Work Text:
When Mairon reentered the forge, there was nothing left of the necklace save a little puddle of molten silver, sitting in the base of Celebrimbor's crucible as he blasted it methodically with blue flame.
Mairon tilted his head, making a face. "That one as well? I liked that design."
"It failed under stress testing," Celebrimbor said simply, turning his flame this way and that so that the silver was heated equally all the way through.
"That is a shame." Mairon moved to the workbench and sat, his eyes skimming over the abandoned drifts of parchment that covered the surface. Each one held a design for a piece of jewellery; some so similar it was impossible to distinguish between them at a glance, while some were radically different from each other.
Mairon began to leaf through the papers, knowing that Celebrimbor would raise no objection. Celebrimbor trusted him, at least up to a point; Mairon knew all the papers that were left lying around in the workshop held designs that he would have no trouble with him seeing.
The more radical, secret ideas he had put to parchment were safely locked away inside his safe, to which only he knew the combination - but that was no matter. Mairon had seen enough to know that Celebrimbor would prove capable of forging exactly what he needed. And, now that everything else was ready - now was the time to put the idea in his head.
"Have you considered returning to rings?" Mairon asked, keeping his tone casual. "They are your speciality, after all. These new techniques you are trying will be hard enough to master on their own; I do not think you need the added difficulty of working with more complicated components, like the clasps and chains of a necklace."
He saw the corner of Celebrimbor's lips quirk up. "Having seen my work, you should know that my designs are rarely plain or simple, no matter what the piece."
"The beauty of a magic ring is not in its outward appearance, but in the power it can call forth."
Celebrimbor paused, considering that for a moment. "We will still need jewels for the magic."
"You could set a jewel to a metal band in your sleep."
Celebrimbor sighed, then surveyed the silver in his crucible, and then the bright white jewel, perfectly cut, that was lying on a little scrap of velvet on his workbench. "I will have to return this to Omvi," he said, wrapping the diamond in the soft fabric. "He will not be pleased. This was cut specifically for-"
"Let Ethion have it," Mairon said, impatiently waving away Celebrimbor's protests. "Surely the dwarf will have no complaints if his prized jewel is worked upon by the jeweller whose necklaces are the best in the city."
Celebrimbor glanced sharply at him, and Mairon knew referring to Omvi in such a dismissive manner had offended him. He was perversely attached to the little tunnel-dwelling creatures, an affection that Mairon just could not understand. "Ethion will be honoured you sought to give him such a gift," Mairon pressed, waiting for Celebrimbor to give in and agree.
"I do not know that he will be honoured to have my cast-offs, but I agree that will be better than giving it back to Omvi," Celebrimbor finally said, before he tucked the diamond away safely in the front pocket of his apron. Then he walked over to one of the large cupboards that lined the wall. Behind the tall doors sat a selection of boxes which Celebrimbor quickly rifled through, selecting and discarding jewels with the quick precision of long practise. Reflected light from all the precious stones lit up Celebrimbor's face as he searched; he had been collecting high quality jewels of all shapes and sizes for years, resulting in a collection that could usually be relied upon to produce something of appropriate size and beauty.
Eventually he made his selection and returned to the workbench. "Hand me sheet A345," he said as he reached under the bench, pulling out several different moulds.
Mairon smiled, seeing that he had already slipped back into the state of singular focus that allowed him to create such wondrous marvels. He stood and began to flick through the pages, searching for the design Celebrimbor required.
It was midmorning when they started; by the time they finished, the sun had long set and stars were strewn across the sky outside. Celebrimbor suggested stepping outside for a breath of fresh air, as he usually did after a long session of work; standing at the balcony outside his workshop always seemed to refresh him. Now he stood leaning against the balustrade, taking deep lungfuls of the cold night air as Mairon waited silently behind him.
"Give me your thoughts," he said after a moment, looking over his shoulder at Mairon.
"What thoughts are there to give?" Mairon said, spreading his hands. "You have only been at this one day."
"I seem to remember you giving rather harsh judgements on one day's progress before," Celebrimbor said dryly.
"For lesser projects, yes."
Celebrimbor turned to face him fully, a little frown between his brows. "What do you mean?"
Mairon paused, making sure to pick his words carefully. This was the crux of it; the moment he finally revealed his hand, at least somewhat. He could not afford to get this wrong. "These powers with which you imbue the rings - have you not thought about how they could be used?"
Celebrimbor's gaze darted away, and Mairon knew without him speaking that he had not thought of it. Celebrimbor had more foresight than many of his forefathers, to be sure, but even he at times would become so consumed in the how of something that he would forget completely about the why. It was a risk, Mairon supposed, to bring that back to his attention; but he needed Celebrimbor to focus on something specific, and for that, he needed a reason.
Celebrimbor looked back to him. "You seem to have something in mind," he said - seeing, as he sometimes did, a little too far into Mairon's thoughts.
Mairon did not let it ruffle him. "A project has been taking shape in my mind," he said, coming to stand next to Celebrimbor at the balustrade. "I have spent a long time in this country, helping you and all the others here - and look how the city has flourished, under our guidance," he said, spreading an arm to indicate the sweep of buildings and faint lights that made up Ost-in-Edhil spread out below them. "But I have been thinking - is it not selfish of us, to keep all this progress and enlightenment to ourselves?"
Celebrimbor's expression was caught somewhere between interest and wariness. "We are not the only ones making progress," he said slowly.
"Of course," Mairon said. "But think of the progress everyone could be making, if we could realise the true potential of these rings."
Celebrimbor's gaze turned inward, and Mairon could tell he had taken the bait. "It would be quite the undertaking, to expand the powers to something that would affect a whole nation rather than a single person..."
"But for you, I do not think it would be impossible."
Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows. "For you, I do not think it would be impossible. I am not so sure about me."
"If I could have achieved such a thing, do you not think I would already have done it?" Mairon said, managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Celebrimbor looked incredulous for a moment; but then he nodded once, accepting that Mairon knew his own abilities best. "I do not know that I could achieve something that foxed even you," he said, a little smile creeping onto his face. "But, to try..."
