Chapter Text
"You will never know how hard I try
To keep from waning while waiting at the start
The depth of every touch is as real as you need
But words don't do any favors for me"
✺
The snow, crisp and untouched, now crackled beneath the weight of hurried feet.
Talion may have spent a little too long tucked away within the waterfall. They'd be fortunate if there was still enough daylight to see through even half of the tasks awaiting them.
Hunts, supply runs, ambushes, duels- such were all events the man and elf cared to oversee as often as they could.
Today was not going to be one of those days.
Upon entering the nearest outpost, his eyes swept over the unnerving sight of captains lingering about idly, too many for comfort. Whichever way he turned, Talion found himself stumbling into just about every gang in the camp.
This would have grated on his nerves, but, waves of unease raked through his consciousness first.
They should not all be here, not at once! His thoughts shouted.
Eru forbid, if any of these brutes feel restless enough, I know I'll find this place in ruins.
Similar notions echoed in his mind, but he trudged onward and soon found that their followers were doing no such thing.
➵ ➵ ➵
Several ovens and firepits were lit; much of what was being cooked consisted of (questionable) meat slabs and massive loaves of bread. The ranger eavesdropped on as many conversations as he could. The most alarming discovery? Ologs, it seemed, have developed a sudden allergy to carandôl, and someone managed to burn stew.
The majority of the captains are chattering loudly amongst themselves, exclaiming their triumphs as their gangs drink and sing. This was somewhat normal behavior, if anything, it felt a little too good-spirited.
Just then, Talion tripped on a trio of grunts that were crouched in the middle of a stone walkway, nearly falling over them entirely.
Each grunt quickly muttered out apologies, their heads bowed low in fear that their lord would hang them over such a thing.
The ranger's face contorted but for a far different reason instead of annoyance.
Are they... weaving garlands?
Huh.
Talion stared down pointedly at all the piles of braided leaves and flowers. His quiet surprise only served to ensure more panic in the grunts. One of the three, stammering, quickly began to explain, "Forgive us Master, t-these were s'posed to be set up later for your-"
THUNK!!
Talion ducked his head in the nick of time, his senses barely registered the hefty piece of slag that whistled past his shoulders and struck the poor grunt square on the mouth.
The creature's (now shattered) teeth popped out of its gums and littered the floor just as its body flopped backward, unconscious before it hit the ground.
Talion whipped his head around to catch whatever heaved the stone, his eyes flickering up to the wires strung across each intersection throughout the settlement.
But a faint, shimmering figure blew away into a cloud of dust before the ranger could make anything of it.
Once he turned back, the conscious grunts had already scurried away, leaving their acquaintance and the garlands in place.
I... can't think about this right now. Talion's thoughts eluded, and his head was beginning to throb.
He strode toward the settlement's command post, his movements were deliberate while he formed a mental list of matters to address.
In truth, it was Celebrimbor itching inside the other's mind, seeking immediate distraction. And when the time came, he would see that his efforts bore fruit.
➵ ➵ ➵
After a rather frustrating amount of time was spent handing out more lectures instead of orders, Talion finally bid the group of captains good luck and dismissed the assembly.
He remained at the head of the large gathering table with his palms pressed flat against the worn wood. He read over notes filled with their followers' requests, strategies, and so on; periodically scribbling in his own annotations.
A few of the more eccentric and clingy captains lingered to spark up conversations with the ranger.
At times, Talion didn't mind the short chats and comments directed at him, but between being rudely awoken, his looming suspicions, pressing time constraints, and the heavy emotions that still plagued him since the waterfall-
The sharp crack of his ink pen snapping in half sliced through the fog of blaring voices. Without another minute wasted, each remaining leader dispersed.
The man sighed deeply through his nose, his shoulders deflating wearily. A freezing gust of wind urged his body to shiver, yet he stilled, even as a tenuous cloud of snowfall followed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see white flakes cling to the ends of his hair and fall weightlessly between the cracks of his armor; melting against the hot skin underneath.
This cold exhausted him.
There was still thick black ink coating his fingers, smudging and dribbling down the back of his hand while he sorted pieces of the pen aside.
He pushed away from the table and stretched his arms above his head, listening for the sounds of cracks and pops throughout his neck and spine.
He closed his eyes for a moment, grunting weakly, feeling some aches in his muscles loosen as he rolled his shoulders.
Once Talion opened his eyes, he was met with a familiar, penetrating blue stare. His stomach dropped at such sudden proximity, yet he fought to keep up an aloof facade.
