Beneath Starlit Skies

6

Singing keeps her spirits high and her hope alive. Through songs engraved on her heart she can remember things faded from her mind, and her memory. Perhaps the only way to keep her lost memories alive is by singing, she wonders for it is through aching hearts and melodies that she connects to a past previously lost to her.

Celeriel sings whenever she can and he in turn has grown to enjoy listening. The meaning of her words become less lost to him as he learns more and more of her mysterious tongue.

He teaches her Quenya and she learns with great determination and dedication. The process seems slow but Celeriel learns quickly for one with no previous knowledge of the language.

He feels content.

"What are you doing?" He asks when she shuffles behind him with a large grin and a braided circlet of blue and purple flowers in her hand.

"Mairon is pretty." Is what she tells him as she pulls back his long hair.

"That is not an answer." He tells her as she begins to braid it.

"But it is the truth." Celeriel smiles cheekily and places the wreath of woven flowers on his head.

He sighs but doesn't remove the crown or undo her braiding. How can he when it makes her smile so brightly? And who is there to see him like this? Only Celeriel and he isn't Sauron, not now, and certainly not to her. To the world he is Sauron, but to her he is Mairon, and that is enough. He can be Mairon just for her.

"Mairon," Celeriel calls after a thoughtful while. "What am I?"

He blinks in surprise at the question but easily turns his surprise into a reassuring smile.

"You are an elf," he tells her and gently brushes a finger over her pointed ears. "An elf of the Eldar folk, though of which people I do not know."

"An elf?" She repeats with furrowed eyebrows.

"Yes," Mairon says, "an elf."

She seems troubled by this.

"I do not remember elves." Celeriel says quietly. "I do not remember many things."

"I will teach you." He tells her. "I will teach you everything you need to know."

"What if I forget?"

"Then I will remind you."

Celeriel smiles at him.

"Thank you, Mairon." She wraps her arms around him and his strong arms do the same.

His eyes soften with fondness.

Then he catches himself.

No, no, no!

He will not fall.

Sauron feels himself slipping.

Too far. He is drifting too far—forgetting himself again.

He is Sauron.

He is Gorthaur.

He knows that he should not get attached. He does not want to get attached. This child is a weakness and he cannot afford for a mere child to be his undoing—she will not be his undoing. He refuses. He will not care for her. Once he has recovered, he will return immediately to Morgoth's side. He will not linger and neither will she in the thoughts of his mind.

It is too late.

However unwillingly, it seems that he already harbours an affection for her along with a fierce desire to protect her. He cannot control his desire to keep her safe, to keep her happy. It clings to him like a parasite. He should've ended it long ago when the sensation was still weak. Like a trickle of water, but now he can feel it swell within him like the waves of a vast ocean. He cannot fight the tide—he cannot defeat himself.