Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 15: The Pursuit of Wisdom

Elrond watched as Glorfindel and Erestor mounted their horses and headed north towards the remains of the Last Bridge.  Guards had seen movement days earlier on the East-West Road, soldiers from Amon Sûl, and this morning had reported a large contingent of Men approaching from the West.  They had some materials and supplies with them suggesting they intended to begin the rebuilding of the bridge.  Erestor had expressed strong feelings as to what the best design would be, and so Elrond had sent him to discuss this with the Men.  The captain at Amon Sûl was well known at Imladris and a reasonable man, and Elrond knew they would come to an agreeable conclusion about what steps should be taken.

They would, however, not be receiving much aid from Imladris. The Bruinen could be crossed, but only at a risk, and Erestor had already sent word to Thavron that no attempts should be made to send materials over the raging waters until the elf was sure it could be done safely.

Turning his attention to the other matter of the day, Elrond returned to where Elrohir lay on his bed.  The sides of the tent had been rolled up so as to give him protection only from the sun above him, and as Elrond approached he saw Elrohir’s eyes light up.

“Adar!” he said with a grin.  “I would like to stand today.”

Elrond frowned without thinking and saw Elrohir’s face fall. He quickly masked his own expression and sat down next to his son.  Reaching out with one hand, he smoothed his son’s hair back from his face and caressed his cheek.   His color was good, his temperature normal, and his eyes bright and clear.  He had eaten well for several days, partly, Elrond thought, because he enjoyed watching the cook’s reactions whenever he cleaned his plate.

Elladan appeared silently next to him and assisted without direction.  He helped slide Elrohir’s loose night tunic off of him so that Elrond could examine the almost completely faded bruises and listen to his son’s breathing.   Finally, Elrond loosed the linen bindings from the splint, leaving only the rigid brace intact, and carefully examined the now twice broken leg.  Carefully turning the knee, he was glad when the movement evoked no distress from his son.  Minor pressure over the break also did not elicit a reaction, but slightly more intense pressure did.  Elrond smiled to himself as Elrohir tried to mask his pain, then sent his own healing energy into his son.

He sat back on his heels and studied Elrohir intently.  He was unable to completely disregard his memory of the pain and agony Elrohir had been in just a few days earlier when he had fallen while attempting to stand.  However, he knew that he needed Elrohir on his feet and moving to keep him on the path of healing.

“I have to cast your leg first,” he finally answered.

Elrohir looked crestfallen, and Elrond could see the effort he was expending trying not to argue.  Elrond already knew the arguments his son would be thinking – first that only mortals needed casts, for elves healed quickly enough to seldom require them, unless they were children who disobeyed orders.  Elrohir had disobeyed instructions both as a small elfling and only a few days earlier as a young adult, both times resulting in greater damage, so he would not wish to argue a point he had already been found guilty of.  The greater issue was time.  He could see in Elrohir’s eyes the dismay at having to wait for the request for casting supplies to be sent over the river to Imladris and then for the supplies to be delivered to them.

“Fortunately,” he continued with a smile, “the supplies were sent for many days ago.” When Elrohir sighed in relief, he decided to further assuage the young elf’s ego. “It is seldom I cast an elf, but these are unusual circumstances.  You are not being cared for in the safety of Imladris, but in the rough terrain of the wild.  That rough terrain has already made you fall once, and I will not take the slightest chance of that happening again.”

Leaving only the skeleton splint attached to Elrohir’s leg, he wrapped his son in a light blanket and then lifted him.  “This is your last opportunity for any semblance of a bath.  The cast will not come off until we reach Imladris.”

Elrohir beamed with joy as Elrond carried him to the pool.  Elladan had gone ahead with Celeborn, for they had guessed Elrond’s plans.  Both were already stripped and in the pool, and Celeborn took Elrohir in his arms as Elrond let the blanket fall away and lowered him into the water.

Elrond watched for only a few moments as Elrohir reveled in the pleasure of the cool water, then went to prepare his supplies.

* * *

Elrohir relaxed in his grandfather’s arms as Celeborn slowly submerged him to his neck. 

“I had forgotten how good a bath could feel,” he sighed, contented. He instinctively swung his arm out, as if to move away and float on his own.

“Let me hold you,” warned Celeborn.  “Your leg is only minimally protected.”

“So no kicking me,” added Elladan.  For good measure, he tickled his brother, making him squirm. “Not even when I do that.”

Elrohir laughed and patiently let Elladan tend him, memories of the pain and fear washing away with the cold water. He closed his eyes as he felt his brother’s hands combing through his hair and lathering in soaproot, and then his grandfather dipped him down slightly, submerging all but his face and allowing the cleanser to rinse away.  Relaxing further, his mind wandered the path of waking dreams. The river appeared in his mind and he saw elves attempting to forge it. On one side was a tent village and on the other side there was nothing but a wide expanse of land leading to the mountains. A stout figure appeared then, bellowing direction to move further downstream, and Elrohir realized it was a dwarf. Some of the elves reacted in fear and distrust, while others moved nearer to the riverbank in hopes of communicating.

