The mouse, the candle, the hammer.
This is the fifth time Celebrimbor has shown Annatar the patterns, and the fifth time he has smiled gently and asked Celebrimbor when he last had rest. He looks at the progress on the rings and sighs, and comments that there is still so much more to be done. That, perhaps tonight, Celebrimbor should sleep instead of working. He leads Celebrimbor to his room with a hand on the small of his back and leaves him lying on his bed in the darkness.
Celebrimbor barely closes his eyes before the sun has risen. Annatar is sitting in his study, hair golden in the dawn. He finishes the dregs of his tea and pours Celebrimbor a cup. He stands up to leave.
Celebrimbor stops him with a hand on his arm. "Stay and work with me," he says. He has never asked Annatar to stay with him before.
"I have much to do," Annatar protests, gently extracting his arm. "Perhaps tonight, when you are finished --"
Celebrimbor will not finish tonight. When Annatar leaves, he throws his tea in the fire and crawls back into bed. He awakens at dawn to Annatar and tea and does not say a word about the mouse or the candle. He bends to his work.
And later, when the doves outside coo and the door creaks open, Annatar finds Celebrimbor polishing a new fourth ring, and smiles at him. "Let's celebrate," Celebrimbor says.
"Why pause when we are so close to completion?" Annatar asks. "Perhaps tonight --"
But he will never see the night. He hardly makes it through the afternoon before drowsiness overtakes him. Celebrimbor looks at the rings and wonders how their magic has ensnared him in this moment. He allows Annatar to guide him to sleep.
Morning. Tea. Candle. Mouse. Celebrimbor pours metal into a mold and, while he waits for it to cool, wonders how many variations of "Perhaps tonight --" he can prompt from Annatar. He writes down every single idea he has, burns the paper with the metal in his crucible, and waits for the nesting doves and the shaft of sunlight that hits his workbench through the shutters. Annatar asks after his progress.
"Horrible," Celebrimbor says, halfway through the fifth ring. "A little slow today," as he begins the sixth. "Getting there," when he finishes it. "Better, for you being here," he murmurs as he begins the seventh.
Annatar is a break in the monotony only for the challenge of prompting a new response from him.
He tries to coax a smile from Annatar each morning and fails. He cannot provoke his anger. There is no sadness when Celebrimbor tells of crafting rivets in the refugee camps after Gondolin. Nothing moves Annatar's face save progress on the rings. A wrinkle at the corner of his eye fades as Celebrimbor finishes the seventh. It is the first change he has marked in Annatar. He reaches out to touch it.
Annatar startles, but Celebrimbor cannot find it in himself to care. He can be rude or cruel (as he has tried on his bad days), scream at Annatar, destroy the forge in anger, plead to be believed, or sob into his hands in fruitless grief. Annatar will not remember.
Celebrimbor's thumb smooths the wrinkle. His knuckles brush Annatar's bloodless cheek. He kisses him on an impulse, a wild dare. Annatar lets himself be kissed. Celebrimbor pulls away.
Annatar's eyes trace Celebrimbor's lips.
"Perhaps tonight," he murmurs, "when you finish the rings --"
Celebrimbor swipes the rings to the ground. Annatar's eyes flash in flames.
Celebrimbor wakes to the golden dawn and Annatar. He pours Celebrimbor a cup of tea and turns to leave. The wrinkle at the corner of his eye is gone for good.
Celebrimbor marks the candle and bends to his work.
