Chapter Text
The scent of smoke and iron greeted Annatar as he entered Celebrimbor’s workshop. Most would shun the sweltering heat, but the Maia was accustomed to such extremes. After centuries relegated to the arctic wastelands of the north, the scorching warmth of a forge was a welcome reprieve.
“I came to see how our work is progressing,” he called out over the echoing hammers of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, their metallic ostinato steady and invigorating.
Celebrimbor was leaning over a table covered in parchment, and his soot stained face looked up at this greeting, lips forming an affectionate grin. “I’m afraid our supply of mithril is running low. We shall have to appeal to Khazad-dûm before the month’s end.”
Annatar swept across the room with otherworldly grace. His smile did not quite reach his eyes, but Celebrimbor hardly noticed. The Elf’s gaze was already trailing down the Maia’s body with blatant admiration. Annatar had chosen a beautiful form for this exact purpose, crafted to entice and distract. Thankfully, the smith was drawn to beauty in all its guises, a trait that made him an ideal target. The rulers of Lindon had turned the Maia away, suspicious of the fair stranger claiming to be an emissary of the Valar. The Lord of Eregion, however, had eagerly welcomed Annatar, Lord of Gifts, into his realm, fueled by lust and ambition alike.
“So soon?” the Maia inquired, voice velvety soft. His eyes descended to the parchment strewn across the table even as he leaned in close to the Elven smith.
“We have been testing a variety of alloys, but so far none have withstood the process,” Celebrimbor informed him. “Mithril has proven to be a fickle ore indeed.”
Annatar permitted calloused hands to wrap around his waist, drawing him in as the smith placed a kiss upon his pale throat. Celebrimbor’s lips were hot against his already warm flesh.
“And yet…” he murmured in a sweet, seductive tone. “You have wasted precious metal intended for rings…on runes ?”
The Elf’s mouth withdrew, and he glanced down at the notes in Annatar’s hand. He seemed surprised by the Maia’s admonishment.
“ Ithildin ,” Celebrimbor corrected him. He gathered the parchment into a pile, then stowed it out of sight. “Something I’ve been working on with Narvi…and the use of mithril to further that invention is not a waste . Aside from the ingenuity of our efforts, this joint venture will continue to foster friendship between Elves and Dwarves. A friendship that has benefitted Eregion greatly as of late…”
Annatar reached out to grasp the smith’s leather apron, pulling the Elf in close with a possessive smile. He did not like competing for Celebrimbor’s attention, especially with some pesky Dwarf.
“I have nothing against collaborating with our allies, but do not let these side projects distract you from more important work.”
Celebrimbor’s breath hitched when Annatar's lips hovered close to his own. The Maia could feel the firm muscles hidden beneath protective leather, and he basked in the power he held over a great Elven lord.
“The rings will be your greatest work of all…” he purred. “A triumph that will put even the creations of Fëanor himself to shame. All of Middle-earth shall sing your praises, but only if…you focus and finish our work.”
Annatar watched Celebrimbor’s pupils dilate at these enticing promises, and he tugged down on the apron, lips capturing the smith’s in a slow, intentional collision. Celebrimbor groaned into his mouth, firm hands grasping at the Maia’s slender frame like a starved man.
Annatar knew his pristine garments would bear black handprints after this embrace, but he set aside his desire for order. He would gladly allow the Lord of Eregion to sully his perfection in order to achieve his goals. Unlike the shadow that marred the Maia’s very soul, soot was a stain that could easily be purged.
He let his mouth fall open in a soft gasp, thrilled by the Elf’s desire for him, and just as Celebrimbor’s tongue delved past parted lips, the flame roaring between them was doused by the sound of a clearing throat.
“Pardon the interruption, Lord Celebrimbor.” A penitent guard stood upon the threshold, eyes downcast. His awkwardly formal demeanor revealed that he had seen much of what had transpired between the smith and his advisor.
“Yes, what is it?” Celebrimbor asked impatiently.
“Your cousin has arrived,” the guard informed him. “She awaits you in the garden, my lord.”
The Elven smith’s demeanor changed in an instant, and his hands withdrew from the Maia, wiping blackened fingers clean with a discarded rag. “Excellent! Bring us to her immediately.”