“Dunk him,” advised Elladan. “That will wake him.”

Elrohir would have jumped, but strong arms held him fast.  His eyes flew open to meet twinkling blue eyes and an amused smile.  “Did I fall asleep?” he asked. “I was dreaming. . . and there was a dwarf. . ..”

“You were dreaming about a dwarf?” asked Celeborn teasingly.  “You know their females look much like the males.  Did her beard appeal to you?”

“Surely that cannot be true!” said Elrohir, surprised.  “Erestor has told us that since we were children and I have never believed him.”

“Elrohir was the difficult one in studies,” added Elladan smugly. “Always questioning Istuion and Erestor, Glorfindel and Adar.”

“I was not difficult,” argued Elrohir with a scowl. “I was inquisitive.”

“Always using too many big words, which made the grown-ups laugh.”

Elrohir moved his arm swiftly in an arc about him, splashing his twin with a wave. “You talk too much.”

Elladan splashed in return, but the effect was only to land a few drops on his twin’s face. Elrohir looked at him curiously, wondering why his ever-competitive twin was not retaliating in greater force. Instead, Elladan only smiled and then leapt on to the bank, drying and dressing himself. When he was done, he laid the blanket out next to the pool, and Elrohir was carefully placed on it by his grandfather. Taking the towel Elladan handed him, he dried himself.  Even this simple task filled him with joy, for he was finally able to do something for himself. 

He watched for a few moments as his brother and grandfather combed out their long hair, and then he lay back on the blanket in the sunshine, allowing the golden rays to finish drying him. He felt a shadow block his sunbeam and opened one eye to glare at the offender.

“Naked as a newborn elfling,” teased Elladan, “wrapped in swaddling and waiting to be tended by his indulgent caretakers.”

“I did not notice that any clothing was brought for me,” retorted Elrohir with a grin as he stretched, tapping his brother’s leg in encouragement to move out of his sunbeam.

“Sit up so I can brush your hair,” commanded Elladan, one foot nudging at Elrohir’s shoulders. 

“I can do that!” said Elrohir, grabbing at the comb in his twin’s hand.

Elladan snorted.  “You cannot do this even when you have two good hands. Your braids are always crooked.”

“They are not!” answered Elrohir, grabbing one more time for the comb, but nearly falling over in the process, as he could not use his legs for balance.  He settled down obediently as Celeborn cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, focusing his best grandfatherly ‘behave yourself’ look at his grandson. Elladan sat down behind him triumphantly, gathering the dark strands in his hands.  “Are they really always crooked?” Elrohir asked, concerned.

Celeborn began laughing, his eyes again dancing, and Elladan joined him – both ignoring Elrohir’s question.  Actually, they were ignoring him, thought Elrohir, confused. He looked up as his father approached, but even his father addressed his brother and grandfather and ignored him!

“Well?” asked Elrond expectantly.

“He is ready,” answered Celeborn, smiling.  Elrohir turned to see Elladan nod at his father as well, and growled.

“Quit talking about and around me,” he said, exasperated. “I am here, you know.”

Elladan’s arms encircled him, pulling him back against his chest.  “Yes, and you are your lovable, agreeable, easily teased and gullible self again, thank the Valar. Which means we can finally head towards home!”

Elrohir rolled his eyes and was ready to respond with an appropriately witty insult when he felt a spark within.  Recognizing his brother’s fëa, he felt the love and relief behind the teasing and was nearly overwhelmed by the presence. When he tried to reach out to his twin through the bond, he felt Elladan withdraw.  “Save your energy,” Elladan whispered in his ear.

Celeborn lifted him carefully, carrying him back to camp.  He was laid on his bed, which someone had made up with fresh sheets, and all the casting supplies were prepared on a canvas nearby.

“Ready?” asked Elrond.

“More than ready, Adar,” replied Elrohir firmly. He grinned.  “Do I get some clothes first?”

“Your naneth is altering your trousers so you can get them on and off easily over the cast,” replied Elrond as he removed the skeleton splint. 

Elrohir felt the splint come all the way off and was surprised at the wave of pain he felt.   His grandfather was holding his foot aloft as his father began wrapping the casting material about his leg, but with each slight movement he felt the pressure on the bones and an ache grew, broken only by the sharp pains from the smallest of jostles. He closed his eyes, determined to neither complain nor show his discomfort, and instead focused his mind on things of beauty.

His meditation was broken several minutes later by the pressure of a small vial at his lips, and when he opened his eyes and then mouth to speak, he felt the bitter contents on his tongue.  His twin’s concerned eyes met his, and then Elladan was removing some of the pillows propping him upright and pushing him gently down on to the mattress.  He drifted into sleep as the discomfort diminished.

