Chapter Text
Day 1 | August 10
First meeting
First time
Fluff
“Have you met him yet?”
The synchronized rhythm of two pairs of footsteps echoed down the long corridor, leaping from the polished marble floor to up the high walls, the engaged columns, and the vaulted ceilings. Golden sunlight streamed in shafts through high, arched windows.
“No, I haven’t had the time.”
One pair of footsteps paused, an incredulous laugh burst into the air and shattered into multiple echoes, breaking the very particular quietude of academic hallways during lessons.
The person responsible for the laughter – Elda, slender, his hair a rakish swipe of short auburn curls, clothed in greens and golds – turned and raised an eyebrow, more amused than scandalized. “You’re letting him teach in your guild, and you haven’t even met him or vetted him before?”
The other one – tall, dark-haired, grey-eyed, stopped as well, challenging the raised eyebrow with one of his own. “As I understand it, Cordyra is still ill and we needed someone to fill in and take over her physics lectures for the first-years. I also understand, from what Epheire told me, that he offered to substitute for her.”
“While the Masters interviewed him?” The first elf resumed walking.
“Apparently so.”
“A fine way to weasel his way of their examination.”
A shrug. “The Masters voted and agreed to let him fill in. He is about to be vetted and examined, after all; only not in a quiet chamber, but in a lecture hall – which sounds a magnitude more gruesome to me. It seems to me they want to test his mettle, seeing how he arrived with an entire caravan of great claims in tow.”
“Oh, quite. Your aunt was quite unamused by them, as I heard.”
“My aunt has elevated being unamused to an art form. At this point, I think it might be more about principles for her than actual displeasure. It’s hard to tell at times.”
Another snort of laughter. “Have you ever considered taking up the fine arts and writing a commedia?”
“No. When it comes to fine arts, I am entirely unburdened by the weight of talent and skill.”
“Oh, come now, Tyelperinquar, surely you must notice that the way you wield sarcasm would be of supreme amusement to any audience.”
“My talents lie elsewhere. We cannot all of us be great thespians.”
The auburn-haired elf considered this. “Very true. I shudder to think of the Mírdain masters in a stage play.”
Celebrimbor stopped in front of a panelled door of heavy oak wood. “Would you truly? Because it might be that they have just now devised one very fine stage play indeed.”
“With one of the Holy Ones in the main role?” The auburn-haired elf leaned in, interested. There was a mischievous sparkle in his leaf-green eyes.
“Quite.”
“And they? Are they fellow actors, audience, or fearsome critics?”
A wry smile pulled at Celebrimbor’s lips. “Do you want to see for yourself?”
“Oh, that you would even ask.”
“After you, then, Master Deukalion.”
Celebrimbor pulled open the door, behind which the quiet susurrus of voices filtered through thick wood could be heard.
Together, Celebrimbor, Lord of the Jewel-smiths and Eregion, and Daeror Deukalion, Master of Music and resident artistic director of the Eregion Society of Arts and Music, entered into the grand auditorium.
The grand auditorium of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain was built in the style of an amphitheatre with rows of seats, descended in half-circles towards the bottom where the lecturer’s table was, along with a great chalkboard. The hall was full, as it always was during the first-year lectures before the point in time when most of the students decided that becoming a member of the Mírdain wasn’t for them, after all. Which was when the numbers rapidly dwindled to a hardy, incorrigible nucleus of students that could and would not be scared off by any number of mathematical proofs, multidimensional matrices, or tables upon tables of material constants.
As it appeared, this particular crossroads of destiny and decision, which usually became apparent a few weeks into the academic year, was about to arrive rather more quickly this time around, if the rattled, overwhelmed expressions on the students’ faces were any indication. Curiously enough, this was not owed to being confronted with an excessive amount of abstract and incomprehensible subject matter, seeing how the chalkboard was absolutely empty.
The silence in the auditorium was absolute, and even the soft sound of Daeror shutting the door behind them echoed far too loudly in the still air. Every head in the room turned – the students tending heavily towards the higher rows in the back, whereas the masters of the Mírdain had taken front row seats.
At the centre of the auditorium stood a lone figure in white robes, and they, too, looked up now.
The eyes of the Maia met Celebrimbor’s. Gold met grey. A spark, a charge raced across the invisible connection, a feeling like a static discharge when touching iron. The distance between them shrank to nothing. It was as if space had contracted, pulling Celebrimbor forward and putting him directly in front of that piercing, golden gaze, into the brilliance of a thousand splendid suns.
