Grace

Mellow Soulmate AU.  He knew Sauron was not vanquished forever.  Quenya names used (Celebrimbor = Telperinquar, Fëanor = Fëanáro, Sauron = Annatar).  This is based off of the Lust arc ("Lust", "Disaster", "Lies", "Breakable" and "Drought"), but is an entirely new take on it--with minor plot!  For those who do not know (as it is important), the word in Quenya for grace is Eruanna (Eru + anna = God + gift = gift from God).  This is particularly ironic (in the context of the story) because of Sauron's fake name Annatar (Anna + tar = Gift + lord = Lord of Gifts).  Takes place in Mordor (or very near to it) in the late Third Age.  And yes, Sauron takes "physical" form that is not an eye.  Seriously, the eye trope was just in the movies.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion or the Lord of the Rings

Pairings: Sauron x Celebrimbor

Characters: Celebrimbor, Sauron (mentions Fëanor and Eru)

Warning: non-canon compliant, slash, non-canon relationships, past non-con, torture and murder, abusive relationship, Stockholm Syndrome-like mentality, cynicism and paranoia, heavy sexual undertones

Song: Wired Life

Words: 1,500
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grace (noun): a virtue coming from God; approval, favor; a charming or attractive trait or characteristic; ease and suppleness of movement or bearing
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/grace

Eruanna.  What a strange and tragic word.

At first so innocuous.  But with its sweet, cool ravishing of such gifts came to the temptations.  The bitterness and the envy and the danger around every corner.

So often the greatest of blessing turned out to be naught but curses.

It was a lesson all of the House of Fëanáro learned through gallons of crimson and oceans of tears.  The greatest craftsman ever born--born with His blessings, graced with genius, perseverance and ingenuity to such extremes that no other before or since could even hope to compare--had also in his blindness taken the wrong path, tripped and stumbled over the cliff into the unforgiving abyss and shattered into more pieces than could ever be pasted back together.

The culmination of such grace, they were, the Silmarilli.  His greatest work--the greatest craft that could be made from the hands of the greatest craftsman to ever walk in a mortal shell--and it had led him and all he held dear to utter ruin.  For all his intelligence, for all his fire and for all his brilliance, Fëanáro's gift had, in the end, been his doom as well.

And he, Telperinquar, was the second coming of that talent and spirit and grace.  But not of the ill fate and doom that had followed.  He had believed he had learned the lessons of the bloody First Age well.

He had been wrong.  So wrong.

As Fëanáro, Telperinquar had the ability to forge complex and glorious wonders beyond the imagining of any other simple minds, be they elven, dwarven or mannish.  It came to him as second nature, like breathing and thinking and seeing.  As though the heat of the fire against his flesh, the sweat slicking his skin and the glowing metal beneath the tender care of his large, dexterous hands...

As though it was meant to be.  As though his body had been formed by the One for the hostile, delicate environment with intent.  For the task of creating out of metal and stone something of beauty comparable to the works of the Valar.

But he had thought to never use it as had his grandfather.  To never do anything so foolish...

Foolish... he laughed now at the thought.

For he had been graced twice.  Or so it had seemed.  And the second gift...

Annatar.

Golden and beautiful.  Sultry and vivacious.  A craftsman of his own league, a kindred spirit with which to intermingle and befriend in a way he could bond with no other.  Another whose obsession with the work of the forge and fire was on par with that of a Telperinquar, who lived for his craft.

They had become more than mere friends so quickly.  And at the time, Telperinquar could remember lying prone in their bed, twisted up in the damp sheets and layers of golden curls, so warm and content.  Stroking his fingers softly over the dips, curves and tendons of his lover's statuesque body until every angle and shade of complexion was ingrained upon his memory for all of time.  Could remember thinking that this was a blessing he had never thought to ask for, never expected to hold within his tremulous fingers.

A blessing turned curse.

Because it had been the temptation--the dark emotions following as a plague upon his House.  The Ring of Power... the whispers of his lover's heated voice in his ears... the madness of weaving magic into the metal and gem... of creating something that could bend the forces of the world...

So easily had he been manipulated, his gift used for evil, and his greatest love turned to hate.

In the end, it had been the hand that taught him skills unknown to any mortal creature--the hands that in the darkness of night rent him with ultimate bliss--that he spilled his blood until his screams were weak.  That had ended his life without regard or remorse.

Eruanna... ar umbar...

And so desperately he wished that he had not been the receiver of such grace.  Such accursedness.

