,” Annatar said. “You were not jesting when you said that the Khazad know their trades, be they clock-making or geophysics.”

Celebrimbor just threw him a smile.

“The clock in Ost-in-Edhil's clocktower is of Dwarven make as well, if I recall correctly,” Annatar continued.

Celebrimbor nodded. “It was a gift from Hafnur, who is likely the finest clocksmith to ever have walked the face of Arda. He made both the great clock of Khazad-Dûm and the one in Ost-in-Edhil, which was completed only twenty or so years before you arrived. The bells of our clock-tower were made in the foundries of Khazad-Dûm as well, and in turn we gave them the lampstones we created. You can imagine that a constant source of light is very valuable, especially if it does not require oil refills or new torches. Our two worlds complement each other very well, I think,” he added pensively.

“That they do,” Annatar agreed, giving him a long side-glance before averting his eyes to look at the passing scenery again.

They climbed a set of long stairs that cut back and forth along the wall of the Seventh Hall, rising ever upward. Three stories above what accounted for the ground level of Khazad-Dûm, Celebrimbor led them into another, smaller tunnel, leading away from the bustle and deeper into the mountain. The air was cooler and stiller here, and the voices of the crowd fell back until they were surrounded by silence.

Then, all of a sudden, the tunnel opened up around them again and they were standing in a hall about two hundred metres high. Just before them rose a wall of wrought iron panelled with tinted glass. It stood like the front of a fortress, cutting across the entire width of the hall and guarding whatever lay behind it. The glass wall was illuminated from behind by hundreds of lampstones, making the front of the library appear like a panorama of a subterranean sunset, ablaze with oranges, violets, reds, and yellows, the colours changing in spectral order the higher the beholder raised their eyes. There was a small entrance door at ground level, and behind the colourful glass, stories upon stories of shelves could just be seen.

Annatar looked the wall up and down, and he was aware that Celebrimbor could see that he was genuinely impressed. “A library that provides illumination not only of the mind and the abyss of time, but also of space and matter...” He turned to Celebrimbor. “The play with light, the splitting into spectral colours – this has your signature written all over it.”

“Not mine,” Celebrimbor replied softly. “My father's … and that of my uncle Maedhros. While they were hashing out the finer points of their alliance with the Dwarves, they mentioned a wish to bring the sun under the mountains and the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains must have come up with a way to make the idea reality. Someone else must have brought the technique here, and then the Dwarves of Khazad-Dûm built this.”

“I think there must not be a place in Middle-earth that does not have the fingerprint of your kin on it.”

He had intended for it to be a compliment, albeit one given in a slightly bantering tone, but Celebrimbor smiled sadly.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Then again, the same goes for Morgoth's darkness, and if our works serve to illuminate the darkness that he left behind, then for once the world will be a better place for having the kin of Fëanor walk upon it. Maybe then we will have left a legacy besides a trail of blood and destruction to rival that of Morgoth himself.”

Annatar thought of a conversation they had once had on the balcony of Celebrimbor's workshop at the topmost level of the tower of Ost-in-Edhil. It had been the night when Celebrimbor had first brought up the idea of them visiting Khazad-Dûm together, as they had regarded the three mountain peaks of the Dwarven kingdom rising on the eastern horizon.

He clearly remembered the words that Tyelperinquar had spoken then: “Morgoth raised those mountains aeons ago, but the Dwarves took them for themselves, and today the Fëanorian star is etched into the stone of the Doors of Durin. Whatever those mountains were before, they're ours now.”²

How proud his friend had looked back then, how calm and self-assured! And so it was all the more painful to watch him now, bathed in the splintered light of a thousand coloured lampstones: a quiet, still figure etched out of light as much as shadow, and so full of regret and guilt that was not his to feel and bear.

Annatar suppressed the urge to tell Celebrimbor as much, and instead laid a hand on his shoulder. “We all do what we have to, and in dark times sometimes there are only dark decisions left to us. Besides...” He waited until his friend turned to look at him.

 

“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.”

 

Celebrimbor gave him a surprised look. “I have never heard this verse before. What kind of poem is this?”

