The fifth year of Silvergifting Week will run August 10-16, 2026!
Silvergifting Week is a Tolkien fandom event on Tumblr. This event encourages creating fanworks that prominently feature a romantic, sexual, or queerplatonic relationship between Celebrimbor and Mairon | Sauron | Annatar.
All kinds of fanworks are welcome as long as they are created by you: fan art, fan fiction, headcanon, moodboard, fan craft, playlist, cosplay, meta, etc. This is mainly a Silmarillion fandom event, but it also welcomes fanworks inspired by the Rings of Power television series.
Do not use generative AI. Fanworks made using generative AI are not accepted.
The tag of the event is #silvergiftingweek. When posting, use this tag and/or tag this blog @silvergiftingweek. This blog will reblog all submitted works. Please respect general Tumblr content posting rules when participating in this event. Mature and potentially triggering content should be marked as such and posted under cut.
The list of prompts for year 2026 can be found here.
Celebrimbor finally accepts to make the nine with Annatar and gets lovebombed for it
@silvergiftingweek
Just as he was about to lose control, Celebrimbor declared :
“ Not here. Come to my chambers.”
Annatar licked at his lower lip tenderly before answering in a hushed voice: “ Whatever you want, love.”
Celebrimbor felt like a young elf as he took Annatar’s hand in his and led him all the way, his heart thumping hard all the while in anticipation, up to his chambers.
He did not pay any heed to the people they passed on their way.
Silvergifting Week 2025 is now over. I wanted to thank all of you who participated somehow: by writing fic, making fan art or fan comic, posting playlist or cosplay and fan edits of every kind, from hilarious to heartbreaking. And all of you who read the fics that were made, and enjoyed fan art and other event posts, and liked and reblogged them. Not to forget all of you who bookmarked the fics for later reading (perhaps tonight is a good time?) You made this event a success together!
Silvergifting comes in many flavours, and I was delighted by the diverse takes you shared with us. What was common to all of these posts, I think, was the passion of creating — very suitable for this particular ship. I guess we just love to put them into situations, just as they tend to do themselves in canon versions of their story.
Fandom is a community, and without you, this event wouldn't have been possible. I will check the tag #silvergiftingweek for late entries and hope to see you here next year!
[Annatar/Celebrimbor | Explicit | 1.2k | Read it on AO3]
Tags: Established Relationship, Morning Sex, Intercrural Sex, Soft Silvergifting, Fluff
Summary:
Celebrimbor woke to the pale light of dawn spilling in through the open windows. The sheer curtains were billowing gently in the chill breeze, but in the air was a promise of warmth to come. Annatar was asleep beside him, and it was the easiest thing in the world for Celebrimbor to reach out and sling an arm over his waist, press himself up along his back, and nuzzle in with a sleepy sigh.
***
Annatar and Celebrimbor enjoy a sleepy, golden morning, and each other.
AN: Surprise! A bonus entry for silvergifting week <3 I wanted to do something easy and fluffy and smutty where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts after having written several more angst-centric pieces for this weak, so voila: a tasty little treat to end us off.
I have had so much fun this week, thank you @elennalore for all the work you have put into running this!! <3
[Annatar/Celebrimbor | Explicit | 3.5k | Read it on AO3]
Tags: Fourth Age, Complicated Relationships, Imagined/Remembered Violence, Ambiguously Redeemed Sauron, First Time (sort of), Reconciliation Sex, Anal Sex, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Hopeful Ending, Second Chances
Summary:
In spite of everything— every law of the universe telling him that this cannot be done, every part of his being that recoils each time Annatar lays hands on him, every scrap of common sense he has ever possessed begging him to run and put as much distance between himself and Annatar as he can— Celebrimbor cannot bring himself to give this up.
For it isn’t every part of his being that recoils, is it? It never could be, for always there will remain his heart— his foolish, reckless heart— that presses ever in, in, seeking Annatar’s touch, seeking his warmth, seeking him. Always, always. To its own ruination.
***
Celebrimbor has been re-embodied, and he and Annatar have reunited in Valinor. Annatar is desperate to redeem himself, and Celebrimbor, in spite of everything, wants desperately to be able to let him.
None are allowed beyond the shadowed gallery. Within these locked halls, he speaks to someone no one else can hear. Sometimes tenderly, as if to a lover; other times with fury, as if to a foe. Now only the portraits remain—haunting echoes of Celebrimbor. But it is not truly the elf; it is something else, something sinister. His silver eyes stare down from the walls, frozen in eternal judgment. Alone, Mairon communes with canvas and memory… and sometimes, from the darkness, Celebrimbor’s sweet voice answers, like madness whispering back.
As usual, I'm late, but here is my entry for @silvergiftingweek 🥲🙏
[for @silvergiftingweek, and technically not late]
--
“By the way,” Gil-galad said, turning back from the horse he was about to mount and ride out of Eregion after a purely political visit that had nothing to do with reminiscing with a dear friend over too many cups of wine, staying up until the wee hours, and getting away from the oppressive atmosphere of the royal court in Lindon, “You haven’t been bothered by any solitary wanders recently, have you?”
“None I can think of,” Lord Celebrimbor said, smiling at the familiar stalling. “Why?”
Gil-galad shrugged, disappointed that there wasn’t anything new to dig up. “Oh, no reason, really. The Ladies Galadriel and Aredhel just both happened to mention chasing off a nosy wanderer from their lands in their recent letters to Finarfin. Sounded like the same person and I figured Eregion would be the next closest stop if he kept coming west. Golden hair, terribly pale, probably looks like he knows something no one else knows. You’ll let me know if you see him?”
Because Gil-galad turned back to climb up onto the horse, he didn’t see the stricken expression on his friend’s face.
