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History Lessons: The Second Age  by Nilmandra

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 16: The Elven Rings of Power

Early morning hours of day 13

Erestor stood on the high ridge, watching as dark clouds rolled in from the southwest, obscuring the stars as they passed beneath them. Flashes of blue-white light would stretch out across the sky, and Erestor was reminded of watching a coiled snake spring out its full length, its tongue flicking out to touch its prey.  In those brief moments of light, the clouds would become more visible, showing the speed with which they heaved and rolled their way toward where he stood.  Golden hair blowing in a sudden gust of wind brushed his face as Glorfindel turned to him.

“Heavy rain, wind, lightning and possibly hail,” he said grimly.

“The tents are well situated beneath clumps of trees,” said Erestor thoughtfully.  “Let us hope that the damage is minimal. Where is Arwen?”

“Sleeping with her parents this night,” answered Glorfindel. “Elrond sensed the approach of the storm.”

“Let us join the twins, then, in case Elrohir should need to be moved” replied Erestor.

“Do not tell him we come for that purpose,” said Glorfindel dryly. “He seems to think we are coddling him.”

Erestor snorted.  “We are.”

“Right, but do not tell him that,” laughed Glorfindel.

By the time they had returned to the camp, rain had begun to fall and the winds had increased from occasional gusts to sustained blowing.  Erestor and Glorfindel circled the tent where Elrond, Celebrían and Arwen were sleeping, ensuring it was securely staked and closed.  Across the camp, guards who traveled with Celeborn and Galadriel were doing the same to the enclosure of their lord and lady.

Erestor and Glorfindel entered the tent the twins shared, a guard on duty sealing it securely behind them as the door flap threatened to fly up and over the tent.  Elladan was sitting up on his cot and seemed unsurprised to see them.  He motioned to his twin. “He has not awakened.”

“I think the whole camp will be awake soon,” Glorfindel informed him.

No sooner had he spoken when the sky was lit by a bolt of lightning, followed immediately by a roar of thunder. The sound of raindrops pelting the canvas of the tent came next, sometimes a steady thrumming and sometimes accentuated by a gust of wind blowing it with force.

Erestor watched Elrohir come to wakefulness and moved to sit next to him.  He smiled reassuringly at the injured elf, casually relaxing next to him in a show of unconcern that was quickly lost when something landed on the top of the tent.  Jumping to his feet, Erestor reached his fingers up to the surface of the canvas and felt the slender limb of a tree branch. The weight of the wood on the roof of the tent was not significant. Erestor looked down to see Elrohir looking at him apprehensively.

“I think now would be a good time to make sure I can stand,” began Elrohir, but he was interrupted by a resounding crack that nearly deafened them.

“Erestor, tree!” came the loud cry from outside the tent.  The sound of the tree breaking filled him with fear as he realized there was not time to move Elrohir.

“Elladan, go!” shouted Erestor as he folded himself over Elrohir’s head.

Not unsurprisingly, Elladan did not obey.  He and Glorfindel moved at the same time, covering the rest of Elrohir’s body by kneeling over him, three strong backs protecting his prone form.   A moment later the tree crashed through the canvas of the tent on top of them.

* * *

Celeborn sat quietly in his tent, his knife stilling from the work it was carving when the storm came upon them with force.  He heard the sound of the tree being struck by lightning and the warning shouted to Erestor.  He was on his feet instantly, pushing his way out of the tightly bound canvas.

“Lord Celeborn, stay inside!” shouted a guard. 

Celeborn paused when a flash of light caught his attention and turned to Galadriel, and as he saw what she held he froze in surprise and then anger built within him.  He ran the few steps toward her and grabbed her wrist with his hand.

“No!” He shook her wrist forcefully, watching as the ring fell into her lap. She jerked her arm away from him, but he increased the force until he knew that if she resisted further he would snap her wrist. “Do not put that thing on your finger,” he said tersely.

Galadriel’s face remained impassive, registering neither pain at his bruising hold nor anger at being restrained. Celeborn felt a tearing desire from within as another crack of lightning and roar of thunder filled the air: his grandson might need him and yet he would not leave her to wield Nenya. For two centuries she had studied the ring, learning its ways through touch, but not yet had she tried to bear its power.  To attempt to do so now, inexperienced as she was with it, filled Celeborn’s heart with dread.

“You might mean to do well and yet cause more harm,” he hissed at her placid face. She gradually relaxed her arm, ceasing any attempts to fight him, and he released his hold.  She picked up the elegant band with its stone of white and slipped it back inside the leather purse in which she carried it.  She hid it back in the folds of her gown and then raised her eyes to again meet his.  Satisfied, he turned his back on her and forced his way past the guard who attempted to block him.

Wind blew his hair across his face, and harshly blown rain and small hail pelted his skin.  He instinctively put his hand up to protect his eyes and ran to the collapsed tent.  Every free elf was braced under an oak tree that had been struck by lightning and fallen.  Celeborn ached to hear the tree’s final song and yet begged the young oak holding it partially aloft from the tent to hold it a while longer. 