The loss of Celebrimbor’s touch was an inconvenience, but Annatar’s curiosity overshadowed his irritation. “Your cousin?”
“The Lady Galadriel,” Celebrimbor informed him as they began to follow the guard down the corridor.
Annatar hesitated at this stab of recognition. He was familiar with the Noldorin princess mainly by reputation. He had met her many centuries ago when she was a pupil of Aulë…before the Maia bound himself to a different master and left Valinor forever, but their paths had never crossed in Middle-earth itself.
“What brings her to Eregion?” Annatar inquired. He doubted Galadriel would recognize him in this new form, but her kin had proven to be a formidable threat to him in the past.
“She and her husband have been seeking a realm to call their home,” Celebrimbor replied cheerfully. “So I invited them to join me in Ost-in-Edhil at their earliest convenience.”
Sunshine accosted the pair of smiths as they stepped outside, its bright light blinding compared to the red glow of the forge. The scent of flowers permeated the air, sickeningly sweet. The Maia spent little time in this floral oasis. He had always preferred the order of a well maintained workshop over the unpredictable domain of nature.
Chaos was not to be trusted, no matter how beautiful it may be.
A lithe figure clad in white came into view when they rounded a tall hedge. Long blonde hair gleamed amid the greenery, golden waves rustling in the breeze as a slender hand extended to caress a sunlit bloom. A moment of serenity before an approaching storm.
At the sound of their approach, the figure slowly turned, and Annatar’s gait faltered. Shining gray eyes landed upon him, piercing swift and deep. This perilously fair creature was not the naive Elven maiden he had met long ago. Centuries of pain and strife had sharpened Galadriel into a powerful beauty like a whetstone refining a blade’s edge.
“Welcome, Galadriel!” Celebrimbor greeted his cousin with open arms, and her gaze shifted over to the Elven smith, softening into something less dangerous.
“Celebrimbor…” She embraced her kinsman with a radiant smile. “When you described Eregion in your letters, you failed to convey its splendor. Your modesty surprises me.”
The Lord of Eregion chuckled. “I am so pleased you finally decided to grace my realm with your presence, dear cousin.”
“My apologies.” Galadriel shook her head in amusement, golden hair rippling with the movement. “Celeborn and I tarried in the Grey Havens longer than intended.”
“Speaking of which,” Celebrimbor interjected. “Where is that husband of yours? Surely he has accompanied you on your journey.”
“Celeborn has some matters to attend to in Lindon, but he will be joining me in Eregion by Midsummer.”
Annatar studied the Elf’s calm demeanor carefully, uncertain if this separation was a sign of marital strife. A husband’s absence might provide just enough leverage to pry them apart. The Maia was always eager to find chinks in armor.
As if she could read these scheming thoughts, Galadriel glanced in his direction, and her warm smile cooled.
Celebrimbor finally seemed to remember his companion, flushing with embarrassment. “Where are my manners? Galadriel, I’d like you to meet my…partner, Annatar.”
Galadriel watched as the smith placed a hand upon the Maia’s shoulder, her discerning eyes darting between the two of them as if deciphering a riddle. “Your partner?”
The question was laced with distrust, and Annatar knew he would have to lay the charm on thick to dispel the Elf’s suspicions.
“Merely an advisor,” he insisted with false modesty. “I may plant the seeds, but without Celebrimbor’s wisdom and skill, my humble ideas would never blossom and bear fruit.”
The smith preened at this praise, but Galadriel’s expression remained dubious. “Yes, I am sure the two of you have been cultivating quite the garden…”
Celebrimbor glanced at him, uncertain what to make of the strange animosity brewing.
“I am pleased to hear you will be taking up residence in Eregion, Lady Galadriel. You do us a great honor,” Annatar stated, eager to redirect the conversation. “I have heard rumors of your beauty, but I must confess they did not do you justice.”
The Noldor were a vain, ambitious lot, and he was certain Finarfin’s line was just as susceptible to flattery as that of Fëanor. Praise was the surest way to win her over.
The Maia held out an open palm, and Galadriel hesitated, gaze descending before extending her own hand.
