Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Rrrgh..."  Talion inhaled sharply through his nose, a feeble attempt to wake himself up quicker. He blinked up at the sky, sadly, Celebrimbor never thought to consider incorporating some form of shelter for the very top of his Haedirs in Seregost.

He turned onto his side, all while groggily tossing part of his cape over his head. He could hear the wraith sit down somewhere behind him, likely stirring from all of Talion's sleepy grumbling. The ranger chose to ignore his presence for now as he sighed and wrapped his cloak more comfortably around his body. His mind gradually slipped off into sleep again, when yet another bestial roar erupted from the ground below, this time he was awake enough to decipher that it did indeed come from a graug.

Talion flipped on his back and then propped himself up on his elbows; his eyes heavily lidded, yet gingerly drawing into focus at the shining, pale blue figure by his side. He couldn't remember a time when Celebrimbor wasn’t already there, watching over him the moment he woke up. The ranger had grown quite fond of it, really.

He reasoned with himself long ago that the sight of this very elf each day continued to invoke such warm feelings due to the comfort of having something consistent. He strictly avoided entertaining the idea that this growing warmness was caused by much more... delicate reasons. The wraith would never know of the way he makes Talion feel, and the ranger prayed that Celebrimbor wasn't able to pick up on it through their bond.

More monstrous bellows, followed along with vaguely familiar shouts from below prompted Talion to briskly turn away from the wraith and peak over the tower's edge. Not yet ready to venture out and leave the security that the top of the Haedir granted, he silently watched as a decent-sized caravan of orcs managed to pass around one of their dominated graugs; which the irritable beast was currently proving to be an efficient roadblock. He felt Celebrimbor materialize closer to him as the elf plopped to sit crisscrossed on the edge, also seemingly intrigued by the commotion below.

"They have all been especially active as of late, I have yet to understand what calls for such an influx of supplies, and even this much grog."

Talion was crouched at the edge of the tower as he spoke aloud, "What is it that they've been transporting, anyway?" He locked his focus onto the contents of the caravan.

As he remained distracted, Celebrimbor studied him, if only for a moment, to imprint the scene of Talion swaddled in his cloak, still decently disheveled.

"They are certainly keeping themselves busy, much like we do." The elf responded casually, now glancing idly between the ground and Talion. This answer, of course, did not subside his increasing suspicion and Talion finally looked up to meet the wraith's fixed gaze.

"You and I both know the amount of grog they consume, but for them to be brewing this much lately is... peculiar." Talion spoke inquisitively, watching the other's face for some form of shared apprehension. As per usual emotions were scarcely ever shown, if not through the elf's tone when he would speak.

"We have claimed the Gordumi Orlu outpost, along with the Oroshnalkh outpost, this area is now secured for our army to travel through." Celebrimbor paused, seeming to take his next words into careful consideration. "They are simply transporting building and repair materials to each camp. We should leave them be." He insisted, his tone implying that this would be the end of their current topic, which Talion knew was aberrant to the other's usual watchful attitude.

"So, you have already noticed the things that I am only just now seeing? If I'm not mistaken, you are the one who is so uptight about all of this—" Talion gestured towards the many scattered uruk, orc, and olog caravans, all busying themselves with newfound tasks.

"Why are you not concerned?" He fully turned to face Celebrimbor, frowning all while leaning towards the wraith expectingly, earning him nothing but a rushed response.

"Their spirits are high, as should yours be." And with this, the elf vanished, leaving the ranger staring off into the polar landscape.

➵  ➵  ➵

With a not-so-graceful leap, Talion finally descended from the top of the Haedir, landing with a hard thud on the nearest wooden wagon, startling the small caravan into a collective yelp of shock. He nosily inspected each open basket, his previous apprehension wavered slightly at the sight of numerous freshly collected herbs and flowers.

One of the leading uruks who was pushing the wagon along spoke up, giving the ranger a questioning look, "Ey-uh, mornin' Boss?"

Talion, quite frankly, was not paying attention as he focused more on shifting his hands through the heaps of plants, lifting a small handful and sniffing them dubiously. A different uruk spoke this time, "You're lookin' a little shabby, no offense."

It was true. Talion was not a particularly peaceful sleeper, and he often forgot to keep his stubble in check. But if an uruk of all creatures was implying his appearance was raunchy...

He made a mental note to wash up later.

"Morning. Where is this shipment going?" Talion inquired chiefly, observing his follower's expressions as he stepped down from the wagon. "We've been pushin'it back 'nd forwards to Gordumi Orlu." Another uruk responded anxiously, the group was downright confused at being halted so suddenly.

"These plants, where did they come from?" Talion pried more as he waved a small bundle of niphredil in front of him, noticing that this particular gang of followers seemed to be equipped with... makeshift gardening tools?

"Uh- The valleys, where a bit of the snow 'as started tah melt." A fourth uruk responded, and this time it was the ranger's turn to pitch the group a quizzical expression.

"You mean to tell me a good lot of you have been picking flowers... amongst other fragile things?" He squinted in disbelief as if these creatures could actually manage to do such a task.

"Aye Boss, 'eve been at it for a few days now."

Talion could only think of a handful of his less temperamental captains feeling inclined to respect nature, but they would never organize such passive work for their gangs.

"Right." Talion hummed to himself as he watched some of the uruks begin fiddling with their garments, definitely conspicuous. But just before he could pry any more details, Celebrimbor made himself known by subtly clearing his throat. The ranger snapped his attention to the elf, who was curiously peeking into the open flower baskets.

"Wouldn't want the flowers to wilt, Talion."

And so, Talion huffed and waved off the small caravan, "Go on now."

He spun around and sauntered toward a nearby waterfall, which had thankfully yet to freeze over. He figured it would be best to wash up now when he still had the chance, all while stubbornly refusing to shake the feeling that something strange was taking place...

