#silverartisan

The door opens.

A shadow is cast into the darkness of the cell. It is not the usual shadow, this is shorter, stockier, the movement without the fluidity of Annatar Sauron.

He moves with cautious, attention. He has something in his hand. A bowl of some kind of gruel, the common food that is being served to the prisoner.

{That is strange. Food is not generally brought to him. Usually it is left in front of the door.}

The man looks at Celebrimbor. He is beyond the peak of his life, with wrinkles and signs on his face, and soft, calm brown eyes. He looks at the elf, a piercing gaze, his worn face thoughtful, his chapped lips pressed against one other.

He puts the bowl with the gruel down, and, very deliberately, adds a piece of dried meat by it.

{Meat is not given to the prisoners. Nothing that could make them stronger is.}

Then he takes a step back, and waits.

{The door is still open.}

Worry visibly etches itself onto his features (for Tyelperinquar is oft much too honest in the way he conducts himself) as he nods and moves to sit aside the other. He seems rather perplexed by the request, however, and swings his legs back and forth as a momentary distraction as he gathers his thoughts.

Only following a moment of careful, silent consideration does he dare to voice his concerns, gentle gaze falling to Carnistir at last.

        “…Does something ail you, uncle?”

Perhaps it is not his place to ask these things of his elders, but he holds the well-being of his very own flesh and blood far above whatever may be expected of him. He would sooner accidentally offend someone than to allow them to potentially suffer in silence – and he finds no harm in being found wrong from time to time, either.

It grieved Carnistir a little to hear Tyelpe ask him if anything ailed him, after what had happened in Nargothrond, but he should not have been surprised. His nephew had always had a good heart, caring for others, sometimes at the expense of his own needs.  “I do not know what passed between you and your father,” Carnistir began, meeting his nephew’s gaze. “Only that he and Tyelko were banished and you remained.” He realized that perhaps he should have prefaced those statements with something, but that was the sort of thing he always realized too late. It was in his nature to speak his mind so, especially since he could not bear to see Tyelpe like this. 

         “I am honoured by your kind words, Annatari.”

The compliment earns a sheepish smile from Celebrimbor, whom must lower his gaze before it wavers and fully gives him away. He moves to a tuck an errant strand of hair behind a pointed ear, shaking his head.

         “And yet I have done nothing truly special to warrant your praise.            It is so much more than I deserve.”

Quickly does he recover from his momentary embarrassment, clearing his throat as he straightens and begins to gather his things.

         “–But if my company is so cherished, this Lord would ask that you            join him in the gardens later this eve. We may speak then.”

                 Annatari lowered her head in respect of the Lord of Eregion. A small giggle escaped the Lady’s lips as she tucked her anvil away, taking her apron off to reveal her dirty robes. With an ever gentle voice, the false elleth said: 

❝ You deserve it more than you credit, my Lord. For     I speak the truth and never do I utter     lies. They are pests to our formerly harmonious     world. ❞

                Mairon within would have had her lip twitch out of irritation by the words she had said but it was never done before Celebrimbor. Oh, how Mairon would laugh at that. She would have laughed at the irony of her own words.

                His offer caused Annatari to turn to the Lord, lashes fluttered as she blinked. He just... offered her his company alone in the gardens. It was a sign he was trusting her. With a soft blush, she said:

❝ Of course, my Lord. It should give me plenty of     time to prepare myself in better     garments. ❞

this is noT OK MY HEART

“Oh?” Fëanor looked down at Curvo’s broken hammer, brows raised as he eyed his young grandson’s attempts at an innocent face. Despite his stern tone, a smile tugged his lips as he contemplated Curvo’s face of huffed displeasure, which they were very likely to have joy of witnessing soon if he found out about this.

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