“Indeed,” she replied enigmatically. “And what do the rumors say of my beauty? I am most curious to learn what Celebrimbor and others have told you about me…especially since I have heard nothing about you, Lord Annatar.”
He had not expected his compliment to elicit further inquiry, but he lightly grasped her fingers, bending down to plant a kiss upon her knuckles.
“They say that your hair is imbued with the light of the Two Trees…and that its beauty inspired Fëanor to craft the Silmarils themselves, my lady.”
He let his eyes linger on her face, his fingers reluctant to relinquish her hand. The Elf looked unsettled by the prolonged touch, but she did not withdraw, unwilling to show weakness to a potential enemy.
“In fact,” Annatar continued. “Rumor has it Fëanor coveted the light captured in your hair so greatly that he implored you for a single strand on more than one occasion.”
“And I refused my uncle every time.” Somehow Galadriel made a smile feel like a threat. “Would you like to know why?”
The Maia’s brow furrowed, intrigued by her fearless glare. “By all means, enlighten me, fair lady.”
“Because beauty is something that should be admired rather than possessed,” the Elf countered, eyes flashing with disdain. “And because I perceived a shadow in Fëanor that would lead to death and ruin…”
Annatar felt that same formidable perception fixed upon him. For one terrifying moment, Galadriel seemed to peer into the darkest depths of his very soul, and he yanked his hand away as though her touch might burn his flesh.
“Such a shadow often hides behind the fairest faces,” Galadriel continued ominously. “But I vowed I would not stand by and let the darkness wreak havoc on my people again…I swore I would be vigilant even after Morgoth’s demise.”
Hearing his former master’s name tumble from her lips was jarring, and he saw an echo of Morgoth’s wrath upon the Elf’s face, her beauty somehow enhanced by her loathing.
“Then we are blessed indeed to welcome the Lady of Light into our realm,” Annatar mused. “To aid us in our fight against the darkness.”
Galadriel turned to her cousin, smile returning as she reached out to take Celebrimbor’s hand. “I did not come to Eregion to fight. I came here to heal .”
Suddenly bereft of her harsh gaze, the Maia was desperate to reclaim her attention. “Ost-in-Edhil has many healing gardens. I would be more than happy to give you a tour of the city…to help you get better acquainted with its many wonders.”
He told himself this suggestion was a strategic one. Guiding Galadriel’s path was the only way to ensure she did not uncover secrets better left undisturbed.
Stormy gray eyes cut over to him once more. The haughty Elf was unimpressed by his offer. Her reaction confused the Maia. He had crafted this form to be his most pleasing, and yet Galadriel seemed entirely impervious to his charms.
“Are you certain my cousin could spare you for so long?” she teased. “I would hate to deprive him of his paramour.”
“I share in Celebrimbor’s work,” Annatar told her. “Nothing more.”
Galadriel’s gaze trailed down his robes, perusing the clusters of sooty fingerprints marking the pale fabric. “Forgive me, it has been many years since I stepped foot in a smithy, but I don’t recall the forging of metal being such intimate work…”
Celebrimbor blushed at this thinly veiled accusation. There was a glint of hurt when he met Annatar’s gaze. The smith knew the Maia did not wish to advertise the more sordid side of their relationship, but hearing his outright denial had stung like a true rejection.
“Perhaps we should save the tour for another day,” the Lord of Eregion interjected. He turned his back on Annatar and began to usher his cousin away. “You must be weary from your travels and eager for rest. Shall I escort you to your quarters, my lady?”
Galadriel’s fingers wrapped around Celebrimbor’s offered arm. “I am indeed. Thank you, cousin.”
Annatar sensed it would be wiser to accept this temporary defeat, better to make a tactical retreat and reconsider his strategy. He gave a deferential bow. “Then I shall take my leave of you both. Doubtless you have much to discuss after your time apart, and I would not wish to intrude on your reunion.”
“Very well,” Celebrimbor replied. “Return to the forge, there is still much to be done, and I would rest easier knowing you are there to oversee the work in my absence.”
The formality of his tone was a blow to the Maia’s ego. Somehow Galadriel’s mere presence had undermined his intimacy with the Elven smith in a matter of minutes.
“Of course, my lord,” Annatar said, eyes downcast in a display of servitude. He despised pretending to be subordinate to a lesser being, but it was a necessary ruse.
