Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 14: Bonds Forged

Celebrían could see her father’s silver hair amidst the young green leaves of the tree that obscured her vision.  As she neared him, the gold and silver of her mother’s hair became visible, blending with her father’s to form a shining curtain about them.  Memories of childhood passed before her as she thought of the times she had come seeking them and found them as they now sat: her father leaning against a tree with her mother at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

She watched them for a moment, finding strength at the sight of them together. She was weary and found herself appreciating what it had cost her husband to care for their children over the last days.

“Come, daughter, do not hide in the trees,” came her mother’s voice.

Celebrían walked forward slowly, climbing the slight incline to the ridge where her parents waited. The beauty of the river valley spread out before her, and she could see both rivers in their raging glory as the waters still forced their way to the sea. While breathtaking, the view was also humbling. Turning, she faced her parents.

“Come and sit, Celebrían,” Celeborn beckoned to her.  He shifted slightly, as did Galadriel, and just as when she was a child, they made room for her between them. “Do you wish to speak or listen?”

Celebrían grinned at the game she and her father used to play.  “Listen,” she answered as she wormed her way between them.  The contact with them both filled her with a bristling energy, and she knew it was purposeful.

“Would you like to hear of how graceful I find you and how likely you were to have succeeded in crossing that river, had you tried?” asked Celeborn archly.

Celebrían shook her head.  “No, Adar.”

“Would you like to hear how glad I am that you did not, for even a slight chance of failure was too much risk?” asked Galadriel, entering the game.

Celebrían smiled slightly.  She had wondered on which side her parents would fall.  “No, Naneth.”

“Would you like to know if your naneth would have made the attempt, had it been you injured on the other side?” asked Celeborn, and Celebrían shook slightly with laughter for she knew this question was not truly meant for her. Before she could respond, Galadriel spoke.

“Of course I would have,” she answered without hesitation.  “Would you like to know what your adar’s reaction would have been should I have done that?”

Celebrían bit the inside of her lip to hold the laughter in.

“I would have let her come,” answered Celeborn smugly.  He paused, “Assuming you could neither see her nor watch if she plunged to her death.” Celebrían nearly snorted as laughter attempted to escape through her nose. She could feel her parents glaring at each other, even if only in teasing.

“Would you like to hear that just as your position changed once you stood in the shoes of your husband and children, so you will alter your opinion about many things in life?” continued Galadriel, a lilt in her voice as she smiled at her husband.

Celebrían was sure this was true, but not what she wished to hear now, on this day.  “No, Naneth.”

“Would you like to hear, Celebrían, how proud we are of you for the way you made peace in your family?” asked Celeborn, his voice softening as he stroked Celebrían’s hair.

Celebrían felt herself relax at this praise from them, but she thought for a moment before answering.  Yes, she did want to hear this, but it was not what she really wished for. “No, Adar.”

“Would you like to hear how much we love you?” asked Galadriel softly, and Celeborn finished, “While we replenish your strength, for you are weary, child?”

“Yes, Naneth and Adar, that is what I wish for,” she murmured. Celebrían smiled and closed her eyes as she felt the full force of her parents’ fëar surround her in a way she had not felt since the Second Age.

Some moments later, feeling much lighter in spirit, Celebrían said, “You did not ask if I wished to be scolded for fighting publicly with my husband.” She looked up to see her parents looking at each other with unreadable expressions. She laughed. “Ah, no, you could not do that, for it was from you two I inherited my temper.”

Celebrían yelped as her mother tugged on her ear and her father tugged on her hair. She would have to remember to be out of harm’s way before teasing them again.

“When will you cease to behave like a child?” scolded Celeborn, his eyes sparkling and laughter in his voice.

Celebrían rose gracefully to her feet and smoothed her gown.  She grinned at her parents.  “I will always be your child,” she replied.  She bent down to kiss them.  “Thank you.”

She returned to camp on light feet, her heart also much lightened.  She smiled at the guards she passed, greeted Glorfindel and Elladan, who were tending the little mare that had escaped when the wagon fell, and then quietly entered the tent where Elrond and Elrohir lay sleeping. She knelt down beside the bed and studied them both.

