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Chapter Text

Mairon had been made with darkness in him. Darkness and light, forever warring in the twilight of his soul. It had been such sweet relief to succumb to Melkor- like a cool cloth against his feverish skin. Like the silent darkness of a cave on a day when the sun of Middle Earth beat down relentlessly. 

But inside him was light too, the light of the trees, the light of the first sunrise. The light of the forge fire when he stood before Aulë, demonstrating what he had learned. He had been considered good then- when he was in the light. As long as his darkness did not taint it- did not shadow it- he had been good. But he was a creature of devotion. All Maiar were. Made to serve the Valar and find their peace in service. Was it darkness to want something more ? Was it such a grievous sin, then, to want just a little bit of that devotion in return? 

It was thematic, then, when he had met Melkor- the Vala had come to the forge when they were working and his shadow had cut through the light across Mairon’s anvil. He had raised his eyes, and the air had left the room. The most beautiful man Mairon had ever seen- tall and strong, his black hair loose but for where a diadem of silver crossed his brow. He had come to see Aulë, of course, not a lowly Maia, but his eyes had kept drifting to him as he spoke with the other Vala. Each time, Mairon had felt that gaze like a caress. When Melkor had left, he had excused himself- the light and heat of the forge were suddenly too much. 

Melkor had been waiting for him outside. In his heart, Mairon had not dared to hope. But he had been there and had spoken to him. Complimented his work. Offered him a place of a different kind, where he would be free to forge what he wished and do as he wished. He would only have to serve, when called on. Otherwise, his time would be his own. It was held out as an offer- a deal to be accepted or rejected. Not a command, not a gift. An offer as between equals. 

He had taken it. As Melkor had known he would. He could always see into the minds of others, to know what they could not refuse. It was a skill he had taught to Mairon many years later, when his name and his life were different. It was a skill he himself would employ many times in years to come. He too had yet to be refused. 

He had made himself anew and drifted, alone, through a world he did not recognize. He tried to capture its shape- its peoples and shifting alliances as he had been taught. But it was like the scattered ashes of a cookfire. Disparate peoples living disparate lives. It seemed that in the long years since his defeat that nothing- no one- greater had risen to set it to rights. Middle Earth was once again formless and wasted on those who dwelt there. But he was alone, betrayed, and singular. So he drifted and let the paths of Arda carry him, and then her tides. 

The tides had brought him Galadriel, though it took him time to see it. His plan began to take form then, and he began to see their meeting as a gift. Perhaps from Ossё, who had always understood his master better than others of their kind. It was like a game, then, to see how far and what direction he could push her. An easy game, if not an easy opponent. There had been a moment when he had seen it- Middle Earth in all its perfection, with her by his side. His equal. In that moment his plans had crystalized, and he had begun the work. At the time, it was only the delight of the craftsman in him that had risen when he had met Lord Celebrimbor. The famed smith in whose work still shone the beauty of Fëanor when all other smiths fell so far short. Something about the man had brought new life to him, made his plans seem all the more real and actionable. In his new life he had helped Celebrimbor- craftsman to craftsman- as he sometimes had in the old days, before Melkor. Helped him with nothing on his mind but that- to share in the act of creation of something great by one so great. A rare joy since those times, precious and scarce as the strange ore he had handled in Celebrimbor’s forge. Little did he know how right that choice was- to give unguarded of himself for that brief time. A gift, truer than any he had given since a time so distant it was all but shrouded in mist. 

The rain was a nuisance. These gate guards were a nuisance. Even the damn horse was getting on his nerves. His body was sore and the plain elf woman who had been sent to tell him off was looking at him as if he smelled. He probably did. He didn’t care. Soon enough he would be clean and dry and finally making progress on his plans. He didn’t need the approval of this elf woman. He only needed a moment of the Lord’s time. So he could make his offer and feel the warm rush of acceptance. He had enjoyed his game with Galadriel, as far as it had gone. But her desires were thorny and he’d soon tired of her single minded pursuit of him. It was too easy when someone only wanted one thing. Too easy, and too hard. She could not see . She had stubbornly refused to understand what he was offering- too blinded by her relentless pursuit of the past to see the great future standing before them. She would see, though, one day. She was, at the very least, the one who had rescued him from drifting and set him on this path. In her single minded desire to eradicate him, she had freed him. How ironic. How pathetic.  

