The Unread Visions of a Higher Dream III: This Dreamcrossed Twilight by Prackspoor  

Act I: Revelation

Wavering between the profit and the loss

In this brief transit where the dreams cross

The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying

(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things

From the wide window towards the granite shore

The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying

Unbroken wings

Redeem the time, redeem the dream

The token of the word unheard, unspoken

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew

And after this our exile

T.S. Eliot – Ash Wednesday, Parts VI and IV

*

The beginning of the end announced itself with a deceptively polite knock on the door.

It was a late afternoon in early September and most lessons in the tower of the Jewel-smiths had already come to a close. The soft light of the setting sun was streaming through the windows into the classroom, where Annatar was in the process of stacking his notes for the recently-ended lecture on materials science, while the last two remaining apprentices were cleaning the workspaces and wiping the blackboard. He was just setting a stack of papers aside when a knock on the doorframe of the classroom caught his attention.

An elf was leaning there: slender, with auburn curls framing his angular face. He had his arms crossed in a casual manner, and a perpetually mischievous smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth – a familiar expression that put Annatar into a state of watchful alertness whenever the elf so much as entered the room.

“Daeror,” Annatar said, straightening. The two apprentices paused in wiping the blackboard. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Daeror let his eyes wander over the worktables and the assorted devices: volumetric flasks, torches, glass containers that held shavings of raw metals. He took it in with a slight frown, then turned to look at Annatar. “Am I intruding?”

“Aren’t you always?” Annatar replied wryly.

“You do me an injustice, Aulëndil.” Daeror cocked his head to one side. “I might have come here merely to watch and learn.”

 “The lesson is over, unfortunately.” To underline the finality of the statement, Annatar closed his book with an audible thud. “If you want to join the class, you have to come by earlier next time. Though that would be a surprise – I hadn’t taken you for one to be interested in the... precise sciences.”

Daeror blinked slowly, then his smile widened. “Then you know me well, Aulëndil. Indeed, some of us prefer beauty and art over crouching over microscopes, number tables, and tomes all day. I have not come here to join your lesson – much to the relief of both of us, I’m sure. I could never for the life of me sit still during a lecture, and I’m certain I would make a horrible student.”

“Something, at last, on which we can agree.” Annatar leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. “What then chased you away from your harps and sonnets and up into the revered halls of proper science?”

In the background, one of the students snorted, and then coughed when she failed to choke back her aborted bout of laughter.

Daeror’s gaze briefly flicked over to a point somewhere beyond Annatar’s shoulder. “What a way to talk about the art that created the universe itself, and for one of the Holy Ones no less.” The elf raised both eyebrows. “Where were you when the Song was Sung, Aulëndil? Watching from the sidelines and complaining about the noise while you were trying to invent arithmetics?”

“Something like that.” Annatar uncrossed his arms and set them on the desk at his sides, resting his weight on them. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

“That is a ridiculously obvious way of deflecting my line of inquiry. But oh well, I shall accept it for now. Though you must tell me about your role in the Song one day. I’m sure it is nothing short of amusing.” Daeror grinned and Annatar shook his head with a roll of his eyes. “I cannot wait to write my magnum opus about it and present it to everyone in the Mírdain.”

“May fate preserve us from the loquaciousness of bards,” Annatar said with a sigh.

“And from the prickliness of the Maiar,” Daeror countered easily. “Though your temper will surely brighten if I tell you just who has sent me.”

“You were sent here? I didn’t know you were working as a messenger in your free time.” Annatar ran a finger over his lips, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I am not, and I can assure that I wouldn’t allow anyone to take up my time with such tasks – but as coincidence would have it, I was headed here anyway.”

“Why is that?”

“That, Aulëndil, is none of your concern,” Daeror deflected, still smiling. “Suffice it to say that I have my own business here, other than taking up your precious time.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Annatar commented dryly. “So? Who sent you?”

“Tyelperinquar, of course!” Daeror exclaimed, making a wide, dramatic gesture with one arm. “Who else would have dared impose on me as I was walking by their study, minding my own business and thinking of neither the evils nor the over-enthusiastic scientists that might befall me!”