Mairon could almost see the vision forming in front of Celebrimbor’s eyes; the dream, one might call it, the seed of an end goal taking shape in his mind. Whether it was the dream of driving forward progress across all Middle-Earth or of achieving something that even a Maia had not been able to, Mairon didn't know; but so long as it motivated him to create what Mairon needed, Celebrimbor’s goals didn't matter. In the end, Mairon's would be the only goal that became reality.
"I have a few ideas," he said, recalling Celebrimbor's attention to him. "Vague, but they could be helpful..."
Celebrimbor snorted. "I do not think you have ever showed me any of your 'vague' ideas, if you even have them. Sometimes I am convinced brilliance leaps into your mind fully formed without any development needed."
"If only that were so," Mairon said, and there was a definite hint of bitterness that time.
Celebrimbor did not seem to notice it. He stood straight, suddenly so full of energy that he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Shall we look at them?"
"It is nearly midnight," Mairon said, his tone lightly reproving.
"Does that matter?" Celebrimbor laughed. "I am not tired."
No, Mairon thought - the idea had taken hold, and Celebrimbor would likely not sleep tonight, instead spending the early hours of the morning buried under a pile of drawings, design ideas and reference texts.
Mairon felt a sudden, unexpected stab of guilt. Suddenly it was not Celebrimbor standing before him, but the younger version of himself; burning with passion and excitement, practically bursting out of his skin with eagerness to get started on a new project. He had been like that with Aulë and his fellow Maiar, at first; but his fervour and intensity had only grown once he began working under Melkor. How naive he had been, so eager to jump head-first into every opportunity presented without thinking about where it all would lead. Whether or not he would still say everything had ended in disaster...
No. He would not think about that, not tonight; he had to remain focused, and not linger on memories of the past. Tonight was too crucial for distractions.
"Then, let us look at my preliminary ideas," he said, inviting Celebrimbor back inside with an outspread arm and a charming, welcoming smile.
*
Mairon did not sleep. He had never needed it; had always disdained the very idea of it. Celebrimbor, unfortunately, would always fall prey to that particular mortal weakness at some point, no matter how he tried to fight it. He would eventually admit that he required rest, and reluctantly take himself off to his bedchamber to sleep as soundly as a dead log for a few hours, leaving Mairon a little time to himself.
He used this time for his own pursuits, mostly; but tonight he found himself back on the balcony outside Celebrimbor's workshop, staring out over the city. Dawn was less than an hour away, and the sky above the mountains was streaked with pink and gold, painting the little wisps of cloud hanging above Caradhras in vibrant colour.
The dawn had broken above the peaks of Thangorodrim in the same vivid colours, when the light of Arien had been able to break through the thick smoke that surrounded the mountains. Mairon had been able to see it sometimes, from the highest terraces cut into the mountains, high above the deep caverns of Angband. Melkor had never had any interest in watching the sky or the progress of the celestial bodies, so the terraces had been entirely Mairon's creation and his domain, a space he always had to himself. To think, he had said. Melkor had never understood, but he had never argued, either. Not in the early days.
There had been no sunrises or sunsets when he lived in Aulë's house. There the light had been constant, warm, and so beautiful that it was enough to make you cry, if you ever had time to stop and just look at how it bathed the gardens and the sea in it's enveloping light. But Mairon had never had time to stop and laze about taking in the sights; he had worked himself ragged day and night, so engrossed in the beauty of what took shape under his tools that the splendour of the natural world held no interest for him. And then had come Melkor, and for a long time the only splendour Mairon had been able to see was his; the innovation of his creations, the beauty and majesty of his vision for the world. Mairon had shared that dream for so long, it had blinded him to all else.
It seemed he saw Melkor again now before his very eyes, as he had once been when he walked in the gardens of Aulë's house; mighty and full of mysteries, overflowing with a darkness and power that had drawn Mairon to him like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place.
Mairon did not think he had been wrong, to do what he did. Melkor had seen more than anyone else, had seen things in places the other Valar were afraid to even look. For so long, he had been everything Mairon needed, and he in turn had been a perfect fit for Melkor. They had worked together so well, like two pieces of a whole that had once been sundered, but were constantly drawn back together again. It was hard, after all that, to remember what they had become near the end.
Sometimes that same feeling would come over him, when he was deep in the midst of a project with Celebrimbor. They would begin to move together, to anticipate each other's thought as if they were combined into one being.
At times Mairon would pull back, unable to bear falling into such synergy again; afraid of it, almost, as if sharing that with another would somehow devalue what he and Melkor had once had.
But there were also times when he would embrace it; when he would allow it to carry them forward so that they might reach new heights together. There were times when that decision wasn't even conscious; when they fell into such a rhythm, such a flow, that by the time he realised what was happening, they had already been working together like that for hours.
Mairon was not sure what it meant, that he had found such partnership again in an elf, of all people - and in an elf that he was planning to betray in the most utter, complete of ways. Perhaps fate and Eru Ilúvatar were cursing him once again.
But it was no matter. Celebrimbor was a pawn in a plan of such majesty, such brilliance, that it would eclipse the very stars themselves. His time under Melkor's command had laid the groundwork, and shown Mairon what it was he wanted to achieve; now, on his own, he would finish it.
And under no circumstances would he be distracted by one insignificant elf.
*
Again, though the hour was late enough that most lamps in the city had been put out, Mairon was in the workshop with Celebrimbor. They were attempting to find a way through a problem so complex that it had given both of them pause; Mairon would never admit to being 'stumped', as the dwarves liked to say, but he would admit, even if only in the privacy of his own mind, that they were well and truly stuck.
Celebrimbor blew out a breath, running his fingers through hair that was already falling loose from the topknot he'd impatiently tied it back into. "Perhaps it is the materials," he suggested, tapping his fingers in a light, fast rhythm against the desk. "If they are not right for holding and containing this kind of power, then they simply are not right."
"I do not know where on Middle-Earth you will find materials better than those mined from Khazad-Dûm," Mairon said. That was, after all, a large part of his reason for coming here; he could never have forced his way into such a constant, high quality supply of materials as Celebrimbor received from the dwarves.
"I will speak to Bram again," Celebrimbor said resolutely, rising from his seat. "There must be something- perhaps in the deepest caverns-"
"It is the middle of the night," Mairon pointed out.
