VII.  Glitter (Elrond, "Annatar")

In a lodge set deep beneath the trees of Eregion, I am attended by the stranger who holds sway in the Jewel-Smiths’ court.  As my King’s herald, I came to meet the mysterious Elf and hear his words. 

It disturbs me not a little to see how my distant kinsman Celebrimbor fairly dotes upon this Annatar, holding him high in his councils.  Celebrimbor treats Annatar as if the other were a brother long lost.  That in itself is not so odd; save that Annatar has no kin that he has ever mentioned. 

And now, Celebrimbor and his folk have retired for the night.   I would have also retired, after we sang the evensong to Elbereth.  But Annatar asked to speak to me here, before the hearth.

A harmless request.   So why do I shiver?   His words are kindly.  Annatar offers me friendship, and more:  the priceless lure of knowledge.  I am not so much a Noldo that the crafts of the Jewel-Smiths tempt me unduly, yet Annatar speaks of ancient lore and tidings from the Blessed Realm itself,  messages from my lost sire and the mother that flew to him.

“And I can give thee even more wisdom in the healing arts than thou hast already, Eärendilion,” Annatar says.  He puts a graceful, firm hand on my shoulder, drawing me slightly towards him.  He must have heard that I am a student, when time permits, of the healing art.  Few know that it is a passion of mine. 

“Drink with me,” he says, extending a golden cup.  The words are courteously spoken but they sound like a command, however gentle.  I look up into Annatar’s proud face and remind myself that the only one in Middle-earth who may command me is my king.

I am drawn to just the sight of him; I who have not yet felt bodily love towards any, male nor female.  I do not think that I have ever seen a fairer Elf than this Annatar.   He is raven-haired, taller than even my well-remembered uncle Maedhros, with brilliant eyes of gold-flecked grey that pull my heart and mind to him. 

When I hear Annatar’s voice; when I behold the majesty of his face and the glory of his eyes, I yearn to accept the gifts he graciously would give me.   Would my hand burn if he clasped it?  I lean forward.

Yet as I look upon him, I feel another, different kind of sight that sometimes takes me, coming from the back of my head into my eyes.   I realize that I must resist the pull of this Elf.  For I detect a spirit within him that does not match the beauty of his form. Those gold-grey eyes veil a thing that stalks me, slavering in greed, a will that would snap me up as Carcharoth once consumed my longfather Beren’s hand.   Ugliness and foulness!

Barely veiling my own horror, I step back.  “Thank you; but no,” I manage to say with some semblance of dignity.  “I am weary, and crave the fresh air before I seek my rest.”

I walk away, close the door behind me, and go outside, gulping the cool air of early autumn.  My steps turn into a run through the holly-trees and pines.  Finally, I come to a clearing where I stop to catch my breath.  I raise my head and see, high above me, the star borne by my father, its silvery light clear in the cloudless heavens. 

“Not all that glitters is gold,” I announce, the words sounding strange but fitting.  I will sleep under the stars this night. 

Author's Note:  This Second Age ficlet was written (and originally posted on my LJ and the Henneth-Annun email list) for the B2MEM Day Eight Challenge prompt -   Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Is it? And ugliness? Is it also relative?

The name Annatar means "Giver of Gifts".  Most of those who are reading this will know who he really was (Hint:  he had a thing for rings).  If you don't, read The Silmarillion.