He hesitated before departing, risking another glance at the vengeful beauty on the smith’s arm. “I wish to extend a heartfelt welcome to you once more, Lady Galadriel…and if there is anything I can do to make your stay more…pleasurable, do not hesitate to summon me at your leisure.”
Galadriel smirked at this invitation. Her jaw tilted defiantly, golden hair catching the light as her gray eyes darkened. “A generous offer, Lord Annatar, but one I’m afraid I must decline. Your skills may be well suited to my cousin and his…work, but I doubt I could make use of your talents. If I do find myself in need of idle flattery delivered by a pretty face, I am confident a mirror will suffice.”
Never before had Annatar’s flirtations been met with such scorn. Outrage and arousal tangled like a knot in his gut as the stubborn beauty cast a scathing glare over her shoulder, and a terrible realization set in. He should resent Galadriel’s cruel words, and yet he found his body craved them instead.
“I understand.” He gave another bow, his pulse quickening at this demonstration of submission. “If my lady changes her mind, I am at her disposal. As always, I am eager to serve the Eldar in any way I can.”
The Elves paid him no mind, and he slunk back into the shadows as Celebrimbor led his cousin toward the guest wing. Annatar watched their departure in brooding silence, envious and enraged.
The severity of Galadriel’s rejection fascinated the Maia. The Elves of Lindon had also been suspicious of him, but even so, they had barred his entry with civility and grace. No one had spoken to him with such open contempt since Morgoth, and while he had derived some pleasure from his former master’s degradations, he had never yearned for the fallen Valar like this. The ferocity of the Elf’s ire only made Annatar even more determined to earn her favor.
Galadriel was a threat that could not be overlooked, an enemy best kept close. If the only way to placate the fearsome Elf was to endure her cruel words and petty glances, then Annatar would gladly bear her scorn. He would find a way to bend her to his will soon enough.
***
Galadriel leaned against a marble pillar, raising a goblet up to her lips as she surveyed the room. The wine was strong, and the cool stone felt heavenly against her flesh, counteracting the alcohol’s warming effects.
Celebrimbor had been kind enough to invite her to a dinner with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and she had no reason to refuse. Her cousin was a generous host as always, but as Galadriel lingered on the periphery, she realized that after weeks of residing in Eregion she still felt like an outsider.
Suddenly, she found herself missing Celeborn. She liked to tell herself that she was independent enough to survive on her own and secure enough in her marriage to endure his absence without fear. Still, that did not make her crave his companionship any less. Knowing Celeborn would return to her didn’t ease the present ache of her loneliness.
Laughter erupted from the other side of the chamber, drawing her eye and setting her nerves alight. Lord Annatar held no real title in Eregion, and yet he always seemed to be holding court, surrounded by a cluster of admirers. She despised how her cousin’s fellow smiths fawned over the arrogant stranger. Wise elders and clueless apprentices alike seemed to fall for his fair face and silver tongue. All of them were fools.
Annatar’s gaze drifted over to meet hers, and he gracefully lifted his own goblet in a wordless greeting. She hated his ability to sense when her eyes were upon him, and it irked her even more that he smiled at her like he had expected her attention. Begrudgingly, she raised her glass in return then drained the remainder of her wine in one gulp. The libation had tasted sweet only moments ago, but an acrid flavor lingered on her tongue.
Annatar returned to his conversation, and Galadriel took the opportunity to study him from a distance. She could not deny that his form was pleasing to the eye, but she could not shake the impression that his beauty was manufactured. His robes were always pristine, his long blond hair perfectly coiffed. Everything about him was carefully curated. Whatever secret he was hiding must require constant control.
A strange thought arose unbidden, and she suddenly imagined how delectable Annatar might look splayed across a bed, his immaculate hair tousled and face flushed. A little disorder would make him breathtaking indeed.
Galadriel hastily cast this troubling image from her mind. As tempting as it might be to unravel a beauty so tightly wound, she was not foolish enough to invite Annatar into her bed. She would not make the same mistake as her cousin in that regard.
She watched Celebrimbor emerge from an adjoining chamber, a fresh bottle of wine in hand. He made his way around the room, pausing to refill the glasses of various guests along the way.