Elrohir looked peaceful, the dark shadows below his eyes already lessening. Elrond lay on his side next to their son, one of Elrohir’s hands resting on his arm. Celebrían laid her hand over Elrohir’s and, more attuned to both of them than she had been in some time, she could feel the comfort and strength that Elrohir drew from his father through this minor touch.  She directed her love and strength to them, and replenished them both with what her own parents had just given her.

* * *

Erestor leaned against the log behind him, his eyes ever watchful of the countryside but always returning to his young charge.  He had seen the amused glances the guards on duty had sent his way. Glaring at one, he had been tempted to ask if the elf had explored and learned these lands as he had, but he had decided discretion was the wiser course.  In truth, there was probably little to guard against and what possible dangers existed likely could be dealt with by these warriors.

“Erestor, will you thread this needle for me?” asked Arwen.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he answered, smiling.  Her little hand was much improved, but she was having some difficulty with fine control.  Her father had assured her the problem would quickly pass, and unlike her stubborn brother, she readily asked for and accepted help.

Even as he thought the thought, Erestor knew it was unfair to Elrohir. Difficulty threading a needle hardly compared to what that young elf had experienced. However, it was easier to grouse at the sleeping elf, even if it was only in his thoughts, than allow himself to recall the fears they had harbored that he would not live.

“I am going to make a ribbon flower just like Glorfindel made for me,” she continued. 

“Glorfindel made you flowers?” asked Erestor, his curiosity piqued.

“Yes, would you like to see them?  They are beautiful!”

Erestor nodded, and Arwen rose and went to her things.  She returned holding an adult elf’s tunic, immediately recognizable as Glorfindel’s by the embroidered golden flowers along the hem. It has been cut, nipped and tucked to make it into a dress for Arwen.  She sat down on the log and laid the garment out across her lap.

“See? These are ribbon flowers,” she showed him proudly.  “Glorfindel made them for me.  He learned how in Valinor. Estë’s handmaidens taught him. Elrohir says this is my garden. I am the pink ribbon flower.”

“Indeed,” replied Erestor, a smile forming on his face.  “Which flower is Glorfindel?”

Arwen laughed.  “The golden one, of course!  Ada is red, Nana is lavender, Elrohir and Elladan are blue, and you are dark purple. Daernaneth and Daeradar have to pick out their colors and then I will add them.”

Erestor almost forgot his reason for asking about Glorfindel when Arwen pointed to his flower.  He was reminded of why he and Glorfindel called her their little princess when she smiled at him like that. You wrapped me around your little finger the day you were born. Little acts of kindness combined with that smile will kill me one day, he thought. 

“Thank you for putting me in your garden, Arwen,” he answered as he admired the work.  As she settled back to her embroidery, he could not help but remember the despair on the faces of her parents when they could not find her; or his own fear, not only for what he would lose, but fear for Elrond and Celebrían too.  

“I did not know that Glorfindel could embroider,” said Erestor thoughtfully.

“He can braid ribbons into hair too, even on a doll,” confided Arwen. “I think he is quite talented.”

Erestor choked back a comment entirely inappropriate for a young elfling to hear, then felt a large hand clap him helpfully on the back.  He turned and looked into the sparkling blue eyes of the object of their discussion. “Glorfindel! Arwen was just expounding upon your many skills and talents,” he said innocently.

“Hmm….” Glorfindel considered him for a moment, then looked to Arwen and back. A slow smile spread across his face. “Arwen, would you like me to teach Erestor how to make ribbon flowers so he can add one to your garden?”

“Oh, yes!” cried Arwen in delight.  She jumped up with the tunic in hand, and quickly found a spare needle and some ribbon.  “A white flower, Glorfindel.  But it must be good, for it is to be my daernaneth’s flower.”

Erestor growled under his breath as Glorfindel sat down next to him, their shoulders touching, and held out the items for him to take.  “For Arwen,” smiled Glorfindel.

He snatched it from Glorfindel’s hand, then smiled pleasantly at Arwen when she looked up at him. “You are the most annoying, irritating, confounding elf I know,” he muttered under his breath as soon as Arwen returned her attention to her work.

