this is my shameless excuse at drawing some explicit femslash bagginshield: these drawings were based on this great A+ sexy as fck oneshot fic âthrough her dooringâ > click to read! <
ââone ââ-two âââthree
@sapphictolkien
Mike Driver
Acquired Stardust
d e v o n

No title available
I'd rather be in outer space đž
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
Game of Thrones Daily
art blog(derogatory)

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation

â

â
Today's Document
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Cosimo Galluzzi

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

ellievsbear
Peter Solarz

seen from Algeria

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Mexico

seen from France

seen from Malaysia

seen from Russia

seen from Malaysia
seen from Lithuania

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Singapore

seen from Germany

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Germany
@eowyn7023
this is my shameless excuse at drawing some explicit femslash bagginshield: these drawings were based on this great A+ sexy as fck oneshot fic âthrough her dooringâ > click to read! <
ââone ââ-two âââthree
@sapphictolkien
Adar <3
Adar, the queer representation that is present but unnamed (by the ROP showrunners).
Adar, who once loved Sauron.
I had a dream that Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were solving a murder mystery in a giant mansion. Legolas kept eating popcorn.
Part II
They say nothing, but the question hangs in the air. Ăowyn answers it. âIt is not the same in Rohanâdivinity is a quiet thing. Prayers are not spoken so much as thought of. Our temples are dark, hidden, smelling of fire-wrought stone and amber. Not like here, where worship is freeing.âÂ
âIt is different in the world of Men,â Arwen reaches out, wraps her palm around Ăowynâs wrist. She feels the blood pump there, as Ăowyn feels the cool pad of her thumb. âPlease,â Arwen says, something in there pleading. âDo not feel so ashamed here. Do not be quiet.âÂ
The breath leaves her then, and Ăowyn turns to find Arwen already facing her. Her eyes flicker around Ăowynâs face, making sense of it in the dark. She looks at her as if she is the most precious thing in the temple, worthy of all prayer. They are close enough for their breath to mingle, for Arwen to see the sun freckles splattered across Ăowynâs cheek, for Ăowyn to see the intensity in her eyes.Â
Ăowyn does not recognize her own leaning, until her forehead touches Arwenâs, and there she closes her eyes and sighs. Do not be quiet. Arwen had said. Not a command, and though touching on a plea, Ăowyn had believed it to be more of a want, a desire, a prayer.Â
Do not be quiet.Â
Ăowyn opens her mouthâ
â
such breathless eyes â read on ao3 wc: 18k
happy pride month!!! in honor I am reposting my absolute favorite arwen/eowyn fic I wrote last summer <3 go give it a read #wlw!!!
@sapphictolkien
pride month!!!
Is that a miette?
Pride for you! Pride for a thousand years!!
you COME OUT to miette? you come out to her as queer? oh! oh! pride for mother! pride for mother for One Thousand Years!!!!
happy pride!
From @nekroticism 's 2026 calendar
-
Nothing wrong with a mid-quest-hot-spring-nap with the bros after sprinting like 7 consecutive marathons đ€đ€
-
like the betrayalâs always going to be worse if they cared about you and it didnât matter. someone discards you because they didnât give a shit, then you can be angry about that, you can feel vindicated in that, you can get over it. but if they can look you in the eyes and say âI love you. I would make the same choice again.â You will never sleep peacefully again, is all.
âI thought they cared about me, but they were lying this whole time.â <- tired. boring. removes all the nuance of this relationship to make it easier to move on from.
âI thought they cared about me, and I was right, and every minute they were there for me, every time they said they were proud, every laugh we shared leaning against each other bruised and breathless, all of it was real. and they still left me behind. They could put their love aside. I couldnât.â <- insane. will never leave you alone. reminds you that even the worst people are still people and can still care about even the ones they hurt the most and that undoes neither the harm nor the love.
«Love is Love» in Quenya (melmĂ« na melmĂ«) âby:
"Love is love" in Quenya (melmë na melmë). Happy Pride month! (This is a digital recreation of last year's post. Feel free to use it howeve
Tell your queer stories, read your queer authors, care for queer characters, above all, protect queer lives.
faramir âš
Wow incredible, I'm floored
Bridget says she definitely approves of celebrating Pride Month. But she doesnât approve of clothing for cats. Well, most cats. Okay, one particular cat. đđŒ
Happy Pride!
Donât worry. I took that off right after the picture. She tried to bite me while I took it off, just on principle.
THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RINGS OF POWER (2022 - ) Charlie Vickers as Halbrand / Sauron & Sam Hazeldine as Adar Season 2, Episode 1: Elven Kings Under the Sky
I was in your place once. In the eldest of the Elder Days. Thirteen of us were chosen to be blessed of Morgoth's hand, with the promise of power. A new birth. I was led up to a dark and nameless peak. Chained and left. And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger⊠I saw it. His servant's face. Sauron's face. And it was beautiful. He offered me wine, red as a blood moon. He offered me wine, and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all.
one year since the cĂrdan reveal made my regular cĂrdan obsession skyrocket
I especially love CĂrdan's seahorse nightgown and CĂrdan as a L'OrĂ©al model.
the silmarillion bride
Back when I drew my husband
In the Company of Wolves (Part 1 of 2)
As always this fic is dedicated to
@malkaleh
@plotdesigner
@eowyn7023
You can read this fic on Ao3 or under the cut below.
This is an AU of The Light of Hidden Flowers. While itâs not required reading, there are a few salient points to know. CelebrĂan is the daughter of Galadriel and Saruon in this verse. However, she was raised by Adar. It is set when CelebrĂan is a child in that fic and diverges from there. Â
I wanted to write In the Company of Wolves for two reasons. The first is that I love fairy-tale AUs and the trope of forced proximity. I decided to combine those two things. The second is that, in the past, I struggled with understanding Sauronâs character and thought that writing from his POV would help me gain a better grasp of what makes him tick. His characterization in this fic is probably OOC, but I do think that I understand him a little better now. So mission accomplished!
That being said, it is very important to note that Sauron is an extremely unreliable narrator. Heâs terrible at self-awareness and introspection. Take everything that he says and thinks with a tablespoon of salt. Seriously, if you drank a shot every time he lies to himself or acts hypocritically, you would be hammered before you read the first 3,000 words.Â
The title of this fic is taken from the Angela Carter book of the same name. It just seemed to fit for the fairy-tale theme.
Without further ado!
________________________
âSeeing the desolation of the world, Sauron said in his heart that the Valar, having overthrown Morgoth, had again forgotten Middle-earth; and his pride grew apace. He looked with hatred on the Eldar, and he feared the Men of Numenor who came back at whiles in their ships to the shores of Middle-earth; but for long he dissembled his mind and concealed the dark designs that he shaped in his heart.âÂ
âOf the Rings of Power and the Third Ageâ, The Silmarillion
________________________
The sun has not set, but the light is gone: a fitting backdrop. Though the storm is not of his doing, it stands as a testament to his feelings, which have been hopelessly enraged ever since he felt Galadriel pass into Mandos seven years ago.  Â
He could not tell exactly when he stopped casting a shadow, only that he became gradually aware that the Arienâs rays disappeared behind a dark raiment of clouds, and the winds had increased in a frenzy of stinging slaps. Snow was moving fast from the clouds like a weighty grey curtain. It would surpass him soon, and he is still several hours away from his destination.
Briefly, Mairon considers changing his form; he may be able to beat the storm if he were a winged creature. However, he quickly dismisses the thought. Some part of him is enjoying the way that his anger and frustration are compounding. Besides, he may need to save the energy for the return trip to his hideaway, since this harsh weather looks to last for several days. Interrogating a single survivor of Eregion will be quick work. So he ignores the cold and pushes through the snow, which begins to pile up, congesting his path.     Â
How strange to find a Noldor refugee here in this bleak place. There is nothing around himâjust trees and the sky above him. The Eldar who were the most beloved of AulĂ« usually preferred the trappings of civilization. Â
Perhaps he should have sent his servants to pull the information out of this wayward recluse, but he dislikes the idea of Orcs being the ones to ask questions about Galadriel. They lack the subtlety required for such inquiries. The way that they had received the intelligence of his quarry was proof. His skeleton crew of troops captured a Silvan Elf who babbled out the tale of a survivor from Eregion setting up camp outside their village. The hamfisted and clumsy Uruks had barely remembered to get the name of their victim, and they had completely forgotten to ask about the identity of the one that Sauron was now tracking.Â
âSuch ineptitude,â he thinks with a snarl. It might be prudent to use his quarry as a receptacle on which to vent his wrath. Much to his displeasure, the Orcs still need a certain amount of tactful handling. Though things would be very different if Adar hadnât managed to slip his grasp. Â
Realistically, he knows that the chance that this elf had seen Galadriel before her death is a small one. However, the smallest of details could help lead him to her final resting place, and with it, Nenya. His tempest would never have consented to be separated from her ring. Not after the way she had so stubbornly denied it to Mairon above Ost-in-Edhil. More than thatâŠhe just needs to see her remains, to keep something of her with him, the way he had not been allowed to do with Celebrimbor. True, he had the Rings of Men. As brilliant as the work is, TyelpĂ« had lost his joy by the time he finished. Nenya is the last thing linking the three of them together.Â
Ahead, the foliage grows denser, eventually he has to begin maneuvering around the trees, and the wind lessens as it breaks upon his surroundings instead of on himself. Eryn Galen is an old forest by the reckoning of the Eldar. One that had existed since the coming of the dawn. The woods are dark, and the ground is strewn with fallen logs and rocks. Itâs a dangerous place, but he doesn't particularly care about his surroundings.Â
Taking a breath, Mairon stretches a tendril of his power out. He must be careful; unlike Dwarves and the Edain, Elves can be sensitive to brushes against their fĂ«a. The last thing that he wants is to chase them off. After a quick preliminary, he can ascertain the village within Oropherâs kingdomâpresumably the one that Gworiel had hailed fromâand just a few hours from there, he feels a secondary presence.
Given the inclement weather, he doubts that anyone is bothering to hunt or travel at the moment. Instead, this must be the wayward Elf for whom he has been searching. No, not Elf, Elves. There are two of them.Â
Could the Orcs do nothing right? He hisses in disgust at the poor intelligence gathering, but ultimately concedes that it will likely be a boon. Torturing one person can result in imprecise information, as the subject will do anything to make the pain stop, even admit to what they donât know. However, forcing another to bear the torment in their stead often prompts honesty from the witness. Particularly, if there is a preexisting bond between them.Â
Woe betide these refugees of Eregion. Better that they had taken shelter with their kin in Elrond's concealed haven. Not that it will remain hidden for long. Once Sauron has found a way to source the power for his ruling ring, there will be nowhere for any of them to hide. With that comforting thought, he soldiers forward onto the terrain.Â
Long ago, before the waking of IlĂșvatarâs children, he had traversed these lands, but time had made them a stranger to him again. Mairon had been impressed by the sight when he first returned months ago, looking to create a secondary fortress. A quiet sanctum where he could practice his necromancy without interruption. He had liked the way the interlaced canopy of trees created a murkiness so oppressive it seemed almost to be a living thing. Yet, when he had first entered, a stillness, like that of a cornered animal, had emanated from the forest. The trees knew that the Dark Lord had come, and they were afraid.Â
Mairon knows he needs to practice a little subtlety if he is going to create a stronghold under Oropherâs nose. So he has constructed a single tower, occupied by a handful of Orcs who were picked for their strict adherence to his will. Really, it had been happenstance, and no small amount of intrusiveness on Gworielâs part, that led her to stumble upon it.Â
The thick branches overhead move above him, distracting him from his thoughts. They create a writhing roof over his head. The cold has a frigid bite that nips at him like an untrained beast. When the storm catches up to him, it strikes his back. The trees groan as they sway forward, catching the brunt of the weatherâs fury, but there is still enough snow filtering through to paint the world a swirling white. It increases the sourness of his mood. He is one of the Ainur; a drop in the temperature is not going to affect him seriously. That being said, he is a Maia of the forge and fire, which means that he doesnât particularly like the cold either. Â
Eventually, he reaches a river, and rather than risk a crossing over the dubiously frozen water, he backtracks a few paces and leaps over the boundary, landing lightly on his feet. He can feel how close the Elves are now.Â
Making sure to keep his presence cloaked, he edges toward the flickering sparks of life that he senses and eventually comes upon a small dwelling.Â
Thinking it best to observe the Elves before he storms in upon them, Mairon takes a circuitous route around what looks to be the animal stable, where someone has helpfully broken a path. The snow is only just beginning to fill the trail, so it is easy for Mairon to cover his footprints. Choosing a small window on the side of the house, where he can observe without being spotted. It would be useful to render himself invisible to all eyes with ease, and he calculates how he could make it a reality in the ring he plans to forge.Â
Maironâs theorizing comes to a jarring halt when he clears the frost from a pane of glass and sees who dwells within. Â
All of his carefully constructed plans are immediately discarded. After years of hunting for his traitorous former lover, it almost defies belief that he would unwittingly stumble upon him hiding in the Greenwood. Mairon had been certain that Adar would make some sort of attempt to enter Mordor and reclaim his so-called children. Yet, the condition of the house indicates that the Uruk has been dwelling here for years. Possibly, since the time that Galadriel had saved his life.Â