Galadriel couldn’t help but notice the way her cousin always lingered in close proximity to Annatar like a celestial body orbiting a cruel star. If the Elven smith was trying to conceal the true nature of their relationship, he was doing an abysmal job of it. He leaned in close to refill his paramour’s goblet with a smile, a surreptitious hand finding the small of Annatar’s back. His lover, Galadriel noticed, never reciprocated these small signs of affection in public, and she doubted he was any more tender in private.
Suddenly, the crowded room felt stifling, and she turned away, longing for fresh air and starlight.
Celebrimbor’s infatuation with Annatar unsettled Galadriel deeply. She had never seen the smith so besotted before. An Elven lord should be focused on the needs of his people rather than catering to the whims of his handsome advisor, blindly obeying whatever commands Annatar whispered in his ear.
She soon found an open door and slipped out into the courtyard with a sigh of relief. The sound of distant music echoed from somewhere beyond the stone walls, and she wondered whether it was a song of love or of sorrow. She could not make out the words, but the tune was slow and sweet.
Her gaze drifted up to the starlit sky, and she let herself bask in the gentle glow. She was uncertain how long she stood like this, alone and silent, but when she felt another presence lurking in the shadows, she turned to face the intruder with a serene smile.
“Lord Annatar,” she mused. “You creep almost as quietly as a cat…”
His lips curled into a smirk at the comparison. The expression only seemed to emphasize his feline traits.
“I thought you might be in need of company,” he replied.
Galadriel lifted an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Because you are so very lonely, Lady Galadriel…”
This sultry accusation was unexpected, but she tried to deflect it as best she could. “On the contrary, I came out here seeking solitude rather than companionship.”
Annatar took a few graceful strides forward, emerging from the shadows and into the cool moonlight. He looked far too striking in the pale glow, and Galadriel prayed he hadn’t heard her breath catch.
“Perhaps you fled the gathering because you wanted solitude,” Annatar conceded. “But want and need are often at odds with each other.”
This intimate wisdom provoked a strange sense of familiarity, and Galadriel studied him for a moment, wondering why it felt like she knew this deceptive stranger. He took the form of an Elf, but he did not act like one.
“You seem quite certain that you understand my needs better than I do,” she retorted, annoyed by his insight.
He swept around her like a predator circling delectable prey. “Even the most perceptive of eyes are often blind when focused inward.”
Galadriel remained still, but her gray eyes tracked him. She would not let her guard down. “Even if I were in need of company, Lord Annatar… yours would be that which I least desire.”
She caught a flash of rage in his eyes as he came to a halt before her. He was a fascinating contradiction. A fiery temper hid behind his controlled facade, and she considered goading him further, tempted to see more of his inner tempest.
“I wonder why you loathe me so,” he murmured. “What have I done to merit such distrust?”
Galadriel scoffed. “You seem to be toiling under the assumption that trust must be given up front rather than earned. You are a stranger to me, Lord Annatar. I know nothing about you, and you have given me no reason to trust you.”
His brow furrowed. She could tell he was conflicted. He wanted to lure her into his web, but he was reluctant to disclose anything about himself.
“What would you like to know, my lady?”
She took a step forward, glaring up at him. She was hesitant to get so close to him, but the proximity allowed her to sense the power he had been hiding. This stranger was much more than he pretended to be.
“I believe you told my cousin that you were sent by the Valar,” she said. “As their emissary to aid our people in Middle-earth?”
She reached out to caress one of the many fine chains that hung around his throat. Her cousin’s paramour collected exquisite baubles like a magpie–a bit excessive but she could not deny his taste was impeccable.
Annatar watched the string of jewels cascade through her fingers, his voice breathless as he replied. “That is true.”
Galadriel glanced up at him, immediately suspicious of this ambiguous answer. “Let me be more explicit with my inquiry. Are you truly an emissary of the Valar, Annatar…Lord of Gifts?”
He seemed impressed by her direct approach. “I came to Middle-earth at the behest of my master in Valinor…yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. Once again, he spoke in seemingly half-truths. “So you are one of the Maiar?”
