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To Tyelperinquar’s eyes, from where he stands at his balcony and gazes out over the city, Ost-in-Edhil at night glimmers like one of the beautifully faceted jewels that her artisans are known for across Eriador and beyond. Except that, here, the city’s shining stems from the lantern-light and fire-light and gem-light that gleam behind the panes of glass set in nearly every structure – which is more of this precious material, Tyelperinquar has seen, than is to be found in any other city in Beleriand, even the High King’s own capitol. And because such glass tends to be commissioned in the shapes and shades most favored by a building’s particular inhabitants, the result every evening is a riotous river of color that refracts the sunset into a thousand even more splendid hues, before settling into the shimmering stream that dances beneath his gaze now.
His city is so beautiful. Or, no – their city is so beautiful.
He hears the footsteps approaching from the doorway behind himself well before Annatar actually comes to stand at his side with only the softest whisper of immaculate robes. Noting his advance is only possible, Tyelperinquar knows, if Annatar has allowed himself to be heard – setting otherwise silent feet against stone with a slight tapping, as he must have done now.
“They are asking after you downstairs, Tyelpe,” Annatar murmurs, his slender hands settling atop the carven railing not so far from Tyelperinquar’s own. Several small ornaments nestled among his many rings – rubies and spinels and a single red beryl – gleam as they refract the light of Ost-in-Edhil, and for a heartbeat, they stain Annatar’s pristine fingers crimson-dark.
Unsettling. But Annatar returns his smile easily, when Tyelperinquar finally allows himself to glance over toward his dearest friend.
“I will be down momentarily,” Tyelperinquar assures him, equally soft.
“I have no doubt of it,” Annatar says gravely. A slight breeze stirs his golden hair, and like his approach before, he seems to have allowed the material world to impact him, just this once. “I only promised that I would seek you out in order that I might have some excuse to leave the room in search of better company than merchants whose wares I do not care to buy and diplomats whose pockets I do not wish to line further than they already are.”
Then, with another smile to soften the blow such words might seem, Annatar falls quiet too, merely standing at Tyelperinquar’s side so that they might both gaze out upon the sea of lights that is their city, their home: their Ost-in-Edhil.
‘Downstairs’ waiting for him this evening is a particular trading contingent from Rhun who tend to bring with them interesting news and novel gossip from their travels, to say nothing of both contracted and random wares. And yet. Tonight Tyelperinquar finds that he is actually more loathe to leave this stillness with Annatar, than he is eager to hear about new technological developments and trade offers and stars know what else that will all still be on offer tomorrow.
“Or, and hear me out – what if I simply decided that I would not go down?” he offers into the stillness eventually, turning his eyes back to the show of lights spread out beneath them.
From the periphery of his vision, he can see that Annatar has tilted his head to regard him with mild curiosity. “Then I imagine that they would simply send a more efficient babysitter than I have proven myself to be,” the Maia muses. “I also imagine that they would have many more questions about why their lord has decided to abandon them to the whims of friends whom he himself invited.”
“Well, perhaps their lord is tired of playing at lordship,” Tyelperinquar retorts, unaware until the words are already out that this will even be a rejoinder. “Perhaps he would prefer to simply spend his evening with a single friend for his company.”
Annatar chuckles at that, soft and warm, and the sound sends thrills along every fiber of Tyelperinquar’s heart. Such is simply one of the many effects that Annatar has come to have on him of late.
“Perhaps then it is my duty to take myself back downstairs, and hope that you follow in turn,” Annatar says, considering. “Besides, I know just how cross you will be with yourself tomorrow if you think you have actually let an obligation pass unfulfilled. Come, then, my lord Tyelperinquar: your ‘single friend’, as I believe this term was used, shall accompany you into that dread fray!”
Annatar’s tone, as he turns away then, is one of familiar fondness; there is nothing more to his voice than a sort of friendly teasing. And this alone should be a triumph, since Tyelperinquar had needed to work so hard to move them past the blank, diplomatic exterior that Annatar had worn when he first arrived here in Ost-in-Edhil following his brief sojourns in Lindon and Lorien.