For a moment, he considers ignoring his determination to save his power. It is tempting to match his form to what it had been when he had first known and loved him in Utumno. When Mairon called him Neidragh and truly thought the Uruk was as precious as the name implied. Yet the notion of confronting Adar in the guise of Annatar has its own appeal. He wants him to see the face that had engineered his demise above Eregion as a reminder of what his fate could be should the Dark Lord wish it. In the end, he makes a slight tweak to his hair. A token of the past reflected in the present.Â
Just as he is preparing to break through the flimsy walls and reclaim his wayward property, he is taken by surprise for a second time when an elfling joins Adar in the main room. Curiosity whetted, Mairon whispers a spell that will redirect the winds before they strike his body and provide the insulation he needs to hear their words.Â
âI donât like the idea of leaving you alone,â Adar tells the girl. Mairon estimates that she probably has less than a decade of years to her name, but cannot be more precise without flaying her skin open to examine her bones. âHowever, the storm is going to last for days, and we need firewood before it snows us in completely.âÂ
From his vantage point, Mairon canât discern much in the girlâs appearance beyond her gender and the silver hair that is such a rarity among the Eldar. Tugging on Adarâs arm, the child suggests, âI can help you.â
Mairon knows that she cannot truly be Adarâs progeny. Long ago, Sauron had ensured that his Neidragh could never reproduce. Therefore, he must have abducted her. Not from the nearby village, or he would never have dared to remain so close. Had he stolen her from one of the fleeing survivors of Eregion? The long years would explain why the girl is so eager to assist her captor. Mairon well knows that the most effective shackles are those the wearer has no knowledge of bearing. Yet that leaves the question of Galadriel. Had Adar met with her before her death? He canât imagine her overlooking the theft of an Elven child.Â
Realizing that he needs answers to these questions, he refrains from his assault. Adar will be leaving momentarily, which gives Mairon the chance to interrogate the girl privately.Â
âIt is kind of you to offer, but you need to stay home. Besides, youâve never liked the cold.â Adar strokes the childâs cheek. The fond gesture causes Maironâs heartbeat to quicken with rage. Perhaps he will give his Neidragh another reminder of just whom his hands belong to upon his return. It appears that he has forgotten the first lesson in their long years apart. Â
âPlease?â the girl whines, drawing the word out. âItâs my essecarmĂ« tomorrow! I promise Iâll be good, and if we bring lots of blanketsââ
âAbsolutely not,â the Uruk injects a note of steel into his tone, but gentles when she whimpers pathetically. âI promise that when I return, we will do whatever you want. At least, anything you want that is indoors.â
She sighs and looks at him with a wretched, tearful expression, undoubtedly calculated to pull on the emotions of her guardian. Mairon almost snorts when the Uruk caves, âWhy donât we open one of your gifts now?â
Still pouting, the child allows herself to be led to where a small assortment of bundles wrapped in cloth lay on a table.Â
The sight sparks a painful reminder of Eregion. When, after a long day of ringmaking, he had walked into the forge to discover Celebrimbor making a gift for one of the children in the city. It piqued Annatar to see his already wearied smith wasting needless energy on frivolities. He hadnât bothered to disguise his displeasure as he complained, âI thought that Elves only celebrated significant milestones.â
Celebrimbor pressed a careless hand to his mouth as he contemplated the configuration of gears in what looked to be a music box. The action left a small smudge of grease on his face that Annatar had wiped away with one of the clean rags that were always kept on hand in the workshop. As he predicted, it had made Celebrimbor lean into the touch as he explained, âThat is technically true, but we have children so rarely that most of us canât resist giving them gifts during their early years.âÂ
âYou should be turning your mind to more important matters,â he replied sternly.Â
âWhen was the last time that you crafted something for the sheer delight of it?â Cajolingly, he held up a tiny but meticulously sculpted box. âYou can help me find a way to make this figure emerge from below without the use of a tacky spring. I want the top to slide open midway through the song to reveal it as a surprise.â
Mairon never really cared about these sorts of inane cultural practices that the Eldar are wont to practice, but providing help was useful in binding TyelpĂ«rinquar closer to him. Sighing, he relented, âIf you hadnât designed the device to be so small, you wouldnât be experiencing this problem now.â
âThatâs part of the challenge!â Celebrimbor argued; his eyes danced in delight. They spent hours getting the mechanism to function properly. Its intended recipient squealed gleefully when she saw the little dancer emerge from its hiding place and had thrown pudgy arms around the Lord of Eregion before pulling him down to deliver a disgustingly sticky kiss to his cheek. Annatar had barely been able to keep his expression placid, but for all the time that it wasted, Mairon could not help remembering that night with a certain level of fondness. Particularly, the exuberance which TyelpĂ« had shown within the privacy of his chambers following the trinketâs completion.Â
Looking at another one of his lovers enduring the clingy affections of a child sets Maironâs teeth on edge. Despite her sulking, there is a certain level of excitement in the girl as her fingers pick at the knot until it loosens. Wrappings discarded, she draws out a swath of blood red cloth.Â
âWhat is it?â the child squints in confusion. âIt doesnât look like a dress. Is it a blanket?â Â
âItâs a cloak. See the hood?â Taking a step back so that she can see it in its entirety, Adar holds it up for her inspection. Then he drapes it over the girlâs shoulders, showing her how to fasten it in the front. âIt looks like Arradiel sewed pockets on the inside for your hands, and itâs fur-lined as well.Â
There is a tedious minute where the girl insists on spinning around to see the material fan out around her. She pulls the hood up and giggles, âPretty!âÂ
âThat it is,â Adar agrees, âyou must remember to thank Arradiel the next time that you see her. It took her a long time to craft.âÂ
âI will,â she promises earnestly. Then she starts wheedling, âItâs very warm. Iâm sure I can weather the storm if I keep it on.â
âCelebrĂan,â the Uruk says sternly, âyou are staying here, and that is final.âÂ
âSilver queen?â Mairon mentally translates, wondering if it had been her birth parents, or Adar himself, who had gifted the child with such an audacious name. Even with her hair color, it is hardly appropriate for the offspring of refugees.Â
âAlright,â the girl sighs as her guardian rustles around the house, preparing for his extended outing into the cold.Â
Adar gives instructions to CelebrĂan as he packs, âPut logs on the fire when it starts guttering. Thereâs food on the table if you get hungry, and you can warm some milk in the pitcher by pouring it into the stand by the fire. Iâve already placed the kettle on the hook, so all youâll need to do is rotate it towards the flames, make sure you put a rag on the handle before you pull it back.âÂ
âCan I wait up for you?â she begs.Â
âThe closest fallen tree is a far distance in this storm, and then Iâll have to dig it out of the snow and chop it into pieces and drag it all back on the sled. By the time I return, it will be well past the time you usually sleep,â he warns. Â
CelebrĂan sends him another pleading look as she latches onto his side. Adar gives in to the extortion and taps her on the nose. âAlright, you can try if you really wish it. Keep your cloak on and stay close to the fire. Iâve put your pillows and blankets next to the hearth for warmth. Donât move them until youâre ready to go to bed.âÂ
Apparently taking Adarâs disbelief in her ability to stay awake as some sort of challenge, the girl nods with a competitive air, âI wonât need to move them.âÂ
Huffing in bemusement, Adar leans down to press his lips to her forehead. Just before he opens the door, he turns back to her. âRepeat the procedures that you follow when I have to leave.âÂ
Groaning in a put-upon manner, CelebrĂan recites, âNever let a stranger into the house. If I see a stranger, I donât talk to them. I should run and hide instead.âÂ
âTake it seriously,â the Uruk chides, âthe rules are there to keep you safe.â Â
âNo one ever journeys here,â she complains. âWho would show up in the middle of a snowstorm?âÂ
âWho indeed?â Mairon thinks with a toothy grin as he watches Adar rebreak the path the snow had refilled and enter the stable, reemerging with a horse and sled.Â
As Mairon waits for the Uruk to disappear from his enhanced sight and hearing completely, he occupies himself with planning. There will be no need to adapt a full persona. Not for one simpering child. A kind demeanor and a few clever words ought to be enough for him to gain entrance.Â
Were his Master able to see him from the Void, Mairon does not doubt that he would be mocking his theatrics. âWhy bother?â he would ask. âJust break down the door and seize what you want.âÂ
Though he knows that Melkor cannot hear him, he silently replies, âIt makes it so much sweeter when you get them to collude in their own downfall. Besides, heavy-handed tactics are a mark of idiocy.â
Even in his head, the jest falls short. Before Mandos, Melkor laughed at criticism, but afterward, Mairon would have needed to construct a new fana for making that sort of comment. Rather than pursue the line of thought, Mairon distracts himself by coming up with various scenarios of how he will greet Adar upon his return. He does not settle on any single plan. Much will depend on how his conversation with the girl proceeds.Â
Speaking of which, enough time has elapsed to reobscure the window in frost and to make Adarâs departure a certainty. A good thing, for the feeling of cold, wet snow in his boots is becoming a decided irritation. The brat better have followed instructions to keep the fire going, or their discourse will be short.Â
Thankfully, the storm has made his appearance decidedly bedraggled as he shifts his way to the front door and gives it several hard knocks. There is a moment of pause, followed by the sound of scrambling inside. The freezing wind flings the entrance open the moment the lock is disengaged, and the girl dives out of the way with a startled yelp. Â
Fighting against the gale, CelebrĂan eventually manages to force the door closed to more than half its capacity by using her body as a brace. Sheâs panting by the time she is finally successful.Â
âDid you forget somethââ the girl breaks off mid-sentence when she realizes that her visitor isnât who she was expecting.Â
He lets the corner of his lips quirk in a smile and keeps his body language non-threatening. Itâs the opposite of the aloof intensity of Annatar, which he had crafted to both attract and intimidate Celebrimbor. When he speaks, he modulates his tone to convey exhausted relief, âIâm so glad to have spotted the light of your fire.âÂ
Staring, the girl dumbly notes, âYouâre not Ada.âÂ
âNo, I am not,â he says lightly, refraining from ending the sentence with a curse. How utterly predictable for his soft-hearted Moriandor to insist on the child calling him father. She must have been in his possession for a long time for her to use the endearment so naturally. Mairon suddenly wants to throttle this little interloper.Â
Coaxing Adar to view the Orcs as his progeny had been an unfortunate necessity. His soldiers had required a leader that they could devoutly follow, and Sauron had needed a way to further bind Adar to himself. Until now, he hadnât known just how angry it would make him to see his Neidragh caring for a child that Mairon did not see fit to provide.      Â
âAre your parents home?â he inquires, already knowing the answer. It will be a first test. Anyone with an ounce of cunning would lie. Heâll need to adapt to that trait if she tries to deceive him.Â
âAda went out to get firewood,â she tells him, âhe wonât be back until late tonight.â Â
He perceives a tightness around her mouth in the last half of her statement. So, CelebrĂanâs insistence on accompanying Adar stems from more than obnoxious clinging. Itâs fear, and itâs exploitable.Â
Mairon inspects the girlâs appearance just as she does the same to him. Sheâs pretty enough, he supposes. Had she more than a few hours left of her life, she might have grown up to be something of a beauty. Though her gaze needles him. The bitch LĂșthien had also been gray-eyed, but the shade and shape are all wrong. Before he can work out who they remind him of, she speaks, âIâm not supposed to talk to strangers.âÂ
âThat is very wise advice,â he compliments, for he had begun to wonder if she was completely devoid of sense. âWhere are my manners? Iâm Mairon, and may I ask for your name in return?â
âIâm CelebrĂan,â she offers shyly. The girl must not meet new people often. Possibly not at all, if Adarâs protective streak has not eased over the ages. He supposes that she must know the dwellers in the neighboring village, but if she had grown up among them, she would have no reason for recalcitrance. Itâs another mystery to unravel. How had Adar managed to converse freely among Elves without his appearance giving him away?Â
âWell met,â he declares, ânow we are not strangers.â
âNo, I guess we arenât,â the girl slowly surmises. Her posture eases, and the veneer of familiarity makes her comfortable enough to question, âWhy did you come? Thereâs nothing here but our house and forest for miles.â
âI was told that there was a village on the borders of Eryn Galen,â he begins. Itâs not a lie, Gworiel had revealed that much before she died. Regardless of the irksome epithet of âdecieverâ that the Elves had bestowed on him, Mairon actually prefers to use the truth as often as he can; it forces him to be inventive in his interactions. That was something he had in common with Celebrimbor; they both enjoyed challenges.Â
âDid you get lost?â CelebrĂanâs expression softens in sympathy.Â
Pleased at the way she has latched on to his baited hook, he admits, âMany things have not gone according to my plans today. May I share your fire for a few hours? Itâs terribly cold.âÂ
Biting her lip, the child looks behind her to the warm hearth and then back to his sodden visage. He lets a few shivers rattle his frame, and she winces. âAda made me promise not to let people into the house.âÂ
Mairon slumps his shoulders in an imitation of disappointment, âI wouldnât want you to break an oath. In that case, I had better keep going. Do you know how far away we are from the village?â
âItâs a few hours that way,â she points to his left and looks uncertainly at the bleak landscape.
âThank you,â he weaves as much trepidation into his voice as possible. Then he spins in the direction she indicated and speaks as he mentally begins to count down:Â
âFour.â
âWhen your parents return, will you tell them where I have gone and ask them to bring that information to the village?â
âThree.âÂ
âWith any luck, I will be there to greet them.â
âTwo.â
âIf notâŠwell, at least a search party may eventually be formed.âÂ
âOne.âÂ
âWait!â CelebrĂan cries. âPlease come inside.â
Mairon smiles internally, but ensures that his face is etched with dubiousness when he turns back towards her. âYou shouldnât break your promise on my behalf.âÂ
âItâs alright, you wonât get in trouble,â she soothes while Mairon savors the irony that the child is doing her best to assuage his presumably burdened conscience. âAda said that Iâm not supposed to let strangers in, but youâre Mairon, and Iâm CelebrĂan. Weâre friends.âÂ