Annatar frowned. “I thought it was yours – I found it in the annotations of your father's book, but it was written in neither your father's nor your uncle's handwriting.”

“I am quite certain that I have never written a single poem in my life,” Celebrimbor said, and at last, a genuine smile returned to his lips. “Let us go inside, and maybe we can solve this riddle once we find ourselves a place to sit and think.”

*

The library was just as impressive on the inside as it was when seen from the outside. Seven levels rose up under the arched ceiling, each divided into subsections according to the topic and the age of the books it contained. Each level was lit by lampstones of another colour, rising from a deep red to bright oranges to green and blue and finally purple. The seven levels were held up by pillars, which in turn were ensconced by rounded shelves whose upper boards were only accessible via wooden ladders.

Celebrimbor made a sweeping gesture. “The most comprehensive collection of knowledge this side of the Sundering Seas, and the only place with the entire recorded history of Dwarven-kind. Did I promise too much?” he asked with a playful bow in Annatar’s direction.

“What other way to find out than to subject it to a thorough examination?” Annatar said with a smile. “Where shall we start?”

“We can start here and work our way upwards if you want. The vista through the glass wall at the back that looks out over the city is marvellous.”

“That does sound marvellous,” Annatar said, but what was easily as good as the promised view was the warmth and enthusiasm that had returned to Celebrimbor’s voice. “Lead the way, my friend,” he said, and they stepped into the library proper side by side.

On the ground floor there was a wide open space clustered with wooden benches and tables, where scholars and students were sitting and studying or copying old manuscripts by the light of bright reading lamps. Annatar could see other, smaller reading nooks tucked away further from the main passage through the shelves. Fragments of whispered conversations carried over, but they were not loud enough for him to make out the words unless he set his will to it. The central part of the room was open to the top, and a great winding staircase could be seen spiralling upwards to the seventh level. Each level formed a gallery running around the open space and the staircase in the centre.

They had only taken a few steps inside when the old librarian – Baldur, as Annatar recalled his name – spotted them and came over to greet them cordially and shake their hands.

“That you would still find your way here!” he told Celebrimbor. “I thought you and your friends would be off to the mines first thing in the morning and remain there until your departure. Cogs and wheels and pickaxes and mithril!” Baldur snorted. “I won't deny the importance of technology, but I'd argue that our greatest treasure is here where we stow all the knowledge that makes our progress possible in the first place.”

“It truly is impressive,” Annatar told him earnestly. “I have never seen anything quite like it – and I have wandered the world to its farthest corners.”

Baldur smiled with quiet pride. “This library is one of a kind. You will not find anything like it anywhere else in the world, I assure you.”

“Which is why we have come here,” Celebrimbor said. “Nowhere can curiosity and thirst for knowledge be quenched better than here. Obviously, even the Holy Ones can acknowledge this. Would you grant us permission to take a look around?”

“Certainly. Our doors are always open,” Baldur said. He looked both of them up and down. “Are you looking for something particular? The archive system is logical, but can be daunting for outsiders.”

“Nothing in particular,” Celebrimbor replied. “We just want to admire the sheer size of the collection and maybe browse through a few books. As for the archive system, I think I still have most of it remembered. I certainly spent enough time in here trying to get a grip on your language and customs.”

Baldur's smile turned wry. “Quite. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ring one of the bells at the columns.”

*

They wandered the expanse of the library for a while, passing rows and rows of bookshelves as well as delicate mechanical models of hydraulics and clockwork displayed behind glass cases in the engineering section, finely-drawn maps of the Old and the New World in the geography section, and artfully illuminated tomes in the section dedicated to history and printing.

Annatar allowed himself to be guided, simply following in Celebrimbor's footsteps while the logical map of the library slowly took shape in his mind. It was thoroughly and admirably organized and even cross-referenced. When he pulled out a book about smelting techniques, he found a reference to another shelf number and the book title of a geological treatise of minerals and irons, as well as a reference to a book in the historical section dealing with the evolution of mining and metallurgy, all written on the inside of the cover.