The Maia cut a striking figure – his surroundings became a mere lens through which to bend light and attention towards him. His hair was long and fell in golden waves down his shoulders and his back, their splendour contrasting the white of his robes – multi-layered, finely made, but nothing ostentatious, safe for fine embroidery running along the high collar and the front of the chest, as well as the seams of the sleeves. The design fit no style Celebrimbor knew – it was neither Eldarin nor Khazad nor Atani. There was a flow to the cuts and angles and embroidery that reminded him of Elvish styles, but at a second glance, the design had an almost … mathematical quality to it. There was something algorithmic to the patterns, something geometrically satisfying that would have fit right in with the elaborate style in which Dwarves tended to decorate things they loved, be it buildings, clothing, tools, or art. But like light sliding over water, every aspect of the Maia seemed to defy any attempt at categorization, at being grasped and analyzed and understood.
It was strange: the Maia did not look overtly imposing or eldritch or even slightly eerie, like Celebrimbor was used to and would have expected from one of the Holy Ones. And yet, there was a quality about him that marked him as other as clearly as if he had sprouted wings from his back: his guise was similar to that of the Eldar, but it felt condensed in a way that made Celebrimbor think that the Maia’s chosen appearance was just barely containing an essence so great and old like that of an ancient star; straining and radiating outward with the same force and brilliance.
It was this force and brilliance that shone through his eyes, as if through a crack in a door, allowing a glimpse at the god’s hidden, true nature. It was a heavy, primordial gaze, the weight of which could make walls crumble into atoms … and the intensity of which was now entirely focused on Celebrimbor.
Celebrimbor blinked.
The spell broke. An unseen pressure in the air lifted. Sound and smells and objects at the edge of Celebrimbor’s vision returned.
“Ah, late arrivals,” the Maia said, with a wry half-smile, grasping the edge of the table with his hands and leaning slightly back against it. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried effortlessly even up to the highest row of seats. A full, pleasant baritone, smooth, but textured in a way that reminded Celebrimbor running his fingers over dark velvet. “Have you come to join the lecture, then?”
Belatedly, Celebrimbor realized that he had frozen where he stood. He also, incidentally, remembered that he needed to breathe.
“We have,” Daeror said, thankfully choosing to step in at this very moment, appearing not at all fazed by the god in the auditorium. “As new as you are to this city, I am afraid your reputation precedes you already, Master Aulëndil, which is why we gave in to curiosity and decided to listen in. If you do not mind another two people of widely varying familiarity with natural sciences in your audience, that is.”
The eyes of the Maia slid over to the musician and the corners of his mouth quirked up imperceptibly. “I do not. Have a seat, if you so wish.” He indicated the rows of seats. “We were just speaking about physics, and the value thereof.”
Which sounded very abstract and very cryptic, and judging by the faces of both students and masters, it meant as little to either group as it did to Celebrimbor.
Slowly, he and Daeror took their seats about two-thirds of the way down into the rows of seats.
The Maia waited until they had sat down, then he pushed off the desk and looked out over the assembled students once more.
“Physics,” he said without any preamble or transition. “What is physics?”
A Khazad woman in the back row hesitantly raised her hand.
The Maia stopped and looked at her. “Speak.”
“The umbrella term for the science that attempts to describe the laws that govern our universe.”
“Correct. And?”
“A scientific discipline,” a young human said, three rows down.
The Maia made Go-on gesture.
The human faltered. “A scientific discipline ... that ... helps us understand the world around us?”
Without the Maia visibly doing anything, the word understanding appeared on the blackboard behind him in slanting, perfectly regular cursive tengwar.
“What does understanding entail?”
A young Harad frowned. “You mean in physics, or – ”
“Generally,” the Maia cut in. “Discard the approach of thinking about this in a way that is limited to physics – or any other field. Think broadly, without blinders. We have established that physics, like any other discipline, is – first and foremost – a tool to be used to gain insights and understanding. I repeated: What is the next step after understanding?”
In the first row, Celebrimbor could see the masters frowning and whispering to each other. That was hardly surprising – everyone had come here expecting a physics lessons. For all intents and purposes, though, this had taken a sharp turn for the philosophical that no one quite knew what to do with. Despite this, none among the masters made any attempt to interrupt the lecture.
Silence reigned in the auditorium. The students shared quizzical looks among themselves. The masters shifted in their seats. They, too, didn’t speak. The quiet grew, stretched, became disquieting. A pressure seemed to build in the air. It felt like the Maia was pushing his thumb down on an inflamed nerve, but instead of letting up, he was increasing the pressure with every passing moment. A few people began to fidget in their seats.