âHow kind of you to say so,â he tells her, âI wonât forget what you have done for me.âÂ
Nor will he neglect to remind Adar that CelebrĂan invited the wolf at the door into his home. He knows that Adar will torment himself with guilt for having left her alone.Â
âThere are hooks over here,â she indicates the wall opposite the cramped dining area, âwhere you can hang your wet things, and weâll put your boots next to the fire to dry them. Please sit down and warm yourself while I clean this mess.âÂ
Their conversation at the entryway had let snow be driven in, and as he takes the proffered chair, he amuses himself by watching the girl hurriedly sweep it up before it can melt. She manages to get half of it into a pan and carefully opens the window to cast it outside without letting more of the elements in. The rest turns into puddles, prompting her to run for drying cloths. CelebrĂanâs red cloak trails behind her as she moves. Eventually, things are tidy again, and she finishes by placing the dirty rags into a basket, presumably for washing. Despite himself, Mairon appreciates that the girl is orderly. Would that the Orcs were half so methodical.
Once she is satisfied with her work, the child joins him at the fire and then blushes. âIâm sorry. You must be very hungry. I should have thought of that before I started cleaning.âÂ
Reaching over, CelebrĂan picks up the blankets by the hearth and bundles them around him. He lets the affront of her daring to lay hands on him pass since the covers feel exceptionally warm against his chilled fana. She walks over to the table and comes back with the entire loaf of bread that had been left behind for her, âHereâs some food. Ada has tea if you would like it.â
Breaking off a portion of bread, Mairon hands the rest of the loaf back to her and considers. Having something to warm his insides would be pleasant. However, it comes with a major drawback: the tea itself.Â
Embodied existence is a strange experience for one of the Ainur. It requires practice to successfully mimic all the eccentricities that come with creating a corporeal form, and it took Mairon many years to understand the intricate ways in which the olfactory system is interconnected to create a flavor palette. He hadnât seen the point of having a sense of smell for a long time and had operated with the most basic tastes. Without the complexity of flavor, tea was not more than a bitter brew. He couldnât understand why people claimed to enjoy it. Melkor had screamed with laughter when he figured out the problem.Â
While Mairon has perfected the creation of his forms now, heâs never quite forgotten his original aversion to the drink.Â
Unaware of his internal debate, CelebrĂan continues, âI donât know how to make the tea, but I can show you where we keep the tin.âÂ
âIs the process difficult?â he asks curiously. Celebrimbor had once offered to teach him, but Mairon, who had been busy trying to maneuver him into creating the Nine, was dismissive. Afterwards, he wondered if TyelpĂ« would have found a tea that he could have enjoyed. Â
âNo?â She tilts her head contemplatively. âIt takes time, but it doesnât seem hard. I donât like it, so I never tried to learn, but we could probably figure it out.â
âDonât bother.â After a momentâs calculation, he decides that it canât affect anything to honestly tell her, âI do not like it much either.â
âReally? I have never known another Elf that didnât,â she crows in vindication. âItâs because it all tastes like grass, right?âÂ
Strongly suspecting that the number of Elves that CelebrĂan knows amounts to less than fifty, Mairon allows her the sense of camaraderie. Her dislike for the drink indicates an internal problem. A recent accident, or a birth defect? The latter is rare in one of the Eldar. Idly, he wonders if Adar possesses any tools that could be used in a dissection. Upon further thoughtâŠprobably not.Â
Besides, itâs not as if he has plans to create more Orcs. Not the hard way, in any case. âIt does, indeed. Is there anything else that we can drink?âÂ
âWe have lots of water, or you can share my milk if youâd like,â she offers.Â
âMilk would be lovely,â he says as he observes her gathering two cups. After placing them near the hearth, she walks back and carefully carries the pitcher of milk towards the fire. She pours about half of its contents into a kettle that rests on a crudely contrived hook, which she then rotates into the flames. While the liquid heats, she returns the container to its proper place and then safely removes the kettle from the flames, distributing its contents evenly between the two cups without spilling a drop. Itâs a surprising level of coordination for a child. Maybe it would be prudent to run tests after all.
He waits until the girl is warmed and content before beginning, âYour home is very cosy.âÂ
Itâs also barely a step up from a rabbit hutch, but that is neither here nor there.Â
âThank you,â she smiles brightly, âAda works very hard to keep it nice. I try to help, but he says that Iâm too small for a lot of the difficult chores.â
âIâm sure that you are a comfort to your father,â he says. Mairon does not doubt it either, which is why he needs to sever this inconvenient connection as soon as he has what he wants. âIndeed, I imagine that both of your parents find great solace in your help.â
As he anticipates, his words make her eyes fill, and her lips droop downward. âMy mother is in Mandos.âÂ
âItâs a hard thing for a child to be separated from a parent,â he tells her, and reaches out to clasp her shoulder and brush against her fĂ«a. He cannot examine it too thoroughly, but since she is already upset, she will dismiss the sensation as a product of her feelings.Â
What he discovers makes him grit his teeth so hard that they come near to cracking.Â
Adar has touched her mind. His influence runs through her like a thread through a tapestry. He hasnât just been looking after her, heâs been nourishing her with his spirit. Mairon should have known. The way that the young thralls faded when their parents died had always troubled Adar in Angband. Is that what had compelled him to let this one feed off of him like a leech? So that he could use her as a poppet to soothe his guilt and give him the love he had always craved? The love that he rejected from Mairon.Â
âI miss her,â she wipes her eyes, completely unaware of the storm brewing in her new companion, âbut I have Ada, and he says he loves me twice as much to make up for AmmĂ« being gone.â
The fact that she refers to her mother by a Quenya epithet instead of Sindarin indicates that Mairon was correct in assuming that Adar had plucked the girl from a Noldo family.   Â
Suddenly, the path he is going to take becomes clear. Once he gathers all the information he requires, he is going to tell this little doll every terrible, monstrous thing that her Adar has ever done. Heâll keep her alive long enough for his Neidragh to witness the death of the love that he built for himself before watching the life leave her eyes. If Mairon is feeling particularly generous, heâll allow her spirit to flee to Mandos to join her mother, instead of keeping it pinned to her rotting corpse.Â
âHow did she die?â he prods. Mairon doubts that her so-called father bothered to inform her that he had been responsible for the destruction of her first home, much less the death of her true parents.Â
âShe received a mortal wound in battle,â CelebrĂan replies with both pride and grief.Â
Reaching into his memories, Mairon recalls the faces of Eregionâs defenders. Annatar made a point of knowing the names and faces of all the soldiers in the city, but he had neither time nor inclination to learn every detail of their personal lives. Given the girlâs age, he supposes that her mother could have stepped down from duties while she was breeding and only picked up a sword again when Ost-in-Edhil came under attack. Heâs a little surprised that Adar bothered to tell her that much of the truth. Then again, he would have needed to explain the absence of the nĂźs who had birthed her.Â
âIs your father also a soldier?â he asks.Â
âAda?â she snorts.
Her disbelief makes a certain sense. Despite the experience he gained, Adar never really enjoyed employing the skills of war. It had been part of the reason why Mairon had created a wedge into the minds of first the Moriandor, and later the Orcs. He had wanted a way to stoke bloodlust and side-step moral quandaries. His manipulations were so subtle that his Neidragh hadnât even realized the effect was induced artificially, and instead assumed that the battle tide (his term for it) was a part of his nature.
This child wouldnât be so entertained if she could have seen Adar rip the spine out of the back of an enemyâs neck as Mairon had once witnessed.         Â
CelebrĂan's eyes widen, as if she has only just thought of something. âAda doesnât like fighting, but that doesnât mean that heâs never been in a battle before.âÂ
âOh?â Mairon raises his brows inquisitively and gestures for her to continue.Â
âYou donât have to be afraid, I promise that he wonât hurt you,â she chooses her words carefully, âbut he does look a little different. He has some scars and burns.âÂ
He internally reassesses CelebrĂanâs character while she is busy worrying. She just delivered a genuinely well-thought-out misdirection. Adar had been in battles, and he did possess scars, but she deliberately refrained from saying that his scars were the result of those experiences. Instead, she let her audience make that inference on their own, without having to lie. Where in the name of Melkor had the child learned to do that? It certainly hadnât been from her guardianâhis skill in the area had never been this refined.Â
At least it explains how Adar has managed to converse with the nearby Elves without sending them into hysterics. He must be passing himself off as a Noldorin war veteran.
Mairon keeps his face impassive and vows that he will not say anything unkind about her fatherâs appearance. It makes CelebrĂan sigh in relief and gratitude. âThank you. He doesnât think that I notice him flinch, but I know that heâs sensitive about it.âÂ
âThat is a shame,â he tells her sincerely.Â
âYes, it is, my Ada is beautiful,â she says with a ferocity that Mairon admits is a mark in her favor. Maybe he will let her go to Mandos. She probably wonât understand the mercy when he begins ripping her open in a few moments, but sheâll learn to appreciate it after a thousand years spent in the Halls.Â
More uncertainly, she adds, âIâŠâÂ
âWhat is it?â He waits patiently for her to gather her thoughts.Â
âI think there was someone that he knew from before he became my Ada,â she whispers, âand they made him feel ashamed of how he looked.âÂ
She has no clue as to his true identity. So he knows that it isnât an accusation, but he still feels a sting in his breast. Though Sauron has been obliged to manipulate Adar over the course of their relationship, he had always been honest when he told his lover how desirable he found him.Â
No, if anyone is responsible, itâs the Eldar. Though Thingolâs rejection of the Moriondor had been beneficial, Mairon had been given cause to hate the King of Doriath long before his loathsome daughter arrived in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.Â
While he attempts to formulate a response, a fierce gust of wind whips around the house as the storm continues to unleash its fury. CelebrĂan burrows into the crimson folds of her cloak like she is trying to hide from something. She shudders and looks at him with trepidation. âIs it a wolf?âÂ
âThis is too delicious,â he thinks in appreciative irony. If the child is afraid of wolves, then he will give her one. But first, he needs to soothe her imaginings. It wouldnât do for her to spend her fear on naught but air.  Â
âRelax, itâs only the wind; there is no monster lurking outside your door,â he comforts, saying nothing of the one that she allowed to cross the threshold.Â
âAre you sure?â She starts when another gale rattles the walls with a mournful cry. Â
âIâm certain.â Really, the noise only bears a passing resemblance to the howls of a wolf. Soon, she will understand the difference intimately.Â
âWhy does it have to sound like that?â she whimpers as it travels down the makeshift chimney and causes the fire to flicker in protest. She drags a log out of the small stack to their left and places it on the flames before returning to her chair.   Â
âItâs caused by friction and pressure changes as the wind moves past obstacles in its path,â he tells her.
Her head tilts in curiosity, âWhatâs friction?â
Refraining from scoffing at her ignorance, he answers, âResistance.âÂ
âWhatâs resistance?âÂ
âHold your arm out with your palm facing towards me. I want you to do everything you can to keep it in place,â he orders. Â
CelebrĂan obeys, and Mairon pushes against it, asking, âWhat does your hand do when I press on it?â
âIt tries to stay still,â she comments. Naturally, Mairon is not putting much force into the effort; he would shatter her bones if he put even a fraction of his strength into the push.Â
âThat is resistance.â Itâs also one of AulĂ«âs first lessons to him in the early days of Amanâs creation. The memory, as with most things associated with the Lord of the Forge, provokes a flutter of nostalgia followed by a flood of bitterness.Â
âThen your hand is acting like the wind?â she guesses.Â
âYes,â he agrees, âand yours is the house, the trees, and everything else in its path.â
âOkay,â she tilts her chin in contemplation, âbut that doesnât explain why it makes that noise.â
He quickly swats at her still extended palm, and the resulting slapping sound makes her eyes widen in understanding, âThe howling is the wind hitting things!â Â
âIn a basic sense,â he comments, not wanting to get into the details of air patterns and sound vibrations with an elfling.Â
âThat helps,â she says to herself, âitâs nothing bad. Itâs just the wind.âÂ
âI told you that earlier,â he points out.Â
âYou hadnât explained how it worked yet. Itâs scary when you donât know why things happen,â she protests.Â
âI suppose,â he waves his hand and sets aside the subject.
âDo you mind if I write down what you just said?â she begs. âI want to tell AmmĂ« about it.âÂ
He frowns, âDid you not say that your mother dwells with NĂĄmo?â
âShe might come back,â she scuffs at the floor bashfully. âI like to tell her about my days so that she wonât feel like she missed anything.â
Shrugging, he consents. The child may not be terribly bright, but at least she is smart enough to recognize his wisdom.Â
CelebrĂan patters off into another room and returns with a bound book and writing materials. She spreads her things out on the larger table near the kitchen, and Mairon joins her. He expects the haphazard scrawl typical for childrenâthe transfer of fine motor skills had been a problem that he and Melkor had struggled with when they were creating the Orcsâand is shocked when he sees the most precise Tengwar that he has encountered in years. Â
Biting her lip in concentration, the girl carefully writes of their discussion, only pausing on occasion to clarify the spelling of a word. She has the exact degree of slant to execute the Artano font perfectly. Had her true father been an orthographer? It makes Mairon want to crack open her skull and examine the parts of her brain that control those well-tuned strokes on the page. Adar wouldnât like being dragged to Mordor with a severed head, but then, if the Moriondor wanted Sauron to heed his wishes, he wouldnât have betrayed him in the first place.
When they resettle into their chairs, she praises him shyly, âArradiel says that itâs easy to know, but that only the wise can teach. Youâre very clever.âÂ