“I,” Celebrimbor stuttered out the word. “I don’t think I’ll need to.”
Gil-galad sighed. He loved getting to the bottom of a good little mystery, but this wanderer was probably yet another tantalizing lead that would fall into oblivion. Saying his farewells, he headed back to the meandering road to Mithlond. It was a nice ride, through rolling hills and gentle mountains, but it would have been more enjoyable if he had some good drama to mull over as he went.
While Gil-galad was suffering through a nice ride home, Celebrimbor fled from the gates of Ost-in-Edhel, back to the guild buildings, through the forging rooms, up the tower stairs, and finally into his personal crafting room where he slammed the door, drew the dead bolt, and placed the back of a chair under the doorknob for good measure. Hyperventilating, shaking, feeling like he was about to vomit, he crept past his desk with all his jewelry tools, past the small anvil next to the charcoal burner, all the way across the room to a rarely used storage cabinet. He reached out a tentative hand, fingers brushing against the wood of the repurposed wardrobe. Summoning the last of his emotional strength, he opened the door.
A pile of clothes awaited inside. Accusing. Undeniable. Inexcusable. Burning a hole through his soul now that he could no longer pretend the truth away. Pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, he smothered a sob.
Oh, what had he done?
Accusations from the silent room ranging in his ears. He sank to the floor, collapsed to sit on his ankles and stare at the abandoned, hidden, tell-tale garments. He’d really done it this time. He’d thought—hoped without reason—it was a dream, all some terrible fevered nightmare, that he could forget about, put behind him, shove back down into the shadows with all the rest of his sharp, uncomfortable bits and pieces. Just so long as the clothes stayed locked away, then there could be no proof.
But now… Now, now, now—now Gil-galad’s question made it all real again. Made that wretched, foggy night crystal clear.
He’d been working on a project: a little nothing, something to occupy his hands while his mind worked on a bigger problem. The day passed almost before he knew it, the sun sinking behind the trees. He’d gone out for a walk to try clearing his head. Usually, he’d run into other artisans but not that evening, everything was quiet, deserted. He hadn’t noticed how quiet it was until he met him, leaning against a slender tree, the faintest smile on his lips.
He was undeniably beautiful. Loose hair radiant gold in the fading light despite the layer of travel dust. Piercing eyes, keen and intelligent, the eyes of a crafter, ready to assess and make better. His cheekbones and nose suggested a delicate frame, the slightest scaffolding to hold everything together, yet the kind of delicacy of a calf, belying an undeniable potential.
‘Hello,’ he’d said, like they’d planned to meet here. Like they were already friends.
‘Hello,’ Celebrimbor answered and realized it was the first word he’d said all day.
They didn't even talk much. Celebrimbor learned his name was Annatar and he asked if the city had room for a weary traveler. Of course, Celebrimbor offered him one of the empty beds in the guild house. And, they went. Only, they ended up in his own room, in his own bed. Looking back, the whole encounter was terribly surreal.
Stretching forth a trembling hand, he touched the bundle of clothes. Under his fingers, the fabric was stiff with long-dried blood.
When they’d fallen into bed together, he’d marveled at the softness of Annatar’s travel clothes. He couldn’t imagine they would last long but this set was clearly all Annatar owned.
‘They hold up well enough,’ his guest said with a secretive smile when he asked about the peculiar fabric. ‘I have traveled a great distance.’
Had they not been in the middle negotiating a night of love making, he would have asked further. Was Annatar a weaver? What great skill in textiles did his people possess that was still unknown to the peoples of the western continent? Had he come to Ost-in-Edhil to join a guild or for an apprenticeship or was he going further west? Where was he from? So many questions he would have liked to ask, and surely would have in the morning had they not—had he not—
But what was the point of any of it now! He couldn’t keep the truth hidden away forever. He had to be rid of the evidence, destroy it once and for all so there was nothing left for anyone to discover. This inexplicable event didn’t need to ruin his entire life, drag down and halt everything he’d worked for. He wouldn’t let it!
Energized with a wild fervor, he seized the bundle with both hands and withdrew it from the wardrobe. The clothes seared in his hands, accusing as he sought to destroy the terrible truth. How was he to do it? Someone might discover them in a rubbish heap. The Glanduin might carry them away if he entrusted his secrets to the water, but he was too familiar with the tales of rivers betraying the secrets of wrong-doers to their demise. A chasm in the earth was better suited to keeping evil deeds, but a guild master couldn’t very well strike out for Caradhras without drawing attention. The earth, water and air were cut off to him, and that left one clear way forward.
Turning around, he faced the small forge. A bucket of charcoal sat ready for his use. This, then, would be his escape.
He approached the forge, set spark to tender, tender to kindling and ignited the charcoal. Minutes dragged by as he waited for the forge to grow hot enough. Painful minutes, as now that everything was out in the open, the wound once more raw and bleeding, memories threatened at the edges of his mind.
The sex was passionate, better than he’d had in a long time. At last, they fell apart from each other, sweaty, winded and deeply satisfied. They didn’t curl against each other afterward, but they stayed side-by-side, entirely relaxed and unselfconscious in the other’s presence. After a length of time that felt like a glorious eternity to Celebrimbor but in reality must have been much shorter, Annatar leaned in and whispered something in his ear.
But here his mind betrayed him again. He could not remember the words despite all his best efforts, and all his efforts to lock every second of that evening away. He’d been so tired, already half-asleep. He’d never know what those last words were.
The air above the bright coals shimmered. It was ready.
He untangled the first item: Annatar’s shirt. Blood stained the neckline and the font. A smear like a hand print marred the left shoulder. But the sleeves were clean. Strangely clean.