And yet. Things between the two of them have shifted, have changed, even further recently: only some weeks ago, Annatar finally accepted Tyelperinquar’s invitation to his bed. And while Tyelperinquar has moved slowly since – stars, any over-hasty move could dissuade Annatar, who himself could surely find so much better a bedmate than the elven usurper of a single city – there are times when he would very much like to press. Does Annatar regard what Tyelperinquar offers as the courtship he intends it to be, or does the Maia see this as simply a sort of camaraderie practiced among mortals?
And Tyelperinquar feels that urge rise again now. Would he be permitted to reach out here? Could he gather Annatar’s hand up in his own despite the fact that they could be seen from the street, or by anyone who comes to his chambers seeking Ost-in-Edhil’s lord? Or would such liberties seem too forward, to one who once held status in the Valar’s own courts in the West, even if Annatar left that role to travel and teach in Beleriand?
Aiya. As he follows Annatar out, and attempts to hold his own side of the ongoing conversation, Tyelperinquar cannot help but wonder whether his own affect or countenance ever look as brittle as he sometimes feels. His own heart is as glass in Annatar’s hands, these days.
As it turns out, Tyelperinquar is far from the only one who has taken some time to appreciate the sight of Ost-in-Edhil as lit from within this evening. Several of the Rhun traders mention wandering the streets, just so they can take in the sight of so much brightly colored glass; some who have made the journey here before can offer even more specific praise.
Unfortunately, though, praise is far from the only thing on offer.
“If you think this pretty lightshow is something – pah!” From Jukhan Zur, a scoff is as close as it comes to a compliment: in the decades that Tyelperinquar has known the grizzled Mannish merchant, he has yet to see Jukhan admit to being impressed or excited by anything, even an Elvish center of learning and commerce.
This usually does not bother Tyelperinquar. Usually. But tonight…
“Try coming up to this little bauble of a town right as the sun is setting, nah,” Jukhan continues, either oblivious to – or perhaps desirous of – the dampening effect that he is having upon the general enthusiasm among his own contingent. “You’d think the world was on fire, and it all started here! How can anyone stand to live in such places, you think? Broiled alive and then blinded every blessed sunrise and sunset, I imagine!”
Even the traders who had been praising the city’s appearance just moments before have fallen quiet now, and only the clatter of utensils remains as Jukhan holds forth.
For a moment, anyway. And then:
“Nonsense,” Annatar counters briskly.
“Pardon?” Jukhan actually turns now to see who has gainsaid him, and Tyelperinquar cannot miss how he zeroes in on Annatar once he catches sight of the Maia. Ah – true, Annatar would not have been in the city yet the last time Jukhan passed through.
“I said, nonsense.” Annatar does not even look up from his plate, where he is bisecting his next bite with all the dainty neatness of a cat. “Ever do the Eldar build for beauty and function comingled, and Tyelperinquar Curufinwion would not suffer anything less in his jewel of a city.”
“And which of my good friend’s many hopeful hangers-on might you be, fair one?” Jukhan inquires. His tone is polite, vaguely disinterested, but his eyes are shrewd, and fully fixed on Annatar.
“I am Annatar Aulendil,” Annatar says easily, finally looking up to meet that narrowed stare. “Once a humble servant of the Valar in the West, now a humble citizen of my lord Typelperinquar’s fair city.”
Jukhan matches him for a moment before something – perhaps Annatar’s fully unblinking gaze? – finally seems to force his eyes away.
Very likely, Tyelperinquar should intervene here: already whispers are traveling up and down the table, among Ost-in-Edhil’s own denizens and the visiting traders alike. But something about hearing Annatar defend that which Tyelperinquar has put all his soul into raising, here upon the banks of the Sirannon, is –
Worth waiting for. And so Tyelperinquar will.
“Typically it is customary to inquire after the name and station of a guest in return,” Jukhan says eventually, milder than Tyelperinquar has ever heard the Man speak after being crossed in this way.
“I see.” Annatar inclines his head. “I thank you for inquiring after mine, then.”
And then the Maia returns to eating as if he does not understand that Jukhan had been trying to nudge him into requesting an introduction, and the whispers along the table only increase in volume.