* * *

Elrond sat down on the side of Elrohir’s bed as Celeborn waved him away from cleaning up, and stroked the nearly dry strands of hair absently as he considered his child.  He had listened to his sons’ banter at the pool, knowing that Elladan was testing his twin, and he had been glad to hear the Elrohir he knew so well in that conversation. Elrohir thrived on being teased affectionately, and in that sense was much like Elros had been.  Often Elros had baited Elrond into teasing him, in hopes of lightening Elrond’s heart.  Yet he could see Elros in Elladan, too, in his fiercely loving and protective manner.

Elrond glanced down as he heard a slight noise, and found big grey eyes watching him thoughtfully. “Hello, Arwen,” he greeted her softly.

“Hello, Ada,” she answered in a low voice.  She was kneeling at the side of the bed, her arms folded on the mattress near Elrohir’s head.  She reached out carefully and stroked his cheek, smiling when he reflexively turned towards her.

Elrond’s thoughts turned to his youngest child. As beautiful as the evening star, she was a dark reflection of the morning glory of her mother and grandmother.  Quiet and kind, loyal and loving, though, he thought with a smile, given to jealousy over those she loved most.   In all honesty, he had to admit that trait might make her most like him.

“I have been thinking, Ada,” she said finally. “In a bedtime story Naneth read to me, the little bear’s life was saved by the wolf, and the little bear was faithful to the wolf for the rest of its life.  Elrohir saved my life and so I am going to be faithful to him for my whole life.”

“Being faithful is an honorable charge,” replied Elrond encouragingly.  He thought his little daughter likely to be faithful to all of her extended family, but he would not discourage or diminish the kindness she was extending to Elrohir.

Arwen sighed.  “Elrohir is not going to like not being able to ride his horse.” She looked up at her father’s surprised look.  “I heard Naneth and Daernaneth talking about it. Cook is making a special place for him in one of the wagons, and I will ride with him and keep him company.”

“Indeed I have!” came the cook’s cry, albeit in a lower tone than normal, as he approached them.  Laying the now clean tools used in the casting process back on their canvas, he smiled at Arwen conspiratorially, “I took them from your lord daeradar, for he is not the best dishwasher.  A cook is the best one to see to such things!  Especially for our Elrohir,” fussed the cook as he stared down at Elrohir.  “So thin yet!  But the bruises do fade, at least.  And more pain today for the dear elf.  I think I shall make a tantalizing concoction for him for when he awakes!”

Arwen bestowed a dazzling smile on the cook, then rose and beckoned him down to her level so she could kiss his cheek. “Thank you, dear cook, for being so kind to my brother.”

The cook nearly melted before the child, speechless for once, and then he was off, bowing as he backed away.

Arwen settled herself down at Elrohir’s side again, content to wait until he awakened.

* * *

Elrohir awoke late in the afternoon, his eyes focusing on the familiar tree canopy beyond the roof of his tent. The scenery irritated him, as did the dullness he felt within, a feeling he had grown to recognize as an aftereffect of the medicine he had been dosed with. He shifted slightly, feeling the heavy cast on his leg.  He tried to lift his leg and found it difficult, and a memory of lying on his back swinging his casted foot in the air when he was a small elfling came to mind.  Why could he not even lift his leg now?  He yanked on the sheet, and as it flew off him he realized he was still naked. To his dismay, he felt anger build within him. 

“The design is architecturally sound as well as aesthetically pleasing,” said Erestor.

Elrohir turned to the sound of the voices that had invaded his consciousness and saw that everyone appeared to be gathered around Erestor and a sketch he was holding in his hand.  Glorfindel stood to his side, nodding and adding detail to what Erestor was describing.  Elrohir did not think he had ever heard such enthusiasm in the counselor’s voice before.

“The foundation will be of stone and mortar, designed to last for an age or more. Wooden beams are forming the initial framework, but even if that rots or gives way, the stone will not.  Truly, Eldacar’s men have risen to a new level in engineering.”

“I would like to see this!” exclaimed Elladan. “How long is the building expected to take?  Will we be able to see some results, or perhaps even help, when we return to Imladris?”

“The construction will last well into the fall,” replied Erestor enthusiastically. “I will take you to the site when we return, for there is much we can learn from those who designed this.”

The voices drifted from Elrohir’s thought as bitterness filled him. Even as he recognized his feelings as exaggerated and self-pitying, hot tears filled his eyes and he struggled to control his emotions.  He sensed a presence next to him and ignored it.

Moments later a comforting hand stroked along his hair and cheek, and he recognized the touch of his mother. Without opening his eyes, he reached both hands out to her and she wrapped her arms about him.

“Your adar said what they have been giving you makes you feel terrible when you first awake. He regretted having to give it to you again, but you know your adar cannot stand to see you in pain,” she murmured comfortingly.  She rocked him gently. “I am still in awe of what wonderful adults my sons have become, but I miss the days my arms reached all the way around you.  But, an adult you are. I can imagine how tired of this camp you must be and how ready you must be to move on.  You will not see the Havens this trip, but you will see Tharbad and the remains of Ost-in-Edhil before we head north to home.  And Elladan and Erestor will expect you to go see the bridge with them!  Erestor says you will appreciate the structure, for you have a good eye for architecture.”