"There will be someone awake-"
"You have been up for nearly twenty hours already," Mairon found himself saying. There was a softness, a care in his voice that came as a shock to him - that he had not meant to put there. "And Bram will not be cooperative at this hour," he said, adding a more practical reason for the delay. "You may as well rest until morning now."
Celebrimbor wavered, looking in the direction of the mountain, though it was far too dark to see it through the small windows of the workshop. Mairon waited, almost able to see the cogs turning in his mind.
Then Celebrimbor sighed, rubbed a hand over his eyes, and nodded. "You are right, of course. Bram will flay me alive if I wake him at this hour." Carelessly he wiped off the end of his quill and laid it aside. "What will you do while I sleep?" he asked, glancing longingly at the pile of papers in front of Mairon.
"Continue, of course," Mairon said, smiling at him. "Perhaps I will be able to make some kind of breakthrough while you must sleep."
Celebrimbor scowled. "Would that I could be as eternal and unchanged as you are," he said, before his mouth opened in a jaw-cracking yawn that revealed just how tired he was. When Mairon laughed, Celebrimbor just shook his head and left without saying goodnight.
Eternal, but not unchanging, Mairon thought, watching Celebrimbor's back as he walked out of the room. If only he knew how different the person he spoke to now was from the Mairon who had left Aulë's house all those years ago...
Mairon cut that thought off. Those were things Celebrimbor had no need to know - could never know. The only thing Celebrimbor needed to see was the facade of Annatar, and nothing deeper than that.
And you must not mistake your need for his skills with a concern for him as a person, an admonishing voice said in his head.
It is nothing more than an act, he told himself firmly. And is it not justified? He cannot create the rings if he keels over with exhaustion.
That was the truth - and it was a far more comfortable thought than imagining that any level of care for Celebrimbor was germinating in the deepest recesses of his heart.
As the night grew later and Mairon made no more progress, he could feel frustration creeping up behind him, like a wolf stalking his tracks. When he felt like the wolf's breath was brushing against the back of his neck, he pushed up from the desk and walked out onto the balcony.
The dark carpet of the sleeping city spread out before his eyes. Mairon leaned both elbows against the railing and rested his chin on his clasped hands, letting his eyes drift across the neatly laid out streets and houses.
What would it be like, he wondered, when Celebrimbor's task was done? He had no expectation that the city would come under his rule; unlike the weakness of Men, Elves would rather fight to the death than submit to him. He could see it now; the neat, tidy little houses with their roofs and walls aflame, the straight clean streets full of bodies and running, armoured troops.
The image was so clear, it was more like a vision, playing out in front of his eyes as if he were seeing it happening there before him.
He would send his armies to the western gate, which he knew was the hardest to defend. He would bring twice as many troops as he needed to break through, since he knew exactly how many elves Celebrimbor could command, and he was well aware of all their strengths and weaknesses. He could almost taste how delicious it would be once the gates finally fell, when the defenders were swept away like trees before the force of a great flood.
Celebrimbor was more a tactician than a warrior; he would be closer to the rear of the army, in command, trying to hold the troops together in the face of certain death. That, Mairon had to admit, would be interesting; Celebrimbor had brought most of the people here from Lindon on the promise of a new vision for a city, and had built Eregion on the basis of that dream. Would he be able to hold his dreamers together in battle as effectively as he had guided them into building a city from nothing?
There was a stir of- something, deep within his heart, when he thought about that; when he saw that image of Celebrimbor in his mind, struggling to keep up his people's hope when they realised that there was nowhere left to run…
There was a part of him that was... reluctant, to see that, though he couldn't say exactly why.
Perhaps it would be better if he spirited Celebrimbor away to his fortress in Mordor the moment the rings were completed. That way, not only would Eregion lose its leader and fall into disarray, but he would save Celebrimbor's genius from the fickle chance of war, keeping him and his knowledge so that it might be used again later, however unwillingly...
The little twinge of unhappiness in the centre of his chest did not settle at that, but Mairon forced himself to push the feeling down.
*
After three days with no more progress, Celebrimbor announced that they would go out to walk in the fields.
Mairon did not understand Celebrimbor's preoccupation with the seemingly endless fields of holly bushes that grew like a prickly maze around the walls of the city. For years his Master of Agriculture had been trying to convince him to clear the useless bushes away to make room for more fields, but Celebrimbor wouldn't hear of it. The holly bushes, useless as they were, stayed.
Celebrimbor went ahead of him, face turned up toward the sun, walking along a path through the maze of bushes, navigating solely by memory. Mairon followed slightly behind, watching him.
"I can almost hear you wondering what we are doing out here," Celebrimbor said, humour suffusing his voice.
"It seems to be part of your process," Mairon said. He had seen Celebrimbor do this many times before, and had both accompanied him and watched from the walls as he walked among the hollies. Clearly he gained something from the endeavour, as impenetrable as it was to Mairon.
"Narvi never understood it either," Celebrimbor said, a familiar sadness creeping into his voice. "He saw such beauty in the caves underneath the mountain, he did not at first understand what I saw in the hollies and the grass and the earth." A little smile curved his lips. "I think he finally began to see what I do, though, near the end. I remember so clearly the last time we walked here together..."
Celebrimbor trailed off, clearly lost in memory. Mairon knew better than to interrupt. Celebrimbor never spoke of his family, and Mairon could not gauge whether he cherished or hated them, and was simply disinclined to speak of it either way; but he spoke often of the dwarven smith Narvi, who had been his great friend. It had been nearly a century since Narvi's death, but that was nothing to an elf. Mairon knew that the grief would still be very present - could almost see it walking along behind Celebrimbor, like a solid form hiding in the darkness of his shadow.
That grief should have meant nothing to Mairon, but- There was something in it that left a foul taste in his mouth, like he had swallowed something sour. Perhaps it was merely derision at the thought of spending so much time grieving such an insignificant life - but Mairon did not want to examine that thought too closely, lest he find there something he did not want to see.
"You must miss him," Mairon found himself saying.
Celebrimbor nodded. Then he turned back toward Mairon, smiling slightly. "But less so, now I have you."