The library was not simply a vast collection of the knowledge and culture that the Dwarven people had amassed over the course of several thousands of years – it was also a masterpiece of organization.

They spent some time just wandering the aisles between the shelves, sometimes idling longer in one section, sometimes just brushing past, and Annatar was satisfied to see that the initial stiffness had vanished from Celebrimbor's spine, that his gait had become easier and the line of his shoulders more relaxed. Celebrimbor wasn't made for stillness and brooding, and it was good to see him back to his usual self, always in motion and freely explaining tidbits about this section and that, or relaying an anecdote of his visits to this library when he had been staying here after leaving his father and Nargothrond behind.

Annatar deliberately didn't bring up the poem again, but at last Celebrimbor waved for both of them to sit down in a seating corner directly next to the colourful glass wall. “Let's take a look at that mystery poem of yours,” he said and extended his hand for the books of Curufin, which Annatar had been carrying under one arm.

Annatar opened the small booklet with Curufin's and Maedhros' annotations and drew forth a small scrap of paper from between the back cover and the linen jacket. “It fell out when I was reading it yesterday. I assumed you had written it when you were younger and forgotten it there.” He handed it to Celebrimbor.

His friend took it and read it, but his brow creased into a frown, his chin resting in the palm of his left hand. “No,” he said at last. “Even when I was younger my handwriting was never quite so neat.” He gave it a closer look. “It resembles Uncle Maglor's handwriting, but...”

Annatar leaned forward in his seat. “But?”

“It's not his, and neither are the words,” Celebrimbor said, with an air of finality. “Besides, he never wrote another poem or song, after – ” He interrupted himself. “He didn't write it.”

“And the dedication? For Father?”

Celebrimbor looked down at the poem, his eyes narrowed. “My father was the only one of his brothers to beget a child.”

“I am aware. That is why I believed that you had written it.”

Celebrimbor shook his head. “No, it isn't mine.” He looked closer. “And it doesn't say 'for father'. That tetha is an 'u' not an 'a'. It says 'atyun'.”³

“I assumed it was a slip of the pen made by a child or faded ink.” Annatar shrugged. “What sense would the dual form make here? A child cannot have two fathers.”

Celebrimbor tapped his chin, then turned around the slip of paper, inspecting the backside and the edges, worn smooth and soft with age. “I have a feeling this poem doesn't belong with these books at all,” he said. “A lot of people have held these books in their hands, Elves and Dwarves have helped create them. Who knows who might have written the stanzas?”

Annatar watched his friend. “I could have sworn it was yours. The words might not be your uncle's, but they would not have been out of place coming from your mouth – or hands.”

Celebrimbor dropped his gaze to the two quatrains again, silently mouthing the verse and the rhythm of them.

“Yes, I can see why you would think that,” he said at last, his words slow and deliberate. “It is the poem of a dreamer.”

“It is the poem of a survivor,” Annatar said simply. “Someone who was not content with the lot that fate had dealt him. Someone unwilling to accept defeat, and who instead looks to create something new and good out of the ruins of old, broken things.”

“Did you write it?” Celebrimbor suddenly looked up, an almost amused quirk to his mouth although his eyes remained sombre.

“As much as I appreciate the content of the poem, I have no father – let alone two – whom I could or would dedicate it to,” Annatar replied. “All the labour of my heart and mind is already dedicated to another – ”

He had initially intended to add “cause”, but then he reconsidered and – didn't. Instead he looked straight at Celebrimbor, who held his gaze and – at last – gave a genuine smile.

***

Over the course of the next week, Celebrimbor immersed himself completely in the task of trying to fulfil the role of a teacher for a primordial being who was, according to his own words, billions of years old and had Sung the universe itself into being. He had initially believed that teaching Annatar would be hard, what with the Maia's age and vastly superior understanding of the world (which he himself had helped create) getting in the way of lessons. Truth be told, Celebrimbor had even expected to be faced with a barrage of questions second-guessing everything he said and Annatar offering his own opinions on matters he had just begun to study.