âOne picks up a thing or two over the ages,â he replies with a modesty that he doesnât feel. He whispers conspiratorily, âWould you like to see another thing I learned a long time ago? I would only show it to someone very special.âÂ
The girl leans in with bated breath. âYes!âÂ
âVery well,â he covers his eyes and encourages his fana to shift and flow beneath his fingers. When he pulls them back, Mairon has the satisfaction of hearing her gasp.Â
âTheyâre different,â she exclaims in both shock and (he is pleased to note) trepidation, âbigger and the color and shape have changed too. They almost look like aâŠâ
Thanks to the changes he has made, he can see her face and hands pale, as the blood leaves her extremities. Next, he conceals the sides of his head and then slowly reveals that his ear points have widened and elongated to an unnatural length for an Elf. His improved hearing picks up on her thundering heart.Â
âYour earsâŠâ
âAm I frightening you?â he asks, lifting his hand to his mouth as he prepares for the final transformation before he strikes.Â
Despite her shaking hands and frozen features, she breathes, âIâm not afraid.â
Itâs a blatant lie. The first one that she has deliberately uttered in his presence, but that's not what makes him pause. Itâs her expressionâan echo of Galadriel over the ruins of Ost-in-Edhilâof determination and dread. It isnât the first time that he has recognized the ghost of his lover. He has seen pieces of her in the past: In one Elfâs way of drawing a sword, in anotherâs graceful movements. Uncomfortable as it is, such things happen.
This stubborn look is the newest reminder he must bear. For a moment, he is caught in his reverie, and it is enough to prod him about his original reason for coming here before the sight of Adar had driven all else from his thoughts.
With a thought, he adjusts his features to what they had been before. Once he kills this girl, Adar will turn sullen. Torture will eventually loosen his tongue, but his Neidragh has already experienced the worst that he can inflict. It could take months for him to open up, possibly longer. Better to see if the child has any information about Galadriel before Adar falls into recalcitrant silence.
Slowly, he watches her regain control of her breath and chide herself for her reaction, âI was being silly.âÂ
It always amuses Mairon the way that incarnates will dismiss the perfectly good sense that their bodies transmit to them. âYouâre not the first person to react that way.â
Lips pursing in confusion, she prods, âHow did you do it?â
âMagic,â he tells her.Â
âJust like LĂșthien!â the girl cries in excitement.
âIndeed,â Mairon stiffly mutters, feeling as if he has just slammed a hammer onto the back of his hand. âMy arts are more refined.â
Her jaw drops with awe, âYou knew LĂșthien?âÂ
âWe were acquainted," he says, fighting to keep the snarl out of his voice. Trust Adar to extol the virtues of the ill-bred spawn of Melian. With effort, he calmly continues, âIn fact, I came to Eryn Galen looking for a friend that we had in common. I thought that she might have passed through this realm. Perhaps you could help me?â
âPeople donât travel here very often,â she replies, âand Ada doesnât trust strangers. So Iâve never met any of the traders or merchants that pass through. The time that Caelasselâs cousin came for a stay with her, we couldnât visit for three whole months.â
âEven the smallest rumor could be helpful,â he persists. âThe last time I saw her, my friend was hurt.â
Patting him on the arm, she sympathetically tells him, âIf I havenât heard of her, then maybe we can ask Arradiel when the storm clears. She knows about everything that happens in the village.â
âA very helpful suggestion,â he tells her, making a mental note to have his Orcs pick up the Elf for questioning when he gets back to his hidden tower. âRemind me to give you a special reward before we part.âÂ
CelebrĂan shrugs off the offer, âI donât need thanks. Worrying for someone you care about is awful. I wouldnât wish it on anyone.â
âKindness deserves recompense.â Mairon leans in and says intently, âI insist.âÂ
Looking bewildered at his fervor, the girl only nods. âDo you know when she came through the forest?"
âIt would have been about seven years ago,â he tells her.Â
Realizing that she wonât be of help, she sighs with disappointment. âI was just a baby.âÂ
Slowly, as if the thought had only just come to him, he asks, âIs it possible that your father or one of your friends spoke of it afterwards and you put it out of your mind?âÂ
âI guess that could have happened,â she reasons. âCan you describe her?âÂ
âMy friend is a warrior,â he begins, âshe is as beautiful as the dawn with hair that is brighter than the gold that lies hidden in the earth. She often wears a special silver ring.â
âWh-What was her name?â she stammers nervously. Mairon doesnât miss the recognition in her tone or the way that she speaks in the past tense.Â
âGaladriel,â he says, not even blinking as he focuses intently on her reaction.Â
Shrinking into her red cloak, the child keeps her eyes firmly on her feet as she mumbles, âI have never heard of her.âÂ
âCelebrĂan,â he imitates Adarâs authoritative inflections, âI think that you are being dishonest.â
âNo.â The word is high-pitched, and she twists her hands together miserably. How can the child be so skilled at misdirection and so terrible at telling bald-faced lies?Â
âThis is important,â he grabs hold of her upper arms and squeezes them firmly for emphasis. âGaladriel is very dear to me.âÂ
A sheen of tears makes her eyes glassy, and he watches them trail down her cheeks as she vehemently shakes her head. He notes with no small amount of disgust that her nose has begun to run. Crying in earnest, she whimpers, âYou donât understand.âÂ
Itâs unlikely that Adar deliberately told the girl anything of import, but the Uruk may have let more slip than he intended. Affection is very effective at loosening the tongue. âThen explain it to me. Didn't you just say how terrible it is to worry about someone you care about? I thought that we were friends.â Â
Veering back, as if he slapped her, she covers her face, and Mairon can only discern the words âin troubleâ from behind her muffled lips.Â
âYou wonât be punished,â he vows. He does not plan on telling Adar just how much knowledge Mairon possesses.Â
âNot me,â she sniffles. Did Adar completely forget to teach her to use a handkerchief? He supposes he should be grateful that she hasnât resorted to wiping her nose on her sleeve. âI donât want you to die likeâŠâ she trails off with a wail.Â
âLike who, CelebrĂan?â he presses, already knowing the answer but needing to get her over this moral hurdle. âAre you telling me that Galadriel is dead?â
She hangs her head in sorrow. âIâm sorry.âÂ
Of course, he had already known of Galadrielâs passing, but itâs important to render a proper display: to let his arms wrap protectively around his torso, his body to sag back into his chair, and tears to trickle down his face. CelebrĂan tucks up against his side in an attempt to offer comfort, and he allows the contact for the information he needs.
Softly, she whispers, âI know it doesnât help, but I miss her too.âÂ
âWhy should you?â Mairon knows that his tone is too clipped, but he cannot completely curb his anger. âYou never knew her.âÂ
Stung, she replies, âThat doesnât mean that I canât love her. You donât know what she is to me, sheâsââ.  Â
Immediately, the girl claps a hand over her mouth, and her muscles freeze in horror. Obviously, she had been about to reveal some secret that Adar had ordered her not to divulge.
Frowning, Mairon pries her fingers off, âWhat is it?â   Â
âJust telling you could put you in danger,â she shakes her head vehemently, âif he finds out, then he will hurt you to find out what you know.â   Â
âAre you referring to Sauron?âÂ
âDoâŠâ she stutters in surprise, âyou know about him?â
âMost people do,â he comments as he walks over to the place that he had seen her pull clean rags from earlier. He is grateful to see there are still a few left. Mairon takes one from the top of the neatly folded pile and places it into her hands. To his relief, CelebrĂan mops her face as he intended.Â
Had Galadriel been the one to rescue this child from the fires of Eregion? Perhaps she passed her charge on to Adar when the poison of Morgoth's crown began to overcome her? Yet that does not explain why she did not take the girl to Lindon. Mairon can believe the High King would cast Galadriel out and deny her the healing she required, but refusing refuge to an orphan makes no sense. There is some piece of this puzzle that he is missing.  Â
âIâm in no more peril than I was a moment ago. Galadriel was my friend. If there is a message that she didnât get the chance to impart to me, I would hear of it,â he pleads. âWere our situations reversed, wouldnât you want to know? Even if it places you in danger?â
âYes,â she says in a small voice. Her muscles slacken in defeat, and Mairon knows that he has her. âYou wonât tell? I do not want anyone to be hurt because of me.âÂ
âNo one else needs to learn of it.â He leans on the arm of the chair, putting himself so close into her proximity that they are mere inches apart, âYou can whisper it in my ear if it will ease your mind.âÂ
Hesitantly, she raises on her toes and breathes, âGaladriel is my mother.âÂ
Those four simple words bring Mairon's world to a screaming halt. His thoughts explode and scatter. At first, all he can think of is that it must be a lie. Except that everything in the childâs actions screams of honesty. Did Adar tell her that falsehood? No, he cares for the girl and would have known that attaching Galadrielâs name to CelebrĂan could have serious consequences. He would not put her in that sort of danger on a whim. Â
Beside him, CelebrĂan has remained quiet; she jumps when he reaches out to grab the sides of her head between his hands. Reminding himself to be gentle, he tilts her face from side to side, tracing her ancestry in her features.Â
Galadriel lives in the stubborn curve of CelebrĂanâs jaw and the slightly upturned nose. Her fingers are slender and shapely. He can remember inspecting Finrodâs corpse (though he hadnât known it to be the King of Nargathrond at the time) and marveling that the Elf had managed to tear apart one of his wolves with such delicate hands. Maironâs continued silence is making the child nervous. He means to say something, but gets distracted by her hairâthe same as her grandmotherâsâEarwen had been famous for her silver locks, shared by the likes of FĂ«anorâs mother and Thingol himself. Â
Mairon briefly ponders the girlâs paternity. Could Galadriel have sought solace with another after their parting? For one terrible moment, he wonders if the Peredhel managed to worm his way under her skirts, and laments not stomping out that line like vermin.Â
Galadriel would never betray what they shared, not even if her husband had returned from Mandos. Besides, the eyes preclude it. They are not of the seed of Melian, who had reflected the dark depths of LĂłrien, but of FinwĂ«. Those are his TyelpĂ«âs eyes. How could he not have recognized them? The care in her movements, the precision in her writing, the difficulty with tasteânot a defect, but a complication from melding the eternal with the embodied. Everything that she does is so orderly. Her very name is royal. Â
Knowledge fastens its teeth in him all at once and gives him no time to think or plan before it savages him as viciously as Huan.
This is why Galadriel hadnât returned to Lindon. She must have feared what her brethren would have done to CelebrĂan. Adar had found her and thought to seize the child in recompense for his grievances.  Â
âHow?â he thinks helplessly. How could he have missed it? Other than one brief, and extremely disappointing conversation with EönwĂ«, Mairon had exchanged no words with Melian or any of the Ainur not bound to the service of Melkor, since he had cast off AulĂ«. Still, it had been whispered that the birth of her daughter had enmeshed Melian in incarnation. That she had been unable to lay a physical form aside while husband and child remained in Arda alive. Surely, Mairon would have felt himself weaken?Â
Then he remembers Halbrandâs wounds in the Southlands. At the time, he dismissed it as the consequences of taking his Edain form too close to the eruption in Mordor. Now he realizes that it was the siring of this tiny girl hours before that had drained the strength out of him. Itâs a wonder that the explosion of the mountain hadnât discorporated him entirely afterwards.     Â
Something in him whispers the word âaberrationâ. It demands that he snuff out this little light and reclaim the power she had sapped from his spirit. It could be done quickly and painlessly. He acknowledges that he owes her that much. Yet how can he kill her? Is she not a piece of Galadriel that managed to remain with him despite her abandonment?Â
Caught in his deliberations, Mairon doesnât hear the approach of another person until the door slams open.Â
Adar enters the cottage and is so busy hauling in a large sledful of chopped wood that he doesnât see Mairon, who, in his shock, doesnât have the wherewithal to prevent the girl from running to assist. He watches wordlessly as they labor together. The Moriondor carries the logs while CelebrĂan mans the entry, preventing the snow from being driven too far inside.Â
They donât speak until the chore is done, and Adar is unwrapping the layers of clothing he swathed himself in to ward off the cold.Â
âYou managed to stay awake,â Adar notes in amusement as CelebrĂan jumps and attaches herself to him like a burr. The sight of him wrapping his arms around her ignites a flame of wrath in Maironâs heart. How dare this traitorous ruin of an Orc lay hands on his possession?
âWere you not prepared to do much worse only moments ago?â Celebrimbor comments pointedly in his head. âAdar isnât going to hurt her. He would have done it long ago if that were his aim. You know very well what it is that you find upsetting.â
âShut up,â Mairon snarls. âYou didnât even know him.âÂ
âWhose fault is that?â TyelpĂ« archly retorts. It infuriates Mairon to no end that his beloved is far ruder in death than he ever had been in life. âDespite bringing war upon my city, I feel a certain kinship with him. We both know the horror and beauty of being loved by you.â
CelebrĂan giggles, dragging him out of his internal debate, âYou were so busy that you didnât see my new friend.â
âNot another lizard,â Adar complains in disgust. âHow many times have I told youâŠâ
Their eyes meet across the room. Adarâs pupils blow wide, and his muscles go rigid. His breathing increases into rapid pants that escape his mouth raggedly. Abruptly, he slams his back into the door behind him and slides to the floor, cradling his body protectively around CelebrĂan.Â
He hasnât seen Adar react with such a strong flight response since he was being transformed from Eldar to Uruk. It reminds Sauron of the Moriondorâs helplessness and injects some clarity into the situation.Â
Before Sauron can act, CelebrĂan wriggles away and calls, âStay back, I know what to do.â
Fascinated, Mairon watches Adar panic at the loss of his charge from the security of his arms, and CelebrĂan soothes him, âIâm still here. Hold my hands. Count your breaths: one, two, in, out, three, four...âÂ
She continues in that vein for some time before adding, âWhat are three things that you can hear? Good. Do the same for things you see. Can you name them out loud for me?... Itâs alright! You can just say them to yourself.â
Ever so slowly, the fit passes, and Adar slumps in exhaustion. CelebrĂan looks at Mairon and apologizes, âIâm sorry. This happens sometimes; heâll get confused about whether heâs in danger. Itâs a bad memory.â