Instead of the expected derision at Celebrimbor's blind trust, Mairon felt something else suddenly glow to life in the centre of his chest, bright and impossibly warm; happiness.
He stamped on it viciously, even as he let an answering smile grace his own lips. "I am happy to hear that," he said, his calm words belying the turmoil in his heart.
"I did not think I would ever find someone with whom I could work as closely and as easily as I did with Narvi," Celebrimbor said, turning to continue walking. "But when we work together... I feel it again. That partnership; that bone-deep understanding."
Mairon felt it too, though he had been loathe to accept it. It still felt like a betrayal, even if the one he was betraying would likely never be seen again in this world. He said nothing in reply.
Then Celebrimbor asked, "Do you miss people, Mairon? Your friends in Valinor, perhaps?"
The sudden question caught Mairon off guard, right when he had already been thinking of Melkor. Without his meaning it to, an image flashed into his mind; of the two of them as they had been, on the eve of their defeat.
There had been little in Melkor then that the Mairon he had first lured away from the light would have recognised. Desperation had driven him into a panicked fury, like a cornered rat. He had known there was no way now to defeat the enemy at the door, and he knew also that there would be no mercy left for him at their hands, not after so many betrayals. And Mairon, watching him, had realised that he did not want his end to come that way; he did not want to find himself on the losing side, finally trapped in a dark hole from which there was no way out.
That was why he had agreed that he would return to Valinor for judgement, at first. Even that would be better, he thought, than ending up locked in the Void; even if he had to do penance for thousands upon thousands of years, there would be light at the end of that tunnel.
But then the thought had come: why should he not succeed, where Melkor had failed?
All of that flashed through his mind at Celebrimbor's question, and it was a struggle even for him to keep his expression straight. He let his face reflect a little of the grief he had felt, there at the end of the First Age, and said, "Yes. Even a Maia has people they miss."
Celebrimbor nodded, his eyes troubled. Mairon guessed he was not only thinking of Narvi, now, but also of the family that had been lost to him, the parents and uncles of whom he never spoke.
"You and I are locked in the eternal pursuit of progress," Mairon said quietly. "As you and yours have always been. Yet there will be those who will judge us for this. How will you face them, when the time comes?"
Celebrimbor's eyes flicked back to his. "You mean, when they begin to accuse me of creating artifacts to sow discord among others, much as my grandfather did?"
Mairon shook his head. "What they say of you may be both worse and better. Fëanor did not create his Silmarils for any purpose beyond their beauty, and to prove that he could. What you and I are undertaking is a work that could reshape the entire face of Middle-Earth; give power to those who did not have it previously, and perhaps take it away from others. Not everyone will agree with the necessity of this, or your methods. What will you say to these doubters?"
Mairon didn't know why he was asking this. Whatever answer Celebrimbor gave would be irrelevant, considering what Mairon was planning to do with the rings of power - but somehow he wanted to know the innermost thoughts of Celebrimbor's mind, especially on this topic.
Celebrimbor paused, his eyes going far away as he fell into deep thought for over a minute. Mairon waited, watching him.
"I am not much of a diplomat," he said eventually, "so the question you have asked me is not one I am especially well equipped to answer. In truth, I had intended to reach out to those with whom I have maintained good relations, and convince them of the potential of these rings first. Once their support has been assured, I had thought they would be instrumental in helping us reach out further."
It was a perfectly reasonable answer, but somehow it was not what Mairon had been hoping for. He did not want to hear Celebrimbor's plans for common, boring diplomacy, he realised; he wanted to drill deeper. "Perhaps I might word my question another way. If you were to be accused of abandoning all virtue and common sense to pursue progress, what would you say in reply?"
Celebrimbor gave him a long, assessing look, and for once Mairon found him hard to read. His question could not have tipped his hand; there was no possible way Celebrimbor could suspect that the Annatar he had taken in as a friend was in fact Mairon, former lieutenant of Melkor.
But for a moment he could have sworn it was suspicion he saw in Celebrimbor's grey eyes.
"It would depend," Celebrimbor said eventually, "whether I had in fact abandoned my common sense or not."
Mairon snorted at that. "It is perfectly possible for two people to have entirely differing perceptions on whether the actions of another defy common sense."
"Then I suppose I would have to argue the toss," Celebrimbor said simply. "I would bring them my evidence, and they would bring me theirs. The side who can prove his argument wins."
Mairon shook his head. "In arguments of morality, my friend, even cold hard evidence set right before someone's eyes can be ignored, if the other side believes hard enough in their ideals."
"That is why I attempt to avoid such arguments," Celebrimbor said. He gestured to the field of hollies around them. "And have I not brought all like-minded elves with me to our own city, where we may pursue our progress free from such philosophical entanglements?"
"And what of the philosophers that sit within your very own city, and spend all day and night arguing with each other?"
Celebrimbor waved a hand. "As I have said to them - they are as free as anyone else here to pursue new ideas, so long as they never become a bother to anyone else."
Mairon felt something in his chest that was almost like- affection. Fond, warm affection, as he looked upon Celebrimbor's face.
Remember your mission here, he reminded himself harshly. You must betray him utterly before the end.
"Well, lovely as it is out here, I would like to get back to work," Mairon said, turning back toward the city. "Do come back and let me know when you have a breakthrough, my friend."
"I will," Celebrimbor promised. There was a little, secretive smile on his face as he said it, and Mairon could not work out why.
*
Despite the importance of Celebrimbor and the rings to his plan, Mairon could not afford to spend all his time in Eregion. Though he was by far the most powerful being in the entirety of Middle-Earth, there were always some that needed to be reminded of that fact.
Upon returning to Mordor he found that his underlings had, for once, kept a decent semblance of order in his absence. Mairon spent time inspecting everything that had been prepared for their coming war; he inspected weapons and supplies, watched his troops run drills and perform exercises, and reviewed battle plans and strategies with his commanders. Some orcs, he had found, retained enough intelligence to become fearsome battlefield commanders, while there were many men in his service who had fought long, hard battles in the chaos of the south, moulding them into warriors of formidable prowess.