Elrohir felt his bitterness fade, and with it the anger he felt at his own weakness. How did his mother know exactly how he felt? She had always known just what to say to make him feel better

“Oh, and I have your clothes!” exclaimed Celebrían.  “I have altered them so that you may wear them over the cast.  See, I added ties at the bottom that you may lace to keep the loose bottom from flapping in the wind.  At some point I am sure you will be able to ride and it would not do to spook your horse.”

Elrohir felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes again and inwardly cursed whatever it was that made him feel like he was a puppet on a string, his emotions being pulled this way and that, without any control. His mother was silent as he regained control of himself and he found he loved her all the more for it.

“Elrohir, drink this,” came his grandfather’s voice.

Elrohir disengaged himself from his mother and turned to look at his grandfather, but he must have looked doubtful about whatever was in the cup Celeborn held, for his grandfather smiled and moved the cup closer to him. “It is only miruvor.”

Elrohir drank the restorative gladly, the familiar feeling of lightness and joy filling him within moments.  He sighed in relief as he assessed himself and decided he felt normal.

“Better?” asked Celeborn sympathetically.

“I woke up so irritated with everything and then I grew angry at myself for feeling that way, but I was having a difficult time changing my perspective until Naneth came,” admitted Elrohir.  “I hate that feeling, Daeradar. I hate feeling like I cannot control myself.”

“Several times in my life I have experienced the kind of helplessness you are experiencing now, and though each was disagreeable at the time, each incident taught me something new,” said Celeborn as he lifted Elrohir’s casted leg slightly so his grandson could slip his trousers over it.

“I am afraid I must not be nearly so wise or teachable, because I do not think I am learning much,” said Elrohir with a sigh.

“We seldom realize what we have learned in the midst of the trial, but later, when you have had time to reflect on all that has happened, you will see clearly.  Sometimes it is those who are close to us who see our growth, for they are more objective,” replied Celeborn.

“I know things I regret already.  Snapping at Elladan.  Disobeying Adar. Letting my emotions control me.”

“Ah, my list is much longer. There are words said I cannot retrieve, actions made in anger where I should have exercised caution, and a multitude of times I did not listen to someone who was right,” listed Celeborn, his eyes suddenly distant.  “There are also times I should have listened to my heart and instead waited, only to find the consequences chilling.”

Elrohir studied his grandfather thoughtfully. He knew his grandfather had been born before the ages of the sun, in twilight, and lived in Doriath long before the evils of Morgoth darkened Middle-earth when the fallen Vala returned to Beleriand after destroying the Two Trees.

“Daeradar, you are called Celeborn the Wise.  How did you become wise? How can I become wise?” he asked seriously.

Celeborn laughed.  “Wisdom is knowing the right means to the right end. It is usually hard earned and the one who earned it always yearns for more.  I have lived long, Elrohir, through many ages. Yet, I still err and I still learn. I have grown in wisdom, as will you.”

Elrohir laced the ties of his tunic, momentarily distracted by how wonderful it felt to be wearing regular clothing again.  Days of wearing nothing or only a loose tunic had increased his feeling of helplessness, though he was hardly in a position to criticize how those who had cared for him had dressed him.  “But how does one know what is the right end?”  He paused, thinking.  “How could I have known that jumping off the bridge was not the right end?”

Celeborn’s gaze softened as he studied the earnest young face of his grandson. “The right end was obvious to you, Elrohir.  You wanted to save your sister.  At the time you saw her, the only means you saw was to jump after her.  Was it the right means? At the time, you had no other options.  History may judge us by outcome, and when the outcome is good they call us wise.  When the outcome is bad, they call us stupid.  Do not ponder if your decision was wise, Elrohir.  It was brave and courageous.”

Elrohir sighed, and Celeborn laughed softly.  “Think of wisdom on a broader perspective, rather than as a moment in time.  Throughout the ages, elves have been faced with deception. We did not recognize it immediately in most cases, but in time we did.   Melkor deceived us at Cuiviénen, the Valar misled us on the Great Journey, the Noldor exiles withheld information from us when they returned at the First Age of the Sun, the dwarves betrayed us, the sons of Fëanor killed us for a jewel, and Sauron dwelt among us in fair form.  All were deceptions. When I list them like this, we do not seem very wise, do we? We were deceived over and over.”

“No,” replied Elrohir softly, his mind admittedly more on the list than on a conclusion about wisdom.

“But, Elrohir, we never forgot the right end – which was to live in peace in Middle-earth, without causing harm to others - and for the most part we used right means. We did grow to question the motivations and actions of others.  The list I gave you might have been much longer had we not grown wiser over time.”

“So that is the part that is difficult to measure, for you may never know what might have happened,” murmured Elrohir thoughtfully.

“What if Arwen had fallen out of the wagon and you had not jumped in after her?”

“She probably would have died,” whispered Elrohir.

“Thinking through that aspect of a situation is also a part of wisdom, Elrohir.” Celeborn grew quiet for a few moments, then said, “In Ost-in-Edhil, I was at times more prudent than wise.”