“Yes, my lady.” Galadriel had suspected as much. There had been hints of his true nature, little glimpses of power that had reminded her of Maiar she had been better acquainted with. Her friendship with Melian had given her more insight than most Elves, but hearing him confirm this truth aloud was still staggering.
“And which of the Valar did you serve?” she asked, curious but also cautious. Maiar were just as susceptible to the darkness as lesser beings. Their power did not protect them from corruption.
“I am afraid that my rebirth robbed me of memories of my past, my lady,” Annatar replied. “I awoke in my new form with the knowledge of whom I was meant to serve in this life rather than the names of those I served in the past.”
Galadriel tightened her grasp on his jewelry with a frown. She sensed he was lying to her still, but she had no way of proving it. “And whom are you meant to serve, Lord Annatar?”
He looked down at her, pupils wide and lips parted. “The Elves, Lady Galadriel. I am meant to help the Eldar in their quest to heal Middle-earth.”
She could feel her pulse between her thighs, and she realized she was aroused by his submissive tone. “You spoke of want and need earlier…”
Annatar looked perplexed. “I did, my lady.”
“Tell me, faithful emissary,” she murmured, voice low and commanding. “Is your mission to serve motivated by need…or desire?”
Galadriel gave a sharp tug on the chain, and the Maia did not resist, jerking forward with a flustered gasp.
“B-both, my lady,” he confessed, and for the first time, she believed he spoke the truth.
“And yet,” Galadriel sneered, angered and enticed by the eager glint in his eye. “It seems to me that Lord Celebrimbor has been serving you rather than the other way around.”
Annatar swallowed, his throat bobbing as he considered his answer. “Perhaps I require a firmer hand than the Lord of Eregion’s… my lady .”
She hated how much she liked the sound of that epithet upon his tongue. She was called by her title frequently, but the Maia made the mundane words seem salacious.
“Of that I have no doubt,” she told him coolly. Her other hand lifted, notching a finger under his jaw as she admired his cold beauty. “And whose hand is firm enough to master a mighty emissary of the Valar?”
Annatar smiled. He seemed to think he had already ensnared her. “The hand of the greatest of the Eldar, of course…yours, Lady Galadriel.”
His tongue swept across his lower lip, and his eyes descended to her mouth, ravenous and dark. His hunger awakened her own, but she carefully withdrew her hand from his face. Tempting as it might be to give the Maia what he wanted. Galadriel would not let her own desires overrule her reason.
“You believe you are worthy enough to serve me , Lord Annatar?”
His smile faltered at her harsh tone. “I am confident I can prove my worth given the opportunity.”
Galadriel let out a laugh. “Return to my cousin’s bed, faithful emissary…I have neither the need nor desire to welcome you into mine.”
She released her hold on his necklace, and he staggered backwards with a frown.
“But my lady–”
“I do not trust your pretty words or your pretty face, Lord Annatar,” Galadriel stated bluntly. “You may have come to Eregion bearing gifts, but I do not believe you offer them freely with no expectations in return.”
“I told you the truth of my origins, and still you do not trust me,” Annatar sighed. She watched in disgust as he fell to his knees. “Tell how to earn your favor, Lady Galadriel.”
He crawled toward her, hands clutching at her skirt and eyes raised like a penitent man before an altar. “Do you want me to beg, my lady? I am all too willing to debase myself if that is your wish.”
She pulled her gown out of his grasp with a sneer. “Pathetic…”
Galadriel could see his pupils expand at this demeaning utterance, and she scoffed as clarity dawned upon her. The Maia seemed to welcome her cruel words. Her scorn aroused him even. This reaction intrigued the Elf greatly. Perhaps she could use this particular weakness against Annatar in the future, should the need arise.
“Slink back into the shadows from whence you came, Lord Annatar,” she commanded the Maia groveling before her. “Do not waste your false charms on me.”
Annatar frowned, but his body obeyed, rising to his feet and retreating toward the darkened corner of the courtyard. “As you wish, my lady…but should you change your mind, your humble servant awaits your command.”
Galadriel watched him depart, keeping her guard up until she was certain he was truly gone. She found herself yearning for Celeborn in the aftermath of this strange encounter, and she prayed her husband would arrive in Eregion soon.
Annatar was a foe she could not face alone.