“Thank you!” answered Glorfindel brightly.  “Now, hold the ribbon with your left hand and the needle in your right.”

* * *

Elladan sank down on the bed beside his twin, his movements graceful enough that Elrohir did not even move. His twin did, however, sense his presence. Elrohir unconsciously turned slightly toward him, fingers reaching for his hand.  Elladan reached out and took Elrohir’s hand, then turned it palm up and traced the lines across it.  Only several days earlier it had been split and healing, but now the skin was pink and whole. A slight discoloration caught his eye, and Elladan frowned as he caught a tiny plaster fragment with his fingernail and pulled it free. A sudden vision of Elrohir climbing on to the wagon and falling inward passed through his memory, and he supposed his twin had landed on his hands in the glass and plaster strewn wagon bed.  Tracing the fingers upward, he carefully avoided touching the tips of the first two fingers, but he was pleased to see that new nails were growing. That injury had brought tears to his eyes, for merely seeing the jagged slivers of wood lifting up and ripping off the nails had made him think of methods of torture that caused the soul to flee. The pain in his fingers had been a torment to his twin and made the offering of the simplest of comforts, the holding of his hand, nearly unbearable.  Carefully caressing the thumb and last two fingers, he felt the palm curl away from him and nearly laughed aloud.  He had forgotten that his brother had ticklish palms!

His eyes were still closed, though. Elladan had become nearly accustomed to the sight and decided he would cheer the day his brother merely had to focus to see the world around him.  Delicately tracing the crease from the base of Elrohir’s palm to his middle finger, he grinned as Elrohir smiled and pulled his hand away.

“You torment me, brother,” said Elrohir sleepily. 

“It is a true joy in my life,” agreed Elladan, “and one I have missed terribly.”  He watched as Elrohir slowly blinked his eyes open and finally settled his gaze on his twin.  “Cook is making something special for you. He has been planning and plotting all afternoon and says this creation will be something even the most terribly injured, emaciated elf could not refuse.”

“I am not emaciated,” argued Elrohir with a yawn.

“No, not yet,” answered Elladan, his eyes taking in his brother’s too thin form. He was glad Cook had made it his goal to see Elrohir eating well again. He slipped an arm about his brother’s back and helped him sit, then piled the cushions and pillows behind him. “Elrohir, do you remember Adar and Naneth healing your spirit last night?”

Elrohir blinked at him. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember the events of the last several days. “El, everything is fuzzy,” he finally answered. “I remember falling and re-injuring my leg. I remember Naneth coming. I remember waking this morning and feeling as if finally, everything was going to be well.”

Elladan smiled at his twin. He wanted to know if Elrohir had felt what he did, if Elrohir could tell when their spirits connected. He wondered if Elrohir could feel his feelings, although mostly what Elladan had felt was Elrohir’s pain and confusion.  But he had felt Elrohir’s joy, too.

“Did something happen?” asked Elrohir. A worried look crossed his face when Elladan did not answer right away, and Elladan reached out and took his twin’s hand in reassurance.

“Nothing bad happened,” he answered. “It was just an . . . unusual experience for me.”

“How so?” asked Elrohir curiously.

Elladan reached out and took Elrohir’s other hand, holding them both loosely in his own.  Unable to find words to describe what had happened, he instead closed his eyes and directed all of his thought and love to his brother. Slowly, he felt a spark of connection and then heard his brother’s indrawn breath to know he felt it as well.  Then Elrohir pulled his hands free, ending the moment, and Elladan opened his eyes to face his twin.

“What did you just do?” asked Elrohir, nearly breathless.  His eyes were wide with surprise and perhaps a little fear as well.

“Adar says our fëar have some special connection because we are twins,” answered Elladan slowly. “When Adar first came to help you I could feel your pain when he set your leg.  When he set it the second time I could feel it again.  Then last night, when Adar and Naneth were trying to reach you, for you had withdrawn your spirit from us, I joined them.  With their strength, I was able to bear some of your burden again.”