Elrohir’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I do not understand.”

“We were prudent in that we did the right thing, but sometimes we lost sight of the right end. Perhaps it may be easier to tell you more of Celebrimbor, Annatar and the rings, and then we will see if you can tell where the decisions we made were more prudent than wise,” suggested Celeborn.

Elrohir smiled. “You know I love to learn through stories, Daeradar.”

“Wait!” cried Arwen.  Elrohir turned, not having realized that she was behind him. “Elladan said he wanted to hear your story tonight, too. Should I go get him?  They are just talking about a new bridge, one I never plan to cross.”  She paused, a concerned look on her face.  “Unless this story is just for Elrohir and not for all of us.  I will keep everyone away if that is so.”

“I am looking forward to the bridge, because I want to visit Círdan at the Havens. If you never plan to cross the new bridge, that means if you ever want to go to Lindon, you will have to swim the river,” replied Elrohir.

Arwen’s eyes grew big as she turned to look down at the floodwaters. “I do not want to swim in that.”

“And you will want to visit Lindon at some point,” added Elrohir.  “The new bridge will be bigger and safer and not scary at all. I promise I will cross it with you the first time.”  Arwen still appeared doubtful, so he changed the subject.  “Daeradar’s story is for everyone.  Besides, I may need everyone’s help in understanding his lesson.”

Celeborn laughed as Arwen ran off to inform the others that story time was upon them. “Those were examples of wisdom, Elrohir.  With the bridge, the right end was Arwen needing to see the bridge as a good thing.  The right means was getting her to see it for herself, instead of you just telling her.   With the story, it is best to learn from wise and experienced people, of which there are many in this camp.  Each has their own perspective on that time, for each saw it from a different angle.  Learning those angles and perspectives will increase your knowledge, and knowledge is an important part of wisdom.”

Elrohir wisely remained silent as he waited for the others to gather near, but as he studied his grandfather he was reminded of how each time he spoke to him, his grandfather always asked him questions.  Celeborn had always made him feel that his thoughts and opinions were important, but suddenly he realized that in asking him questions, Celeborn was teaching him to think.

Elladan plopped down beside him, then pushed him to one side so he could fit comfortably on the bed.   “Let me see your cast!”  He knocked on it softly, the noise a dull, hollow sound.  He raised his hand and knocked gently on Elrohir’s head.  “Very similar,” he teased.

Elrohir elbowed his brother in the ribs, but scooted over to make room for him.  He held his arms out to Arwen.

“I might hurt you,” she said apologetically.  She smiled sweetly at him, then took a bounding jump and landed in Elladan’s lap.  He partially caught her, groaning as a small foot connected with his lower abdomen, considered rolling her on to the ground, but instead wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head beneath his chin.

“We are ready, Daeradar,” she announced.

Celeborn looked around at his growing audience, but did not start until Galadriel was seated at his side.

“It was around the year 1500 of the Second Age when the Men of Númenor began to influence the happenings in Eregion . . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

The rider passed swiftly through the gates of the city, dismounting and seeking the captain on duty immediately.  He was breathless and windblown, and excitement covered his face.  Celeborn could see him gesturing animatedly to the captain who came to meet him, and as he strode forward he caught the captain’s eye.

“Lord Celeborn!” the captain called, motioning him over.  “Arthien returns unlooked for from the south, where he has been scouting along the river.  Come and hear his news.”

Arthien turned to face him and immediately seemed to calm in the presence of his lord.  He bowed and then grasped arms in the warrior greeting with Celeborn, for Celeborn was well known among the guard of the city.

“My lord, I was riding south along the river when I saw a great white ship in the bay.  I thought it unusual for the Falathrim to sail into the bay, and then I realized the ship was much larger than any of Círdan’s and of a different design.   As it approached the delta, smaller ships launched from it, navigating and finding a way around the reefs and through the shoals and sandbars.  The larger vessel followed, and to my surprise, it began sailing up the river!

“Men who live along the shores came out to watch, and the sailors waved and called to them in friendship.  They brought them gifts of food and of tools. And such unique implements they have! In several places, the sailors used a giant shovel to forge a channel through the silt.” Arthien paused for breath, his eyes shining as he described all he had seen.

“Did you speak with them?” asked Celeborn, a glimmer of excitement building within him.

“Nay, my lord.  I wished to return quickly with the news.  I rode as fast as my horse would bear me, that I might precede them, should they attempt to sail as far as the city.”

Arthien paused, his gaze turning westward.  “I have escorted elves to and from Lindon, and born messages to the King.  Once, when I was at the Havens, a ship from Númenor came into port.  This is surely one of their ships, but it is more beautiful and more advanced than that ship, and Círdan said then that it was one of their best. These Men are strong and tall, brave and fearless.  I could see it in their eyes and in their bearing, even though I saw them only from a distance.”

“You have done well, Arthien. Go eat and rest, and when we go forth to meet them, you shall go with us,” promised Celeborn.