He cast it onto the heat, then took up the rake and piled embers on top. Smoke billowed up, thick and acrid. It tasted metallic on his tongue. Stung his eyes. Holding his breath and swallowing against the bile rising in his throat, Celebrimbor pulled the chimney hood lower and worked the bellows, forcing the smoke out. The taste lingered.
He readied the next item.
He’d woken some time well after midnight. The stars shone bright through his window and the air made his exposed skin prickle. Looking to the side, half-expecting his visitor to have vanished, he found Annatar, still and quiet. He watched him, mind drifting. What a strange encounter with such a strange, wonderful person. He hoped he stayed in Ost-in-Edhel for more than just a brief moment, that this wasn’t just another stop on a greater journey.
He watched him, and as he watched, he realized: Annatar was so still, so quiet—too still, too quiet. He waited, eyes moving from his face to his chest, searching for movement. He sat up and leaned forward, placing his ear over his mouth to listen for the faint disturbance in the air that came with gentle breathing. Nothing.
He touched his shoulder, a soft press. No response. He touched his hand, sliding a finger over his smooth skin. No warmth, no vitality of life. Yet, he wasn’t lying next to a stiff corpse. Annatar’s body moved beneath the pressure of his hands, lax, like someone only newly dead.
Or, Celebrimbor shuttered, like a body preserved past the stages of rigor. Older memories pushed for attention, as though he had not relived them enough, reviewed them for hours on end at the slightest reminder. He was barely a boy when his grandfather died, left sitting alone with his body for days on end while all his family hunted for justice.
Celebrimbor looked at Annatar’s body. He felt no fear, no revulsion at laying in bed with a corpse. There was only that dull, familiar ache of seeing someone dead who had but a short time ago been vital and full of life. Beneath that feeling, around it, all encompassing, was a longing to be close again, to not be forced into a final farewell too early.
He traced the side of his hand along Annatar’s jaw, a tender caress for someone who would still appreciate it. He kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, all tender passion. His mouth reached Annatar’s neck, teeth and tongue joined his lips, heated, desperate. Their bodies entwined, a remembrance of what they did before, until teeth broke skin.
He watched the clothes burn away to ash until all he had left was the sash. It, alone of all the clothes, was unsoiled with blood. He’d untied it from Annatar’s waist and discarded it onto the floor when they began so he could touch his stomach and explore. He’d forgotten about it in the horror of realizing what he did, in the panicked scramble to the bathing room to scrub at the dried blood, black in the starlight, until his own joined it in the basin, where he cried so hard he threw up. He calmed down after that, enough to realize he had to hide what remained, had to keep everyone from finding out what he did. He returned to his room, gathered the clothes and bedding stiffening with drying blood. He had a place to hide them, lock them up safe. He took them to his workroom, entrusted them to the heavy wardrobe, and it wasn’t until he came back and saw his room in the light of day that he found the sash, half tucked under the bed. He’d put it with everything else, but so late it never stained, so now it sat coiled in his hand, the last piece to go. He threw it on the coals, relieved to see it gone.
A great plume of black smoke spewed forth as the fabric twisted upon itself, whatever unknown fibers within reacting to the searing heat. He covered his eyes and covered his nose, coughing as the smoke burned his lungs, a final jab of toothless retribution for what he’d done to the sash’s owner. Then, the smoke was gone, and with it the last trace that Annatar ever came to Eregion.
Or rather, one particular elf (Tyelperinquar, also known as Celebrimbor) decides to be (understandably) petty and is about as dramatic about it as the rest of his family. Which is to say, very.
Small, crack, fic that combines a variety of prompts for @silvergiftingweek
Words: 5,886 || Rating: Gen || Ship: Silvergifting (Implied) Angbang
Featured charcters: Tyelperinquar/Celebrimbor, Sauron/Anntar/Mairon, Melkor/Morgoth, minor character mentions like the rest of Celebrimbor's family and his variety of sort-of-cousins who are all done with his drama.
Not my usual style of writng, certainly quite edgier than what I usually write (or so I think) but hopefully very enjoyable.
Have a nice day/night! <3
There was something truly strange, when one reconsidered the First Song that Illuvatar wove.
Compared to now, at least, where Morgoth and Sauron were free to do as they wish, yet chose to keep amongst themselves somewhere in the vast world that was as familiar as it was new.
Tyelperinquar sighed softly, watching a pair of white birds soared high over the town square, dancing in the air currents that the carried them off higher and higher until even his elven eyes could not see them.
"What has you so thoughtful?" Uncle Tyelko rumbled, sitting down next to him, leaning close enough that their shoulders jostled but far enough that it was clear he was ready to give space if needed.
Tyelperinquar clicked his tongue, turning his gaze into the waters that rippled down the fountain, two fingers dipping in to feel the brief jolt of coolness. It was a warm day, and sitting on the side of the fountain allowed him to see everyone mingle together, laugh and shout and play, a multitude of voices as calming as it was overwhelming.
"I think you already know, Uncle," Tyelperinquar said softly, nudging his Uncle back and shuffling a bit closer so that he could lean against his Uncle's warm and strong body, steady as the earth.
His Uncle hummed lowly, a deep rumbling sound that was more suited for a dwarven descendant than an elves.
"What do you plan to do?" He asked, "There is but two days until this feast where Melkor and Mairon finally show their face after all these long peaceful years."
"They won't do anything," Tyelperinquar said.
"But someone else might," Tyelko said, huffing. "Maedhros is already growing white hairs from stress, and Fingon's just on the edge of falling over as well."
Tyelperinquar gaze jerked up to his Uncle's in alarm, but his Uncle smiled, a soft if slightly mischievous one.
"Goodness," Tyelperinquar grumbled, leaning his head onto his uncle's shoulder. "I thought there might be cause for another intervention."