Things in Mordor progressed as well as he had expected - better, perhaps, even. Fear of his power kept his underlings’ noses to the grindstone, kept them fearful of displeasing him with their work, and so things got done in a quick, effective manner.
And yet, there was something here that he found displeasing.
The Maiar who had served centuries under him could tell, though they had no chance of divining the reason behind his dissatisfaction, since he could not even work that out himself. It would have been easy, to vent his displeasure on them; but unwarranted. He knew well the resentment that came from undeserved punishments.
So he sent them all away, and instead stood alone at the highest point on the towers of Barad-dûr, looking out over the dark, smoke-covered landscape of Mordor.
The parched mountainsides and scorched earth were as familiar to him as the back of his hand. In many ways Mordor was a twin to the lost slopes of Thangorodrim, upon which he had gazed so often. It usually made him feel at home, to look out over that familiar blasted landscape; but today it only seemed to magnify his discontent.
In his mind he saw the fields around Ost-in-Edhil as they were in winter; all the dark green bushes bright with red berries, at least until they were buried under a heavy blanket of snow. The air in the highlands was cold and sharp and clear, with none of the tang of brimstone and smoke here that seemed now to rasp in Mairon's throat. In Eregion the sides of the mountains were dotted with greenery and alive with life, even with all the bare rock and snow on the higher slopes; here, all that moved across the landscape were lines of orcs and men coming and going from the various work camps dotted across the land.
Such scenery had not bothered him for centuries. In fact, he could clearly remember when last it had; so long ago, when he had arrived at Utumno from Aulë’s house for the first time. The difference had been shockingly stark. The young, sheltered Mairon had gone directly to Melkor, to demand why the landscape around his fortress was so ugly and barren.
"Did all Aulë's beautiful gardens help you create your marvellous works?" Melkor had asked, a knowing smile on his face.
Mairon had frowned. "No? But how can you allow your lands to look so ugly?"
"Will making them beautiful have any impact on what you or I produce? Or the work we do?"
"It would certainly do no harm," Mairon had said, sounding sulky even to his own ears.
Melkor had shaken his head. "Function always takes precedence over form, Mairon. What use is a thing that looks beautiful and yet cannot perform the task that it was made for?"
"Unless the purpose of the thing is to be beautiful," Mairon had pointed out.
That had made Melkor laugh. "I should have expected that sort of answer from you, Mairon. You would be the one to find the exception in everything."
The joke had not mollified Mairon - not at that particular moment, anyway. But the more he had thought about it, and the more he had seen what Melkor achieved, the less he had cared about appearances. They were going to conquer the world together; it didn't need to look beautiful.
But now there was something about the blasted landscape around him that stirred disquiet within the depths of his heart. When he layered the slopes around Ost-in-Edhil over the lands of Mordor in his mind's eye, he found that his own domain was somehow lacking.
Because it didn't have greenery? Mairon scoffed silently. No, it couldn't be that so short a time spent in Eregion had turned him soft like that.
He turned away from the strangely uncomfortable view, heading back into his personal quarters - but even there, he could not find peace. His rooms were comfortable, personal even, much more so than his bare, utilitarian rooms in Ost-in-Edhil; but an odd restlessness plagued him, one that wouldn't allow him to rest or sit down to work on something effectively.
There was a question nagging at him, stuck in his psyche, dug in somewhere deep deep down where he couldn't reach to unstick it.
How would Celebrimbor react, when he realised how Mairon had used him? What would he say? What would he do?
Scenarios spun around and around in Mairon's mind, so clear he could almost see them. Would he be killed in the fighting when they took the city, robbing Mairon of the opportunity to gloat over his deception? Or would his forces manage to capture him, so that Mairon could order him dragged to the throne room, so that Celebrimbor could see him sitting on the great throne where he had once held court, mocking his powerlessness?
It was almost as if Mairon could see it, the details exact and clear. Celebrimbor, defeated but not broken, defiant still, on his knees before him - and Mairon, over him, perched on the throne that was once his. Celebrimbor would never give up, never cave, not even if his people were dead and scattered, not even if his city were burning to ashes around him. He would look up into Mairon's eyes and swear to fight until the end, no matter how Mairon might mock him.
Mairon was not sure now that this ending was really the one he wanted. Perhaps his previous idea was better; to steal Celebrimbor once the rings were complete, to secret him away here in Barad-dûr so that he could hoard all his genius for himself.
Yes, that was the better course of action. For purely practical, pragmatic reasons, he told himself.
*
Mairon never told Celebrimbor where he went, on those occasions when he left Eregion, and so far Celebrimbor had seemed not to care. But now as he stepped back into the workshop, Mairon found that the elf was not working at the forge as he had expected. Celebrimbor was leaning on his workbench, his eyes following Mairon as he stepped into the room.
"I hope everything is proceeding as planned," Mairon said, coming over to the workbench.
Celebrimbor nodded silently, giving nothing away. After a moment he asked slowly, "Did you achieve everything you wanted to, on your trip?"
Mairon paused, suddenly feeling wary, though he did not let it show through either his expression or his movements. "Yes, I did," he said simply, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Celebrimbor.
For once, it was not. "Where do you go, on these trips of yours?" he asked. His tone was casual, but Mairon could see the intent look in his eye.
Mairon thought how to answer. He could simply have said 'home', and allowed Celebrimbor to think he referred to somewhere back in the bliss of Valinor - but that answer stuck in his throat. The thought of applying that word to the land of Mordor was all wrong, somehow. Utumno and Angband had felt like home, for the longest time - but now a sudden flash of insight revealed to him that Mordor was more like a lesser, shadow version of those two great fortresses. An inferior copy, though it had been built entirely to his own designs.
What was the right word for it, then? His fortress? His power base?
"I have a tower, to which I like to retreat," he found himself saying. "It... helps me to think. To see the way in which to move forward." Or it had, he thought, before his mind had become so clouded by his stay here.
Still, this piece of honesty seemed to satisfy Celebrimbor. He stood from the workbench and silently went out of the room, through into his office. Though Mairon could not see him, he could hear the distinctive clicks of his precious safe being slowly unlocked.
Despite himself, Mairon felt a frisson of excitement run through him. What, exactly, was Celebrimbor planning to show him?