âWhat you just did for him helps?â Mairon asks in interest. It is fascinating to know that there are rituals for combating a trauma response.
âI always help Ada,â CelebrĂan responds. Her chin lifts, and her chest puffs out with the same pride that Celebrimbor always evidenced when heâs completed a particularly complicated feat of smithing.Â
Beside her, Adar stirs out of the lethargy that had temporarily seized hold of him and drags himself to his feet, carefully placing CelebrĂan behind him.Â
While he is tempted to snap the Urukâs neck with his bare hands and seize his property back from this most brazen of thieves, Mairon has many questions to which he needs answers. Also, CelebrĂan will be confused if Adar is killed right in front of her, and he has no time to cosset an elfling.
âItâs perfectly natural to want your daughter to think well of you, Annatar,â TyelpĂ« whispers sympathetically. âI know better than most how terrible it is for your father to be the source of your greatest heartbreak. Though I suppose that the grief you visited upon me supplanted that in the end.â
âWill you never cease chattering?â Mairon hisses. âI need none of your moralistic prattling.âÂ
âClearly you do,â Celebrimbor argues. âOr have you forgotten that Iâm not really here? My spirit is in Mandos. What you hear now is simply an aspect of yourself. In other words: my moralizing is yours.â
Ignoring the point his lover just scored, Mairon turns his focus on Adar and rises out of his chair to get closer. âYour daughter,â he puts a deliberate emphasis on the words, âwas kind enough to offer me shelter from the storm. Who knows what might have happened if I hadnât found her?âÂ
Looking guilty, CelebrĂan softly says, âI know that I broke the rules, but it was so cold, and I didnât want Mairon to freeze. Am I in trouble?â
âYou offered help to someone that you thought was in need, and thatâs a good thing.â Sighing, Adar reaches out a hand to caress his thumb down her cheek; his expression is ineffably tender. âNo matter what happens, please donât forget that.âÂ
âDo you want me to write it down?â She stares at him in confusion.Â
âActually, that isnât a bad idea,â he says. Adar wraps the red cloak tighter around CelebrĂanâs small frame and then raises the hood. âHave you gotten the chance to copy out the new song that you learned?âÂ
âNot yet,â CelebrĂan replies. âI got distracted by telling AmmĂ« about my accident with the honey.âÂ
Grimacing, Adar comments, âItâs not an accident if you do it on purpose.â
âBut I didnât know it would be so hard to get off!â she whines.
âThat doesnât matter now,â he soothes. âGo and tell your mother about the song and anything else that you may have forgotten this month, while I have a chat with your friend. Make sure to keep warm.âÂ
âOkay.âÂ
Just as she is getting ready to walk out, Adar scoops her into a tight hug. âI love you very much.âÂ
âI love you too, Ada,â she replies as the Uruk places her back on her feet. The phrase falls from CelebrĂanâs tongue easily, as if she had this exchange every day of her life. The fire in Mairon stokes white hot as she flashes him a smile and walks out of the front room.Â
Neither move until they hear the closing of a door. Then Mairon strikes with blinding speed, picking Adar up by his throat and slamming him hard into the nearest wall. âYou stole her,â Sauron accuses in an outraged growl, âyou found Galadriel and ripped the child out of her still-warm corpse. Do not think to deny it.â
Fighting to speak around the constriction of Maironâs hands, Adar shakes his head in denial, âThatâs notââ the tight grip chokes off the rest of his reply. Reminding himself that he wonât get the information he seeks any faster if the Urukâs trachea becomes dislodged, he fractionally loosens his hold.Â
Wheezing, Adar manages to get out, âGaladriel found me, I didnât seek her out. You saw what a state I was in after you manipulated my children into turning on me. I was hardly fit to traipse across the countryside hunting an Elf.â
âExplain,â Mairon orders, opening his hand to send the Uruk crashing towards the floor, âbefore I decide to feed you your own entrails.âÂ
Collapsed in a heap on the ground, Adar rolls his eyes, making Mairon twitch in irritation. After gingerly inspecting his throat, he gravels out, âAs I said, Galadriel found me. She had already given birth. Knowing that she was past the point of healing, she begged me to look after CelebrĂan and died within hours of placing her baby into my care. If you want someone to blame for her death, look no further than your mirror.â
As he speaks, Mairon seeks signs of a lie, but finds none, which isnât surprising. Adar had always preferred to be straightforward. Even at the end of the First Age, the Moriondor had betrayed himself in a thousand ways. Only Mairon, reeling over the loss of his master, and thoroughly distracted by his experiments in the unseen world, had not possessed the eyes to see it. âIâm sure you were very eager to abscond with a child of my getting.â Â
âI did not consider you at all when I agreed to foster CelebrĂan,â Adar snaps as he pulls himself to a standing position.Â
âMind your tongue.â Fuming at the insult, Mairon delivers a sharp slap to the Urukâs face. Had he not been using the wall for support, the blow would have sent him reeling. Good. Adar needs a reminder of the deference he owes him. âTell me about her ring.â
âWhat of it?â Adar asks in a less belligerent tone. âI know not where Galadriel journeyed in the last months before our final meeting.â
Unfortunately, that is also unsurprising. Galadriel left her child with Adar because she had no other recourse, but she would never have placed an object as powerful as Neyna into the hands of the Orcs. Where could she have hidden it? TyelpĂ« did his work too well. The Three have minds of their own and do not want to be found by him. With disdain, he notes, âThen I suppose you are unnecessary.â Â
âIndulge me,â Adar requests. âAre you going to kill CelebrĂan or claim her?â
To make up for his own lack of decision on the matter, Mairon adopts Annatarâs most haughty sneer and replies, âI have little reason to indulge you in anything.â
âAfter all the lies and betrayals, do I not have the right to know how completely I was deceived?â Adar protests. âOne would think that you would be eager to convey the depths to which you made a fool of me.â
More confused than he is willing to admit, Mairon questions, âWhat does our past have to do with this?â
âEverything!â Adar cries. He darts a worried look over Maironâs shoulder, probably worrying that he had drawn CelebrĂanâs attention with the noise, and continues in a harsh whisper, âWhen I first knew you, I never dreamed that you would deliberately hurt, much less kill, your own child. After Forodwaith, I was convinced that you were incapable of anything else.â
âThose misbegotten creatures were no kin of mine,â Mairon denies.Â
âWas it some other Maia who constantly reminded me that I could not have had them without him?â Adar snaps hotly. âGothmog, perhaps? He was always enthusiastic about telling me what pretty babies we would have when we coupled.â
âYou didnât,â he accuses in outrage. Were Ecthelion of the Fountain not dead already, Mairon would have flayed the skin from his bones for making Gothmogâs death so fast. No matter what happened after Melkorâs fall, the Lord of Balrogs had no right to lay hands on his Neidragh.Â
âIf I did,â Adar notes primly, âit would be none of your business.â
âOh, you seem to have forgotten,â Mairon presses his body against his lover in a manner that is both threatening and sinuous. Deftly, he slips his fingers underneath Adarâs tunic and strokes the bare skin of his hip. âYou are mine.âÂ
It is easy to predict what will happen. As it has always done, such actions will reduce Adar to a trembling mess. In moments, heâll be begging to bed him. Mairon might even indulge the request. Provided that he recants these filthy claims.   Â
Instead of melting into his embrace, Adar shudders in horror and firmly says, âStop.âÂ
Astounded and angry at the rejection, Mairon sends searing heat pouring through his palm. Not enough to inflict permanent damage, just enough to leave an impression. Watching Adar shallowly gasp through the pain, he reminds him, âYou have only yourself to blame.âÂ
âIs this what youâll do to CelebrĂan?â Adarâs face is a mask of sorrow. âItâs only a matter of time until she does something to displease you. Sheâs stubbornâlike her motherâ eventually sheâll make you angry. Youâll be tempted to use the most expedient method to force her into compliance.âÂ
âIs she so very disobedient?âÂ
âSheâs a child,â Adar tells him, as if that were any sort of explanation. Noting Maironâs confusion, he adds, âChildren test boundaries. Itâs in their nature. As a parent, you are meant to provide discipline, but it must never come from anger or selfishness. Withholding love to barter for submission, doling out pain when you arenât obeyed, youâll damage her beyond reckoning if you do these things.â
Once again, there is the problem of CelebrĂan and fitting her into all this. Mairon leans back to ponder the question of this unforeseen event.Â
Sensing his internal debate, Adar presses, âI could take her to the village. There are people there who will care for her. You would never have to acknowledge your relation. Once you kill me, there will be none in Middle Earth who can share the secret.âÂ
The incomplete nature of the suggestion is galling. âI will not consent to the uncertainties of that scheme.â Stroking Adarâs cheek, he chides, âBesides, are you telling me that you donât have a contingency plan in place? You are smarter than that. The last thing I need is another Half-Maia being raised to think of me as an enemy.â Â
âDo you really think that Iâm eager to sacrifice another child for your sake?â Adar spits. âNothing could make me wish to burden her with that grief. She will not have a moment of unmixed happiness once the identity of her sire is revealed.â
Though he can tell that Adar hadnât meant to deliver a repartee, the comment still stings. The fact that Mairon is troubled at all is an additional disturbance.
âAre you certain that you want to become a kinslayer, my love?â Celebrimborâs voice interrupts his reverie. âYour sins are many, but I can assure you that the ramifications of spilling the blood of your blood will be more far-reaching than you can predict.â  Â
Slowly, Mairon says, âI need time to think upon it.â
âIf you donât kill her,â Adar looks ill at the thought, âit will be difficult to transport CelebrĂan in this storm.â
Presented with the image of himself trying to drag an unconscious elfling (or worse, a wailing one) through a blizzard, settles the matter. Pleased to leave the racking indecision behind, he agrees, âVery well, I will use the days that it takes for the weather to calm to observe her. However, I insist that she be told the truth. I cannot properly study her, or the situation, if she does not know.â
âThere is no need forââ Adar begins, but Mairon immediately cuts him off.Â
âThen I kill her now and have done with it,â he states, feeling heartily sick of all this debate. In the days of Angband, Adar never used to argue with him even a quarter as much. Itâs going to take centuries to groom him back into subservience. Not that Mairon means to give the Moriondor any sort of power or privilege again.Â
âAt least wait until tomorrow? Let her have one last night of innocence,â Adar pleads. At Maironâs dubious look, he tempts, âIf we tell her now, sheâll never go to sleep.âÂ
Itâs a fair point. Though, on sheer principle, he dislikes the idea of giving in to the Urukâs demands. âYou will not prejudice her against me in any way after she is told. Or the bias will corrupt the information I am trying to gather.â
âYouâll create the prejudice yourself without my interference.â
Before Mairon can punish him for the insolence, the sound of a door opening draws his gaze. CelebrĂan runs into the room and attaches herself to her guardianâs legs. Plastering a smile on his face, Adar lifts the girl to perch on his uninjured hip and slips her hood back. âDid you finish writing everything you wished to tell your mother?â
âNot completely, but it was so cold that I had to stop,â she shivers, and Adar walks over to the fireplace to pick up one of the discarded blankets. He wraps it around her cloaked form, and CelebrĂan makes a contented noise. âWhat did you and Mairon talk about?â
âYour father was just telling me that he thinks you should rest,â Mairon comments smoothly. On further thought, he is not going to gain any meaningful data from a sleep-deprived subject. It temporarily trumps whatever disagreements he has with Adar.Â
Sighing his relief, Adar leans his cheek against the top of CelebrĂanâs head, âMairon,â he stumbles over the name, âis going to stay with us until the storm is over.âÂ
âWe can play together!â CelebrĂan cheers enthusiastically as the adults in the room suppress grimaces for completely different reasons.Â
âPerhaps,â Adar comments, barely able to project a calm exterior, âbut for now itâs time for bed.âÂ
âWhere will Mairon sleep?â CelebrĂan asks in concern. Their house must have only two bedrooms. How the Uruk had found the temerity to raise the child in this hovel is astounding.Â
Temporarily stymied, Adar eventually replies, âHeâs not tired.â
âOn the contrary,â Mairon says, âI would appreciate the opportunity.â
While he may not need to sleep, the experience is usually refreshing, and the way that Adar glares at him over the girlâs head makes the request particularly pleasant.Â
âWeâll get him some extra blankets, and he can make himself comfortable out here,â Adar tells her, obviously trying to avoid directly addressing Mairon.Â
âOn the floor?â CelebrĂan looks downward. Their floors are not made of wood or stone. Itâs bare earth that has been tramped down and covered by a few rugs. âWonât that be uncomfortable?â
Adapting a martyred expression, Mairon offers, âI have had a very long journey, but I am the guest here, and if you cannot accommodate me, then there is nothing more to say.â
Even from this distance, he can tell that Adar is swallowing a snarl. CelebrĂan leans back in his arms to ask, âCan he sleep with you?âÂ
Behind her back, Mairon leers at Adar, while the Moriondor chokes. It would seem that his Neidragh hasnât lost his squeamishness when talking about the ways of the flesh. Itâs more proof that he hadnât given himself to Gothmog. He never could have plucked up the courage. Then again, Mairon never thought heâd gain the resolve to try and slay him either.
âIt would be inappropriate,â Adar wheezes. Mairon is insulted that the Uruk is so distressed at the notion of sharing a bed with him. Â
âWhy?â CelebrĂan asks naively, âI sleep with you sometimes.â
âThatâs different.â Noticing the girl preparing to pose another question, he heads her off by adding, âIâll explain it to you later. If he really needs a bed, he can have yours, and we can share.âÂ
Not missing how the arrangements will make it more difficult for him to interact with the girl, Mairon frowns and considers arguing.Â
CelebrĂan jumps down from Adarâs embrace and runs up to tug on Maironâs hand. âFollow me, Iâll show you my room.â
Setting his protests aside, Mairon allows himself to be led while Adar trails behind, emitting a cloud of worry. At least CelebrĂanâs fingers arenât sticky. On the contrary, they are dry and clean. Her hand is very small in his grasp. Within the space of a few feet, she is guiding him past a door and into a bedroom. The toys on the shelves and soft-hued colors of the adornments mark it as a childâs domain.Â
While CelebrĂan points out her sparse belongings, Adar opens a chest and removes a few sets of clothing. Itâs sleeping attire, and something to wear in the morning, obviously meant to limit her interactions with her sire. He also nabs a book off the desk in the corner. Â