A warm well-muscled arm slung across his shoulders and he sighed, sinking deeper into the familiar embrace of his Uncle who tugged on parts of his hair, chuckling.
"You know your haru and haruni will handle it," Tyelko said, "And if not them then we will. Don't stress too much when we've already got people ready."
Tyelperinquar tried to hide his pout but judging by his Uncle's face, it wasn't very successful.
They stayed in silence a long time, just listening to the hustle band bustle of Tyelperinquar's sector in this new world, a place where Men, Dwarves and Elves mingled more than any other's. Where the joy of crafting and its teachers were centred here in many, many institutions of knowledge, freely given and freely sought.
Their races and diversity was reflected their various tongues that were spoken on a daily basis, and where other's grew up with one of two languages, here it could be as much as six depending on how they married or interacted with their neighbours. Tyelperinquar was deeply fond and proud, if slightly bittersweet, about his reign here. It was the definition of it takes a village to raise a child and yet…
So had Ost-in-Edhil.
And there he had someone who he considered as his, someone who matched him, who exceeded him at times, They had brought the other higher and higher and higher. When the fall finally came, it had been a hard, fast and cruel.
"So…" His Uncle drawled, retrieving his arm to rummage around his pouches, pulling out small carving tools and a small piece of basswood, excellent for hand carving.
Tyelperinquar sighed deeply and tilted is head back, feeling the sun warm on his face.
"So," he at last said, "Mairon's coming back. And I currently feel nothing about it."
"My ears are always open," his Uncle commented, the soft shick shick of a knife filling in the silence.
When Tyelperinquar opened his eyes, he saw the ragged old cloth that his Uncle had spread across his legs, catching all the larger pieces of shavings.
"I mean it," Tyelperinquar said. "I truly feel nothing. Now, at the very least. I'm not sure about on the day itself but-" He turned his gaze away and sighed again.
"But you feel like you should react more to it," His uncle finished, "That everyone else is not so subtly trying to ask if you're okay and what they could do for you that it feels like you're lying when you say you truly are alright."
"Please Uncle," Tyelperinquar let out a puff of breath, watching as a stray lock of hair flew away from his face before faling back down, tickling his nose. "Atya's meant to be the crafty one."
"He's been doing it as well," His Uncle rightly concluded with narrowed eyes, hands stilling.
"It's fine," Tyelperinquar said. "Truly, I don't mind. It'll probably be useful once I actually do start panicking on the day."
"Of all the people you had to copy it had to be Maedhros," Tyelko sighed, fondness coating his voice at his brother's name.
"He's not that bad," Tyelperinquar protested. Sure, Maedhros as an infinite well of calm on days preceding an event, but once the day actually started, or rather the night before it started, he would be lose that calmness and turn into a jittery sort of mess that was barely noticeable, except for people who knew him for a very very long time.
Often there was nothing more they could do for Maedhros, only after they had waited out the day, and the following days after, give him as much space as he needed, often a fluctuation between nothing at all, please leave me alone to being at the bottom of the cuddle pile with Fingon, underneath his brothers and most likely also with Elrond and Elros who would, often but not always, show up unannounced.
"He might be a bit bad," Tyelperinquar relented.
Tyelko snorted loudly.
It was the day of the feast hailing the start of the Second Song, a once every decade event where everybody for mall races, Ainur, Men, Dwarven and Elven, would come together to dance and celebrate new beginnings.
Historically speaking, Melkor and Mairon, once know as the Dark Vala Morgoth and the Second Dark Lord Sauron, only attended the very first event where they made verbal concessions and apologies, a general than more specifically tailroed one to the House of Finwe. They then preceded to skip every following one much to the confused pleasure and distrust of the general populace.
Until today, of course.
The issue here, that Tyelperinquar found, was that he had prepared himself to be a moping, sulking elf, possibly on the verge of or having a few, quite understandable, breakdowns over his former lover and murderer.
But he wasn't.
Instead, he was feeling extremely petty and that was not good.
When such a fey mood struck him it was not good for anyone.
He winced as he recalled the hellfire that followed after he had lost control over his patience and tongue and sent half his family, including his extended family, into tears, the other half into stunned horrified silence. To say he had felt horrible after that was the understatement of the century. Tyelperinquar had spent a good chunk of the following decades being overly frantic in gifts and words, despite the fact most of them had forgiven them at most after a week. The outlier was Aegnor who already did not have a good opinion of him because he was of the House of Feanor, but for what other reasons he did not know. But it was alright because they saw each other once in a blue moon, and exchanged a sentence or two every century or so.
"Eru help me," he uttered to himself, staring at his wardrobe and planned outfit.
He had originally wanted something similar to his family, elven in style, not very ostentatious, at least compared to the rest of his family.
But now…
Well. Tyelperinquar was a very fast thinker. Mairon was a Maia, after all that as the whole push and pull between them. An elf and a maia, together? Unthinkable until Thingol and Melian, but even their story did not end happily, in Middle-Earth anyways. There were rumours cropping up that they occasionally had spats here and here but always reconciled. Tyelperinquar believed that wholeheartedly because it was what he and Annatar, Mairon, had done up until he was betrayed then fell.
Maia had very specific designs that denoted them. Not on purpose, the majority of them, but of those that follow, or followed, Aule, they often had white sparks or sparkles underneath their eyes, which were often edges with what could be simplified as flames. They could wear their hair in any style because they were Maia and thus the usual properties of something like hair did not affect them.