“Knowledge,” Daeror said next to Celebrimbor loudly and clearly, shattering the silence.
The Maia’s eyes briefly flitted over towards him. Again, there was a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. Amusement? If so, at what?
“Correct.”
The word knowledge appeared on the blackboard in the same elegant script as understanding.
The Maia leaned against his desk again and crossed his arms, lettings his gaze wander over the assembly.
“What then, is the value of this knowledge?”
How effortlessly he had drawn everyone in and then, suddenly, put them collectively on their backfoot with his relentless questions, shooting in from oblique angles no one had seen coming – the masters included. Even Celebrimbor felt unbalanced, and he was not even the one being addressed in this lecture. And yet there was no outrage or annoyance visible.
The Maia was merciless in his inquiry, but he was merciless without being cruel. He wasn’t putting anybody on the spot. He was pushing back without belittling or laughing at his audience. In a way, it reminded Celebrimbor of combat training with a superior opponent. One who didn’t try to embarrass you, but also clearly showed you your limits and didn’t go easy on you just to make you feel better. Blocking attempts at getting to him, and every now and then aiming a kick at your ankles: a pointed reminder: “Is your balance still there?”, and then – another pointed kick – “Are you sure your balance is still there?”. If your opponent was trying to make a point (or being mean), he might put you in the dirt. The Valar knew that Celebrimbor had had his fair share of that while training with his uncle Tyelkormo.
The Maia didn’t. He pushed back, but only to the exact point of unbalancing without shoving you over. Mind your footwork. Mind the essentials without whom everything else falls down. Keeping you on your toes, but not throwing you to the ground.
Not holding you down, but coaxing you along. A challenge.
Do better. Be better.
Thus, fascination prevailed, visible on every face Celebrimbor could discern; one thought uniting the entire auditorium: Where is he going with this?
“What do you mean by value … Mast – Sir … Professor?” a student dressed in the flowing garments and bright patterns of Númenor asked.
If the floundering address amused the Maia, his face didn’t give any indication. His expression was serious when his eyes landed on the student, and in response, they visibly suppressed the urge to shrink in their seat.
“Let me return that question to you,” the god replied, his voice quiet. “What do we mean when something has value? By which metric do we assign value and worth – to any discipline, to any type of knowledge, to anything at all?”
Again, furtively shared looks. The urge to respond, perceivable like an invisible rising tide in the room that refused to break, because no one could give the answer, for no one knew what was the answer he wanted to hear?
“Applicability,” the young Dwarven woman from before threw in.
The Maia inclined his head to one side. “Good. But only a facet of the entire answer.” Applicability appeared at the edge of the blackboard, forming a triangle around an empty space in the middle.
“Use the knowledge to further your understanding of other topics,” another student threw in.
“Not wrong, but partially circular reasoning. Understanding is already there.” The Maia nodded at the blackboard. “What else?”
“Broadening your horizons?”
“That is a hollow catchphrase.” The Maia waved it aside with a dismissive gesture. “You are craftspeople and scientists; not philosophers. Besides, it is synonymous to the ‘understanding’ that we have already established. Think more concretely. What is the value of gaining knowledge and broadening your horizon? What do you do with it? What makes knowledge valuable to you?”
Again, there was silence in the auditorium.
“This line of inquiry should not stump you,” the Maia said after a few moments had passed. “It is not a trick question. What are you doing here? Why have you come here, to this place, this guild, this school? Why are you investing your skill, your time, your talents in these studies?”
The students shared a glance and – as Celebrimbor noticed – so did the masters. He himself felt a prickling sensation run down his spine, a pressure building inside himself, as if he wanted to jump up and reply.
“We … ah … work?”
The Maia made another Go-on gesture. “Work” appeared on the blackboard,
“Study?”
Go on.
“Craft?”
Go on.
“Invent?”
Go on.
“Create?”
Go on.
The blackboard filled with words, forming a ring around the edges, but the centre of the board remained empty.
“Learn?”
The Maia held up a hand. Within moments, absolute silence was back in the auditorium. “All of you,” he said, “are correct. None of you – ” He looked around. “ – are getting to the heart of the matter.”
Another silence.
Come now, it seemed to say. The answer is right there. Do better. Be better.
Celebrimbor looked at the empty space inside the ring of words.
What is the value of anything –
Why are we doing what we do –
By which metric do we assign value to anything at all –
Why are we doing this – why do we invest our time, our skill, our talent, our very lives –
All of you are right.
None of you are getting to the heart of the matter.