Elrohir reached out and took Elladan’s hands in his own. “I wish to try.”

“No, Elrohir,” said Elrond as he entered. He moved to sit on the other side of the bed from Elladan and covered their hands with his own.  “You need every bit of strength you have to heal.”

Elladan felt healing strength and energy flowing from their father to Elrohir and realized he felt it through Elrohir.  He looked intently at his father. “Adar, I can feel you strengthening Elrohir.”

“You have grown very attuned to your twin,” agreed Elrond. “I think when Elrohir is stronger he will be able to sense you in the same way.”

“Could you sense Elros like this? Can all twins do this?” asked Elladan curiously.

“There are not many twins recorded in all of history.  The bond between Elros and me was not as strong as I think your bond with Elrohir is becoming.  But, then, we were parted much younger,” answered Elrond thoughtfully.

Laughter from across the campsite caught their attention, and all three turned to see the source of the laughter.

“Erestor, you did a very nice flower!” praised Arwen. “I think you can do one for Daeradar too.  A silver one, please.”

Erestor took the ribbon and needle she held out to him, but as soon as she turned away from him, he turned his ire on the laughing golden warrior. Elbowing him none too gently aside, Erestor resumed his seat and Elladan saw him jab the needle at Glorfindel’s hand.  Glorfindel yelped much louder than necessary in response, causing Arwen to return her attention to them.

“Glorfindel, are you hurt?” she asked in concern.  When he held out his injured digit, she kissed it. “Be more careful, Erestor.  I do not want Glorfindel injured.”

Glorfindel smiled smugly at Erestor, clearly enjoying the slight scolding their little princess had delivered. As Erestor’s eyes darkened, Glorfindel quickly decided retreat was in order and dove to lie next to where Arwen sat. “Show me your work, princess,” he said, bestowing a beaming smile upon her.

Elladan shook with laughter and a broad smile covered Elrohir’s face.  Even their father appeared amused. “Glorfindel and Erestor are harassing each other again.  Finally, nearly everything is again right in our world,” he said.

He knew his words were heard when both Glorfindel and Erestor turned to look at them, and smiles covered both of their faces.  Silly games they might play, but they also played to make their audience smile.

* * *

Elrohir finished the last bite of his dinner and scowled at the empty dish. Cook had been right – how any elf could refuse this meal was beyond comprehension.  He looked around the circle of elves seated near him, most having already had seconds, and turned to his father, who sat at his side.

“Adar, is there any left?”

Elrond took the empty bowl in hand and stood to look in the direction of the cooking fire. “They have already cleaned up, Elrohir, but perhaps . . .”

“No!” cried cook from behind them.  “There is more for dear Elrohir!  He needs only to ask and I will cook all night to tempt him!”  He snatched the bowl from Elrond.  “Cleaned up!  A cook is never cleaned up, we are merely in organized preparation for the next meal.”  He smiled at Elrohir and lightly touched the top of his head. “Still much too thin, but already see how rosy his cheeks have become!” Still speaking delightfully to the air, the cook danced away to refill the bowl.

“Wherever did you find him, Daernaneth?” whispered Elladan.

Galadriel frowned as she seemed to ponder the question.  “I believe he found us,” answered Celeborn instead.

“Daeradar, will you continue your story?” asked Elrohir.  He smiled at his naneth. “I too want to hear about Naneth, but do not skip the making of the rings of power.”

Celeborn looked at the expectant faces that surrounded him and did not even try to decline the invitation. He took Galadriel’s hand in his own and kissed it. “Your daernaneth will need to tell portions of it.  Celebrimbor on occasion confided in her, and her understanding of the power of the rings is greater than mine.”

“Greater knowledge did not always mean wiser decisions,” murmured Galadriel. “The wisdom of your grandfather did not require intimate detail of metallurgy or dactyliomancy to know that evil dwelt beneath fair words and motives.”