Celebrimbor came back into the room carrying a sheaf of papers. Thin, and deceptively simple, but Mairon knew just how much value only a few pages of Celebrimbor's designs could hold.
Celebrimbor spread the papers across the workbench, allowing Mairon's hungry eyes to take in everything upon them. "I know we have been focusing on the rings for Men and Dwarves, and we agreed that we would return to rings for the Elves at a later date," Celebrimbor said. "But these designs began to take form in my mind, and I found them pleasing enough that I started to write them down. From there, my ideas only expanded..." He motioned toward the parchment, knowing that his handiwork would, as it so often did, speak for him.
Mairon's eyes roved over the parchment. The designs Celebrimbor had laid out were beautiful in both form and function; no elf lord or lady would disdain to wear such a thing on their finger, and the ring’s powers would increase their own tenfold. It had none of the subtle enchantments Mairon had been weaving into the others, the underlying traps that would snare the minds of their bearers, when he finally forged the master ring.
They were beautiful, inspired - and far too far along in the design process for Celebrimbor to have only just started casually working on them. Celebrimbor's first or second or even third drafts were never as neat and polished as this, for one thing; he must have gone through quite a few revisions to get to this point. He must have been working on them for months - perhaps as long as they had been working on all the others.
And yet he had not said a word - until now. Why? Had Mairon slipped, and given him some reason to withhold his trust?
But he was prepared to trust him now, it seemed.
Mairon stared down at the pages in his hand, both taking in the design and trying to work out the riddle of Celebrimbor. What did it mean, that he was showing him something now that he had long kept close to his chest?
"I apologise for not showing them to you before," Celebrimbor said, breaking through Mairon's thoughts. "You seemed so focused on the others, and I did not want to distract you..."
It was not exactly a lie, but it was not the whole truth, either. So, Celebrimbor had suspected something - but was now prepared to lay that aside, it seemed.
It was foolish, so incredibly foolish of him - and yet, the expected swell of derision did not come. Instead, Mairon almost felt... sad.
How long had it been, since someone trusted him? Not simply followed out of fear of reprisal and punishment - but truly wanted to work with him, to collaborate, to build something stronger and better with both of their talents combined?
Not since Melkor. And even then-
"These are beautiful," Mairon said honestly, sure that saying anything else would betray something that he did not want to reveal.
A bright smile appeared on Celebrimbor's face, honest and unselfconscious. It tugged at something deep inside Mairon's chest, something that had felt buried and withered and dead for years uncountable. It was painful, to feel it flare to life after all this time, and Mairon shied away from it, turning his eyes back down to the designs. "Will you allow me to look over them and give comments?" he asked.
"I would be honoured," Celebrimbor said eagerly. "I have a few ideas, actually, that I wondered whether or not I should integrate..."
It was so easy, to slip into their back and forth discussions, into the flow of ideas that moved like the tides, easy and effortless, between their two minds. Mairon knew he could lose himself in this, let himself be taken away by the current and see where the river took them. It would be unplanned, unforeseen - but with the two of them together, he had a feeling it would also be brilliant. The things that they could create together...
They could be both beautiful and ingenious at the same time - much like the designs on the parchment before him. As he scrawled down one final note, Mairon looked back, taking in the whole picture before him, and realised that he had nothing left to add. The design was, for the moment, as close to perfect as he could make it.
Deep within him, a great pit of doubt opened like a sinkhole, the foundations of his certainty subsiding with sudden, catastrophic force. He had formed his plan centuries ago, and held onto it like a talisman, followed it like a lodestone as he rejected the mercy of the Valar and went into the south. He had never doubted - had never let himself doubt. Doubt would have been the end of him.
But now there was no helping it. Doubt had snuck up behind him and stolen into his heart while he wasn't looking; he had ignored all the signs, kept forging ahead as he always had, expecting that nothing would knock him off balance.
But one elf had undone everything.
The designs swam before his eyes, and Mairon knew he needed to leave immediately, lest he lose Annatar's friendly mask and vent the confusion and grief that was welling up beneath. He stood, trying and failing to make the movement casual and easy. At Celebrimbor's surprised look, he said, "There is nothing more I can add to these at this moment, but feel free to keep working on them." His voice was stiff, with none of his usual friendly ease.
Celebrimbor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," Mairon admitted, only because there would have been no point denying it. "I cannot talk about it," he added, to ward off the questions he saw forming on Celebrimbor's lips. "Forgive me for leaving so soon after my return, but I must go away. I am not sure how long I will be gone."
Celebrimbor clearly wanted to ask more, but Mairon could not bear any more questions. He swept out of the room and lost his form as soon as he was out of sight, flying unseen up toward the peaks of the mountains.
Confusion raged through him like the windstorm that was screaming around Caradhras’ summit. How, after all these years, he could have left himself open to this- How one elf could have been the catalyst to change centuries’ worth of work-
But had it not been the same, so many years ago, with Melkor? Had he not given up everything - his whole life - to follow wherever he would lead?
He landed on the summit of Caradhras, kicking the snow up in an agitated fountain all around him. The wind howled over the peak, but he barely felt it, consumed with the thoughts spinning around his mind.
Celebrimbor was just an elf, true - but an extraordinary one, one who was able to keep up with him as only one person ever had before. No, he did not just keep up - he met Mairon, blow for blow, idea for idea. Challenged him, even. When the two of them worked together Mairon could spend hours, days even, thinking solely about Celebrimbor and their project, barely even remembering any of his plans or subordinates back in Mordor.
Celebrimbor would hate him, when his plan was finally complete. If he balanced the scales, with Celebrimbor on one side and the successful domination of Middle-Earth on the other - there was no way one elf could be enough.
Was there?
Mairon's loose spirit form whirled in the bitter wind, streaming like a banner, mingling with the tails of ice that spiralled out off the summit and into the wind. The very idea of giving up everything he had worked for, all for one person - it should have been absurd.
So why, when he imagined those scales, was Celebrimbor's side sinking downward, further and further and further?