“Your friend is an odd one,” Jukhan tells Tyelperinquar later, after the two of them have retired alone to Tyelperinquar’s study to go over the traders’ manifests. Here, Tyelperinquar is meant to compare the traders’ offerings with his own stock and needs – as the lord of the city, he had long ago negotiated the deal that means he gets first pick of their wares – and then to haggle out prices that both of them can accept. Customarily, the evening would then conclude with several drinks with Jukhan, as the Man boasts of his travels and complains about something he has experienced in Ost-in-Edhil this trip around while Tyelperinquar simply smiles into his own glass.
But it seems that he is not the only one distracted this evening, if Jukhan’s nudging is any indication.
“Mmmm. Annatar?” As if Jukhan could possibly be speaking of anyone else, after their exchange earlier. And surely the Maia does not actually require a defense, but Tyelperinquar feels compelled to offer one all the same. “He is something of a newcomer to Ost-in-Edhil, and indeed to Eregion, so I hope that you can forgive him any potential slips in etiquette.”
“Slips. Hah.” Jukhan waves off this explanation with singular intent. “Newcomer he may be, but that man knew what he was doing tonight, nah.”
Tyelperinquar can almost see the trade agreements that he has built up painstakingly over years and years and years sliding away, if he does not tread carefully here. And yet, that urge to back Annatar persists.
“I am certain that he didn’t-“ he begins, soothingly.
“No, no, no – I do not require apologies,” Jukhan assures him, waving off the half-started comment much like he had the explanation a moment before. “I recognize the instinct, my friend, and while I cannot wish him well, I must at least make him some allowances.”
Tyelperinquar – blinks. He has lost the thread somewhere along the way here, hasn’t he. Instinct? Allowances?
The Mannish merchant must see something in his face, though, and for the first time in all the years that Tyelperinquar has known him, Jukhan actually relents in something.
“My friend.” Jukhan has never actually used Tyelperinquar’s name: in the past, he has claimed that it is because Quenya is too difficult for a clumsy mortal tongue, and that he would not dishonor a trading partner so by butchering their name.
“Your friend has designs upon you,” he continues now. “And I am certain he could tell that I was the same as he, once.”
Sometimes things are lost in the translation to Sindarin, which is the first tongue of relatively few across Eriador but has become the lingua franca for trade among Ost-in-Edhil, the Khazad, and many more peoples besides. And perhaps that translation effect is what is happening here, Tyelperinquar tells himself, almost unsteadily.
“Forgive me, Jukhan,” he says, as cordially as he is able while his mind struggles to piece together the pieces he is being given, stretching for some larger whole that he cannot quite see in full yet. “I am not quite certain that I follow your meaning?”
Jukhan makes a sound that would be his signature scoff if it were not quite so soft now. “You never did, nah. And I was a far younger and more handsome man when we first met, too. But although I have learned since that you require a little more forthrightness if you are to see what is right before your elvish eyes, I think I would be embarrassed to ask, now that I am an old man.”
Sometimes the shapes that people request placed in their glass windows make no sense to Tyelperinquar: he must admit that his eye is bent on metal more than stone, and certainly more than on crystallized sand. He cannot always tell what he is meant to be seeing in those riotous shapes and colors in the glass that he passes in the streets of Ost-in-Edhil, and that is even before the light of day brings them to multi-hued life.
“You know that I am no poet, Jukhan.” The manifests lie, long-forgotten, on the desk before them: all Tyelperinquar’s attention seems to have come to a point in the face of a casual acquaintance whom he would have thought that he has known, and known fairly well, for years. But now, a little light from a different source has revealed shapes in him that Tyelperinquar does not know. “I do best with language unadorned.”
Jukhan opens his mouth as if he would speak in the language requested – but then he closes it again, swallowing back the words instead, and they are lost.
“It is nothing, nah,” he promises grandly, his usual bombast back in full force. “Once the foolish, idle daydreams of a youngster dreaming above his station, and now the late-night musings of an old man indulging in his nostalgia along with his drink. Come, pay it no more mind; have you looked yet at the selection of teas I bring this season?”
Tea is more Annatar’s indulgence of choice than it is Tyelperinquar’s, but Tyelperinquar lets himself be drawn back into the manifests all the same. And when he says as much, offhand, Jukhan huffs, but recommends a particular blend that he calls white tea: too delicate for most palates, he thinks, but anyone who cleaves so close to the lord of Ost-in-Edhil has only the best of tastes.