Celeborn smiled at his wife’s word, but his eyes held the pain of wisdom hard earned. “Much of this we learned later, after Annatar was revealed to be the Necromancer. Annatar and Celebrimbor spent their days in the secrecy of the Gwaith-i-Mírdan . . .”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“The secret of a ring lies in its making,” explained Annatar softly, as he slowly traced the golden ring that lay before him on the round table.  “The power imbued is apportioned by its maker.  Fëanor, your grandfather, used great skill in his creation of the Silmarils, but the true power and beauty came from the light of the two trees, creations of Yavanna and not of himself.  One truly skilled will impart his own power and will into that which he creates.”

“Will that not diminish the creator?” asked Celebrimbor, his eyes aglitter with the firelight that reflected off the gold band before him.

“Nay, it will enhance them both,” promised Annatar.  “The created and the creator together are greater than their sum.” He paused and looked deep into the eyes of Celebrimbor, then reached his hand out to gently caress his cheek. “Think of that which you seek, of all that is beautiful and good that you wish to preserve, and imagine yourself pouring your own essence into that which you create. The good you can accomplish will turn these desolate lands into a realm of great beauty and peace such as found in the land of the Valar, Celebrimbor. Your desires, enhanced and empowered by your will and skill, will change life for those whom you love. The bliss of Valinor can exist here.”

Celebrimbor looked into the fair face before him, and the realization came to him suddenly that Annatar was more than he seemed. “Who sent you? Why do you come to teach us such a gift?” He looked into Annatar’s eyes and saw only love. “The Valar sent you!”

“I have learned from them,” admitted Annatar. “But I do not come only to give! You have great knowledge of metallurgy.  Together we can create works unsurpassed in the history of the world!”

Celebrimbor could not help but smile at the excitement in Annatar’s voice.

“However,” continued Annatar in a low voice as he leaned toward Celebrimbor, “we must keep our work and knowledge secret.  We must share our goals only with those who can aid us, with those who share our ideals. We are bearers of power, Celebrimbor, and we must bear our power wisely. Others with lesser motives, who do not seek the good of all Middle-earth, could hinder or destroy our plans.”

Celebrimbor considered Annatar’s words carefully. “Yes,” he said finally. “There are some here who question whether our goals are worthy.”

Annatar smiled at his warmly. “We will show them instead.”

* * *

“Now is the time, when all the dross is removed!” cried Annatar.  He bent over the forge, where the mithril was molten, at its hottest, and the impurities were stripped away. He began chanting as he leaned over the steam, his face flushing red and glistening with sweat as he poured himself into the metal.

Celebrimbor moved one step back, the heat of the fire too much for him to withstand for more than short periods of time.  Annatar, though, seemed unaffected by this heat that would melt the skin from the body of a mortal. Celebrimbor’s gaze, though, was drawn back to the forge where the Mithril was glowing silver.  As Annatar chanted, he poured the molten metal in to the ring molds, seven this time, and Annatar said there was power in the number of rings.  Always an odd number, and the number was representative of each race.  For seven fathers of the dwarves were first made by Aulë, and here seven rings were made to represent each line. 

“Into each representation I gather and pour the desire and strengths of the heart and mind,” Annatar had said.

Celebrimbor’s ring molds had been made with the dwarves in mind.  They valued stability and the feel of something solid beneath their fingers. Solid and compact was their body shape, and solid and compact Celebrimbor made the rings.  He thought of Narvi, one of the few dwarves aware of the great smithwork in which Celebrimbor was engaged.  Narvi scoffed at his desires, but nonetheless brought him Mithril of the purest strain from Khazad-Dûm. 

The chanting ended and Annatar raised his head, his face cooled as the rings were cooling.

“Soon, Celebrimbor, we will know if the ring houses the power we have given it.  We must choose the bearers well, dwarves with power and will like our own, for these rings must be borne by beings of strength and power. Only a bearer of power will know if the ring has power to be wielded,” he explained again.  His eyes lit into a dance.  “Then the Nine.”

“Then they will become as one with the ring? As in how the fëar are bound in marriage, so their fëa will be bound to the ring?” asked Celebrimbor.

Annatar seemed to tense, but relaxed before turning to meet Celebrimbor’s eyes.  “It is similar, perhaps, to what the elves know as the bonding of the fëar.” He turned away abruptly. “Let us etch the metal to close the ring’s power.”