“You may give me your full report after you have refreshed yourself,” added the captain.

After making arrangements for the captain to report to him later that evening when he had the full report from Arthien, Celeborn turned to walk back to the city plaza.  To his surprise, standing not far ahead of him was Annatar.   Not knowing how much he might have overheard, Celeborn merely nodded and walked past him.

“Lord Celeborn, have you news from the West?” asked Annatar, his tone polite, though Celeborn was sure he heard the usual undertone of contempt reserved for him.

Celeborn slowed briefly, raising one eyebrow at the query.  “News from the South, actually.” He continued walking, unsurprised when Annatar fell into step next to him.

“Men from Númenor have arrived and are sailing up the river?” repeated Annatar, shaking his head slightly. “They grow more powerful and adventurous with each generation. They do seem unstoppable, do they not? Númenor is no longer enough and they seek dominion over Middle-earth as well.”

“What leads you to believe that they seek dominion?” asked Celeborn. “These lands are the birthplace of their ancestors.  Why should they not wish to see them again?”

“You are naive, Celeborn,” laughed Annatar lightly. “Men such as these seek power first and foremost.  They will not be content to merely visit and share their goodwill.”

“You speak as if you had much knowledge of the Men of Númenor and their ways,” said Celeborn, refusing to be baited.

“I understand people and what motivates them,” answered Annatar.  Celeborn noted an edge to his voice, but when Annatar glanced at him his face had softened and he spoke more genially.  “I wish only the best for all of the peoples of Middle-earth; therefore knowing what motivates each group is critical to my understanding of them.  Understanding leads to cooperation and a better land for all of us to live in together.  Newcomers are certainly welcome, but we can hardly let them upset the tranquility we have achieved.”

Celeborn laughed sardonically. “What tranquility have we achieved, Annatar?  What contribution have you made? The dwarves have friendship with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and whether it is for good or bad, it is not of your doing.  The wild men keep to the hills and out of our sight, but it is not out of either fear of or respect for you, but from a desire to live their lives in peace as they wish.”

“You are a puppet, Celeborn, and will remain so.  The real power of Ost-in-Edhil lies with the Noldor, with those who create with their will and their hands,” replied Annatar in a hiss, lashing out at Celeborn so directly that Celeborn was nearly caught off guard.  For decades Annatar had baited him in an understated way, but never had he attacked him so openly.

He studied this being who apparently had claimed to have been sent by the Valar and a sudden realization came upon him.  “You fear them! You fear that these Men come bearing power and knowledge that exceeds you own.”

Annatar sneered. “I fear nothing!” Just as quickly as it had come, the sneer and hostile demeanor faded. “You misunderstand me.  I welcome these Men, for that which they may teach us and for what we may teach them.  If we indeed wish to achieve our own Valinor here in Middle-earth, it is imperative that we all work together.  I wish to welcome them also when you go forth to meet them.”

Celeborn restrained his desire to reach out and grab Annatar by the neck and shake the lies from his throat. Instead he answered, “Your work with the Mírdain consumes so much of your time that I would be loath to take you from it.  But I do thank you for your offer.”

Celeborn walked up the stairs to the City Hall and did not look back as the door closed on Annatar.

* * *

A special meeting of the Council was called for that evening.  Galadriel had arranged for the group to meet in their home, expecting only the small membership that normally attended such gatherings.  Celeborn was visiting with his captains and a few town leaders when he felt Galadriel grow cold through their bond, and he turned to the door where she was greeting late arrivals.

“Celebrimbor, how nice of you to choose to attend this meeting. We so seldom benefit from your presence,” she said icily.

Celeborn was mildly surprised at the tone Galadriel took with her cousin, for he did seldom attend Council meetings unless the discussion was of concern to his Mírdain, but the real reason for her disdain became quickly apparent when Annatar stepped into the room.

He bowed before Galadriel and then reached for her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it before letting go.  She allowed her hand to fall limp at her side, making it clear his attentions did not move her. “Annatar, I was not aware the Council was entertaining visitors this evening,” she said coldly, standing in his path.

“Cousin, Annatar wishes only to learn more about the visitors approaching from the South.  He is widely traveled and perhaps may offer insight and wisdom into any relationship established with them,” said Celebrimbor, smiling.

Celeborn stepped forward to stand near Galadriel, and when she took his hand, he could feel anger coursing through her veins. Her dislike of Annatar was intense, yet he could sense she struggled to remain civil to him for Celebrimbor’s sake.  We can make him leave, he thought, but in truth there is nothing he will learn here tonight that he can use to cause harm.

I detest his presence and one cannot always know how knowledge can be used for evil, returned Galadriel. Celeborn stepped forward and was just beginning to ask Annatar to go when he felt Galadriel’s pull on his mind. It is not worth the battle.  “Council meetings are private, Annatar, and anything discussed here is not to be spoken of outside these walls without permission,” he said instead.

“Of course, Lord Celeborn,” demurred Annatar politely.  “And thank you, Lady Galadriel, for your kindness in allowing me to attend.”