He much preferred the complexities of someone who was pulled in different directions by their desires. Especially when those desires pulled against one another. It was always a puzzle to find the right offer that would cater to both. And it had been some time since he had had a puzzle- or had it?  

The last time he had met Lord Celebrimbor he had not  known that this was what he was looking for- a challenge, and a worthy adversary. Not in truth- no, there were none that could truly meet him toe for toe in this game left in Middle Earth. But in the challenge- enough of one. Lord Celebrimbor was perfect. He could see , he could be molded like an ore. It was all there-his family history, the legacy of his grandfather, his desire for glory and his own legacy, his supposed kindness- he had so many complexities. And Mairon would exploit them all. He wondered how far this game could go- what could he create with a partner like Lord Celebrimbor, who had power in his own right? The possibilities were enough to make him take this gamble. And gamble it was- if Eregion had been forewarned of him, or if he overplayed his hand, all would be lost. There would not be another game like this to be had for at least an age. The thrill of it was intoxicating. He understood Melkor more in this moment than he had in any other. He hoped that Melkor could see him from the void- could see him and know that Mairon had been worthy of his love. That had ever been his goal.

Celebrimbor took him in, as he had known he would. He had played his role perfectly- cold and injured, the lost king and low man. He had known it would work when, at long last and in the pouring rain, the Lord of Eregion himself had come. He had taken his chance then and guessed right. There had not yet been a messenger from Lindon. It was like climbing a sheer cliff- one wrong move and the fall would be breathtaking. But this wall was not smooth- it was full of wide cracks. The High King had neglected to tell Lord Celebrimbor of his success and it rankled him. An opening so wide Mairon could fit his whole body inside, when all he had needed was a finger hold. Middle Earth herself was preparing for him, he could feel it. 

In hindsight, the plan had been doomed the moment he told Lord Celebrimbor of the rings’ success, though he could not have known that then. Celebrimbor had been overcome- had reveled in it. He had in that moment become the only being in all of Middle Earth who could understand Mairon. The joy of creation, of mastery- it was more priceless than any jewel. It had been more than mastery when he had revealed his nature to Celebrimbor, there had been more truth in what he said than lies. More truth than he had ever intended. Later he would gloat over how he had ensnared the elf. But in the moment the words just came, ringing out into the forge between them. He had begun, and once begun this game must be finished. He saw Celebrimbor’s doubt rise as he had known it would. He harnessed the storm and let it fill him with its wild energy, fed it back his own. Then… 

Then the reveal. Mairon had spent a long time thinking about that as he traveled to Eregion. Melkor had taught him that the best way to prepare someone to accept your power was to knock them off-balance, to make them afraid. To plunge them into darkness. 

And then to provide the light. 

He had taken that a bit too literally, he supposed. But it had worked on Celebrimbor. 

The same as it had worked on him. Yes, perhaps a bit too literally. 

He stood before the elven smith in his new form- not entirely different from Halbrand, but almost. He clothed himself in humble robes to contrast his beauty and cloaked his reveal in fire to demonstrate  his power. Perfection. Melkor himself could have done no better. Celebrimbor knelt before him. 

Then opening move had been played. 

“You need not bow to me.”

Chapter Text

His first task would be to separate Lord Celebrimbor from the High King. Divide, in order to conquer. He knew they held each other in high regard, and that Celebrimbor respected his King. But he could also see the fissures in the relationship- the fraught relationship between the Noldor High King and one of Fёanor’s line who could have just as easily worn the crown. He had exploited that tension so easily to gain entry to Ost in Edhil. Now that he was here, it was laughably obvious that the King left Lord Celebrimbor to rule Eregion without oversight. 