However, Annatar proved to be a surprisingly docile student. He listened, he asked questions, but – quite out of keeping with his usual behaviour in the masters' circle at Ost-in-Edhil – he never challenged Celebrimbor or his teaching. If there was any indication at all that Celebrimbor was not teaching another elf, but instead a highly intelligent (and usually quite disputatious) Maia, it was that Annatar listened intently and with absolute focus to everything he said, but never took down even a single note – and nevertheless managed to lay down the highly complex groundwork for Khuzdul within a mere week.

Following those days, they fell into an easy rhythm: they visited the library quite often, each one roaming their chosen haunt for the day, and in the evenings, they would go over any questions that Annatar might have encountered during his readings.

Celebrimbor particularly enjoyed those quiet evening hours, which they often spent sitting or lounging side by side on the sofas and armchairs in his rooms (after all, as Annatar had pointed out, he had two bookshelves), quietly discussing the finer points of Khuzdul.

Often, Annatar would spend hours perched on a small stool by the fireside – far too close to the flames for comfort for any merely mortal being – and then, with a rustle of fabric and sans prior announcement, he would walk over to where Celebrimbor was sitting and take a seat next to him, proceeding to point out etymological similarities here or phonetic shifts there, and they would stick their heads together in discussion until the small hours of the morning.

On other days, Annatar would simply hand the Khuzdul dictionary to Celebrimbor and then take a seat on the sofa beside him, demanding to be quizzed on vocabulary.

Today, Celebrimbor had taken up one spot at the far end of the sofa while Annatar had decided to occupy the rest of it, stretched out in an unusually obvious display of ease and comfort, with his feet resting near where Celebrimbor was sitting.

Meanwhile, Celebrimbor was leafing through the Khudzul textbook resting on his lap, skimming it in search of suitably difficult vocabulary.

“Have you, by any chance, got the tune to the Laiquendian Sun Dance stuck in your head?” Annatar asked at last, breaking the silence in the room.

Celebrimbor looked up at his friend, surprised. “Yes, how did you know?”

“You have drummed its rhythm line on my shin three times now,” Annatar replied, his mouth quirking up in amusement.

Celebrimbor looked at his right hand, which had – unnoticed by him – indeed been resting across Annatar’s shins. “I didn’t even notice! I was too busy looking for another useful verb I might quiz you on.”

“Not too busy for your hands to seek engagement in their own way while your brain was busy with something else,” Annatar stated. “It seems you’re insufficiently challenged when you’re not doing at least two things at the same time.”

Celebrimbor laughed. “My hands do seem to have a mind of their own at times. For some reason it is easier for me to focus on something when – ah.” He smiled and turned a few pages, scanning the tables of word stems, until he found the word he had been looking for. “‘To focus’?”

“Azûl.”

“Root?”

“Z-L-K.”⁴

“Principal parts?”

“Azûlmi, azulmikhu, êzúlon, zazûlkha, zazûlkhamai, êzulozum, azulmikhai.”⁵

When Celebrimbor didn't immediately answer, Annatar sat up. “What?”

Celebrimbor looked up with a near-apologetic expression. “The aorist tense was off. Azûl is not a strong verb; it demands a regular ending.”

Annatar bristled. “It's not a regular verb.”

“It is.”

“Give me that.” Annatar reached out and took the book from Celebrimbor's hands. He studied the conjugation tables with a frown until he found it, then his gaze snapped back up to Celebrimbor. “It is not a regular verb.”

Celebrimbor laughed quietly when Annatar chucked the book back at him with quite a bit more force than necessary. “Not to worry about your five day streak; I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were talking about.”

“I wouldn't have to worry if you didn't see fit to throw in theatrics like these.” Annatar harrumphed, but leaned back again. “Go on,” he said.

Celebrimbor chuckled and obliged. “I apologize. Would me drumming out your favourite song on your shins make you any happier? If so, you need only say.”

Annatar threw him a look. “Just continue with what you are supposed to be doing, Tyelperinquar, and maybe I'll get as far as being able to strike up a normal conversation in Khuzdul before we return home.”