For the tent was not crushed.  The young oak whose arms had caught the main trunk of the older tree held it several feet from the ground. Elves were bracing their own bodies along the trunk as the young oak began to crack and splinter.  Celeborn pushed the sight from his mind as he began clawing through the mud and debris next to Elrond. Yanking his dagger from his sheath, he ripped through the canvas, cutting a hole for them to enter through. They crawled inside together, and Celeborn heard Elrond’s sharp intake of breath at what they found.

Elladan, Erestor and Glorfindel were pinned above Elrohir but beneath the tree. Celeborn could see the way they braced their backs, all effort into removing some of the pressure from Elrohir.  Having quickly assessed the situation, Celeborn crawled back out of the tent.

“A hatchet, now!” he cried.

It was the cook who brought it to him, for he always kept one near for chopping firewood.  Celeborn ducked back under the canvas and crawled to the bed.

“The tree is caught on a young oak that promises to hold as long as it may,” he called over the sound of the rain and wind. “Elrond, be ready to pull Elrohir out.” Celeborn looked at the three pained and anxious faces above him, the strain on their bodies obvious, and then began hacking at the now soft earth below the bed. Clods of mud and earth began to come loose and he felt the first leg of the bed sag, and turned his attention to the next one.   Hacking and digging, he lowered the earth slightly, the oak tree holding its burden as promised, and the strain on the four began to lessen. 

Elrond had obtained some sort of digging tool as well and was sprawled out on the ground, digging at the head of the bed.  Celeborn could see the fear on his face when he turned his attention to the final leg, and he quickly realized why.  With the slightly higher ground at the head of the bed, Erestor was nearly suffocating Elrohir.  The counselor’s face was contorted in pain as he bore a greater burden of the tree while also arching his back in desperation to keep from crushing the one he was trying to protect.

Suddenly the final leg gave way, actually snapping free with a clod of earth.  The bed fell a few inches, and Elrond pulled his hand free just in time.  Celeborn crawled back to the foot of the bed, and with his bare hands, wrenched the foot from the left side and then the right, lowering it further.

“Move, Elladan!”

Celeborn could see the distress in Elladan’s eyes, for though the bed dropping had relieved the burden on his back, he feared moving.  Wrapping both arms about his grandson’s middle, Celeborn pulled him free.  When there was no effect on the tree or the others, Glorfindel slid free, and then Elrond and Celeborn each grabbed hold of Elrohir.  At their call, Erestor pushed himself back to the ground, scraping his back against the tree trunk, while at the same moment Elrond and Celeborn pulled Elrohir off the bed and out of harm’s way.

The six sat on the ground in astonished silence when nothing happened.  The tree did not shift and the storm continued around them.  Celeborn listened for the valiant young oak and heard its plea for relief.

“Come, we must allow the young oak his ease,” he said as he pushed Elladan towards the opening.  Elladan crawled out, followed quickly by Glorfindel, who pulled Erestor with him.  Elrond and Celeborn pulled Elrohir out last.  “Clear!” he shouted to the elves who had placed their own bodies between the tree and the ground, in case the young oak faltered.

“You may let go,” whispered Celeborn when all were removed from harm’s way.  A moment later, the young oak released its grip on the older tree.  The old oak settled with a thud the last few feet to the ground, crushing the tent.

Rain continued in a torrential downpour around them, but the wind lessened and the lightning passed by them.  Celeborn turned, watching for a moment as Elrond lifted Elrohir in his arms and carried him to his tent, and guards began assisting the other three and those who had sustained injury among them.  Turning to face his own tent, he saw Galadriel standing in the rain, her gown soaked and clinging to her body.

She faced into the storm, a haunted look upon her face. Turning, she met his eyes. Unable to read her, he held her gaze only a few seconds longer, and then they both moved to the tent of their daughter and her family.

* * *

Celebrían rocked Arwen in her arms as the child sobbed and clung to her. Storms had on occasion frightened her at home, but that had been more of a delicious fright, something that was scary but savored from the safety of her parents’ bed inside their home. Never had she been trapped outside during such weather, however, and never had she seen such destruction.

“Elrohir, open your eyes,” said Elrond, his voice gentle but firm.  He held both of his son’s hands in his own as Elrohir trembled, still struggling to regain his breath.  Erestor hovered nearby, shrugging off attempts being made to tend him, as he waited for Elrohir to respond.

Elrohir finally calmed his breathing and opened his eyes.  Erestor bowed his head in relief. “I meant to protect you and instead I nearly killed you,” he whispered.

“I am unhurt,” replied Elrohir, his voice hoarse.

Elrond quickly examined his son, deciding he was not injured in any way that required treatment.  The panicked look that had been on son’s face as he fought for air would not soon be forgotten, however.  He pulled a light blanket over Elrohir, but his son batted it down as soon as it came to rest on his chest. 

“Let me sit with him while you check the others,” commanded Celeborn.  He turned a more gentle voice to Elrohir. “You will feel better if you sit up a little and we remove the wet clothing,” he said soothingly to his grandson.  With Galadriel’s help, he propped Elrohir up and helped him remove his soaked sleep garment, both actions helping Elrohir to feel as if he could breathe easier. 