Yawning, the girl bids him a good night and hangs her hood on a low-hanging hook before following her guardian out. Mairon leans against the doorway and watches as Adar goes to the front room and has her hold the stack of clothes while he gathers up the blankets warming by the fire. Together, they deposit most of their materials in what is presumably Adarâs bedroom. Then they head to an ablution area that is not more than a closet.Â
Adar glares at him the entirety of the time that CelebrĂan is inside. When she emerges wearing an oversized sleeping tunic, the Uruk asks, âDid you use the salt?âÂ
She pulls back her lips to display her scrubbed teeth in answer, and Adar trades places with her. Heâs in and out of the room in a blur, and when he opens the door, his expression is panicked, as if he were expecting Mairon to abscond with his charge when he wasnât looking. He calms somewhat when he finds CelebrĂan where he left her, and picks the girl up, locking them both in his room.Â
Maironâs sigil is not an eye on a whim, and a few flimsy walls are not enough to keep him from watching them as they prepare to sleep. Once the candle is blown out and Adar has uselessly positioned himself on the side of the bed nearer to the door, CelebrĂan says, âYouâre shaking.âÂ
âIâm cold,â Adar lies. She curls close to his chest, and the Uruk drapes an arm over her shoulder. A later-than-usual bedtime sends CelebrĂan off to sleep within minutes.Â
As he expected, Adar does not follow suit. Instead, he stares down at his charge in grief and concern. Mairon keeps an ear out for noise, but doubts that Adar will attempt to flee into the inclement weather. With interest, he inspects his surroundings. The girlâs clothes are not richly adorned, but the plain garb is solid and decently maintained. The few tears or holes that he can spot are well-mended.Â
Everything in the room is neat, which pleases him, but the toys are distressing. Mairon has no idea who made them, but mistakes are readily apparent to anyone with even a modicum of skill. There are two faulty soldering points, one instance of porosity, and several surface defects. Maybe he should make one for her? Even if he ends up killing herâespecially if he ends up killing herâshe ought to at least have a single well-crafted plaything before she dies.Â
Her desk is the most interesting space. Ink bottles are arrayed in precise increments apart. Examining their contents, he realizes that they are arranged from left to right in the visible light spectrum based on wavelength, from longest to shortest. Who had taught her to appreciate such beauty? Surely not the slipshod smith who had made her toys? She has organized her pens by the size of their nibs. There is no evidence of paper, but Mairon knows she writes in the book that Adar took away. He takes a moment to curse himself for not inspecting it more closely when she had shown it to him.Â
Within an hour, Mairon has thoroughly inspected the confines of the room. While he considers investigating the rest of the cottage, he knows that it is better to wait until he can avoid the argument with Adar that would follow. With little else to do, Mairon settles in to watch the other occupants of the cottage. The Uruk doesnât sleep, but in the dark of the night, he eventually moves.
Carefully disentangling himself from CelebrĂan, Adar tucks the blankets around her to keep out the chill. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he buries his head in his hands and weeps. Turning, he smoothes down the hair of his small charge and mouths the words, âIâm so sorry.â
Looking on in puzzlement, he ponders Adar. In Utumno and Angband, it had been rare for his Neidragh to cry. What in the name of Melkor does he have to upset him? Mairon hasnât absolutely decided to kill CelebrĂan.Â
Adar spends the rest of the night in silent contemplation. When the sun rises, itâs a gray and feeble light that casts itself through the windows. It is barely four hours past midnight. Leaving CelebrĂan behind to sleep, the Uruk quietly slips out of the room and busies himself with household tasks. Mairon joins him, for lack of better occupation, and then immediately wishes that he hadnât when he realizes that Adar is preparing to empty the chamberpot in what serves as their washroom.Â
âCouldnât you have contrived plumbing for this hideout?â Mairon complains in disgust.Â
âI have no education in constructing such things. Now I need you to help me break a path to the stable before the snows get too high. I have to give the animals feed to last for a few days, and I need to empty this,â he indicates the pot, âaway from the house.â
With a flick of his fingers, Mairon scours the contents of the bowl, and Adar starts in surprise, âAre you willing to do that for the length of your stay?â
âFine,â Mairon agrees to the request with poor grace.Â
Surprised and suspicious, the Uruk prods, âReally?â
âIf it means you will not be trudging about carrying that foul thing,â he snaps, âbut do not expect me to labor for you as if I were some lowlyââ
âUruk?â Adar interrupts pointedly. âEither you help me now, or you wait inside while CelebrĂan and I do it. It will take at least three hours, and sheâll be miserable and cold the whole time.â
âOr you could leave her with me while you go about the drudge work,â Mairon suggests with a sneer.Â
âLet us be clear,â Adar says. âAs recently as last night, you were seriously contemplating killing CelebrĂan. I will never leave you alone with her if I can help it. Certainly not for hours. You will help, or you will wait.âÂ
âI could kill you both now and be done with it,â Mairon comments.
âCan you really bear to lose the knowledge?â Adarâs brow raises, but there is no mockery in the question, only calm logic as he continues, âFor the rest of your days, you will think back on CelebrĂan as a partially completed task and wonder if you were mistaken in acting so precipitously.â
âYou know me too well,â Mairon complains as wonder and anger fight for supremacy within him. Melkor had seen his potential, Galadriel had glimpsed yearning for better things, Celebrimbor had understood his drive and passion, but none of them had precisely known him like his Neidragh.Â
With a self-depricating laugh, Adar states, âI never knew you at all.âÂ
Is that what he really believes? That everything was a lie? The assumption is a stinging slap that Mairon would almost feel hurt by if he didnât know better.Â
âAre you going to help?âÂ
Sighing in disgruntled agreement, Mairon wordlessly stomps to the front room. Even with his gifts, itâs not an easy process. Unless they want to drown, he cannot simply melt the chest-high snow from the door. He flatly refuses to do the manual labor of digging out the entryway and has the imminent satisfaction of watching Adar sweat through the task.Â
Once that is clear, it is a game of stopping and starting as they clear a path foot by foot. The whole procedure takes almost an hour, and the Uruk is panting by the time he is done piling up food for the animals, stacking extra straw, and spreading blankets to keep them warm. His last task is to drag the sled he had propped up against the house the night before back into the stable.
Once they trudge back, Adar immediately rolls a large wooden tub into the room and then uses a bucket to scoop snow from out of the window. He sets some of it to boil and a great deal more into the tub near the fire to slowly melt. After an hour or so, he pours the boiling water into the tub to heat whatâs already in there.Â
Remembering all the times he watched Adar bathe in the past, Mairon comments, âYou could have asked me to warm it for you.â
âWould you have obliged me?â Adar retorts. âDonât bother being petulant, I know that you wouldn't. Go wait in CelebrĂanâs room until Iâm done.â
âWhy?â Mairon asks in genuine puzzlement. âItâs nothing that I havenât seen before.âÂ
A flush creeps up the Urukâs deathly pallor, âThe honest answer is that I donât want you here, but the more practical one is that CelebrĂan was raised to think it improper for strangers to bare themselves to one another. Sheâs going to have questions if she wakes and finds you in here.â
âAndâŠ?â Mairon presses, confused once again about why it would matter. Â
âIâm already going to have to participate in one difficult conversation today,â Adar says, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly, âDo you want to explain intercourse to a seven-year-old?âÂ
âIntercourse?â Mairon snorts. âIs that what you called it with Gothmog?âÂ
âYouâre the master experimenter,â Adar snaps, âone would think you would appreciate the use of the proper term.â Â
âI am also a wordsmith. However, your point is well-taken.â As amusing as it would be to watch his Neidragh stumble through an explanation about physical drives, the last thing that Mairon wants is to waste time. CelebrĂan seems curious enough (another trait she inherited from him?) without adding to it.Â
With that, he leaves Adar to his bathing and bypasses the childâs room in favor of Adarâs. Inside, he finds CelebrĂan still sleeping soundly and swathed in blankets up to her chin. He deliberates the benefits of waking her, but immediately dismisses the notion, because he probably wonât receive a better opportunity to prowl about the Urukâs sanctum unchecked.Â
Unfortunately, this room is far less interesting. There is a rocking chair in one corner, a desk with a few household items that look as if they are mid-repair. The other corner is home to a clothes chest containing nothing surprising. A passably forged sword hangs on the wall, probably to keep it out of a childâs reach. There are several paintings, presumably done by CelebrĂan, that depict a dark-haired figure holding hands with a small pale-haired one. For a moment, the bizarre image of these pictures plastered over the walls of Barad-dur comes into his head, and he isnât sure whether to be amused or scornful.Â
Mairon quietly approaches the bed and peers underneath, but the area is bare. From his place on the floor, he can see that there is something stuffed between the grating of the bedframe and the mattress. Very carefully, he lifts the cumbersome cushion and pulls out the journal that had been in CelebrĂanâs room the night before. Adar would not have hidden it without reason. He manages to get through three pages when he hears footsteps approach. It prompts him to slide the book back in place just before the Uruk enters with a thunderous expression.Â
âWhat are you doing in here?â he hisses, practically bowling over Mairon in his haste to check CelebrĂan.Â
âAm I not meant to be observing her?â Mairon poses the question lightly.Â
Eyes narrowing, his companion begins, âI told you toââ
âAda?â CelebrĂan sleepily calls from under the covers. âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing, little one,â the Uruk covers his distress smoothly, âWe just wanted to come in and wish you a happy essecarmĂ«.â
âThank you!â CelebrĂan cries in excitement. She bounds onto the floor and then immediately yelps at the cold air that assaults her.Â
Adar nabs a blanket and wraps it around her, âIâve filled the bath. Mairon was gracious enough to make it nice and warm for you.âÂ
Glaring, Mairon turns to acquiesce, if only because he can acknowledge the need for the childâs general cleanliness. He walks into the front of the house with a put-upon sigh as he melts the snow in the tub until the water steams. Â
CelebrĂan enters the room with Adar on her heels. The Uruk places towels and a set of warm-looking clothes on a chair before he steers Mairon out of the room as he calls over his shoulder, âDonât forget to rinse the soap out of your hair thoroughly. You donât want to get your head wet twice in this cold.âÂ
âAlright,â she cheerfully replies.Â
They stand in the hallway, and with nothing else to do, Mairon crowds the Moriondor against a wall. Surprised, Adar gasps, âWhatââ
âI think we should have a discussion about the comment that you made about Gothmog,â Mairon says pointedly.Â
âOh, forâwhy do you care? The last time that we saw one another, you were orchestrating my death,â Adar replies. Itâs obvious that their proximity is affecting him, but the Uruk isnât reacting in the ways that Mairon is used to seeing. There's no longing, only the desperate look of a trapped animal.
âThat does not detract from the fact that no other may lay their hands upon you,â Mairon replies, holding Adarâs gaze intently. âDo you think that I would have let anyone else kill you? You are mine in both living and dying.âÂ
âI donât recall your hands holding the blades,â Adar snaps.Â
âNo, but it was my will that guided them,â Mairon answers.Â
âYou are hardly in a place to judge,â Adar argues, âI am raising living proof that you have had other lovers. I doubt you limited yourself to Galadriel, either. From what I know of your tastes, I suspect that you slithered your way into Celebrimborâs bed too.â Â
âThey belonged to me.â It is an explanation in and of itself. âGothmog was enough of a fool to challenge me in this, so I ask you again. Did you give yourself to him?âÂ
Closing his eyes, Adar leans back, as if in great pain. A suspicion rears in Maironâs thoughts, making him fractionally ease off when he adds, âIf heâŠforced the issue, I will not be angry.â
Not at Adar, in any case. Not for that. Though he may have to hunt down the remains of the Balrogâs Ă«ala, scattered on the winds, and make him wish that he were capable of true death for daring to touch what belongs to Sauron.
âDespite his many offers, I never cohabitated with Gothmog,â Adar tells him. âYou were, and remain, the only one.â
âWhy does that admission make you look so miserable?â Mairon noses at his throat in a way that used to make Adar melt. âYou were good at giving me what I needed. Is it the form? I can change it back to what you were used to bedding. My hair is the same. I remember your preference for the color.âÂ
Mairon hasnât forgotten Adarâs betrayal, but that doesnât mean he canât have his body. Itâs been so long since he has been touched. The last had been TyelpĂ«, and his dear smith had been too tender for certain indulgences.Â
âStop,â Adar begs.Â
âWhy?â Mairon takes the Urukâs hand and brings it up to his throat. âYouâve been angry at me. Donât you want the opportunity to punish me?âÂ
âNot like this,â Adar says, he looks terror-struck. âIt isnât right.âÂ
Raising a brow in affront, Mairon leans down to his ear to whisper a pointed question, âDo you think that you have a choice?âÂ
âYou would force me again,â Adar comments, not defiantly, but sadly. Â
What did he mean by âagainâ? Mairon is no Melkor in these matters. Is it possible that Adar discovered Sauronâs role in the spawning of the Orcs? But even then, he hadnât participated.Â
He hadnât.Â
Dwelling alongside Celebrimbor in his thoughts, the image of Galadriel rises, and spits an angry accusation, âDo you really think I would have consented if I had known? Lieutenant of the Great Foe and slayer of my brother? My poor daughter sprang from a grievous origin. I bless Adar for sheltering her from it.âÂ
âSome part of you suspected my identity,â Mairon snaps back.Â
âSauron the Deceiver crafted a faulty disguise?â Galadriel mocks, âHow shocking.â
Before he can formulate a response to either the dead or the living, a small voice calls, âIâm done!â
Adar practically flees into the front room.Â
Once Mairon has composed himself, he follows and sees Adar inspecting his chargeâs hair. Though his hands shake, his voice is steady when he declares, âI donât see any spots that you missed.âÂ
CelebrĂan smiles proudly and picks up a comb to start working through her damp locks. Adar hauls the wash-basin to the door, where the path they had broken earlier stands already partially refilled with snow, and tips it out. Then he stands it up on its side and rolls it into a corner to rest against a wall. That done, he turns to the girl and asks, âShall we eat? Or do you wish to open your gifts first?â