Lord Celebrimbor alone and away from his king was a different man entirely, a different master than Mairon had expected. Rarely harsh, his kind suggestions and genial manner reminded Mairon of Aulё in some ways. Reminded him that the smiths of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were students and acolytes. As Celebrimbor was to him now, in some ways. But in more ways than that, they were equals. He admired the elf’s skill- not just with metals but with people . Bringing the offer of Rings to Prince Durin instead of his father was a stroke of genius more subtle than Mairon expected. But then his experience with elves had mostly been limited to killing them or enslaving them. He had never thought how profitable it would have been to work alongside them instead. To use them not only as tools to accomplish his goals, but also in a way that furthered their own as well. He was beginning to see a different form his plan could take.

In the end there had been little work needed to separate Celebrimbor from the High King. So like F ё anor in that, really. He needed only the gentlest nudge to forgo the King’s rule and forge a path more in line with his own goals. It was far more than Mairon had expected. 

“You would lie to your High King?” Such a thing was unthinkable in its boldness. He had thought a small lie- working on other projects, busy with the daily matters of the city- not this. Not an outright lie with consequences. And there would be consequences, for that Mairon was sure. There had ever been them when he had defied Melkor’s will, although he had never thought to lie about it. Perhaps he had been a fool. Perhaps there was yet a way for him to be free- free to choose his own path, instead of the one left to him by his past choices. Lord Celebrimbor liked Annatar, trusted him to some extent. Perhaps he could write himself a new future as Celebrimbor had with that letter. One where he could be Mairon again, free in Middle Earth. Free to forge a new path.Free to decide how to shape Middle Earth to his own desires, or even- even to leave it much as it was. No, it could not be left to fester. But perhaps there was a middle path- one where he could bring Middle Earth into perfect balance without her people’s knowing that it was he who ruled them. Perhaps he could walk that path with Celebrimbor. It seemed the Elven Lord had much to teach Mairon about power. 

“This is my moment. Now, he will not take it away.” Celebrimbor said, lost in his own ambitions, never realizing how those words rang in Mairon’s ears and filled them with a strange and exhilarating rushing sound. 

The kiss, when it came, was unexpected. Working with Celebrimbor was far headier than he had imagined. More thrilling, more enticing. The man was like a forest filled with brambles, the thorns of holly. His ideas were sometimes so clever, his designs so captivating- Mairon had been so caught up in the illusions, in his new and glorious form, that he had forgotten to account for this. 

They had been working in the forge alone, pouring over designs and ideas for the Dwarven rings for hours after Celebrimbor had dismissed the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Suddenly Mairon stopped, sensing that he was watched. He had looked up to find Celebrimbor’s face much closer than expected. His eyes were hazel, the disparate colors blending into something so beautiful that Mairon found himself quite caught in it and did not realize what was about to happen until it did. 

Celebrimbor’s lips were so soft, so warm. Mairon forgot himself and leaned in, savoring the feeling of them pressing against his own. Yes , a part of him sighed, yes . It had been so long since he had felt the flutter in his belly. So long since he had been touched. Celebrimbor had pulled back then to look at him, but Mairon chased his lips, eager to feel it again. Celebrimbor gave it to him, pressing firmer, arms coming up to encircle him and pull him close. Mairon melted into the touch. For a moment he forgot about his plans and schemes- even the whole of Eregion and the forge around him. All there was were those lips, those eyes, the arms encircling him. Then Lord Celebrimbor pulled away and stepped back, a look of shock on his face. He touched his lips lightly and looked up at Mairon almost shyly. 

“I cannot believe I just did that.” He said sheepishly. 

Mairon steadied himself with a breath and pulled Annatar around himself again, a wall to protect him from the wild beating of his heart. “Passion is a part of creation, Celebrimbor. That is often forgotten.” It was not what he had wanted to say, but Celebrimbor laughed a little and shrugged. 

