Sometime in the night, longing crept under his skin, and a state of distraction hounds him throughout his day.
He catches himself leaning closer to people as they speak, falling half in love with the expressions of strangers. A need for touch burns like an itch in the back of his thoughts; inconvenient and frustrating. He envies the errant brush of a hand across another’s throat, the silk hem of a constricting frock.
Seeking the relief of solitude, away from the storm of exchanged glances and wind-caught scents, he is driven to his chambers; but the yearning haunts him still, and he finds himself pacing like a lion in a cage, half hoping, half dreading that someone will intrude upon his suffering.
It wasn’t unusual for her to disappear, and then simply pop back into her cousin’s realm. After all, the court as well as atmosphere hardly suited Lothuialneth. The only pull it had was that Tyelpe resided here, and more recently a blond half-Maia that she wasn’t sure if she like or despised.
It was her habit to check on her cousin upon her return. No matter how late it always seemed like she could find him in his forge or workshop burning the lamp oil to work upon some piece or project. It never interested her to ask. She didn’t always understand what he meant. Although this night upon her arrive, Tyelpe asked for a favor. A rather simple one if she was honest with herself. He asked that she run a set of plans for a project they were working on to his chambers.
She didn’t refuse the errand, and Tyelpe gave her simple enough directions before going back to work. Perhaps she should warn Annatar that he’d likely find her erratic cousin asleep in the forge in the morning. As she came to the door, she rapped carefully upon the door before sticking her head in. “Annatar? Tyelpe asked that I drop this off for you to look over.”
A muffled, bitten-off sound came from inside the chambers, like someone who’d stubbed their toe in a library and was trying not to shout.
“….M-Mormiriel! What a pleasant surprise! Ah… forgive me, I fear you’ve caught me at an inopportune moment. I was just… changing.”
Well, it was only half a lie. He had been changing into an older, more comfortable form, discarding both clothing and his Vanyarin disguise– though he had not precisely intended to put either back on until he’d purged mind and body of the heat the plagued him.
What a disaster… Mormiriel was the last person in Eregion save for Celebrimbor himself that he wished to be caught trousers down by, so to speak. He was quick to grab a nearby coverlet to preserve what was left of modesty– he’d hate to shock her. Such a pretty, gold-headed girl, willow-thin, with the strong arms of a bowman; was she the sort that blushed easily? He didn’t know. A part of him wished he could find out.
He gave himself a mental slap. It was this sort of thinking that made it especially dangerous to have prying guests around while his imagination was so inflamed.