Celebrimbor's eyes flicked up at his friend. He wondered whether Annatar had been aware of his choice of words or had he simply not been paying attention when he had called Ost-in-Edhil his – their home.

In the end, Celebrimbor decided, it didn't matter. He just smiled quietly to himself, and turned to the next page in the book.

---

1 Quenya for: “Quid pro quo”/”This for that”. sina = this (nom. sg.); tana = that. Quenya uses the dative case to express the notion of “for” (for me/for you/for this), therefore = tanan (Dat sg.)

2 This refers to a conversation Celebrimbor and Annatar had in Equinox.

3 Atyun is a curious case of linguistic word-play. The word is clearly derived from the Quenyan word atar for father. Annatar rightly assumes that it is a dedication, for which the proper form would be the dative atan (“for father”) or the more affectionate atyan (“for papa”). However, at(y)un forms the actually non-existent dual form of atar, thus atyun is an affectionate, neologistic dual form of dedication to two fathers. Since having two fathers is not biologically possible, we must turn to a possible historical and figurative background for an explanation, which prominently leaves Elrond and Elros as likely authors. The two boys were taken under the wing of Maedhros and Maglor in the wake of the Third Kinslaying, standing in as surrogate fathers for Elrond and Elros. The content of the poem as well as the dedication make it debatable with which intent the verses were written. However, the fact that the author seems to stress the fact that “the ones whom the old world left broken” would rise again, no matter what had happened to them, strongly hints at an autobiographical reference to either Elrond's or Elros' own life. The poem might have been intended to stress that no matter what the Sons of Fëanor have done to either of the brothers, they will overcome it. In this case, the more polemic intent of the poem would point to Elros as a more likely author, since he was the twin that had always a more distant relationship to his surrogate fathers as well as Elven-kind in general, eventually leading to his choice to embrace the fate of Men. In that light, whether or not the affectionate form of the dedication was used ironically or sincerely is up for debate. What is also notable is the similarity between the poem in Celebrimbor’s book and the quatrains associated with Aragorn Elessar II. In the light of the aforementioned clues it stands to reason that this is the original form of the two quatrains, written by Elros and recorded by Maglor during the Union of Maedhros; after that it was likely relayed down the line of Númenorean kings until a slightly changed version finally makes a reappearance in the verses for Aragorn's name.

4 Khuzdul is built around consonantal roots. Most verbs are made up from a first consonantal root, a second consonantal root and a third consonant which is the tense marker for future tenses, present perfect and past perfect tenses.

5 Annatar is listing up the principal parts of a verb that are crucial for knowing how to conjugate it, especially if it changes irregularly. The forms he names are as follows: infinitive (provided by Celebrimbor) — consonantal roots — first person sg. present active — first person sg. future simple active — first person sg. aorist active — first person sg. present perfect active — first person sg.perfect passive — first person sg. aorist passive — first person sg. future passive.

The consonant roots are important to determine the central parts of each word. There is a first consonant and a second consonant, around which the present and aorist tenses are built through vowel alteration. The third consonant is the consonant marker for future tenses, present perfect and past perfect tenses.

Endings:

-mi = first person sg. present active

-mikhu = first person sg. future active (with consonantal root “kha”)

-on = first person sg. aorist active (irreg.)

-kha= first person sg. present perfect (reduplicative perfect (“za-zû”) with distinct consonant root “kha”).

-khamai = first person sg. present perfect passive (with consonantal root “kha”)

-lozum = first person sg. aorist passive

-mikhai = first person sg. future passive (with consonantal root “kha”)

Note on the aorist tense: é-azûlon is an irregular aorist form which contracts to êzulon, because the e-augment (a past tense marker) is a weak vowel. If it is added before a verb that begins with a vowel, the augment is contracted with the vowel to form a long ê (if the initial vowel is e, i or a) or “ô” (if the initial vowel is u or o).

Note on the present perfect tense: the tense is formed a) by distinct present perfect endings b) by a reduplication of the first root consonant that is added as a prefix to the verb stem: z-azûl-kha