Chapter Text

“Brush by gracefully

A love as big as a risk

Fills you up

And you can’t look on”

✺

Talion bathed himself in ridged silence. It had taken him a few weeks to come to terms with the ice-cold water battering against his skin. Not to say that he enjoyed it at all… however, he enjoyed smelling himself far less.

He stepped deeper inside the waterfall to a hidden, damp cave; just big enough to rummage around. He took to working through a stash of his rather crafty belongings that he kept tucked away neatly if any creature were to find this little nook.

Fresh and worn down blocks of tallow soap, some pressed with any pleasant herbs the ranger came across. Woven rags and towels, a jar or so's worth of salve, and a carved wooden comb were all the more significant supplies at hand.

While born in the great plains and scattered forests of Rhovanion; foraging, hunting for certain animals, and locating and harvesting essential materials were just a small set of skills Talion adopted when he was younger.

Becoming a ranger, and a captain at that, came to him quite naturally.

Yet, the great plains were not always abundant with wildlife and brush, so, his eyes grew keen to catch even the smallest of scarcities and details of any terrain.

And if Talion ever noticed each decorative, painfully obvious elvish inscribing on more than a few of his belongings, he never protested.

➵   ➵   ➵

After much time, he shoved his things aside with palpable aggravation, cursing to himself. He gave up looking for a specific blade he reserved for shaving and trimming his hair; opting to watch dew accumulate on the cave’s icicles instead.

Sitting with one leg bent, he settled an arm up on his knee, propping his chin on his damp forearm. Unbeknownst to him, the wraith stood behind him holding onto the delicate blade.

Actually, he was standing around for some time now, perhaps also soaking in the heavy atmosphere, or merely waiting for Talion to get over himself. Celebrimbor would have had less patience for his arbitrary sulking, but he supposed he wasn't any more pleasant to deal with when he was rutting in his own temperaments.

The elf realized long ago that, as troublesome as it was, their moods did tend to synchronize; so much so that at times they hardly needed to voice their emotions, if not already rubbing them off on one another.

If there were no words to say, perhaps they would get along better. He would secretly wish of nothing else.

His terrible, elvish pride would never let him admit this, and even if he had, he doubted it would ease the brooding nature they shared.

Still, Celebrimbor aimed to avoid bickering today, he hummed thoughtfully.

Talion’s shoulders straightened and he craned his head back to meet the elf’s pensive expression. He was not the only one caught up in their mind today, it seemed, and then he spotted the glimmer of his missing blade.

“You kicked it aside as you were scrubbing your hair,” Celebrimbor scolded lightly as Talion huffed and moved to stand.

“When did you become this clumsy? I could recount the number of times you just about slipped on your own puddles of soap-” He nitpicked, with an almost patronizing tone as Talion pinched the blade out of his palm.

“Well, thank you anyway.” He responded dryly, promptly cutting the other off then meeting Celebrimbor’s gleaming blue eyes again.

Except now, Talion's stark expression morphed into something more bashful. His gaze dropped to the towel barely hanging around his hips, suddenly too distracted by the need to fasten it securely. Not that the cloth in place even mattered, since apparently, Celebrimbor watches him bathe.

Talion supposed he should not care. What else was the wraith supposed to do?

They share the same body, and even thoughts half the time, for God’s sake! But this newfound insight did not make him uncomfortable… no, it made him feel other utterly ridiculous things.

He would rather die (again) if the elf suspected such immature implications. So, he whirled around and fixed a makeshift mirror up on a crack in the cave wall. Further busying himself with lathering soap all over his face, albeit rushed and sloppy.  

Celebrimbor’s expression scrunched up in silent scrutiny at the other’s behavior yet he lingered and watched. Talion stretched his neck to the side, rubbing in even more soap.

➵  ➵  ➵

The wraith’s glare drifted among the tiny streams of water gliding down Talion’s back. Tanned, taut muscles engulfed the delicate droplets, which then resurfaced and slid over each remaining curve. Lower and lower, pooling at the small of his back before dipping past the pathetically fastened towel on the other’s hips.

Celebrimbor tilted his head, studying more droplets that traced around the ranger's arms. His focus was shamelessly consumed by clouds of glistening soap suds clinging in the coarse hair across the expanse of Talion's chest; trickling down deliciously towards his naval.

He would have snickered to himself if it was not for his inability to pry away his lascivious staring.

He had a deep appreciation for all the things that stole his breath away. Considering the thousands of years he's been deceased, the chances were slim to none that he found anything beautiful anymore.

No, he is far too riddled with loathing to notice such things.

Long since he felt satisfaction; haunted by, and grieving over actions he failed to take. Too many millenniums he's spent craving the death of one entity, and then, the passing of himself.

Too often have his thoughts become consumed by what is bare before him.

Too long has he been dead and rotting, to feel alive by the life that still resonates from within this man.

Too much desire for the heart that fights to beat, even when his does not anymore.

What is it that the elf loves? The life he forced himself upon? The death that he stole?

His vigor, warmth…

No, no, he should not crave this. None of this. Not of the man before him.

Yet he could not look away.

Celebrimbor made eye contact with Talion through the mirror, his trance shattered once it dawned on him that the other was well aware of his incessant gaze. The mirror’s reflection!

He recoiled quickly, lost for words, and his figure began to shine and evaporate into empty space.

Talion stood very still, almost petrified. If he knew the wraith any less, he might assume it was just mannerisms of the undead, and nothing more.

Only it certainly was not, and all he could feel was the fervor within the elf's intent; scalding and pulsating somewhere deep inside of him.

In the way every hair on his body stood, in the way his limbs went heavy and numb.

He released a shuddering breath he did not know he was holding. 

The ranger finished shaving in silence.

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."