âPresents!â CelebrĂan cries gleefully, she rushes towards the dining table and bounces restlessly in her chair. âI want to save yours, Medhionâs, and Orethâs for last.â
Dutifully, Adar sets aside three wrapped bundles from the small pile. Mairon is amused to note that the girl disembowels those parcels with a speed and precision that the executioners of Angband would have envied.Â
Most of what the child receives are useful gifts. Clothes (though none as fine as her cloak), shoes, a few hair ribbons, and a small box of pins for her braids. Those presents devoured, she makes her way to the last coveted three. The first of these is a set of brightly colored inks. CelebrĂan exclaims over them enthusiastically, âOne of them is pink! Do you think AmmĂ« would like me to write to her with it? Ohhh, this one is shiny!â
âIâm sure that your mother would love either one,â Adar assures her. âIf you want to use them today, you should keep these bottles in the kitchen where itâs warm, or they might freeze.âÂ
Agreeing, the child hands them over to him, and he places them on the mantle above the fire.Â
Giddily, CelebrĂan pulls at the strings of the second to reveal a tiny figurine of an Elf, carved in silver. The nĂźs is caught mid-dance, with one leg poised to take her next step. âSo pretty!âÂ
âMedhion told me that if you crank the bottom this way,â he picks it up and demonstrates, âshe has a secret waiting to be revealed.âÂ
He places the figure back on the table, and the top turns, making the dancer move with it. CelebrĂan insists on watching it five times and looks more enraptured with every successive twirl.Â
âMay I?â Mairon asks, holding his hand out. The girl readily obeys, and he looks it over with a crafterâs eye, letting it do its wearysome trick in his palm.Â
Really, he doesnât know what she is so excited about. He can already spot a mistake. If he lets her live, he makes a mental note to make her a better one and melt this for scrap. Eventually, he hands it back and offers, âThis isâŠadequate.âÂ
Adar gives him a sardonic look at his remark and hands over the last package, saying, âMine is not as impressive as Medhion's, but Arradiel had some fabric left over from making your cloak.â
Nestled in the package is a pair of blood-red gloves with white fur lining the edges and the sigil of Finarfin worked into the backs with gold thread. âThis symbol stands for your motherâs house. Youâll have to be careful about wearing them around other people, but I thought you might like to have a piece of her that you can keep close.â
Glassy-eyed, CelebrĂan throws her arms around the Uruk in heartfelt gratitude, and Adar returns the embrace. Eventually, she slips down to the floor and announces that she is fetching her cloak, because she wants to wear them together. Before she can leave, Mairon says, âWhen you return, there is something that we need to talk about.âÂ
Once she is gone, Adar turns to him and pleads, âItâs her nameday. Why donât you wait until tomorrow? It cannot hurt.âÂ
âNo, I have waited long enough,â Mairon says firmly. âIf you donât tell her, then I will, but I imagine that you would be kinder in going about it. Besides, you said that you didnât know exactly when Galadriel gave birth, or when she named her. The day might have already passed.âÂ
With a grieved expression, Adar waits for CelebrĂan to reenter. He spares a moment to admire her in her coat and gloves, but coaxes her to take them off, lest they become stained. Then he guides her to a chair and sits her upon his knee. For a long moment, he struggles for words. Eventually, he settles on asking, âLittle one, do you remember when NyÄni had her babies?âÂ
Nervously, she looks out the window, where the world has been reduced to shades of white, âAre the goats going to be alright in the cold?â
Why is Adar talking about animal husbandry? CelebrĂan is obviously confused by her guardianâs solemnity when speaking about livestock, and Mairon shares in her bafflement. Is this some sort of delaying tactic? He is just about to inject himself into the conversation when Adar answers, âTheyâll be fine. I took care of them this morning. Right now, I need you to remember. There was a question that you posed to me on that day.âÂ
CelebrĂan looks upward in concentration. âI think I asked how the babies got in her stomach. You said I had to wait a hundred years before I could ask again.âÂ
Mairon doesnât bother to disguise his snort. How nice to see that Adar hadnât completely changed over the years. He still turns into an utter prude when someone tries to have a blunt discussion about sex. Â
âThe situation has altered,â Adar draws the last word out uncomfortably. âYou know that most people have a mother, even if they sometimes have to go to Mandos.â
She gives a solemn nod in response.Â
âDo you understand what role fathers play in having children?â Adar presses.
Does Adar not remember whether he told her? Who else would have? Unless it was one of the Elves in the village? Perhaps one of those who gave her gifts? Â
CelebrĂan replies as if she is concerned that her father doesnât know. âThey help take care of the babies.â
âThatâs true, a good father always takes care of his children,â Adar agrees, and darts an accusatory glance at Mairon, âbut there is something else. They usually help the mother make the babies.âÂ
âHow?â CelebrĂan immediately asks.Â
Blushing up to the roots of his hair, Adar stumbles over his answer, âThatâsâŠnot important. What you need to know is that a child cannot be conceived without at least two parents.âÂ
âOkay,â CelebrĂan dwells upon this new information for a while. Finally, she adds, âThen you and AmmĂ« did the thing that makes babies and had me.âÂ
Mairon grits his teeth at the insinuation, no matter how innocently expressed.Â
Galadriel comments, almost conversationally. âNeither of you can compare to my husband. However, if I knew the truth of things back then, and were made to pick between you. I would have chosen Adar. He is fit to father my daughter in ways that you can never hope to match. I wouldnât wish her to be other than what she is, but I do lament that my choices will bring her so much pain.âÂ
âYouâre lying,â Sauron accuses. âYou wouldnât pick him, Elrond, or even your precious Celeborn.â Â
âNo,â Adar says, and Mairon is so intently focused on his internal debate with Galadriel that for a disjointed moment he thinks the Uruk has somehow overheard, before he continues, âI didnât make you with your mother.â
Frowning, CelebrĂan asks, âBut you just said that you need two parents. I donât understand.â
Desperately, holding her face between his hands, Adar tells her, âI raised you, I protected you, and have nurtured you. I love you more than I will ever have words to express. However, I was not the one to bring you into existence."
Deeming this the most opportune moment to enter the conversation. Mairon steps forward and says, âI am your sire.âÂ
CelebrĂan displays neither horror nor joy. Every time she tries to speak, no sound comes out of her throat. Adar pulls her close and rests his cheek on the top of her head. The proximity seems to loosen her tongue. She tilts her chin upwards and asks tremulously, âYouâre not my Ada?â
Naturally, Adar has indoctrinated the child to such an extent that her first concern is for the person who stole her. Tears fill her eyes, and the Uruk hurriedly soothes her, âThe most important thing that makes someone a father is the love that he gives to his children. Blood relation is a small concern in comparison. You believe me when I say that I love you? Do you not?âÂ
The girl throws her arms around Adar as proof of her belief. After an over-indulgence of weeping on both sides, CelebrĂan rambles uncertainly, âWhyâno, I mean, whereâno, thatâs not right eitherââ
âBreathe,â Adar reminds her, rocking her in his arms.  Â
âI donât know how to say it without sounding mean.â CelebrĂan sends Mairon a tremulous look and smooths a non-existent crease in her clothing.
âItâs alright, you can speak freely. He wonât be angry or offended by your honesty.â The Uruk sends him a glare as if to warn him against such actions. Â
Mairon huffs in annoyance. As if a waist-high elfling could voice anything that would actually upset him. âI would rather you raise your questions now than pepper me with them throughout the day.âÂ
Her fingers reflexively twitchâa clear sign of frayed nerves that Adar should have trained out of her. âWhy did you stay away? Did you not want to see me?âÂ
For a long beat, Mairon debates his reply. The answers are simple enough, but tone will be important. Kneeling to meet her at eye-level, Mairon tells her seriously, âI knew nothing of your birth. If I had, I would have insisted on collecting you.â    Â
Whether he would have let her live is dubious, but there is no need for such observations at this time. His answer takes her by surprise, but she is a clever little thing (naturally so, considering her blood) and immediately questions, âWhy didnât anyone tell you?â Did Ada not know whoâŠâ, she trails off and looks at him in confusion. âI donât know what to call you.âÂ
Truthfully, Mairon had not considered that point of etiquette either. With a stab of pain, he recalls that AulĂ« had wanted to be called father, but eventually changed his mind when it came to using the familial term while crafting. Even as he claimed to welcome the input of others, the hypocrite never could stand to be referred to as an equal in the forge.Â
Seeing an opportunity to annoy Adar, he says, âHeruâ.
âLord?â CelebrĂan translates hesitantly. Behind her, Adar stiffens, but in the midst of her curiosity, she misses his reaction.âYouâre a lord?âÂ
âIndeed, I am.â Better to have her acknowledge that from the beginning. âAs I recall, Adar was also called Lord Father not so long ago.âÂ
CelebrĂan gapes in shock at her guardian. Her voice is high-pitched and startled as she repeats, âYouâre a lord?â
Pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, the Uruk tiredly answers, âAt one time, but Iâm not anymore, and I donât want you calling him that either. For now, you can use the name Mairon.âÂ
âYou have no right to dictate how I interact with her,â Mairon snarls in outrage. He's itching to release a burst of power.Â
âGaladriel left her to my care,â Adar snaps. âShe dreaded the possibility that you would find CelebrĂan.âÂ
Obviously overwhelmed by the onslaught of so many revelations and frightened at the thunderous anger that surrounds her, CelebrĂan latches onto the only thing that she can in the chaos. âWhy didnât AmmĂ« want me to meet him?âÂ
Immediately, Adar gentles his words and abandons the argument to gather her into his arms. âLittle one, there isnât an easy way to tell you thisâif it were up to me, you never would have to learn it.âÂ
In the face of her solemn expression, he falters and fumbles for the correct words. âI once told you that people can have many names.âÂ
âYes,â she frowns at his apparent non-sequiter. âYou said that your friend Maedhros had four and that my mother had two: Galadriel and Artanis.âÂ
âThree,â Mairon corrects. Adar stares at him in bafflement, clearly questioning his reasons for interrupting such an important conversation with trivialities. He isnât delaying. He isnât. Mairon is making sure that the facts are straight. âShe was also called Nerwen.â Â
âMan-maiden?â CelebrĂan translates. âWho gave her that name? It makes no sense!âÂ
âYou would have to question your grandmother for her reasons,â Mairon offers with a shrug.
âThe point is,â Adar interrupts tightly, âthat Mairon himself has other namesâhe is also called Sauron.âÂ
With the truth finally revealed, he expected a more extreme reaction, but CelebrĂan is calm. âThatâs alright. I donât mind.âÂ
Both Mairon and Adar blink at her. Eventually, the Uruk asks, âDid you hear what I said?âÂ
âOf course,â she replies. âItâs not his fault. Nobody can help what they are called, but I can see why you donât use it every day; it must be hard to share a name with the Dark Lord.â
Making a helpless noise, Adar tightens his arms around her. âThere is only one Sauron.â Â
Her lightheartedness immediately dissipates. âBut Mairon is my sire.â
âI did say that.â He combs his fingers through her hair. Â
âAda, I think youâre caught in a memory again.â She takes his hand between her own and rubs small circles into his scarred skin. âDonât worry, Iâll take care of you.â
âDearest, Iâm fine,â he assures her.
Her innocent confusion is unbearable. Mairon wants to kill them both and leave this mess behind him, or sling CelebrĂan over one shoulder and brave the storm, or break Adarâs jaw before he can continue. For one insane moment, he feels the impulse to weep. Heedless of his turmoil, his daughter continues her worried examination of her guardian. âNo, youâre confused. Do you need to lie down?â
Adar clasps her around the shoulders.âIâm perfectly well.âÂ
Can she really not comprehend what they are trying to tell her? Mairon inspects her features and sees the apprehension. Sheâs desperately trying to flee from the truth and not letting herself see it. Â
âCelebrĂan, I need you to listen to me,â Adar tells her firmly. When she ducks her head, he releases one of her arms to force her to meet his gaze; the Uruk has tears streaming down his cheeks. âMairon is Sauron.â
The quiet that follows is so profound that even the storm seems to hold its breath. Adar, torn between the urge to embrace her and fear that she will reject him, lets his hand fall from her chin. CelebrĂan is still, saying nothing for an unbearably long time, then she releases a tiny whimper. âThat canât be true."
Ever so gently, Adar asks, âWhy not?â
âSauron hurt you,â she stares beseechingly at the only father she has ever known, as if he can somehow remove this terrible knowledge. âSauron killed my mother.âÂ
Unable to contain himself any longer, Mairon howls at the Uruk, âYou told her that?â
His response confirms her fears, and CelebrĂan pales. She convulses once, and then twice. Adar swiftly picks up his charge and darts towards the window. He just manages to get her head outside and to pull back her hair before she purges. With nothing in her stomach, she heaves up bile onto the same place that Adar had dug up the snow for a bath only a few hours ago.Â
âMy clever flame,â the memory of Melkor whispers in his head. âEvery year that she wants to celebrate, she will be forced to think of you instead.â
Thatâs right, he forgot that it is CelebrĂanâs nameday.   Â
âYou didnât forget,â his master comments. âI seem to recall that you always enjoyed doing something special with Maedhros to commemorate the occasion.â
It isnât the same. Mairon's fingers twitch restlessly.Â
âOf course it is! What better way to punish both mother and child?â Melkor prods. âThe first for abandoning you and both of them for their theft? Wherever she might be in Mandos, Artanis must be racked with regret.âÂ
Galadrielâs theft had been obvious, but what did CelebrĂan take? They had only just met. Â
âYour disingenuousness is not becoming,â his master scolds. Mairon smothers the urge to flinch at the rebuke. âDid you not acknowledge that she stole a spark from your Ă«ala? Did she not abscond with your playthings? Your pet and your golden lady might still be at your side had she not been born.âÂ
Once she has finished being sick, Adar balances her on one hip, brings her to the kitchen, and has her rinse out her mouth before sinking into a chair near the fire. âItâs hard, I know itâs so hard.â