“You poor man.”

“Quite! I couldn’t even get a word in edgewise! He was clearly unable to contain his excitement, and he sounded very urgent when he asked me to tell you to come to the lake beyond the city walls and meet him there.”

Annatar raised an eyebrow, mildly intrigued. “And why couldn’t he come and fetch me himself?”

Daeror waved it off. “What do I know? You and your silversmith never deign to tell anyone anything about your oh-so-secret projects. It is remarkably difficult to get a straight answer out of either of you where your craft is concerned. As it is, Tyelperinquar hurried off before I could even get out so much as a “You’re welcome”, saying something about how he had to ‘figure out the water’ before you came.”

“Hm. That is curious,” Annatar said. “He seems to be onto something again.”

“Well, quite.” Daeror shrugged. “He sounded very excited, and I’m sure he wants to show you the wondrous things he has discovered. As it is, I have fulfilled my task and will now leave you to yours. Have a pleasant evening!”

“Likewise … wherever you might be headed to,” Annatar replied slowly.

“You have your secrets, I have mine.” Daeror gave a short salute, then turned elegantly on his heels and was gone.

Annatar stared after the insufferable bard for a moment, then turned around to face his students. “Finish cleaning up here. You may go afterwards. Leave the classroom unlocked – I will return at a later hour to fetch my writings.” The apprentices nodded. Annatar turned around and took a few steps towards the door, then stopped. “And no snooping around in the papers for the exam plans,” he added. “I will know.” He gave them a warning glance.

The young human man shrank a bit into himself, but the young Dwarven woman just gave him an unimpressed glance and blinked innocently.

Annatar narrowed his eyes at her, then rushed out of the room. He was in no particular hurry, but he suspected that Celebrimbor’s experiments with their new series of Rings had finally borne some fruit, and he would be lying to himself if he denied being curious to see what his friend might have found out. Thus it was with a fairly quick pace that Annatar made his way out of the towers of the Mírdain, then down through the lower rings and out of the city. Taking one of the smaller gates facing out towards the western woods, he descended the hill Ost-in-Edhil was built upon and followed a winding path through a copse of alders until the forest fell behind and the land opened up before him. About three quarters of a mile to his left he could see the long ramp that was leading up to Ost-in-Edhil’s main gates, the white stone gilded by the light of the setting sun. A wide plane of rolling hills stretched out for miles in all directions, the gentle meadows only broken by the shimmering surface of a small lake that mirrored the oranges, purples, and blues of the evening sky above.

Annatar had no trouble spotting Celebrimbor, seeing how the elf was the only living and moving being out in the open as far as he could see. However, for once Annatar wasn’t entirely sure he could trust his eyes. He was not in the habit of doubting his senses – they were as acute as they could possibly be while he was inhabiting a physical body. Still, for an instant sheer disbelief stopped him in his tracks. Annatar blinked and, sure enough, his eyes had not deceived him, however improbable the picture before him might be: Celebrimbor was there and he was walking back and forth upon the surface of the lake.

Now that would certainly explain his excitement. Annatar watched him for a while, regarding Celebrimbor as he tested out his newly-found power. The elf’s steps were careful at first, but when the water kept bearing his weight, his caution quickly gave way to excitement and curiosity. The elf tapped his foot against the water surface, creating some concentric waves. Gingerly he tested whether the waves would, in fact, trip him when he stubbed his toes against them (which was not the case). Following this he went on to try whether he could still submerge his hands or feet in the water (which worked just fine).

Then Celebrimbor stretched out his arms and lifted his hand, and a glittering stream of water followed his movement, twisting and coiling in the wake of his movements like a translucent serpent. Celebrimbor turned and flung out his arm, and the stream of water shot out in a graceful arc before bursting into a rain of glittering droplets that refracted the light of the setting sun. For a moment Celebrimbor seemed to stand suspended in time, bathed in the splintered colours of the light. It appeared that he was standing in the midst of fire, for the lake was mirroring the flaming colours of the sunset above, while water and air rushed around him as the light of the sun shattered into rainbows.