Mairon had always been a shapeshifter - his body loose as the wind, able to mould itself into hundreds of different forms. That was why, perhaps, he had been able to adapt so quickly to so many different circumstances - coming from Aulë's house to Utumno, for example, or building everything he wanted and desired from the ground up in the barren land of Mordor.
But now he had changed form again; now he had slid himself into place on the wide clean pavements of Ost-in-Edhil, now he had made himself fit in the workshops and the forges and the spaces between the holly trees - now, it seemed, it would be harder than it ever had been to slip free of this form and move on. Most of his joy here lay in Celebrimbor, but not all; he found pleasure in the efficient, logical layout of the houses and streets, in the lack of useless pomp and archaic, pointless traditions in the government, in the way that new ideas were always welcomed, and discussions of even the most radical topics were never off the table. Everything in Ost-in-Edhil had been laid out by Celebrimbor, who shared so many views with him - had it not been inevitable, then, that he would feel at home here?
But would that really be enough? This land, and their work, and Celebrimbor - would that be all he ever needed, for the rest of time?
*
Mairon had no answer for these questions by the time he returned to Celebrimbor. He had no answer but this; the burning need to shuck off his disguise, to finally let Celebrimbor know what was under the sweetly smiling mask of Annatar. He fully expected Celebrimbor's reaction to be one of shocked horror, and had duly planned out how he would spirit both him and their work away to Mordor in the aftermath. Perhaps there, with no more disguises or lies between them, Mairon could work out what he truly wanted.
Celebrimbor was standing atop one of the watchtowers that dotted the walls around the city, looking up at the sky, almost as if he were waiting for it when Mairon floated down and took form on the battlements next to him. "I had wondered how long it would take for you to return," Celebrimbor said, turning to him. His voice was mild, but there was an intensity in his eyes that Mairon found hard to read.
Mairon had lost track of how much time had passed in mortal terms while he'd been away. Judging by the fact that the seasons had not yet changed, he assumed he hadn't taken too long.
"I had hoped you would come back soon," Celebrimbor continued. "Last night I completed the third of the nine rings. The forging went according to plan, but I would not feel right declaring it complete without your approval."
It felt good, that Celebrimbor would seek his opinion, would make sure to include him in this venture they had embarked on together. For a moment Mairon longed to slip back into his Annatar persona, and to allow Celebrimbor to continue to think of him as nothing more than his friend - he longed not to smash this delicate, fragile connection that had been nurtured between them. It was tempting, so tempting, to continue to cling to that lie.
But Mairon also wanted him to know the truth - because he desperately, desperately wanted Celebrimbor to find out and not reject him instantly. He wanted Celebrimbor to know, and then accept it; to accept him.
"Celebrimbor," he said, speaking past all the voices in his head telling him this was a terrible idea, "I need to tell you something."
"I know," Celebrimbor said, not looking at him.
Mairon startled, whipping his head around to stare at Celebrimbor. "You know?"
"Well, I do not know exactly who you are," Celebrimbor said, his head still tipped back to look up at the star-strewn night sky. "But I know that you are more than you appear. Something more, and I think something darker, than a Maia of Aulë come from Valinor to help us."
Mairon stared at him, shocked. "Then why...?"
"So far, what have you done here?" When Mairon just looked at him in confusion, Celebrimbor explained, "You have helped me build this city as a haven for anyone who shares our ideals - anyone who values freedom and creativity. And you have helped me design and create the rings - tools which will provide a rare opportunity for greatness to all races." Celebrimbor turned to him, his eyes piercing. "So long as they are given with no thought of control."
Mairon did not let himself react to that - but it was clear Celebrimbor had seen through him, at least to some extent. They stared at each other in tense silence for a few seconds.
"I wonder," Mairon said after a moment, "if you knew I was not all I appeared to be, and you guessed I had intentions for the rings beyond those I had stated - why did you not denounce me, and throw me from your house?"
Celebrimbor did not answer at first. His eyes turned back to the dark landscape before him, and a little frown puckered his brow. "Perhaps you might think me foolish," he said quietly, "But I have come to believe that you and I are kindred spirits, who share a view of the world that others might not understand. A connection has been built between us, an understanding, that I personally treasure. I do not know if you might label it friendship, or perhaps something more- but I would not lose that."
Mairon's heart had jumped in his chest at the word more, for he had not even considered that a possibility, but now- now his mind was in turmoil, and he did not know what to think. "You do not know who I am," he pointed out.
Celebrimbor nodded, but- there was something in his eyes, just for a second, that made Mairon wonder whether he truly had no idea as to his identity. "But I am prepared to take the chance that I can convince you to treat the world with the care and respect it is due, if only so we can continue to be together," Celebrimbor said quietly.
"Then you are prepared not only to risk your own fate and that of everyone in this city, but through our work with the rings, you would risk the fates of every race," Mairon said, awed despite himself at the scale of the gamble Celebrimbor was taking.
Celebrimbor snorted. "My family has never been known for making the most prudent decisions, Mairon. I am merely keeping up a tradition."
For a long time, there was no sound but the breeze rustling through the holly bushes. Celebrimbor looked up once more at the stars, and Mairon watched him; traced every line of his face, awash with starlight. He would not rank among the great beauties of the elves, but Mairon fancied there was a beauty in him that ran deeper than a simple arrangement of facial features - something intrinsic and natural, unique only to Celebrimbor, something that perhaps only he could see.
Would it be enough? Would he be enough?
"You need give no answer now," Celebrimbor said finally. "The rings are still under construction, and it will be many months before all of them are finished. You have a lot of time."
Mairon almost snorted. "Months are the mere blink of an eye to a Maia."
"And yet a heart can change in a moment," Celebrimbor said, smiling over his shoulder as he walked away into the dark.
*
The rings sat in their cases, arrayed in three neat circles within the soft confines of the velvet that held them. Each one was perfect; each would have been the pinnacle of an entire life's endeavour, for any normal elf. And yet together, he and Celebrimbor had made nineteen.
They were beautiful; exquisite; powerful. And if Mairon forged the ruling ring he had designed, they would force all Middle-Earth to bow to him.
Mairon stood before them, one finger tapping his lips, thinking.