Small diamonds that reflected light wondrously would work. He had a jar of face glue after… what was it? Elrond or Ereinion had forgotten an event and had to hurriedly borrow on theme clothes, makeup and other accessories to be glued on. They had left it in his room and never asked for it back. Ah, politics. He had been glad to pass that whole mess onto his Uncles and father and dedicated himself to rebuilding Ost-in-Edhil in spirit with many of his friends from all walks of life.
He dressed himself first, the base layers were the same as his original plan, pure white underclothes, and skirts layered orange and red organza on top to create a shifting fire-like effect. Tyelperinquar stared for a moment, then removed two layers, placing a third, almost opaque, shimmery if oddly patterned pearl layer on. Then, when replacing the last two, he stared at the produced effect, twisting his hips to see the way the fabric moved and fell. The added layer brought an unpredictable lightening of colours as he moved, more closely mimicking the every shifting and sparking nature of some Maia.
"Excellent," he murmured to himself and quickly wore the top layers, the outer most designed with butterfly shaped sleeves and high collared, quite similar to what he usually wore only that the embroidery was more detailed with white, gold, and orange abstract shapes weaving across where the hem lines were. Uncle Amrod and Amras had sewed tiny crystals that could only be seen if one was standing at an unacceptable socially close distance. From far away the effect would be like small embers, ones that flicker into visible spectrum of elves, then disappear whenever he moved. Would Maia be able to tell the difference on first glance? A chance but Tyelperinquar was known as Feanor's grandson who inherited a similar, fiery spirit.
Layers of long silk shawls, were draped around his shoulders and covered his arms in the same colours as his skirts as per his original plan. A large gold sash was wrapped from his left shoulder down to his right hip and around his waist, a style that his eldest uncle preferred but was also a signature style of the Maia of Aule. He left it like that, only adding many chains of white around his waist that were the width of a hair, improbably thin and delicate that his haru had made.
Debating whether or not he ought to wear bracelets or bangles, in one fluid move he donned the half cape that Uncle Moryo had made, a long wing shaped piece of light but strong cloth that was Feanorian red with a bright saturated gold embroidery that was done in the shape of a bird's wings. Something closer to the Haradrim myths of a great fire bird. The chains holding the half-cape were easily hidden under the golden sash and with a simple twirl, the long length of the cape accentuated his, ridiculous by elven standards, height, and in dance no doubt it would draw the eye for it took a mastery level of dancing to move not just around the fabric but with it.
"Praise Celebrian and her insistence with dancing," he said, smiling brightly.
If it were not for his cousin, he would not have bothered to learn any form of dance, having been more than content in his art in anything forge related. Now, they had weekly sessions together, alongside their other cousins who would either join in dancing or would play new pieces of music or instruments.
Makeup was easy enough, Erestor had taken a fascination with it and had asked to practice on Tyelperinquar, and between the both of their secret sessions, they had quickly become proficient in it. Maybe not up the level as someone say as Finrod who was a master of illusion not just with his music but also with these face paints. He had heard, from Elrond at the very least who had unfortunately encountered them during a session, that Erestor and Glorfindel took a great pleasure in the pleasures that the makeup provided.
In Ost-in-Edhil, Tyelperinquar had taken to wearing a dark eyeliner of sorts, having found the practise amongst Men intriguing enough to try and continue doing. Annatar had found great pleasure in that as well, often remarking at how it only accentuated the bright light of his eyes, and whether or not he meant the parts of the fea which could sometimes be seen through the elven eye or the light of the Trees, he did not know.
But now, in a new Song, there was no remainder of what had once been the Trees. A relic of the past, that now no one had but in memory.
Tyelperinquar considered himself before the mirror, and then the face paints which he had accumulated. A pure white would not look right, but mimicking the same colour scheme for the rest of his outfits would be too repetitive. Once upon a time, he had teased his lover about the great pride and intricacy in which he took his appearance, but well, the both of them were vain hypocrites.
Bringing an element of purple or red-purple would be eye-catching. Just flickers of it, not too much otherwise it may look like a bruise as it did he first time he had tried on Erestor. They had laughed about it then, but had perfected the hand motion to ensure a better more efficient coverage…
Black eye liner like in Ost-in-Edhil, but with sharp corners, a larger wing at the end of his eyes and a smaller down-turned point in the corner of his eyes, mimicking the eye shape of a bird of prey, those that Ereinion loved to breed and train.
Overall, his whole appearance was extravagant and Maia-like, bordering on ostentatious but as per usual in his family, well-familiar in how to toe that line perfectly.
"Eru help us," Elrond sighed, one hand hovering above his face but not quite pinching his nose because he had makeup on.
"I can explain," Tyelperinquar said, looking back down just to make sure he wore the correct arm jewellery, a gold arm band, silver and gold bangles with various shades of green gems to offset the very warm colour scheme he had going on. Around his necklace, he quickly clipped necklaces of emerald and white stones of various rareness.
All made by either his hand or his families.
"I think I can guess already," Elrond sighed deeply. "How much do I want to do an intervention today?"
"Focus on Maedhros," Tyelperinquar said. "He's the one that will be panicking most about everything."
"Elros is already doing that," Elrond countered.
His cousin had dressed himself in whites and blues, like that of an ocean shore with white embroidery that looked like the froth that comes when the waves meet the shore. Bright white and blue sharp eyeshadow with the slight shimmer of pearl dust across his eyelids and cheeks brought out the fair warm colour of Elrond's skin. His jewellery were a mix of white and silver metals with simple repetitive shapes like twists or hammered feather like patterns, or of rope and seashells that were of various colours, white, some pinks and browns, a few glimmering rainbow which could be from the shells of mussels or clams or whatever other ones there were. That spoke a little of Cirdan and not doubt Ereinion and Celebrian were wearing something similar, a unity in their partnership. On his forehead was a simple silver circlet with one large stone in the middle. It was, overall, a very Elwing and Earendil look so it meant today he was going to play the symbol of the son of hope.
