Beneath Starlit Skies

13

Celeriel awakens, blinking the drowsiness from her eyes as she stares up at an unknown ceiling. Realization quickly dawns on her. She's lying on a bed—an actual bed with a mattress, warm blanket, and cushions.

Celeriel wants to cry.

How long has it been? She can't even recall.

Celeriel quickly pulls herself together.

The bed is nice, but there are more pressing matters to attend to.

She drapes the blanket over her shoulders and swings her legs around, climbing off the bed.

Where is Mairon?

As if sensing the thought, the door swings open and in comes a man. His hair looks a lot like hers, and he's well-dressed and—-

She squints.

Not a man, she amends. His ears are too pointy and he's too pretty overall to be a normal man. He has a familiar face, but Celeriel can't explain why.

"You're awake," says the elf in fancy robes and she stiffens because that voice, those eyes—-

"Mairon?"

Mairon-who-doesn't-look-like-Mairon nods and picks her up, gingerly placing her back on the bed.

"You changed your face," Celeriel exclaims in awe, then frowns. "Is this something that happens often?"

"Only when it needs to," Mairon answers, sitting down beside her. "Celeriel, you must listen carefully, can you do that for me?"

"I'm listening." She replies.

"From now on, my name will be Annatar. Please don't call me Mairon, or mention Mairon, and anything that happened while I was Mairon. Can you do that?"

"I can," Celeriel nods, extremely confused, "but why—-"

"I promise to explain everything," Mairon, who suddenly has a really weird aversion to his own name, tells her, kissing her forehead, "just not... presently."

Celeriel frowns, considering. This is all rather suspect- highly suspect, in fact - but surely Mairon has a good reason for it?

"You promise to explain?"

His eyes surge with affection, betraying only the slightest hesitance. She doesn't notice.

"I promise." He says after a beat.

"Okay, then." She smiles, then falters. "Do I call you Annatar, now?"

She doesn't mind the name. It isn't bad, or anything, but it's not 'Mairon.' She likes his previous name better. This would definitely take some getting used to.

"Ah," he shifts, stammering, "well, I was hoping that—erm... you could, perhaps, maybe—-"

Of all the times to lose my reputed silver-tongue, he curses, heart fluttering. His form is practically vibrating with anticipation, trembling with it, even, and he can't stop—-

"Breathe, Mairon." Celeriel advises with a slight giggle. How cheeky.

"If you are comfortable," he retries after a moment, "you could call me, 'Ada.'"

Her mind cranks into 'conversion mode', scrambling through different kinds of elvish, finding the word, then rearranging it into its english translation.

"Ada," she repeats slowly, "as in—-"

Father.

Her eyes widen.