He had returned to Mordor only once since his conversation with Celebrimbor under the stars, and his designs for the ruling ring had remained firmly within their storage box underneath his desk. He hadn't wanted to look at them; had barely wanted to look at Mordor itself, with all its ugly blasted rock and oppressive black towers. Where once his subordinates’ grovelling had given him a feeling of power, now it grated; he found himself longing for the quiet peace of the workshop he shared with Celebrimbor, and for the way they looked upon each other as equals - especially now fewer lies hung between them.
And Mairon had noticed himself watching Celebrimbor now, out the corner of his eye, when he was sure Celebrimbor wasn't looking. More, he had said - and now Mairon found himself thinking about it. What would that be like? If they could feel the same implicit trust between each other always, just as they did when they were in the workshop - what would that be like?
Standing before the rings, watching them glitter in the faint candlelight, Mairon knew he would lose all chance of that if he created the ruling ring. Celebrimbor had extended his trust, and had gambled everything on it; if Mairon betrayed him now, all that synergy, all that connection, would transform into a hatred potent enough to reach the end of days and beyond. There would be no forgiveness.
And yet... how close he was to the culmination of years upon years of work. How close he was to ruling Middle-Earth so completely that only a return of the Valar themselves would be enough to oust him from his throne.
But whose dream was that, really?
The thought was an odd one; for a moment Mairon was not sure what to do with it. He began to pace back and forth, frustrated. The movement was a pale reflection of what he could do, if he were to forsake his mortal form, but it felt right to keep it, for now.
Whose dream was it, he wondered. Surely that was simple - it was his dream. He had been pursuing it for centuries - longer, if one counted his time with Melkor. To rule all of Arda - wasn't that why he betrayed the Valar in the first place?
Mairon stopped, frowning to himself. No, that was not quite right. He had not left Aulë's house for the promise of power; he had left to follow Melkor because the other Vala had promised him freedom - both from the restrictions placed on him in Aulë's house, and from the judgement of his fellow Maiar. Mairon had followed Melkor into his exile because he wished, above all things, to be unfettered, never held back by any chain, literal or figurative.
To rule all of Arda - that had been Melkor's dream. Mairon had taken it up because it seemed an excellent way to remain unchained - after all, if you were ruler of all, who was there to trap or command you?
And yet... there was a part of him that wanted to be here. To stay, even though it might mean accepting some limits on his freedom. Celebrimbor was no Melkor; he would protest, if Mairon’s projects strayed too far from the light.
But he was also not Aulë. He had divined Mairon's true purpose with the rings, and instead of throwing him from the city, he had instead offered Mairon his hand. He had offered Mairon trust.
When it came down to it, who before him had ever given Mairon such pure, self-sacrificing trust?
You are throwing away centuries of planning for one elf, a voice in his mind said, almost panicked.
Mairon shook his head. "No," he whispered, brushing his hand across the velvet that held the rings, staying just far enough not to touch them. "I am doing this for myself."
With that he closed the lids of the three boxes, and put them back in their securely locked cabinet. Over the coming weeks they would finally begin their journeys to other lands, and to the fingers upon which they would sit - and when he returned to Mordor, Mairon vowed silently to himself, the plans for the ring that would once have ruled them all would be thrown into the fires of Mount Doom itself.
Celebrimbor was still awake when Mairon walked into his room without knocking. A fire was burning down to embers in the hearth, and Celebrimbor sat beside it, a book abandoned on his lap as he stared into the flames. He seemed unsurprised as he turned to look at Mairon. "Have you made your decision, then?"
Mairon frowned at him. "How did you know...?"
Celebrimbor shrugged one shoulder. "I can feel them, somewhat. I did not intentionally put parts of myself into them, as grandfather placed his soul in the Silmarils; well have I learnt the folly of that." A bitter smile flashed across his face, there and gone in a moment. "But one cannot create something that powerful without giving a little of oneself to it, no matter how unintentional the giving. It will fade with time and distance; there is nothing to worry about." He looked directly into Mairon's eyes. "So. Have you decided?"
"The rings are all safe in their boxes," Mairon said, "Where they will remain. They will be...unfettered."
A pure, genuine smile replaced Celebrimbor's earlier look of wariness. "I am glad," he said, his tone one of pure relief.
That smile tugged on something deep inside Mairon's chest. He took a step forward, saying, "That is not why I came here."
"Is it not?" Celebrimbor asked, slightly surprised.
Mairon’s eyes were fixed on Celebrimbor's face. "You said more."
There was no need to explain his meaning - not to Celebrimbor, who knew how his mind worked almost as well as he did himself. He closed his book and rose from his chair, all his movements intentionally slow and purposeful. "I did," he said, his voice low, his eyes running the length of Mairon's body. "I do not know if a Maia has any need for such things, but..."
"I would like to try," Mairon said, taking another step forward.
Celebrimbor grinned at him, something warm and fiery coming to life in the depths of his gaze. "Good," he murmured. "I have been hoping you would one day say that."
The purely physical, for Mairon, was a distraction - a pleasurable one, but a distraction nonetheless. What he craved was the closeness of two souls, two essences - a connection, on the most fundamental, very deepest of levels. And he found it, that night, between them; something in his soul reaching out, gently, tentatively, almost timidly, reaching in hopes of meeting something else.
Celebrimbor had no more practise than him, he thought, but it seemed to come to him easier. Perhaps, Mairon thought, Celebrimbor had already put so much trust in him that this final step was not that much further to jump.
"I should tell you," Mairon whispered in his ear, when they were wrapped up together, Celebrimbor's strong arms and calloused hands holding him close in the warm dark. "I should- my name is-"
One finger pressed softly against his lips. "I know," Celebrimbor murmured, his low voice rumbling deep within his chest. "You do not need to speak of it; I already know."
"How long?" Mairon gasped, clutching at his shoulders, half afraid that Celebrimbor would pull away from him, or disappear from under his hands like mist in the morning sun. "How long have you known?"
Celebrimbor always had a knack for knowing what Mairon really needed to hear, even if he didn't phrase his question that way. "Before I showed you the three rings," he said, one hand moving up to bury itself deep within Mairon's long, thick hair. "Does that tell you what you need to know?"
"Yes," Mairon whispered - and then he let Celebrimbor pull him close once again.