"Is the circlet meant to mimic the silmaril?" Tyelperinquar asked, tilting his head and putting on small dangling silver earrings.
"Yes," His cousin agreed, stepping further into the room with quiet, almost ghost like, footsteps. "Haru made it for me."
"Excellent," Tyelperinquar said, clapping his hands, "No one can try and say anything if Haru was the one who did it."
"Are you not going to braid your hair?" Elrond asked, crossing his arms, faint clinking and jangling coming from where his jewellery hit each other.
"Well," Tyelperinquar said, "I did not consider doing more than this."
He showed the end of his long hair, gathered into a simple gold band at the height of his knees. It had the faint engraving of the Star of Feanor but other than that, nothing overtly showcased he was from that House, except, possibly, the eccentric nature of his own dress style.
"You look like a Maia," Elrond commented, shaking his head when Tyelperinquar beamed brightly in response.
"At least drape a hair net over your hair," his cousin sighed. "Here come on I'll help you. Eru knows why, you're going to break our streak of not causing any trouble."
"You're smart enough to know," Tyelperinquar informed him, and sat down quite pleased with himself.
Elrond sighed again, and muttered, "Unfortunately," but obediently placed a hair net of silver onto Tyelperinquar's mainly unbound hair, pining it in place with smaller silver jewellery.
"Thank you, Cousin," he said, reaching out to smother his younger cousin in a hug. Despite Elrond's muffled sigh, he returned the hug back.
"I would say stop playing with fire," Erestor said from behind them, "But quite frankly I have a rather morbid curiosity to see where this is heading."
"I don't know either," Tyelperinquar informed him cheerfully and pulled him into the hug as well despite his grumbling protests.
When he entered, heads turned.
Tyelperinquar kept a neutral, is disinterested face, gliding into the hall, his shoes silent even on the hard tiled floor. His clothes flowed around him as he moved, elegant and graceful and movements not quite elven- Maia for all they could mimic an elven form did not, not without practice and someone telling them, know how the hip and shoulders worked together when elves, or really, any non-Maiar, walked.
"Tyelpe," Maedhros said with narrowed eyes.
"Uncle," He greeted back with a cool tone, eyebrow raised at his atya who was a few people down, scowling even as he drank another sip of dark wine.
"He's doing fine," Maedhros said quietly, "Just worried about you."
"He's staring at me currently," Tyelperinquar commented. Maedhros shook his head and sighed, his shoulders falling down and no longer fully tensed.
"You had a plan," Maedhros said ruefully, "And did not follow it. Curvo is too in his head to realise that was a possible avenue."
Smirking, Tyelperinquar reached out to grab a glass of wine himself, wary of the decorative metal claws that he had chosen to wear very last-minute. They were silver and sharp enough to cut paper, but curled beautifully in a way that slimmed his broad, forge-worthy, fingers.
"What you're saying is he does not yet recognise me," Tyelperinquar said.
"Yet," Maedhros added quickly, "He does not recognise you yet."
"I'm well aware of how I act, thank you Uncle," Tyelperinquar said, "And you need not worry about me snubbing my atya for some reason, this is merely a… hhm. How shall I say this? It has nothing to do with him, quite frankly."
"Which only makes me more worried," his Uncle murmured, swirling his glass, by the smell cranberry juice, and took a small sip, the bright red-pink staining his pale lips a bit.
Tyelperinquar asked, having already made up his mind once he spotted Manwe conversing with a rather elven looking dark haired fellow that looked identical to him, if sharper and more prone to frowning, "How are the rest of your brothers doing? How many days has it been, since a last family scandal?"
Immediately, Maedhros eyes snapped up and his mind immediately started flickering back and forth the room scanning for his brothers and seeing who exactly they're were conversing to, not noticing Tyelperinquar slipping away towards where the majority of the Valar were, easily depositing his undrunk wine into a server's tray.
Poor Maedhros. Tyelperinquar did feel a bit bad about deceiving him so easily.
Mairon, who Tyelperinquar had immediately clocked the moment he stepped into the ballroom, was mingling around Aule's Maiar on the far right side, directly opposite to where Tyelperinquar had entered. His back was turned to Tyelperinquar and he appeared to be deeply engrossed in a conversation with another Maia.
"Excuse me," Tyelperinquar said, bowing before Manwe and his brother in tha way Maia did to their Masters.
Elves technicality did the same bow, but there were some twisting movements that most elven bodies couldn't do naturally. Like Celegorm, Tyelperinquar had been gifted with a rather concerning amount of flexibility.
Manwe peered down at him with appraising eyes and his brother, Melkor, did the same, though the small furrow was still present in between his eyebrows.
"And you are?" Melkor asked, voice soft and deep like the rumble of a volcanoes about to spew noxious gas and magma into the air. Tyelperinquar had seen it once, when he and his atya alongside a few other elves went to survey a nearby site for more ores.
He brought one clawed hand forward, palm up, an offering.
Lips turned up into a charming smile, Tyelperinquar said sweetly, "Someone who is interested to dance with you."
Valar did not have the same facial movements as other beings, but the fluctuations in energy around them were enough to register notes of surprise and wariness.
"Now why would you do that?" Melkor asked, tilting his head to peer down at Tyelperinquar with dark smouldering eyes. His tone was dismissive, cold, not something a potential partner wants to hear to an offer.
Tyelperinquar pushed through anyway smiling in a way that he knew dazzled even Maiar, the benefits of having his families above average, almost unnaturally so, good looks.
"Curiosity," he said truthfully, "And, I hope, an interesting and enlightening conversation, should you desire as such."
"And if I don't?" Melkor asked.