Celebrimbor set to work over his rings, carefully giving each ring a unique design and style, while Annatar carved the most delicate of symbols inside the band, in runes so small that even elvish eyes could barely read it.

* * *

The eve of the summer solstice had arrived and all of Eregion gathered for the annual celebration.  Wine flowed freely and the feast lasted from the midday until late in the evening.  It was nearing dusk when Celebrimbor appeared.

“So he has decided to put in an appearance at last,” said Celeborn, the tinge of sarcasm in his voice noticeable.  He ignored the sigh of disapproval from his wife.  “Ah, and behind him trails his shadow, though I believe their roles are reversed.”

“Hold your tongue,” warned Galadriel.  Her face grew impassive, however, as Celebrimbor drew near. Knowing it would be discourteous of him not to greet the Lord and Lady of the city, host and hostess of the celebration, Celebrimbor approached them first. To Galadriel’s eyes he seemed weary, but his eyes sparkled as they met hers and he bowed to kiss her hand in greeting.

“Galadriel, you become more beautiful as the days pass,” he spoke with sincerity. “No matter how the lands grow in grace and beauty, still you surpass them.”

Galadriel laughed lightly. “Your words are fair, dear cousin, but you so seldom leave your work I wonder how you have memory to compare?”

Celebrimbor blushed lightly. “My lady, the gaps in time serve only to heighten the comparison.”

Celeborn cleared his throat next to them, and Celebrimbor managed to drag his eyes away from the Lady to pay some semblance of respect to the Lord.

“How progresses your work?” asked Celeborn directly.

Celebrimbor literally trembled in excitement, not even Celeborn’s less than friendly question dampening his obvious enthusiasm. Before he could speak, however, Annatar appeared at his elbow.

“We have made great strides,” he answered for the elf, smiling down upon him. “Celebrimbor’s skills are unsurpassed.  Never before have I seen such beauty and purity in wrought metal or gems.”

From a pocket in his robes, Celebrimbor withdrew a green gem set in an exquisitely crafted Mithril brooch in the shape of an eagle.  He draped it over his hand, displaying it for Celeborn and Galadriel, and Galadriel could not help but touch the smooth surface, so luminescent that it seemed to glow beneath her fingertips.

“A gift for you, my lady,” said Celebrimbor modestly. “The Elessar, made in memory of the original.”

Galadriel smiled as a vision of the Elfstone of Eärendil came to mind.  It had been beautiful, carried by Idril away from burning Gondolin and left with Eärendil in Sirion.  Its fate had long been debated: that it had sailed with him to the uttermost west, never to return, or was lost when Sirion was sacked and eventually sank in the ruin of Beleriand.  This gem shone less brightly, but the sun captured within had been younger in those days.

At her touch she could feel the power and beauty of the stone, of the protection it would lend to its wearer. Feeling Celeborn stiffen at her side, she looked up, her gaze resting first on Celebrimbor and then on Annatar.  While Celebrimbor appeared hopeful she would accept his gift, which she did desire, Annatar bowed his head.

“What role have you had in its making, Annatar?” asked Celeborn in a dark, low voice.

Galadriel jerked away from Celeborn’s hand, which had come to rest possessively on her arm.

“None, Lord Celeborn,” answered Celebrimbor coldly.  “The Elessar is a gift from me to the Lady Galadriel; no hands other than my own have touched it.”

Celeborn looked steadily upon Annatar, and for a moment Galadriel thought she saw contempt and disdain in Annatar’s eyes as he returned the gaze of the Sindar elf.  The hostile look diminished as Annatar turned his eyes back upon Celebrimbor, passing over her with ambivalence.

“Then you may keep it, my wife,’ replied Celeborn without looking at her.

“How kind of you to grant me your permission,” she replied archly.  The smile she cast upon Celebrimbor was warm, however, and quite genuine.  “Thank you, dear cousin.  The resemblance is remarkable, and your consideration for my longing and fond memory of the jewel honors me. I will treasure it.”