Annatar stood absolutely motionless, his eyes never leaving Celebrimbor. He would likely have remained there, rooted to the spot and watching, had the elf not turned around at that very moment and spotted him.

The passage of time resumed. Wind and sound returned to the world.

Annatar took a brief moment to compose himself, then he approached Celebrimbor who was now turned towards him, standing nonchalantly on the surface of the lake, as if there was nothing more natural than elves walking on water. The glimmer in Celebrimbor’s eyes alone betrayed his excitement.

Annatar walked up to the edge of the lake, stopping just short of the water lapping softly at the shore. “I see your self-made apotheosis is coming along nicely,” he commented mildly.

Celebrimbor grinned. “Oh, it is. I suspect I might be all-powerful as soon as I learn to run on water without stumbling.”

Annatar laughed. “The world shall look upon you and tremble when you do, I’m certain.”

“The world shall be safe from me for quite a while in this case.” Celebrimbor slowly walked closer until he was standing only about two feet in front of Annatar.

Annatar tilted his head to one side. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I would.” Celebrimbor raised his hand and held it up for both of them to see, showing a silver ring and its ultramarine gem gleaming in the last rays of sunlight. “The enchantment is a minor one, but already almost impossibly complicated. The nature of water was so hard to capture that I was beginning to fear it was simply not feasible to incorporate its aspects into something as immutable and inflexible as a gem stone. Now it seems I found a way to establish at least a basic bond with the element, although I’m not sure what the extent and limits of the Ring’s powers are. What do you think of it?”

“I don’t need to tell you that no mortal has achieved this in millennia. Perhaps not ever,” Annatar said softly. “I didn’t know your grandfather, but even he needed the ships of the Teleri to cross the Sundering Seas. I imagine he wouldn’t have taken them if he had been able to walk on water.”

As always, a shadow briefly passed over Celebrimbor’s eyes at the mention of his grandfather. Before it could take hold, Annatar reached out and took Celebrimbor’s right hand in his own, regarding the ring and the ultramarine blue stone set into it. “But you captured even more in this ring, didn’t you? I saw how the water followed your call. How much can you do with this?”

“Truth be told, I don’t know,” Celebrimbor admitted. “I’ve only just finished it and I haven’t gotten around to experimenting with it a lot, so I haven’t been able to test its limits yet. I do have a few ideas, though.”

Annatar looked up from Celebrimbor’s hands and at his face. “And those would be?”

Celebrimbor pulled his hand out of Annatar’s grasp and took a few steps backwards. “I was thinking about testing my control over the element while working with or against external parameters. How far can I bend it beyond its normal physical properties? How much can I delay or stretch the limits of its phase transitions with my will as my only tool?” The elf made a small, sharp gesture, and a thin sheet of ice briefly crystallised at Celebrimbor’s feet before melting again. “It would be fascinating to see to what extent a will could shape the world with the aid of the Ring with a bit of time and practice. For example, could I force water to freeze in warm temperatures and remain frozen even when flame is directed at it? Or – to follow that train of thought further: how would two elements interact when they are no longer governed by the laws of nature, but by the strength of will?” Celebrimbor looked at Annatar, a curious look in his eyes.

Annatar raised both eyebrows. “You are getting ahead of yourself, Tyelperinquar. You are not one of the Powers. Yet,” he added with a grin and a brief flash of teeth. “So if you are suggesting that I throw fire at you, I must disappoint you.”

Celebrimbor cocked his head to one side. “I refuse to believe that you have so little control over your powers that you couldn’t keep your fire from harming me.”

“There are plenty of ways you could harm yourself with this, even with me taking all possible precautions on my end,” Annatar replied. “I refuse to run this risk just to satisfy your curiosity.”

“I merely believe in the benefit of practical experiments,” Celebrimbor replied with a wry grin.

“There are safer experiments you could conduct until you are more certain of yourself and the extent of your control, both over the ring and over water,” Annatar said. “I’m sure you will find plenty of hypotheses in the meantime that are less dangerous to test, and just as interesting.”