Tyelperinquar has no answer for this. As he said before, he points out now, shrugging: he does not drink tea.
Most of those who travel in Jukhan’s train, Tyelperinquar has seen before. But this time around, there is also a newcomer: a youngish fellow, even by the count of Mannish years, who looks around the wonders of Ost-in-Edhil with a wary, cornered look. As if he is seeking something here that he does not know what he shall do if he finds it.
Annatar watches him with narrowed eyes, the first day; outright corners him, the second. But whatever he learns from the fellow, he seems quite excited about it when he comes to find Tyelperinquar with a glowing countenance later that evening.
It turns out that the youngish fellow is something of a correspondent of Annatar’s. The two have been writing for some time about an innovation created by the master craftsman this fellow is apprenticed to: some sort of ground substance that can be ignited to create massive concussive force.
“Such as our firecrackers,” Tyelperinquar guesses, trying not to sound confused. Pyrotechnics are not completely unknown in Ost-in-Edhil; they are often peppered with colorful powders and sweet-smelling herbs, then set off to celebrate major occasions, where they create small, localized puffs of colorful sound.
“Something along these lines, from what I can tell,” Annatar concedes. “Only they have created something with far more kinetic potential than the little smoking party tricks that I have seen the good people of Ost-in-Edhil toy with. Tyelpe, my precious, if my calculations are correct – this improved formula could level mountains.”
The thought along makes Tyelperinquar shudder. “That sounds – powerful.” He tempers his instinctive reaction, one of borderline disgust for the idea, when he realizes that Annatar is truly excited by this. “Given the correct avenue, it could be – quite effective.”
Golden eyes fixed on him narrow. “You seem doubtful,” Annatar says slowly.
No use hiding it, then. Tyelperinquar shrugs. “I am hard-pressed to imagine constructive outlets for that much power,” he admits, matching Annatar’s deliberate tone.
“But Tyelpe,” Annatar protests, animated again. In his enthusiasm, his golden eyes shine brighter than the scarlet gems ornamenting every finger, which catch the sunlight as he gestures. Fractals red as blood dance across the chamber floor.
“Imagine how such a thing could increase the speed and efficacy of our Khazad allies in their mining operations, to begin with!” Annatar argues. “And for another, how many of your allies would be interested in such a power, if it could be brought to bear against any remaining armies of the Moringotto. Or even, indeed, used as leverage in our own state interests, should it come to that.”
Tyelperinquar could countenance hearing of developments that would help the Khazad, certainly. But by the time Annatar has reached to more military ventures – Tyelperinquar has to shake his head.
No. No. Ost-in-Edhil is known for her artisans and her scholars. For being a nexus of trade and of learning, fostering young minds regardless of the station or the people they came from. For gleaming like a gem in the sunlight, a full rainbow of stained-glass windows catching and rejoicing in every ray of light.
Tyelperinquar will not follow his grandfather’s path. Light shall not consume him, nor shall power; Ost-in-Edhil shall never go to war, for any threat less than the Moringotto or his ilk themselves.
He does not need to say even a word of this, though: Annatar must read it in his face, as transparent as the glass whose shapes he does not always understand but whose colors he has always loved.
The Maia’s own face shutters, and the bloody light dancing upon the chamber floors seizes – stops – settles – as his hands, and his rings, fall back to his sides. “You do not agree with this.”
“I remain unconvinced,” Tyelperinquar hedges. Not because he actually is at all to be swayed, and more because – he cannot bear to see Annatar close himself away like this.
“I am simply concerned, that is all,” he tries to reassure the Maia. “It seems such power could be put to destructive ends with terrible ease, whatever good intentions we might begin with. And such potential for destruction does not seem like that which we of Ost-in-Edhil should seek to be putting out into the world. We have so much better to offer Beleriand than that.”
“I see.” Annatar’s face remains closed and his hands remain at his sides, dripping bloody light upon the sand-light floor. “Might I beg my lord’s indulgence for a demonstration, at least? To show him that such power can be put to harmless ends, as well as the apocalyptic visions as he seems to imagine them in?”