Celeborn felt the insult both on his own and through his wife, and Galadriel’s nails dug into his palm as she seethed in anger. They both stepped aside as Celebrimbor led Annatar to a seat in the room, then walked in together to lead the meeting.

* * *

Annatar flung his riding gloves aside as he stormed into the forge.  Leaning against the workbench on both hands, he drew in a deep breath and then stood upright.  It was only then that he seemed to sense Celebrimbor’s presence and turned to face him.

“I have new insight into the Nine,” he said with a smile. “These Men are different than those I have met in my travels. They crave knowledge and understanding, and these desires we shall pour into the rings.”

“How will greater desire aid them?” asked Celebrimbor curiously.  He watched Annatar attempt to mask his expressions, but his inner turmoil could not be completely hidden. He had met the Men of Númenor and something about them had caused him distress.

“Their desires seem to drive them and once they set their will to an end, they appear to achieve it.” He turned to face Celebrimbor.  “Their ships are magnificent, Celebrimbor, and they carry themselves as noble kings.  Such skill in craft. . ..  We must pour the best of ourselves into these rings. Any gift we give to them must be worthy of the ambitions that drive such Men.”

Celebrimbor studied Annatar intently as he resumed his work.  As time had passed, he had discovered a difference between his own ambitions and those of Annatar.  Annatar poured part of himself into each ring, and with each ring he attempted to fuel the desires and ambitions of the one who would bear it.  Celebrimbor remembered the fragile beauty of Beleriand and how it had faded and then been destroyed.  He recalled the glory of Valinor, young though he had been when they left the Blessed Realm.  He wanted that peace here; he wanted to stop the evil that was spreading across Middle-earth.   He had turned his back on his father and uncles, for he did not wish to participate in death and destruction, nor did he wish to be ruled by an oath or desires.  He did not want his creations to fuel possessive rage as the Silmarils had, or to increase the desire and ambition of any elf.  He wanted to preserve what beauty there was left and if possible, increase the glory of Arda, now marred.  In his visions, he could imagine the beauty and peace in Middle-earth should the elves learn to wield that which he would create.  Admittedly, he longed to wield such a creation himself, but he found his own motives trustworthy.

Long he had been planning the Elven rings, but he would not create them with Annatar. They would be of his design alone, touched only by his hands, and although the ones who bore them would increase in power, the rings would be capable only of good and the benefits reaped would be for all.

* * *

“They are finished!” exclaimed Annatar, as he ran his finger around the surface of the bands lovingly. “Our finest work yet, Celebrimbor, although I believe the rings we create for the elves will far surpass these.”

Celebrimbor smiled as he watched Annatar rejoice in the rings, for many years of hard work had gone into their forging.  Annatar had poured much of himself into these rings, though, and the burden upon him was telling.  Though still fair in face and bearing, his eyes bespoke a weariness that delved to the core of his being.

“They will be a fine gift to those you find worthy, but I think it is best we wait to create more.  You are weary,” he said compassionately.

“I have been waiting to speak to you about that very thing,” said Annatar suddenly. “I am weary.  I wish to return to my home for at least a visit, to recover my strength of will and purpose.  I shall return to you in time, refreshed and eager to extend our work together.”

“We shall, of course, welcome your return. You have indeed furthered our craft, even taken us to heights we could never have achieved on our own.  I, and all of Middle-earth, are in your debt,” replied Celebrimbor as he reached a hand out to his friend.

As their hands touched, Celebrimbor felt a strange sensation course through him, and realized he had caught Annatar unaware. The feeling faded quickly, so quickly that he almost doubted what he had felt.  But it had been there, a tension or undercurrent of discord that he had not sensed before. He saw a brief flash of something indescribable in Annatar’s eyes.

“Are you well, Annatar?” he inquired.

“Only weary, as you say,” answered Annatar, his expression again serene.  “I shall leave in the morning.

Celebrimbor saw Annatar off as the sun rose just above the tips of the Misty Mountains. Annatar had not wished for any kind of formal notice of his leaving; rather he said he preferred to leave in solitude, much as he had come, for his spirit desired tranquility and rest.  Honoring that wish, Celebrimbor alone of the Mírdain watched him leave.

“Where does he go?”

Celebrimbor turned at the sound of Galadriel’s voice, and faced her and Celeborn as they approached him.     

“Home, he said, for a visit,” he answered.

“May I assume he again did not divulge where ‘home’ is?” asked Galadriel crisply.

“I did not think to ask,” he replied quietly. “He left taking nothing with him but some tools we developed together, for he wished to further their usefulness, if possible.”

“He will not be allowed into the city again,” stated Celeborn. “I will not allow it.”

Celebrimbor looked with disdain upon his cousin’s husband, but turned to Galadriel.

“In this we are agreed, Celebrimbor,” she said firmly, not allowing him to speak. “His motives are unclear to me, and I have sensed a growing discord within him, especially since the Men came. He cannot be welcomed among us again until we know more about him and his plans.”