Celebrimbor placed the gem on her palm, closing her fingers about it, and again kissed her hand.  With a final farewell, he left to join others of his order of jewel-smiths, seated with their families in an area slightly set apart from the rest of those attending.  Many dwarves lingered beyond them, comfortable at this elven celebration and, in particular, with the Noldor smiths.

Annatar looked through Celeborn, then settled his gaze on Galadriel.  She felt a slow burn of anger begin to grow within her, a sense that he was using Celebrimbor for his own gain.  “How long do you plan to grace Eregion with your presence, Annatar?” she asked sharply.

“Ost-in-Edhil is a fair city, and you have made me feel most welcome,” replied Annatar smoothly. “Celebrimbor teaches me daily, and I only hope that the skills I impart to him in return are worthy.  A day will come though, when I will return to my own home, for at least a little while.”

“The location and name of your home seem to be tokens of information you do not share.  Where is your home, Annatar?  Who are your people?” she pressed him.

“In the east, Lady Galadriel, and it is not nearly so fair as what you have created here.  A good evening to you both,” said Annatar, and bowing, he melted into the crowd, not following Celebrimbor, but retreating in the direction of the jewel-smiths’ compound.

“Do not follow,” advised Galadriel as she felt Celeborn shift beside her, the anger in her voice barely veiled.  “He will expect you to, and you will not make it beyond the gates of the compound.”

Celeborn glared at her briefly, his anger returned in full measure.  Without words, their thoughts were communicated in equal parts: do not command me. Celeborn smiled first at the irony of the thought, and then poured two more cups of wine, passing one to Galadriel as they watched Arnor set.  

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Daernaneth,” spoke Elrohir slowly, the first to break the silence that followed the tale. “Did Sauron make the rings of power specifically for each race?”

Galadriel smiled sadly.  “I believe he did, Elrohir, and Celebrimbor believed he did as well.  Celebrimbor spent many hours in thought, thinking of the strengths of each race and where their eyes would see beauty.  Sauron spent his thoughts determining the weakness of each race and how best to enslave them.”

Arwen had crawled into her mother’s lap, and from that safety she spoke. “I would not have liked to meet Sauron and I would not want one of his rings,” she said with wide eyes. She tilted her head back to look at her mother as a sudden thought occurred to her.  “Naneth, did he scare you when you were little?”

“No, Arwen, I never met him in fair form. He had left Eregion before I was born,” explained Celebrían.

Content with that information, Arwen murmured, “I hope you will be in the story soon.”

Celeborn laughed, breaking the solemn air that had fallen over the camp.  “Yes, your naneth will be in the story soon.  Your naneth was quite mischievous at times, Arwen, and I am sure you will wish to hear all about it.”

The atmosphere grew lighter as Celebrían denied her father’s accusations and Elrohir leaned contentedly against his brother, full of good food and feeling as if evil were far removed from them.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:

In preparation to write about the forging of the rings of power, I reread some of Tolkien’s letters (in particular, #131 written to Milton and also found as the preface to some editions of the Silmarillion) and parts of David Day’s book ‘Tolkien’s Ring.’  Dactyliomancy means divination of rings and is a large part of many mythologies, including that of the Vikings.  Day’s book is fascinating, and how Tolkien used bits and pieces of these mythologies equally so.  I hope to take what I have learned and try to weave some sort of story about the rings in this and future chapters.

Regarding just a few things in this chapter:

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne.
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie

The numbers seemed significant in that there were three original tribes of elves (Teleri, Noldor and Vanyar); Aule made Seven fathers of the Dwarves, and although Tolkien never specified the number of original fathers or houses of men (we just know there were three high houses who became the Men of Númenor), Tolkien used much of Viking Mythology.  Odin, the Ring God, a true Lord of the rings, traveled to the nine mortal worlds of men.  And Sauron was seeking to set himself up as the One – the Lord of all Middle-earth.  There is something inherently evil in the thought that he might have tried to create rings that would cause the fall or overthrow of all the peoples, right down to their genetic roots. 

The story of the Elessar is taken from Unfinished Tales, along with the scene in Lothlorien where Galadriel gives the elfstone to Aragorn.