The return to the formal register of his first days in Ost-in-Edhil pains Tyelperinquar. He already knows that no demonstration will be enough to change his mind, but – this is Annatar. The Maia would not ask for such a thing without good reason, would he? And more importantly – Tyelperinquar himself could not gainsay him anything, let alone something that Annatar has promised will be harmless.
What else is Tyelperinquar to do, but nod and grant his assent?
But by this point, it seems like some invisible damage has already been done, whether to Annatar’s trust or to his pride: the Maia simply inclines his head in thanks and glides from the room without another word, leaving Tyelperinquar’s heart constricting in his chest. And indeed, Tyelperinquar does not see much of him for the next few days, as Annatar disappears among Jukhan’s traders to track down the youngish fellow who was his initial contact and presumably begins working to organize whatever this display might be.
(But at least he still materializes at Tyelperinquar’s chamber door again most nights, as has become his wont of late. And he still seems inclined to enjoy Tyelperinquar’s touch, much as he had before, even if these nights, he is much quieter and will not remain with Tyelperinquar through the night: Tyelperinquar always wakes to find him gone by sunrise.)
All is well, Tyelperinquar tells himself, sitting amidst the mussed sheets of a bed that feels over-large now that he is alone in it once more. Annatar is busy, that is all. He has not left entirely.
He will return. He will always return.
The day that Tyelperinquar has designated for Annatar’s demonstration of this new technology he has become so enamored with, finally dawns, and Tyelperinquar is surprised to wake and find that he is not alone: Annatar has remained the night, as he has not done for quite some time now.
After Tyelperinquar has shown his lover his appreciation for remaining there, Annatar smiles up at him, golden hair still a halo about his head atop the pillows. Even his mood seems improved from what is has been of late. “Does my lord anticipate today’s festivities, then?” he asks softly.
It is not that at all, though Tyelperinquar is treading carefully around such admittances now after how Annatar took his most recent skepticism. “He is happy that you have remained with him,” he corrects instead.
And it is not until Annatar’s smile, still soft and small until now, spreads into an expression wide and bright – and he loops his arms around Tyelperinquar’s neck to draw him down into a more fervent kiss than before – that Tyelperinquar realizes what he has done.
He has never let Annatar claim him as Annatar’s lord without contesting that idea strongly. But now – now, it seems, he has responded without that counterclaim, and Annatar is extremely pleased with his choices. To demonstrate his pleasure, in fact, the Maia distracts him so thoroughly that they are almost late to his own demonstration, even though the equipment needed has been set up right in the main thoroughfare of Ost-in-Edhil, only a few streets away from the residence allocated to the lord of Ost-in-Edhil.
So Tyelperinquar is still a little distracted, yes, as Annatar directs a few Mannish assistants through the motions of setup and preparation. What is more, Jukhan pushes his way through the crowd to stand at his side and comment on the proceedings; Tyelperinquar is somewhat distracted by his conversation, but for a heartbeat, he could almost swear that he catches Annatar scowling in their direction as he takes in who stands beside his lover.
Still. All Tyelperinquar’s attention, all his being, focuses right back upon the Maia when Annatar calls out to him, with a gesture showing off his work and a shouted request for permission to send up a demonstration of the powder that has so excited him.
It is good to see him to animated again, and Tyelperinquar is smiling as he nods to grant permission. Annatar returns the expression with a small, delighted smile of his own, before he bends to do something atop the display, then shouts for his helpers to stand back.
And that is all the warning that Tyelperinquar and other onlookers on either side of the thoroughfare receive before there is a massive booming sound and an eye-searing, multicolored explosion of unadulterated, unfiltered light.
Sight and hearing are slow to return in the wake of such raw power. Instead, what Tyelperinquar registers first is a sensation of stinging upon his head, and his hands, and even upon his shoulders, as if driven through the very fabric of his robes. It takes him a moment to register that he has been thrown to the ground, knocked nearly prone; it takes a moment longer still to realize that the great ringing sound he is hearing does not stem from the world around him, but instead, from just his own ears, thanks to the periphery of this blast.
Latest of all comes the realization that the stinging is a rain of glass shards, for the detonation appears to have blown out nearly every glass window in the edifices that line the main thoroughfare of Ost-in-Edhil.