What is the reason why we invent, what is the reason for us to do anything, what is the reason we are here – this time, this place –
Work is not an end unto itself, effort is not an end unto itself, creation is not an end unto itself –
The ends to the means, the part where something becomes more than self-purpose, where the abstract becomes concrete, where established boundaries are pushed back, where change is enacted upon the world –
“Potential.”
The word rang out loud and clear in the still air. Every single head in the room turned and all eyes landed on Celebrimbor.
The Maia looked up at him, and when his gaze came to halt, their eyes locked once more. Again, that secretive, wry smile was just barely tugging at the corner of the god’s lips. It was barely visible, as if a private thing shared only between him and Celebrimbor.
“Very good,” the god said quietly.
Slowly, with flowing, looping elegance, potential appeared in the middle of the blackboard, greater than all the other words, filling the void in the centre of the ring.
“Potential,” the Maia repeated, his voice so low it shouldn’t have carried through the auditorium into its furthest corners – but it did.
The students sat stunned, utterly silent.
“All of the aspects you mentioned,” the Maia said, speaking more loudly now, “ring hollow and fall flat when the means become self-purpose. You can learn for the joy of it. You can create for the beauty of the result. But the value, the true value of everything you set out to do here, comes from the one thing that takes the abstract science, the joy, the beauty– and enables it to fulfil a higher purpose. Not a contradiction to beauty and joy, but an augmentation. The best effort is worthless if it goes nowhere. It is like a song sung in empty space – it will never be heard, never echo, never touch something else with its ripples. A song sung in the void might just as well not have been written and sung at all – its potential extinguished before it can even form, and all beauty and creation with it.”
He drew himself up to his full height, his hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze seemed to meet that of every student, one after the other. The sun fell through the windows, setting his form ablaze – the gold of his hair, the white of his robes set afire in a white-hot blaze.
“You should not be here to tread paths forged by those that have come before. You should not merely want to repeat and confirm, to nod and accept. Be curious. Be bold. Remain dissatisfied and hungry. Remain intractable. Do not ever become content or complacent. Do not be happy with ‘good’, when ‘better’ is possible. You should always want more. You should want everything. And the single most significant determinant in what you see as worthwhile should be the avenues it opens up that have been closed before. Look for potential. Use it.”
The Maia was pacing up and down the chalkboard now, speaking loudly, his words ringing from the ceiling, the walls, the windows. “This is what you should do. This is why you should expend time and effort, skill and labour, heart and soul in everything you do – no matter what you do. For this is what you came here to do, didn’t you?”
He stopped, swivelled on his heel and came to face the auditorium once more, somehow seeming to look at every single one of the people in the assembly.
“You are not just in any place in the world. You could have gone to any school or university, but you have chosen to come here. Because this here – this place, was founded for another purpose. On another premise.” The Maia looked at the Masters. “You are the Jewel-smiths. You live and work in a city that has been built out of the ruins of a lost age. You were not content to sit back and resign in the face of greater powers, of destruction, of ruin. You rebuilt. You reassembled. And you have set out to redefine the boundaries of what can be done in this world. Or am I wrong?”
The Maia’s golden eyes flitted over towards Celebrimbor and this time, the shock of the connection was like full-fledged lightning shooting down Celebrimbor’s brain, his spine, into the tips of his fingers and of his toes.
Do better. Be better. Set your sights higher.
“Take off your blinders. Shake off the shackles of restraint, of fear of mistakes, of diffidence.”
Celebrimbor’s fingers curled into fists, his back was stiff, his brain was alight – with fire, refracted sunlight, with a vortex that threatened to pull him in and consume him. It stole the air from his lungs and the breath from his lips.
Towers and cities rose before his inner eye, higher and brighter and more beautiful than even Tirion of old, unfolding like geometry in hyperbolic space, where every step opened up exponentially more space before you – he saw Time, he saw possibilities branching out before him into infinity, each decision a mote of light, forming constellations in the sky (of his choice, of his doing) – he saw abstract mathematical calculations and curves condense into blazing white like stars being born, or jewels, or bands of pure light.
The vision shone with a brilliance of a thousand suns – and it took all of Celebrimbor’s willpower to draw his mind away from it and back into the auditorium: so mundane, so dull, so full of shadows in comparison, but with all the promise of something greater already there. Just hidden beneath the surface, just waiting to unfold like petals of a flower. Waiting for its time, waiting for someone to unearth it.
“Unleash your potential,” the god said. His eyes locked with Celebrimbor’s. “And you will be able to achieve everything.”