The elf had wedged himself between the table and the man without making so much as a single sound.
Celebrimbor leaned back casually against the table's edge, arms and legs crossed tightly, his expression indecipherable.
Before Talion could question the wraith— or irritate himself any further with the mess of ink and papers— Celebrimbor wordlessly took hold of his clean hand and pressed a damp rag into it.
The ranger huffed defiantly but began to work at wiping away the ink blotching his other hand.
"Do not trouble yourself with this any longer." The elf entailed, still looking up at the other.
"A convoy of lesser gangs will be charging into an evening graug hunt soon, however, their captains insist on taking a shortcut through the cliffs. You know how close the cliffs cut to Khargukôr."
Celebrimbor pressed, "Leave the matters involving the meeting here to me."
He concluded and paused. He listened to Talion's heartbeat quicken in pace, yet he showed no acknowledgment.
The wraith tilted his head at the other and raised a brow expectingly. This seemed to pinch a nerve, and the man scoffed.
"You speak as if you won't be entirely present. You're trying to get rid of me, now?"
Talion remarked slowly with weariness seeping into his tone as he tossed the rag aside and walked away to a work bench. He pocketed poison bombs and pretended to take interest in a stack of withered-down weapons.
He turned his back on the elf, terribly masking his unease with ill-fitted avoidance.
Even as he heard the other's inherent feather-light steps thump clearly, following closely behind.
"No..." Celebrimbor finally responded, as sincerely as he could, while his mind clambered at far different words and reassurances he deeply wished to say, but could not.
"Never."
Somehow, the wraith had a way of caressing the man's body without so much as touching him; and even with the other's gaze averted, a gentle- wistful current took hold of Talion's jaw and turned it.
The elf stood close to him again, yet his eyes seemed much softer now.
"You seem to forget we can talk in this way."
Celebrimbor's lips remained still as he purred inside the other's mind, relishing how the man's breath hitched, and how his hands were now twitching at his sides.
"You will call upon me if you fall."
Talion swallowed a deep mewl that threatened to boil out of his throat.
"Yes..."
"Go quickly, and do not be long."
The ranger nodded, "I will see it done." Finally, he took a few slow steps back, motioned farewell, and darted off towards the cliffs— each sprint and leap carried on with renewed vigor.
Celebrimbor allowed an honest smile to creep onto his lips as he stood, watching until the other fully vanished out of sight.
A comfortable and pensive silence enveloped him.
...
"Here I thought I was to find that all the tales of the Gravewalker and The Bright Lord were nothing above folkish exaggerations," A weathered, gravelly voice protruded into Celebrimbor's mind.
The elf jolted- akin to a cat being caught unaware, and twisted his body in search of the source.
"Yet, it is nothing so short as of the emotions you both seem to share— deny, for reasons I have not yet unveiled." The mysterious presence chuckled jovially.
"Ah, Mithrandir." Celebrimbor breathed. The moment the other's name passed his lips, an elegant smoke ring floated into view.
He moved to look through it and found the old grey wizard, even older than Celebrimbor himself, occupying the opposite corner of the command post.
And of all the places to sit, he chose to sit on the tiniest of stools. Now, he too felt like chuckling.
"Forgive me, I thought you heard my old horse and wagon wheeling come to a stop over the hill." Said the wizard, tucking his staff beneath his arm in favor of cradling his long smoking pipe with both hands. He huffed and puffed a series of rings, some of which morphed into silhouettes of tiny creatures as they faded.
The elf shook his head and stepped toward the elder.
"Suilad, iar mellon." Celebrimbor said, his lips curving ever so slightly. Yet it was the mischievous glint in his eyes that betrayed his nonchalant facade.
"Na mára ana see cin." The wizard responded warmly, "I have brought as much as I could of what you requested, your followers have already begun to unpack my favors. I pray they are to your liking."
"I only requested one favor. What else have you brought here?" The wraith asked, his tone laced with skepticism.
If he knew the wizard at all, he would know that his reputation is defined by his innate quirks and tomfoolery.
"Ohh, just little things," Mithrandir said while he failed to hide the twinkle in his eyes, "Come along now."
➵ ➵ ➵
There before Celebrimbor, was copious amounts of pipeweed.
Their followers hurriedly carried barrels upon barrels to the cooking posts, where the weed was to be grinded and prepared for nightfall. He made sure to threaten the grunts with violent executions if any of the weed were to be smoked beforehand.