“Ah, what a pity.” Celebrimbor sighed. “But you are, of course, right. I can think of plenty of questions regarding the Ring that could be both entertaining and enlightening to answer. For example, could water that is controlled by my will momentarily overcome a stronger, but less focused willpower and drench a usually very water-resistant Maia if I caught him off guard?” Suddenly Celebrimbor grinned and with a quick, sweeping gesture, the water reared up like an uncoiling snake and surged forward.

For all his supernatural reflexes, Annatar wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid it entirely. He took a quick step backwards so that only the edge of the wave brushed him, but it was enough to drench the front of his robes from the chest down.

For a brief moment, Annatar was actually rendered speechless. He was used to Celebrimbor treating him no differently than other colleagues when it came to status, and with no particular reverence that others might have afforded a primordial entity that was older than the world itself. Apparently though, Tyelperinquar had unlearned any and all humility in the face of beings greater than himself – whether he had ever possessed it in the first place remained open to debate.

No one spoke, until Celebrimbor said, “Well, that worked splendidly”, with a smile on his face that was not even slightly apologetic.

Annatar raised an eyebrow. “Oh, did it?”

“I would think so.”

“Would you?” Annatar narrowed his eyes. “Think again.” He quickly jerked his chin in a brief sideways motion, and before Celebrimbor could react, a wave of both water and disproportionate retribution rose up to once and for all to answer the logical follow-up question of whether a Maia might be drenched with impunity.

*

Half an hour later, Celebrimbor and Annatar were walking back the woody path towards Ost-in-Edhil. Celebrimbor was dripping puddles as he walked, but this didn’t do anything to dampen his spirits. The late summer air was warm, even beneath the canopy of alders, and flecks of golden sunlight were flitting over his legs and arms as he went. “Well, that was nice,” he said cheerfully.

To Celebrimbor’s left, Annatar just gave a brief huff. He was, as a matter of fact, fully dry, with not a single fold of his robes out of place. “If you say so. I honestly don’t see what could possibly be nice about being in repeated physical contact with water – but whatever makes you happy.”

“Ah, Annatar, I will never understand why you dislike water so much.” Celebrimbor stretched his arms over his head and laughed brightly.

“It is cold, it is wet, it reeks like decay and death, it slows and hinders, and it only ever pulls everything downwards,” Annatar retorted. “As someone who appreciates the diametrically opposed traits of fire, I fail to see its appeal.”

“For someone who dislikes the element that much, you have an impressive ability to control it,” Celebrimbor noted. “I knew you had an affinity for earth and fire, so I assumed you’d have a harder time with the opposing element of water.”

Annatar shrugged. “You are mainly left-handed, and you still manage to write and complete all manner of tasks with your right hand. Exerting my will over water is a similar thing for me – it requires more effort and focus, and I will always be more powerful and naturally precise when relying on elements that are closer to my own nature. However, that doesn’t mean I cannot bend it to my wishes at all.”

Celebrimbor thought about it for a moment. “It’s a fine analogy, though it amuses me that you would compare your control of water to my right-handed chicken scratch.” He looked at Annatar and smiled. “Anyway, it was extremely interesting to see you display your powers for once. You are always so reluctant to use them, and when you do, you never do it in an open or noticeable way.”

Annatar raised both eyebrows. “For good reason, as today’s events should have demonstrated.”

“I don’t know what you mean. A few splashes never hurt anyone, and a late summer swim is always nice.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“You sound like a cat, if cats could talk.” Celebrimbor laughed and shook his head, spraying droplets of water everywhere.

Annatar raised his hand to shield himself. “Says the one who’s acting like a dog right now.”

*

Speaking of cats must have invoked some unholy summoning ritual, for upon entering his rooms in the tower of the Jewel-smiths, the first thing Celebrimbor saw was Annatar’s black cat perching comfortably in the midst of his inked sketches of ring designs. The insufferable creature had practically burrowed itself among the papers, where it had kneaded the most advanced sketches for ring designs into crumpled balls before plopping down on them and curling up to sleep. As Celebrimbor discovered, the cat had compensated for taking up lodgings by dropping a dead, half-eaten rat in the middle of the room. The other half of the rat existed as a formless regurgitated mass that the cat had mindfully thrown up over the carpet in the middle of the room, so as not to soil the floor.