The girl hooks her arms around his neck and locks her knees around his torso. Adar seamlessly adjusts to support her, and it dawns on Mairon that they have probably embraced this way countless times for the move to be so instinctive. The Urukâs face softens with love, and CelebrĂan clings to him in utter trust. Something twists in Maironâs chest. These two are firmly embedded in each otherâs hearts. Neither of them is looking in his direction. Indeed, he thinks that they have entirely forgotten him.
Angry (even when heâs not entirely sure why he is so enraged), Mairon interrupts their communion by emphatically stating, âNow that everything is out in the open, we have much to discuss. Chief of which is why you,â he points at Adar, âfelt the need to lie to CelebrĂan about her motherâs death.âÂ
Both figures appear nonplussed. Adar is the first to recover and indulges in a look of incredulity. âAre you really accusing me of deceit? I told her that her mother received a mortal wound, and she was smart enough to figure out who must have delivered it.âÂ
âI did no such thing. Galadriel could have come to me. If she had joined me, I would have saved her.â Mairon snaps.Â
CelebrĂan stares at him, and her gaze takes some of the fire out of Mairon. Squirming to face him, her expression is grave as she asks, âAre you going to kill my Ada?â
Weighing his words carefully, he replies, âNo, I donât think that I will.â
Honesty, he hasnât decided what to do with Adar, but the Uruk isnât her sire. Mairon can say with certainty that he isnât about to snuff out his own life. Unconvinced, Adar shakes his head behind CelebrĂanâs back, but doesnât speak.Â
Trembling, she whimpers, âDo you promise?âÂ
Schooling his features into solemnity, he says, âI promise.âÂ
âThank you.â A hint of color returns to CelebrĂanâs cheeks, and she sags back against Adarâs chest in boneless relief. âYou can kill me now.âÂ
âWhat?â
âWhy would you thinkââ
âIf youâre not here to hurt Ada,â she interrupts, âthen I figured that you must mean to kill me instead.âÂ
Adar and his loose lips. Mairon ought to sew them shut as a reminder of discretion. âI donât want to kill you.âÂ
At least, not until he has had the chance to observe her.Â
âOh,â she says, not relieved, not grateful, just utterly blank. As if she truly hadnât expected to survive and is numbly surprised to find herself still among the living. âI donât understand. What do you want?â
âTo get to know you,â Mairon answers simply.Â
âOh,â she repeats. Before she can continue, she sways with exhaustion, prompting Adar to shift her weight on his lap. âI donât feel good.âÂ
After spending untold eons as Melkorâs chief torturer, Mairon recognizes the symptoms well. âYouâre in shock.â Â
Lips going blue with cold, she shivers violently. Through chattering teeth, she manages to get out, âWhatâs happening to m-m-me?â
âYour body is redirecting blood flow from your skin and extremities to vital organs to prioritize survival.â Heâs proud to be able to inform her of this; it had taken years of experimentation on Elven prisoners to unlock the secrets of their bodies.
âWh-Wh-What?â CelebrĂan stammers as Adar refastens the cloak that he had draped on the back of the chair.
âIt means that the blood in your body has moved and isnât keeping you warm the way that it usually does,â Adar explains.Â
With a huff, Mairon grudgingly lets the simplistic answer pass. Examining her intently, he advises, âYouâll need to lay her down. Make sure that you elevate her legs and feet slightly, but donât give her any food or water. Sheâll end up getting sick again.â
Surprisingly, Adar doesnât argue. He promptly picks up his charge and walks to his bedroom. Mairon trails behind them only to be met with a door slammed in his face. Affronted, but unwilling to set back CelebrĂanâs recovery (he predicts that itâs already going to waste the rest of the day without a fight with Adar to disturb her further), he shamelessly spies through the walls.Â
As the Uruk slips a pillow beneath her feet and pulls the blankets up, CelebrĂan whispers, âIs he really my father?â
Flinching, Adar rasps, âYes.â
Seeming to ponder that, the girl watches him fuss over her. âAm I ugly?â
âOf course you arenât!â Adar protests. âWhat would make you think something like that?â
âUgly on the inside.â She smoothes a wrinkle in the blanket as she tries to explain, âLike when you pick an apple, and it looks fine, but when you take a bite, itâs all brown and mushy. Am I rotten because of him?â
The horrible mixture of grief and fear makes Maironâs fana spasm uncomfortably. A wave of seething anger follows in its wake with a welcome burst of heat. He is of the Ainur who sang the world into existence. He is the most admired of AulĂ«âs children students. There is no better lineage in Middle Earth or Valinor to possess.
âYou are the loveliest person that I have ever known,â Adar tells her firmly. âInside and out.â
âShould I be angry at him?â The question makes Adar stiffen, but she continues heedlessly. âI mean, I am angry, but Iâm confused about it.âÂ
âThatâs alright,â he places a comforting hand on the top of her head and smoothes his thumb back and forth against her temple, âyou donât have to know. Whatever emotions you feel will not be wrong.â
âIâll hate him for you,â she offers. Itâs a pattern that is familiar to Mairon. How often had Melkor demanded hate in exchange for love? Frequently enough that he can recognize CelebrĂanâs sincerity and determination. Not that his master had ever done as much with his greatest lieutenant. Such tactics were only necessary with his lesser vassals. With Mairon, there had been no need. So different from the constant sacrifice that characterized his relationship with AulĂ«.
There is an extremely long pause, and Mairon is already compiling a list of grievances about broken pacts when Adar replies, âI donât want you to do that for me.â
âWhy?â CelebrĂan voices the same question that is ringing through Maironâs head. It makes no sense. Adar just passed on a prime opportunity to balance the scales in his own favor.Â
âBecause you shouldn't be forced to feel anything. I know exactly what it is like to be placed in that situation, and I would not give you such grief. If you hate him, let it be for yourself.â He leans down until the two are a handsbreadth apart and continues with difficulty, as if the words were agonizing to utter. âIf you love him, that is your decision too, and I will never rebuke you for it. You can carry both feelings for him, or neither. Itâs entirely up to you. Do you understand?â
Despite the blanket, the girl shivers. âI think so.âÂ
âGood.â Adar retrieves a fur from his closet and drapes it over her. âWould you like to rest?â
âWill you stay with me until I fall asleep?âÂ
âOf course,â the Uruk promises. He doesnât move from his seat on the side of the bed until long after she has passed into dreams.  Â
Holding the breath that he technically does not need, Mairon contemplates what he has just heard. He wants to storm in and shake answers out of Adar. What did he mean when he said that he had forced himself to express emotions that he had not felt? For whom had he been playacting? Surely not, Mairon. It is impossible that his Neidragh had feigned those moments that they had shared.
Noiselessly, Adar slips out of the room. He is unsurprised to see Mairon at the doorway. âYou were listening.âÂ
Neglecting to provide a blatantly obvious answer, Mairon instead crowds into the space between them and demands, âWere you telling the truth?â
âThe only lies that I ever tell to CelebrĂan are those of omission, and I never particularly relish them. Unlike some people that I could name. Thereâs hardly a call for me to do that anymore,â he answers flatly. âPrecisely why are you upset?âÂ
âWhat makes you think that I am?â Mairon bristles at the implication. Offended that the Uruk had accurately read him.Â
âYour fingers are twitching, and you always used to twist your rings when you were nervous in the past.â Adar gestures towards the appendages, which are indeed wiggling traitorously. Self-conscious, Mairon wonders why he had never noticed, but doesnât have much time to contemplate it before the Uruk adds, âCelebrĂan fidgets when she is troubled.âÂ
âYes, I know,â Mairon says. It was something that he had criticized not long ago. At least, he hadnât voiced his disapproval, or he would be dealing with accusations of hypocrisy in the midst of his embarrassment.    Â
Almost amused, the Uruk quirks a lip and steps around him. âIf you are done spying on me, I need to make something for CelebrĂan to eat. She didnât have breakfast, and she is going to be famished when she wakes.â
Mairon grabs the Uruk by the shoulder, using his forearm, and pins him against the opposite wall as he snaps, âStay where you are, I want you to admit to your lies.â
âIs this one of those âtakes one to know oneâ situations?â Adar fires back. Then, after closing his eyes and indulging in a lengthy inhale, he forces himself to be more measured. âWhat exactly am I supposed to have misled you about in the private conversation that I had with my daughter?â
âShe is not yours,â Mairon hisses hotly, feeling the compulsion to correct him on the point, even when he is enraged, âand you know very well what I mean. Why did you say that you faked your feelings for me?â
The question startles Adar into an honest reply, âI wasnât lying.â Â
âNo,â Mairon denies flatly. âIf you hadnât cared about me, you would have encouraged CelebrĂan to reject me in there.â
Trembling with anger, Adar breaks out of the hold with a powerful shove and shouts, âNiennaâs mercy, not everything is about you! Iâm afraid of what effects such hate will have on CelebrĂanâs spirit. If I had allowed myself to be selfish, I would have her loathe you as much as her mother did. Not that I was at all misleading her. Do you have any idea how many times I forced myself to pretend that I desired you?â
Nearly everything in the Urukâs reply was calculated to enrage Sauron. From the swearing by the name of an Ainu other than himself, to the jibe that Galadriel had hated him, and finally that awful implication that he hadnât been wanted. He feels used, and that is completely unacceptable. He fumbles for a justification, âWhat happened at Forodwaith made you upset. Neither of us was at our best in that place.â
âForodwaith? Try Angband,â Adar fires back, âand even in Utumno, there were moments when all I wished was for you to take your hands off of me.âÂ
âI donât believe you.â The petulant words are wretched from Sauronâs throat before he can actually think about his reply. Heâs fully aware that he sounds like he is the same age as CelebrĂan, but at the moment, his feelings are too raw to allow him to be calculating. âYou have always been hungry for the affection that I gave you. There is simply no way that you could have been deceiving me from the beginning. Clever as you are, you never have been that devious.â
âYouâre right,â Adar agrees, and he looks terribly sad as he says it. âI loved you. Of course I did. Yet that does not mean that I always wanted you. Fear and pain were always intermixed with love.â
âIs that all?â Mairon reaches out and nuzzles his Neidragh from behind. Really, he should punish Adar for worrying him, but heâs just so relieved to find that it was all a misunderstanding. âThatâs normal. How did you come to believe that fear and love are separate states? I suppose itâs my own fault. I was too gentle with you at first.âÂ
âNot the kind of fear that Iâm speaking about.â Adar wrenches himself away. âThe recent years have given me time to reflect, and I can say with certainty that when I was afraid of you, I didnât welcome your advances. I donât know what Morgoth did to you to make you think otherwise, but it most definitely is not normal.â
Mairon doesnât want to hear it. Nothing had been done to him. Melkor had freed him; he had shown him how utterly caged he had once been. If that revelation required fear and painâwhat of it? Had he not become greater in recompense? Yet memories of his master linger. It couldnât be the same.Â
Without another word, Mairon spins on his heel and storms out of the house. His skin is a living flame, and the winds and snows melt in the face of his fury. Out in the woods, he starts felling trees with his bare hands for the sheer satisfaction of making something die. He wants to scream as Melkor had after being attacked by Ungoliant. Instead, he is reduced to shattering bark for hours without cessation. When the bark proves inadequate, he starts slamming his fists into the ground relentlessly.Â
 âAi, my love. I am truly sorry,â TyelpĂ« mourns, âit is a bitter thing to realize that someone that you care about never wanted you. I wouldnât have wished it on you.âÂ
âYou think that didnât desire you?â Mairon pauses in his destruction long enough to pose the question aloud with a pang. âI always did, even when you were defiant and driving me to madness with your stubbornness. Indeed, I would not have been so angry if I had been indifferent.âÂ
âWhat was I to think, Annatar?â Celebrimbor chides him gently. âYou were torturing me for the rings. Is it so strange for me to believe that they were all that you ever wanted? That I died convinced you cared for the works and not he that forged them?â
Mairon desperately needs to believe that TyelpĂ«rinquar had not gone to the Halls of the Dead thinking himself unloved. âI cherished the hands as dearly as what they made.âÂ
âWhat if I had not been the grandson of FĂ«anor?â TyelpĂ« pointedly asks. âWould you still have been drawn to me if I had been a painter or a poet instead of a smith? Would you still have sought me out if I had nothing you wanted to steal?â
âThat isnât fair! Without your craft, you would not be yourself, but an entirely different person.â Mairon protests. âIâll prove it to you. Once Middle Earth has been set to rights, Iâll find some way to fetch you from Mandos, and I will require nothing but your presence. You will see how much I value you.âÂ
âWhat if I do not choose to go?â Celebrimbor asks simply, like he already knows the answer.
 âIs it really such a burden to love me that you would pick darkness and death over a life spent at my side?âÂ
âIs Middle Earth really so terrible as it is? What of your daughter? Is she not proof of all that is good and wholesome in these lands? What kind of future will you provide for her?â
âA better world,â Mairon snaps, words harsh and defensive. âA greater one.âÂ
âWill you make her bow to you as well?âÂ
This is a sore point for Celebrimbor. Young as he had been, he could still remember when his grandfather stopped viewing his sons as his children and started treating them as vassals from whom loyalty could be demanded, instead of sought.Â
When he doesnât answer, the memory of TyelpĂ« retreats and refuses to resurface.Â
Mairon devotes the remainder of his time outside, pouring his rage upon the land.
________________________
End Part 1
A couple of things. The apparitions of Morgoth, Galadriel, and Celebrimbor arenât ghosts. Nor are they meant to be evidence of a split personality. Theyâre manifestations of truths that Sauron canât bear to voice. He is such a complicated character. As I said, he is absolutely terrible at self-awareness and introspection. As I was writing, I realized that the only way I could wring honesty out of Sauron was to have him manifest truth using the voices of people that he has loved.Â
I went back and forth about what Sauronâs reaction to CelebrĂan would be like. We all know he can be greedy about things that belong to him, but he also loves order and being the smartest person in the room. Having a surprise-baby bombshell dropped on him is not only extremely chaotic but also probably makes him feel like an idiot. Ultimately, I settled on uncertainty. Hence, there are back-and-forth thoughts about keeping her alive. Decisive person that Sauron is, itâs driving him nuts that he canât settle on a decision.Â
Stole this from somewhere but i think itâs appropriate