Jukhan stirs at his side, probably groaning even if Tyelperinquar cannot quite take in the sound yet. And Tyelperinquar’s own hands come away from his scalp, his side, marred with only small splatters of blood, not the rivulet that he was expecting, but still – he can feel himself reeling as he struggles to regain some manner of equilibrium.
It is hard, though, when more than his body has been thrown into utter disarray. For glass of every hue and shards of every size now litter the thoroughfare and its cobblestones, leaving blank, jagged emptiness yawning in the empty frames that stretch, street to ceiling, at the front of every building.
Tyelperinquar stares at it all in a numb sort of shock. It is difficult to comprehend how much has been destroyed in a single heartbeat, and how long it will take to replace, if it even can be. Stars and suns and gems and trees; lovers and memories and hopes and dreams; all lie shattered, rendered just so many shards of jagged glass that will cut anyone within range.
Ost-in-Edhil has never seen war, and Tyelperinquar has vowed, personally, that she never will. And yet, the stained glass that is her pride and joy throughout Beleriand lies shattered in her streets, and children scream with glass-cut feet, and amidst the wreck of it all stands the one being in all creation whom Tyelperinquar might just love more than he does his city.
That night, in the wake of such devastation, Tyelperinquar dreams as he has not done in centuries.
In the dream, he looks over at himself as if from another’s body, and what he sees of himself is only horror and ruin. His body hangs limp in the hold of some unseen force, draped in what remain of sky-blue robes and a leather craftsman’s apron after the fabrics of them have been half torn from his frame. The warm brown of his skin is ashen, and stained in places with his own blood, sluggish and drying in shapes that mirror the river Sirannon himself; his head hangs forward, limp and low, hiding his gaze from his dream-self behind the curtain of his own dark hair, also wet with blood.
And what is worse – in this dream, Annatar stands behind him, and far from concerned, he seems to wallow in the wreck that Tyelperinquar’s dream-self has become. His grip seems firm upon the limpness of Tyelperinquar’s bloody wrist, and his mouth is latched to the bloody wreck of Tyelperinquar’s shoulder. His eyes are closed, as if in ecstasy that Tyelperinquar’s lifeblood paints his lips the very color of the rubies and spinels that decorate his fingers; his robes of white and gold remain as immaculate as they ever have.
How Tyelperinquar can both see himself, and also be himself? And why in all of Arda is he dreaming of this?
He only tells Annatar about parts of the dream, of course, for there is no need to alarm his friend with the phantasmal visions that plagued his night – particularly not when Annatar himself is also reeling after how wrong his demonstration went. Besides, Tyelperinquar tells himself: no doubt it was more the horror of seeing what seemed like half the city exploding in shards of glass. Surely the blood that he had dreamed running down his arms, down his streets, could not come from anything more than his agitated mind struggling to process how and why Ost-in-Edhil had seen actual blood drawn just the day before.
“Nonsense,” Annatar says softly upon hearing this part, quiet as he picks up his tea. “Visions shall not trouble you while I am near, and your mind is far too strong to let an accident such as what happened yesterday trouble it to the point of hallucinations.”
He makes a pleased face, then peers into his cup, as he registers that he is drinking something new. “What is this blend, my precious? I have never tasted its like before, and I find myself entranced.”
Tyelperinquar does not name Jukhan as the source of the white tea and its delicate taste. Indeed, Tyelperinquar wonders – with a strange, dawning sort of emotion he could not name if he tried – whether, if he did so, then the Mannish merchant will be found dead in the night and body cold in the morning.
He cannot name a source for this disquiet, or worse, pinpoint why this growing certainty that his fears for Jukhan are not a far-fetched idea. So instead, he simply tells Annatar that he had found the tea as a gift; its color and its scent reminded him of his lover!
Annatar smiles, pleased, and holds out the cup with a quiet offer to let him taste. Shards of red light from his many rings catch Tyelperinquar in the eyes as he does.
Of course, no cup of tea could possibly quiet Tyelperinquar’s spirit this morning, even if he enjoyed it. But this one is being offered by Annatar, the one he loves and the one he would defend and follow to the ends of the earth, if need be.
So of course, Tyelperinquar smiles and leans forward to drink, blinking away the red light from his vision.