“I suppose you are right. Perhaps we should be done for tonight. I think I have forgotten my dinner.” 

Disappointment welled in Mairon’s belly but he moved to clear away their parchments and left the forge with Celebrimbor, bidding him goodnight at the bottom of the stairs. He watched the Lord of Eregion move down the street, admiring his grace and the ease with which he greeted his citizens. 

He is not for you , a voice in Mairon’s head mocked. And you can never be for him . It sounded like a weak ghost of Melkor, laughing at him from the endless void. He turned away and sought his own quarters, not stopping to notice the way the elves of Eregion bowed to him respectfully or the brightness of the stars on the clear night. He looked only at the ground until he was in his bed and could close his eyes and bring forth his memories. 

He remembered not his kiss with Celebrimbor, but with Melkor. How his hair had fallen in loose black waves nearly to his waist- tousled from sparring with his generals. How small they had looked surrounding him, darting and slashing as Melkor beat them back with easy grace and limitless power. A game he played with them that they could not win. He had waved them off to pant and sweat in the burning hot room and locked eyes with Mairon where he stood, leaning against the wall and watching. Melkor’s eyes had reflected the smoldering embers that filled the heavy braziers until they were only fire. Mairon had met his gaze without fear. There had been nothing to fear in it then.

Melkor had beckoned him into the ring. He had come. 

“Shall we test my new smith?” His rich voice had reverberated through the room as it whispered up Mairon’s spine. “Shall we see whose will is the mightier?” There had been laughs then, at Mairon’s expense. He ignored them. His eyes were too full of fire to even see them. 

He entered the ring. The first blow fell like a hammer. The second like a battering ram. He had scarcely risen from the floor when he found himself on it again, the grit from the stone grinding into his teeth. When he could no longer rise, Melkor had raised him himself. The generals laughed maliciously over the roaring in his ears. 

Finally, it had ended. Melkor raised him again, but only to rest on his battered, trembling legs. He placed a long finger under his chin and raised Mairon’s gaze to his. His eyes were black now, swallowing the fire and reflecting nothing, but his gaze was tender. In a moment the pain was gone and Mairon was whole again, unblemished. The healing did nothing but raise his anger higher- he was a maia, not some forsaken general. He would not allow himself to be treated like one. He forced himself to stand taller and hold that fathomless gaze until Melkor tipped his head back and laughed, delighted. 

“This one has spirit.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Mairon’s, bruise-hard. It shocked him and he froze. Melkor trailed his lips along his jaw until he could whisper in his ear. 

“Even a mountain can be crushed to sand, Mairon. Next time I strike you, stay where I have placed you.”

Mairon nodded shakily, fear and humiliation and rage warring for dominance.  Aulё had not taught his lessons this way. But Melkor was not Aulё. Mairon had not understood the game; he would do better next time. Melkor’s might was unmatched among the Valar. But Mairon alone had left his Valar and chosen a new master for himself. 

Whose will was the mightier?

Chapter Text

Eregion was beautiful. Working in the forge alongside the smiths of the Gwaith-i-Mírdan was at times so like being apprenticed to Aulё, Mairon almost forgot where he was. The smell of the forge fire and hot metal, the rhythmic pumping of the bellows and the fall of hammers- there had been times under Melkor when it had felt the same. Brought the same memories; but always tinged with bitterness. Here there was- well, not no bitterness, but less. 

The morning after their kiss, Celebrimbor had been almost shy; bustling around the forge checking on everyone’s progress and barely stopping to speak to Annatar. When he did, it took him a moment to meet his eyes. Annatar kept his face schooled in a friendly mask, waiting to take his cue from the Lord of Eregion. Mairon yearned to reach out and touch Celebrimbor, to somehow convey to him that he did not regret the kiss and wanted more still. But he had stopped himself. He was not certain his advances would be reciprocated and here was not the place. He must remain the Lord of Gifts here, kindly and powerful but forever beyond their reach. 