"Then merely say so," Tyelperinquar said. "And I shall leave you be."
Melkor couldn't, not if he was anything remotely similar to Annatar, walk away from this. Such a curiosity like Tyelperinquar would niggle at their minds, would make them return back to this moment for a long, long, time.
"I don't see why not," Melkor said slowly, glancing at his brother who merely shifted minutely, cloudy robes shimmering a darker greyer colour than it's original bright white blue. An indication of his mood perhaps. The Valar had become more attune to their own lack of identifiable emotions and how that disturbed those lesser than them.
Tyelperinquar beamed.
"Excellent," he said, "Shall I lead or you?"
"I can," Melkor said with such confidence that Tyelperinquar knew he knew absolutely nothing about dancing.
It was the exact same, arrogant and self-assured tone that Annatar had used before, and though he might not have known how to dance, he could feel the fluctuations in the air that indicated where someone was going to move to, an inherent understanding of the body and its electrical currents and something only a Maia, or in Tyelperinquar's current case, a Vala, would do.
A new song started, and Melkor gently placed his hand on top of Tyelperinquar's and they joined the dancers, situated on the fringes of the majority. It was a slow, romantic melody, one of those that his Uncle Maglor would play on warm nights with cool breezes that tousled their hair and clothes, with stars twinkling brightly above them as the bustling bright cities far beneath them.
They danced, and by the twentieth bar, Tyelperinquar had grown tied of being patient and asked forthrightly, "Do you know who I am?"
"I presume you desire an apology?" Melkor said, tossing his head, a fair form with inky waves, and relatively short compared to usual elven ones anyway. It wasn't to quite a Mannish haircut because that meant it had been cut, and the ends of his hair was… not quite ends as it were faint wisps of what looked like smoke, not quite distinct.
"No," Tyelperinquar replied, chuckling softly. "For you, nothing to me. But my family? Oh, the less said the better. Afterall, tonight is one for reconciliations is it not?"
They had slowly been circling the room, following the rest of the crowd of dancers, and here it was that Mairon finally, finally recognised Tyelperinquar.
It took everything Tyelperinquar had not to laugh, not to break the politicians mask he had been so carefully holding together. But oh, the pure unfiltered shock that spread across Mairon's face was one for the history books!
Where previously he had only be looking with glances that spoke of aesthetic attraction, a keen mind admiring Tyelperinquar 's carefully placed together appearance, and also curiosity for this was Melkor's one of a few dances, possibly ever.
Melkor was now facing where Mairon stood, and quite easily caught the uncharacteristic break in Mairon's composure, and his eyes grew just the slightest bit wide, his eyebrows making that small furrow again, mouth pursued in what appeared to be concern, a surprisingly endearing facial change.
"Is something amiss?" Tyelperinquar asked softly, making sure that his glance was solely focused on Melkor, that it was only through occasional glimpses through dancing or his peripheral vision that he could see Mairon.
"Now what makes you say that?" Melkor asked, smiling beatifically. It was ugly in its insincerity but ah, Tyelperinquar had been quite insincere for the majority of his time in this ballroom. Politics, and all.
"You appear distracted," Tyelperinquar said, "And quite frankly I do not blame you. After all-" A turn and yes, there was his haru, Feanor who was not clutching a wine glass anymore because he had clearly shattered it -"A particular elf seems focused on you."
Another turn and Melkor could easily pinpoint Feanor's incensed and horrified expression. Maedhros who had his back turned, quickly snapped his head around to stare at whatever had captured his atya's attention and froze, mouth agape. Just as fast, the turn ended and all Tyelperinquar could hear for the next second was a loud, visceral swear from his Uncle once his eyes aught onto Tyelperinquar.
"Oh dear," Tyelperinquar remarked lightly.
"Oh dear indeed," Melkor said, sighing. "I had hoped this night to be a little less confrontational, but alas, it seems as I thought."
"Oh no," Tyelperinquar said as their dance was coming back to the end, back where they began. "It's not, surprisingly, about you this time."
Melkor snorted, an abrupt loud sound that was felt more like him than any of the cautious hedging around the had been doing the whole dance.
"See," Tyelperinquar continued even as he could see Mairon bring both his hands to cover his face but fingers spread so he could still see the both of them, "It's me, that my family is concerned about."
Immediately, Melkor assessed him, like a commander about to go to war. They let go of each other, eyes dragging over the other critically as the fading notes of the band lingered softly in the air, that slight lessening of noise before the climatic finish.
"You're family?" Melkor asked, frowning. "But you are-"
Here he paused and the air stilled into that unnatural level that only Ainur could create. It was too early to stop for a dance an so an incoming pair of dancers halted inelegantly, a ripple effect across part of the room.
"You are not a Maia," Melkor remarked, surprise making his voice oddly soft.
"Brother-" Came Manwe's astonished gasp, and it was like half the room gasped with him.
Tyelperinquar threw his head and cackled.
"Come now!" He said, smiling fiercely with white teeth bared at Melkor. "Do you truly not recognise my face? After all, it is quite like my haru's and you and he have quite the history. But as I said before, tonight is one of reconciliation, so-"
One hand quickly snatching a nearby wine glass off a servant's tray, he raised it high, looking directly at Mairon who he had loved, and still did love.
Tyelperinquar lowered his voice, to a low croon that resonated across most of the room the crowd who were deathly quiet, "To new beginnings," And drained the glass in one smooth motion.
He bowed, then turned his back and strode off towards where his cousins were congregating, all of them having identical looks of disapproval, depositing the empty wineglass into a staring server's tray. He flashed the elf a polite smile, sighed when the response he got back was almost broken glass from how badly the server's hands started shaking.
"Cousins," he greeted.