He needed to see all of this go to plan. For Talion.
"Have your elf ears gone bad?" Mithrandir laughed and lightly clasped Celebrimbor's shoulders.
The elf came out of deep thought and pitched the other an addled expression.
"I can see that you both prove to be a more than fascinating sort, but pray do tell..." Celebrimbor held his breath (more out of habit than a real need to) as he knew this wizard had a certain way of wringing out the truth in those around him.
"What does the Deathless Man mean to you? And do not dare say nothing, for that miserable lie has nothing to reflect upon." The taller figure bore down at the wraith with a sudden seriousness and intensity, demanding forth an answer.
Yet Celebrimbor held no capacity to tell of such a thing- no right words to offer.
His memory delved back to the time when he was first summoned by the ritual at the Black Gate.
Ghuramo Shirkush' agh Azgushu
(A sacrifice of Blood and Bone)
Zantya apakurizak
(A Bridge for you to follow)
Gul-n' Anakhizak
(You will emerge a Shadow)
His consciousness exploded back to life. He remembered each chant uttered by the Black Hand, and how harshly it grated against his faint being.
It hurt, his mind, heart, everything; but he did not have time to wonder.
With his eyes, he could see the horrid scene before him.
And with his eyes, he watched as a man suffered just as he did so many millennia ago.
This sad soul was fueled by a sort of undying resolve, so much like his own— and yet, it was at the expense of this man that the elf was viciously torn back into existence.
"Come back to me, Elf-Lord."
A cursed voice beckoned him, but he did not adhere.
You will not die in vain.
That was his final thought before he chose Talion all those years ago.
...
For once, Celebrimbor lowered his head— not in defeat, but in abhorrence of his failure to love without flaw.
"I see." Was all Mithrandir murmured, and frowned deeply as if he saw into their past and understood it somehow.
The elf lifted his head only to leer at the sun tucking itself away behind massive caps of snow. Splashes of indigo and pink spilled freely across the clouds and reflected upon his form.
His consistent pastel blue and ivory shimmer was now a dull, stained lilac, and he could do nothing to change it.
It was a sad thing, the form of which all shadows took on his body, and in his mind. He wished for things to be different.
"It would do you well to cherish more outside of the battle you both fight." At last, the wizard advised.
"What else is there to cherish besides the end that will set everything right?"
"You do not know of 'the end'. You know only what you want it to be, and even now..." The elder's words held a certain graveness, and that feeling tightened agonizingly around Celebrimbor's conscience.
"I do not know if you've seen far enough down the path you’re rearing to take."
To this, the elf felt genuinely bewuthered and offended at his implications, and the wizard took it as a good sign that the latter is not yet far gone.
"What of this path you speak of, as if something will change so much to cause it?" Celebrimbor spat bitterly, with a snarl already etching onto his face.
"Tell me, what will happen once 'the end' is near?" Mithrandir paused, letting his words dawn on the wraith, carefully observing him.
"Once you and the ranger have Sauron and his unending armies in your grasp, what will you do then? What will you do after it all?" He asked, demanding and imposing on the other.
They stood in silence for some time— one, seething and tormented; the other, sparring for any mental purchase of which to use to help the damned.
"I... know not of myself…" Celebrimbor spoke slowly, "But that what I want is him at my side." His proclamation was charged and untainted; devoid of the forces which seemed to conspire against the two.
At last, hope washed over the old wizard.
"In any case, then, cherish him, and you will both see to find a different path." He allowed himself to take a long draw from his wooden pipe.
"Nothing will alter the end we are fighting for, as nothing else is tangible for me-"
"No, no! You Fool of an Elf! You still fail to see— there is nothing else in this world that is as tangible as the very bond you share with the man. I bid you to acknowledge this before you are marred by shadows you did not know you possessed!"
The sheer volume of the wizard's disdain rose enough to cast a dark, ominous weight over the vicinity. Those who knew him recognized that such anger only surfaced when he was trying desperately to be heard.
Fortunately, Mithrandir's vehemence was interrupted by dozens of miniature cups that tumbled off the wagon at once, clanging obnoxiously as they hit the floor.
Celebrimbor gawked stupidly at the elder; hinting at a silent barrage of questions.
At last, the exhausted wizard harrumphed.
"Just some old wooden cups. I figured they would be of better use during the festivities. You really ought to meet the hobbit I borrowed them from."