As the day had worn on Celebrimbor had loosened. He moved among them endlessly, sometimes brushing against Mairon’s back. A few times he had touched his arm or clasped him on the shoulder. Mairon had stiffened each time, wanting to press himself into the casual touch but never having time before the hand fell away or was lifted. He was afraid this stiffness would discourage Celebrimbor, but he didn’t seem to notice and the touches continued. It did not mean anything, Mairon told himself, he touches me no more or less than any other. But each touch had left him warm, uncomfortably aware of his body. By the end of the day he was wound so tightly that he could barely focus on what was before him. By some mercy, Celebrimbor released them early in the evening and bid Mairon goodnight before he could make a fool of himself in front of the Elven smiths. Tight-lipped, Mairon returned his greeting, unable to completely hide his disappointment that Celebrimbor seemed to be leaving with the others. 

“Is something the matter, Annatar? I would have you speak freely.”

Mairon shook his head. “It is nothing to trouble yourself with.”
Celebrimbor paused and opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and closed it again. He nodded at Mairon. “Until tomorrow then, Annatar.”

Mairon , he wanted to scream. My name is Mairon. But he did not. That name could never be spoken here. If the elves had their way, that name would never be spoken again in Middle Earth or anyplace else. So he inclined his head and waited until he heard the heavy doors of the workshop close and Celebrimbor’s footsteps faded out of hearing before sinking down to the floor in front of the glowing embers. 

He did not know how long he sat there as the evening shadows crept to meet those from the tables and benches in the forge, only that it was full night before he came back to himself and rose. He needed to repair this- he could not have Lord Celebrimbor thinking that there was something wrong with an emissary of the Valar. He would become anxious, and anxious men thought too quickly and made rash decisions. He adjusted his flowing robes and smoothed his hair. He would go to Celebrimbor’s rooms, he decided, and reassure him that he had simply been lost in thought. Mourning the plight of Middle Earth, should they fail at the work they were now doing. The work whose purpose Mairon kept forgetting. 

He made his way along the streets of Eregion. The lamps were being lit and laughter and song drifted out of open doorways. Mairon glided through the light and shadow, inclining his head to those that stopped and bowed to him. He was known in Eregion, and the deference felt a bit like being back at Angband. He had missed the way crowds parted for him there, where he had been Lord. He wondered if Celebrimbor liked it, thought it his due, or if he merely allowed it because it would have been too hard to stop his people from showing their respect for him.

The guards at the house let Mairon through without question. 

The winding stairs of the tower where Celebrimbor kept his rooms was dim and cool. The only light came from the stars shining distantly through the windows where the panes were clear. Each window had only a few of these- they were stained glass, each depicting a scene from a story or a history. As he rose he passed a rendering of Valinor with the two trees, a tall-masted ship sailing toward an island, and a great battle. He let his eyes skate over that one, not wishing to see exactly what was rendered in the fine fragments of glass. He had likely seen it with his own eyes already. 

Celebrimbor was not in his sitting room, the first on the level. Mairon paused to listen and heard the soft but distinct sound of a goblet being placed on a table in the room above. He continued up the stairs and found himself in an open archway and beyond the circular room at the top of the tower. His eyes glanced over the small table and chairs, the bed, the worktable and piles of parchment- seeking Celebrimbor. They landed across the room, finding him. All of the breath left Mairon in a rush. 

He was in the bath. 

A large tub was set before the fire, and the Lord of Eregion was seated in it. Water glistened on his skin in the firelight. He turned his head and saw Mairon there. 

“What are you doing here? Has something happened?” He sat up further in the tub, water running down his chest. 

Mairon said nothing. The explanation he had intended to give had flown from his mind as he tracked the way a drop of water ran down, down, down Celebrimbor’s chest and dropped into the tub. He moved without meaning too- not as smoothly as he usually did- to stand at the tub’s side. 

“Annatar?” The name in Celebrimbor’s questioning tone brought Mairon out of his reverie. 