Celebrimbor picked up the cat who let out an indignant yowl in response and unceremoniously shoved her into Annatar’s arms. “Take your little monster and keep it away from my desk.”

“She’s a cat,” Annatar said archly, though faint amusement tinged his voice. “I can’t tell her what to do.”

Celebrimbor threw him a pointed look. “You are one of the Holy Ones, I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep a cat in line.”

Annatar frowned, while the little black beast climbed up onto his shoulder and perched there, glaring daggers at Celebrimbor. “Cats are not dogs, to be trained to act and do only as their master pleases. It is in her nature that she should have a will of her own.”

“Which expresses itself exclusively by sitting on my notes whenever I try to write, or retching up hairballs all over my sketches.” Celebrimbor pointed over at the crumpled notes on his desk.

“Well.” Annatar brushed his index finger over his lips, trying to hide a smile. “You’ll just have to get into the habit of keeping the doors to your rooms closed.”

“As if that would help,” Celebrimbor retorted. “I’m convinced that this little demon of yours is able to either walk through walls or materialise wherever it wants, because it keeps getting into my study and my bedroom, no matter how much I take care to keep the doors closed.”

“Hm, I wonder why that is,” Annatar remarked lightly.

Celebrimbor gave Annatar a long look. “Yes, I was wondering about it myself,” he said pointedly.

“I wouldn’t know.” Annatar shrugged. “Maybe you’ll just have to pay better attention.”

“Or maybe I’ll have to extend the ban of cats in my private rooms to lesser gods.” Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow.

“Or maybe you’ll just have to learn to accept and embrace creatures different from yourself. Aren’t you always advocating for accepting and cherishing the things that make us diverse and special?”

“So you are saying I should be glad that you keep letting the cat wreak havoc in my rooms?”

Celebrimbor was momentarily tempted to tell Annatar what he thought of twisting his words like that. However, just then another idea came to him and he held up his hands in surrender. “You know what? You’re right. I should not be so strict with you and the cat. Let me make up for my mistakes and correct my errant ways.” Celebrimbor took a few steps towards Annatar and the cat with his arms spread wide.

The cat actually let out a hiss and Annatar stopped him short with a hand on his chest. His palm was slightly too hot against the wet fabric and Celebrimbor’s cool skin to be considered normal. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Embracing you and the cat, as you wanted.”

“Don’t you dare approach me in this state, Tyelperinquar.”

The cat hissed again, fur bristling and standing on end.

Celebrimbor sighed. “Ah, you and the cat, you’re just the same.”

“Yes, we both have a sense of common decency. I recommend that you acquire one as well. Now change into something dry, like a normal person.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I will.” Celebrimbor walked past them towards his wardrobe, then quickly turned around, but not without quickly and furtively flicking a lock of Annatar’s hair. The cat on Annatar’s shoulder had been staring at him, seemingly only waiting for Celebrimbor to get his fingers near her where she could claw at them. Her pupils dilated and within an instant she pounced, nearly toppling off Annatar’s shoulder in her excitement and clawing into his back and hair so as not to fall.

Celebrimbor walked on, not turning around and pointedly ignoring both Annatar’s hiss of dismay, accompanied by the cat spitting in protest, as well as the sounds of the ensuing scuffle at this back. “I keep telling you, you should keep your hair tied back during the day,” he said, fighting to keep his tone serious. “It’s a matter of workplace safety inside the workshops, and a matter of practicality everywhere else.”

Annatar didn’t reply, but Celebrimbor could feel the Maia’s eyes boring into his back when he opened his wardrobe and pulled out a set of more comfortable clothes.

When he turned around, Annatar had gotten his cat back under control, though the left shoulder of his robe and some strands of hair were looking a bit worse for wear.

“I am going to take a shower,” Celebrimbor said, walking over towards the bathroom door. “I’d thank you if you put the cat out and cleaned up her mess in the meantime.”

Chapter End Notes

This fic is part 3 of the series The Unread Visions of a Higher Dream. If you want to start the series from the beginning, I suggest you read the first two parts before continuing this fic.

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

← Go back to read Part 2 of this series: The Light Under the Mountain

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