"Tyelperinquar," Elrond said in the most parental voice he had which, considering his many many children and considering it was the exact same as Maglor and Maedhros', was quite effective.
"I don't even want to-" Ereinion started saying before shaking his head violently. Erestor had both his hands on his face, and Glorfindel was rubbing his shoulders with a hesitant if deeply concerned smile on his lips.
"Was that a good idea?" He asked and let out a huff of breath when everybody, including Tyelperinquar, just laughed.
"But it was fun," Tyelperinquar added, chuckling. He leaned a hip against he wall, where in his periphery he could still see Mairon who was staring at him with an intensity that would, if it had been in Ost-in-Edhil and had been before the betrayal, have been the end of most public plans and the start of… more private ones.
It was deeply pleasing the effect Tyelperinquar still had on Mairon.
No doubt it was one of the reason why Mairon had killed him in the first place; he couldn't handle being unable to control what controlled him.
Celebrian laughed, shaking her head too, "Good gods, Cousin, you timing is absolute perfect as always. Just when I had finished saying you did not act like someone raised by the House of Feanor you go ahead and do that." At the final word, she brought her hand up in a flourish in the direction where the main dancing took place.
Tyelperinquar flashed a smile at his baby cousin.
"Well," he said, "It's has been sometime since I've caused a public scandal. How long do you think this one will last?"
Immediately all of his cousins started clamouring, and Erestor brought out a notebook to start recording answers and jotting down the betting pool numbers.
"Really nephew?" His Uncle Tyelk drawled, a dark deep sound that was meant to sound intimidating but, having been raised by him, Tyelperinquar knew was one of deep fondness if extremely ruthful as well.
"Really," Tyelperinquar said, grinning. "It's been a while since I've been petty."
"Oh that makes a whole to more sense," Idirl sighed, clapping him on a shoulder. "Sauron right? Or well Annatar no wait it's Mairon now, isn't it?"
"Mairon's his preferred name now," Tyelperinquar said, "But quite frankly, he's been keeping to himself for so long it's very hard to know any more about his current preferences."
"Are you telling me that this was your attempt at a lover's spat?" Curufin's voice, dark and trembling, sounded from behind Tyelperinquar's back.
Tyelperinquar didn't sigh because that would only infuriate his atya more.
"A bit more than a lover's spat," Tyelperinquar said lightly, "But essentially, yes."
"It was, technically speaking, a politically savvy move," said Maedhros who had immediately started striding over to the group, once he conduced Tyelperinquar and Melkor's dance had almost finished.
"Only on the barest of margins" he added, glaring lightly, "You could have been a little less dramatic about it."
"And a lot less poking the sleeping warg," he finished. "Please don't ever enter the political sphere again, I will get on my knees and beg, if only preserve the sanity of the rest of our court and people."
"Don't be so dramatic Mae," Tyelko said, clucking his tongue, "You know Tyelperinquar has no desire for such matters."
"Like yourself," Maedhros sighed, "He might no desire as such but has enough wits to make a splash so to speak. The one difference is that you do it with Curvo, and he does it by himself."
"The lot of us did raise him," Tyelko said shrugging. "Honestly, I'm surprised that was all he did."
"All he did?" Curufin interrupted snarling.
"At the most simplest form, it was literally just dancing," Tyleko said dryly. "The public seems more than content with that, surprisingly."
"And politically speaking, as you will know Curvo, once you take two seconds to calm yourself down," AMedhros said, "That was a good move because it cements the whole point of this event."
"I don't know," Ereinion said, "Feanor looked right angry once he caught sight."
"He'll calm down, eventually," Tyelperinquar said waving his hand dismissively. "Haruni can do that, that is of course, she isn't also terribly mad at me as well and then I might be somewhat grounded for the next century of so."
"Oh you are so grounded," Curufin hissed, before taking a deep breath, closing his eyes and pinching his nose. Tyelkormo draped a consolidatory arm around him and squeezed him in that half-hug way.
"Melkor," Curufin muttered, "Fucking Melkor and it wasn't even about him."
"Nope," Tyelperinquar said. "Not at all."
Melkor and Mairon were a pair, always, since the start of the Second Song. Never one without the other, when people were able to catch sight of them.
Dancing with Melkor was purposefully, provokingly, messy towards Mairon. Messy in terms of his own emotions, in politics, in his relationship with his Vala, in general everything really.
And for a Maia who followed orderliness to his own detriment, oh how that would rankle him.
"Do you think it's too early for me to duck out?" Tyelperinquar mused, hand reaching for another wine glass.
"Just for your information," Maedhros said slowly as Tyelperinquar took a small sip of rather rank red wine, "Your- ah. Ex-maia partner is approaching."
"Oh that one," Tyelperinquar said, not turning back to glance at the supposedly approaching Mairon. "Am I supposed to care?"
"Your actions speak a lot louder than your words do," his atya muttered furiously.
Elrond sighed deeply and placed his head into his hands.
Here we go, last day of silvergiftingweek. I thought to create a playlist about the boys, based on mood and mood only. The songs could apply to canon but also to possible AUs/canon divergences (if you squint)
Tags: First Kiss, Identity Issues, Emotional Manipulation
Summary:
“So why not?” Annatar coaxed.
Celebrimbor’s cheeks had gone deliciously pink, his fingers drumming absently on the table. He shrugged. “Perhaps it is just that nobody has caught my eye.”
“No?” Annatar raised his eyebrows. He took in the nervous tension radiating from Celebrimbor, the shifting eyes that could not seem to stay focused on him for any longer than a few seconds before flitting away. He slid to the edge of his seat, closing the distance Celebrimbor had just created. “I don’t believe you."
***
Annatar is curious about why Celebrimbor has not wed.