Celebrimbor nodded his acquiescence.  Still, he had learned much at the elbow of Annatar, and while he was grateful for this, he found he was glad the Lord of Gifts had left, for he was now free to pursue his own creative desires.  “As you wish,” he said as he bowed; then he turned and walked back to his compound.  

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrohir sat silently, his brow furrowed in deep thought, as he considered his grandfather’s story and the lesson he had been instructed to find.

“Daeradar, I fail to see where you were unwise,” he finally said. “You were careful of what he learned, and you made it clear he was not welcomed back. You were careful to avoid unnecessary battles with him.”

Celeborn looked at him appraisingly, and Elrohir squirmed under the intense scrutiny, feeling as if he were an elfling unprepared for recitation.  He turned to his grandmother, but she appeared resigned, and perhaps even sad.

In the ensuing silence, Arwen rose from Elladan’s lap and moved to sit at her grandmother’s side, wrapping her arms about one of Galadriel’s.  Galadriel did smile upon the earnest young face looking up at her, and then turned to her grandsons.

“Sixteen rings of power existed when Annatar left Eregion.  Change was coming and evil was rising.  We shall not tell you where prudence took the place of wisdom; you will need to come to see it on your own, in time.”

Elrohir exchanged looks with Elladan, then at the elves surrounding them.  His mother sat in front of their father, leaning against him and Elrohir noticed she was fingering a small scar on Elrond’s arm.  Erestor and Glorfindel were watching them as they had in the days of their childhood, when they exuded patience, waiting for their young charges to finally reach understanding.   All of them had lived through this dark time; all had played some role in the fight against Sauron.

“Annatar was allowed into the city and stayed despite your underlying suspicion of him. The rings of power were made; though he claimed they were for good, they turned out to be for evil.  You avoided many problems by not confronting him – contention in the city, division among elves – but in doing so, you allowed him to grow in power and knowledge,” said Elladan finally.

“The right end was not achieved, although you took what appeared to be right means or actions at the time,” added Elrohir slowly.

Celeborn nodded, but before he could speak, the cook stepped forward.  “See, already Elrohir and Elladan are growing in wisdom, just from association with all of you wise elves!  Such thinking stimulates a good appetite, no?” A few heads nodded in laughing agreement. “Yes?  Then you must eat!  I have a special meal for Elrohir to make up for the nasty concoction given to him earlier.” The cook clapped his hands as plates of food were served.  “Ah, this is much better. Evil is not banished, but we will enjoy all the days we can.  Eat!”

Elrohir took the offered plate from the cook and soon forgot all about rings of power and wisdom as he enjoyed what truly was a tantalizing concoction.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:  Not like I need to make this chapter any longer…..  I recommend Ann Perry’s book ‘Tolkien in the Land of Heroes,’ and David Day’s book ‘Tolkien’s Ring.’  Both have been a source of inspiration in understanding the themes of Tolkien and how he altered Northern mythology to make one uniquely his own.  The true Lord of the Rings may well have been Odin, the Ring God of Norse mythology.  It is said that Gandalf, Saruman, Sauron and Radagast were made as distinct figures to embody the many qualities of Odin.  Tolkien added a differentiation of good and evil, right and wrong, and the idea that the pursuit of power corrupts, to a mythology that was largely fatalistic and unconcerned with morality.  

It occurred to me as I writing that Tolkien speaks often of wisdom.  The dictionary defines wisdom and prudence this way:

Wisdom has been defined to be ``the use of the best means for attaining the best ends.'' ``We conceive,'' says Whewell, `` prudence as the virtue by which we select right means for given ends, while wisdom implies the selection of right ends as well as of right means.'' Hence, wisdom implies the union of high mental and moral excellence. Prudence (that is, providence, or forecast) is of a more negative character; it rather consists in avoiding danger than in taking decisive measures for the accomplishment of an object

This was rather inspiring, as I grew to understand the difference, for I can see where Tolkien was very concerned with the ‘right end.’  The rights of the individual were surpassed for the greater good of the society or even the world.  Aragorn, the hope of Men, told Frodo at the Prancing Pony in Bree that  “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and if by life or death I can save you, I will.” This is the one who could be king, pledging himself to die for this hobbit if need be, because Frodo’s mission was greater than himself.  We see this as a recurring theme throughout Tolkien’s works, and I have to admit it is the one that most draws me.  If I were to define ‘hero,’ that is what it would be: one who selflessly puts the good of others ahead of themselves.

As I was thinking about the rings of power, it also occurred to me that those ‘in charge’ in Eregion may have made prudent decisions – things that seemed right at the time, but were proven otherwise.  They may have been ignorant and were certainly deceived. Recognizing ignorance and seeking to correct it is wise in itself.

If Celeborn appears to be hard on himself, bear with me.  I hope in the end to show why he is called Celeborn the Wise, and how as a leader he takes responsibility for what happened under his rule, regardless of how much fault he bore.

Thank you to all who are reading, and especially reviewing.  Your encouragement is much appreciated, as are your suggestions.