“Lord Celebrimbor. I had wished to speak with you regarding my behavior today. I-” The explanation died on his tongue as Celebrimbor reached out his hand and clasped Mairon’s. Celebrimbor’s hand was wet from the bath and so, so warm. Without meaning to, Mairon sank to his knees, long training in Morgoth’s service coming back to him easier than breathing. He clutched Celebrimbor’s hand. 

“Please, my Lord.” His voice wavered. 

Celebrimbor leaned toward him, bringing his face close. “What is it you need Annatar? Please tell me, anything that is within my power to grant will be yours- any aid, any service-”

Mairon cut him off with a kiss. He did not wish to hear any more words tonight. 

Celebrimbor hesitated, not pulling away, but stilling. Mairon pressed closer, slanted his head and ran his tongue along the seam on Celebrimbor’s lips. Slowly, the Lord of Eregion raised his other hand and cupped Mairon’s cheek, gently parting his lips and allowing Mairon to deepen the kiss. 

The feel of Celebrimbor’s tongue and the taste of the wine he had been drinking made Mairon groan and he felt Celebrimbor’s lips curve into a smile. He pulled back and Mairon let him go.
“Alright, just- let me get out of the bath. Would you like some wine?”
Mairon shook his head. He watched as Celebrimbor rose and stepped out of the tub. He toweled off quickly, shaking his wet hair into its loose waves. Then he dropped the towel into a chair and held his hand out to Mairon. 

Mairon took it and Celebrimbor led him to the bed. He pushed Mairon onto it and climbed up after him, crowding close and pulling Mairon down so he could cover the maia with his body. Mairon could feel the warmth of his bare skin through his robe, the way it dampened where Celebrimbor pressed against him. He moaned and Celebrimbor grabbed his chin and tilted his head so he could kiss along Mairon’s neck. His other hand was already pushing the robes up and out of the way. Mairon floated in the heady feeling of being touched- of being wanted. He could feel Celebrimbor, hard and pressing against his hip. Then his own cock was being stroked and Mairon’s head arched back into the pillows. He had not been touched this way in so long. He reveled in the feeling, somewhere deep in his mind deriving immense satisfaction from knowing that Celebrimbor was the only one to know this body in that way. This was for him alone and no one could take that away now. 

Celebrimbor groaned low in his ear, bringing Mairon back to the moment. Celebrimbor was still stroking him, placing open mouthed kisses along his neck and shoulder where his robe was slipping down. Their hips moved together, nearly frantically. Mairon could tell that Celebrimbor was already close to his climax. He didn’t want this to ever end, but especially not this way. He raised his hand and placed it on Celebrimbor’s wrist, stopping its motion. 

“What do you need?” he asked. 

Mairon said nothing, but rose and stripped off his robes, letting them fall on the floor. Then he climbed back onto the bed and arranged himself on his hands and knees, letting his head and shoulders rest on the bed. 

Celebrimbor sucked in a breath and ran a hand along Mairon’s back. 

“Beautiful.” He said the word softly, almost worshipfully and Mairon took it as such. It was alright here, in Eregion, to be worshipped. 

Celebrimbor climbed up behind him and kissed his spine as his hands kneaded the globes of his ass, his thumbs sliding in to brush gently against his hole. Mairon keened and canted his hips back, wordlessly urging him on.

Celebrimbor chuckled and the sound shivered down Mairon’s spine. His need pulsed higher and higher as Celebrimbor prepared him- seeming to slow down and take longer and longer the more Mairon moaned and grunted in pleasure. He wants you to beg , a voice in Mairon’s head whispered. Not yet, not yet, not yet, he replied. Never. 

In the end it was Celebrimbor who relented, sinking into Mairon in one smooth thrust. It did not last long, not when Celebrimbor had stoked their desire so high. He came first, leaving finger-shaped bruises on Mairon’s hips. The warm rush of it sent Mairon spinning, launching into a painful climax that left him gasping on Celebrimbor’s sheets. He barely felt Celebrimbor wiping him down with a cool cloth and turning him on his side. His mind was numb, blissfully blank.