Because he could now not look away from the garish heat.  Could not force his feet to move from where they seemed rooted to the earth in iron and stone.  Could not even flinch with the pain of the earth's blood whipping across his soul.  All he could do was watch, wide-eyed and breathless, the dark figure that approached, that burned as it came within the sphere of contact with his spirit.

The face was sickly gray, sharper and wilder, teeth more than of an animal's than a civilized being's, but familiar in its cant and the shape of eyes, in the intrinsic handsomeness of the strong jaw and straight nose. The hair, once golden and curling in sensuous waves was now pale, was washed of all color, straight and dull.  But the eyes remained the same--the same intensity of regard, the same lusty hunger and the same predatory gleam as they beheld his faintly trembling form.

Sauron...

Upon his back, the scarred runes seared white-hot.  The connection between them held still firm, binding tightly the elf to this madman, this traitor and murderer.  Helpless to resist, he did not fight as fingers arose to brush against his cheek, sharp nails long and blackened upon skeletal fingers tracing downwards to the corner of his lips, tickling faintly upon his skin.

No beauty was there in this creature.  The result of his greatest blessings... his greatest curses...

"I did not think thou wouldst return to my side, my lover..."

Telperinquar knew that he should turn and run away as though Morgoth himself were upon his heels.  Exposed for what he truly was, Sauron ought to have been hideous and disfigured to his mind's eye, a creature of ugliness to match the putrid, rotting spirit decaying within the dark raiment.  And yet, he was captured as easily as an unsuspecting butterfly in a net of finely woven thread, gossamer wings pinned down so that he might be flightless.

Their eyes met, and he fell and fell into the core of the earth.  Felt it eating away at the corners of his mind, the fire and brimstone in the shadow.

The touch was not painful, but tender and loving.  Feigned care, he knew in his heart of hearts, for Sauron was incapable of love.  He cared not for Telperinquar beyond the want of his body and the need for his talents.  The elf knew he was being manipulated and used, strung up like a marionette to dance for the pleasure of his captor.

And yet a knot was formed in his throat, tears burning behind his eyes.

Because, when he was pulled close and dark lips brushed against his forehead and lips and throat, leaving him trembling and shuddering beneath an earthquake of sensation, he could not make himself pull away from the point of instability.  Could not force himself to reject the comforting touch of his One upon his body and spirit when for so long he had been so cold and distant.

They were bound as tightly as any fated pair.  And part of him did not want to be free of the manacles about his wrists and ankles and throat.

They kissed, long and deep and lazy, and Telperinquar knew he was falling--he should hate and scorn and scream and attempt to gut this monster, yet could not force himself to reach for the sword at his belt or the knife in his boot--and falling and falling--he simply could not do it, wanted to instead hold on to this heat and comfort and never, never allow it to slip as water between his fingers again--and falling and falling...

So easily.  He wondered if they would sing his name in disgust until the end of time.

Because, for all his gifts, he shared the same weakness as the rest of his kin.  Lacked the strength to resist the mithril thread reeling him inward to the source of his suffering...

Lacked the resilience to resist his own doomed fate.

When a hand--more familiar in its breadth and roughness than his own--grasped his and pulled him away toward that fortress rising as a single peak of desolation on a barren, broken landscape, Telperinquar found his feet carrying him willingly forth.  Eagerly to whatever ill end might await.  His fingers clutched tightly to that hand--that gift and lifeline--and refused to let go no matter how loudly his mind screamed for reason.

But there was no reason to be found.

Eruanna.  It was no honey-coated word dipped in the essence of joy or good fortune.  It was strange and tragic.  It left a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

For this Spirit of Fire, it was but the downfall.  The reprise.
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Just an idea that will not go away.  Like seriously, it's been there almost from the very beginning.  Of course, I didn't realize the prompt "Grace" would morph into it, but nevertheless there it is.  And the imagery I blame on anastasiyacemetary's Sauron... so sexy in a really strange sort of way.  But I just can't get him out of my head, and he can shapeshift, so...

Yeah... Anyway, it's late and I don't have much else to say.

Think about the title of the song for a minute. Wired Life and fate... just think about it... makes a little sense, ne?  Maybe not, but it does to me.  Even more so when you know the Japanese lyrics (look it up on AnimeLyrics.com if you so desire, or just enjoy the ambiguity of the music).  It just sort of clicked and actually helped give me this idea in the first place.  Interesting, ne?  And it's an awesome song--and by Meisa Kuroki as well as the second end theme of Ao no Exorcist, just to throw some names around.

That is all.  I really want to sleep...