“I do not require tending,” said Erestor through tight lips when Elrond began loosening his tunic.

Elrond ignored him, noting that Erestor did not fight him when he carefully slipped the tunic off his shoulders. He examined the scrapes and bruises, but felt no damage beyond the skin.   “You will be sore for a day or two.  Let your muscles rest and it will be less so,” he said as he cleaned and applied healing salve to the scrapes.

Erestor ignored him, as expected, and Elrond reminded himself that he doubted he had ever had a worse patient than Erestor. He moved next to Glorfindel who waved him off, and he accepted that response from Glorfindel.  Glorfindel was a captain of warriors  - he knew when his body required aid and when it did not, and while not a patient with patience, he at least accepted aid when it was needed. Elladan he merely put his arms around, and he could feel through that contact his son was physically uninjured as well.  He held him close for a moment, allowing his son to draw what comfort he needed.

Elrond turned to see to the guards, but Galadriel had them well in hand, tending the minor injuries caused by hail and flying debris.  The rain had abated, and the guards left the crowded tent as soon as they were able.

“Ada, can we go home now?”

Elrond looked at the tear-stained face of his daughter and managed a smile.  “Yes, Arwen, I think it is time to go home.”

* * *

Anor’s first rays lit the camp several hours later, showing the full destruction of the night’s storm.  The heavy rainfall had further swollen the overflowing banks of the Hoarwell, ripping small trees from their tender roots and carrying them away with the floodwaters.  In their camp, three trees had broken limbs that had to be removed, for they were now unstable and liable to be torn off in the next great wind.  The oak that had been struck by lightning still lay flat across the tent where Elrohir had lain for many days.

Elrond shuddered as he looked on the site, well aware that danger had nearly taken his sons again.  Had Elrohir been mobile, they would have escaped unscathed.  Forcing the vision of Elrohir’s panicked face from his mind, Elrond walked to the spring to refill his waterskins.  Erestor was already there, and Elrond smiled as he watched his advisor attempting to treat his wounds by placing the healing salve on a soft pad attached to a stick and then rubbing it gently over the affected areas.

“You are ingenious at finding ways to get done whatever it is you need to do,” said Elrond, smiling when Erestor scowled at him.  He wrenched the stick from Erestor’s hand.  He knelt down to wash his hands then, and when he turned to walk the few steps back to Erestor, he was surprised to see the bruises and scratches along the front of the elf’s torso. He had missed those during the night.

“These were made by fingernails,” he finally said as it dawned on him where they had come from. “You are fortunate my son is missing several or this would be far worse.”

“The weight of the tree slowly pushed me on top of him, and then somehow the trunk raised back up several inches.  That several inches is why Elrohir is alive,” replied Erestor quietly.  He touched the scratches lightly. “He clawed and pushed to try to breathe, and I feared I would be the one to kill him.  When the tree rose slightly, he had scant room to draw air, but it was enough to live.”

Elrond rubbed the healing salve into the scrapes again, noting that many were already healing over.  He held the simple tunic that Erestor had set nearby so the elf could slip his arms into it.

“I would have followed him to Mandos’s Halls and demanded my life be taken for his,” continued Erestor calmly.

“I would have gone with you just to see that!” said Glorfindel as he sat down on the rock near them.  “Erestor faced off against Namo. I think he would have found you amusing.”

“He might have despaired to see you again and kicked all three of you back to Middle-earth, simply to be rid of your presence,” laughed Elrond.   But even as he was glad to make Erestor smile, he had more to say.  He took the counselor’s hand in his own. “You put yourself between that tree and Elrohir with every intention of protecting him.  I thank you, Erestor.  I could ask for no better friend for myself or my children.”

“I shall go sit with him,” answered Erestor.

Elrond sank down on to the rock next to Glorfindel as he watched his advisor walk away.  “Arwen is right.  It is time to go home,” he said finally.  “At least within the safety of Imladris I think we may survive the spring.”

Glorfindel laughed, the sound like tiny bells chiming, and Elrond felt familiar strong fingers massage his tense neck and shoulders. “There are many things that you cannot control, mellon-nín, and the weather is one of them.”

Elrond tensed slightly at those words and his mind flew to the exquisite silver and gold band that held a sapphire of the most brilliant blue.  Perhaps he could not control the weather, but could he not influence it?  For centuries it had lain in its nest of velvet, unused and mostly forgotten. The One was lost; it could have no dominion over the Three now.  Why not learn to wield it?  Why not use it as Celebrimbor had intended?

“Elrond?” came Glorfindel’s voice.

Elrond turned to face Glorfindel, and he knew immediately that the warrior had sensed his thoughts. He had learned long ago to hide nothing from this elf who had been sent to protect him. Yet, on this issue, they had not always agreed.

“Do you have it with you?” asked Glorfindel, his eyes not leaving Elrond’s.

“Yes,” answered Elrond without hesitation, despite knowing Glorfindel would be less than pleased. “We left Imladris in fear, without knowing what had transpired.  I did not consider it; I just brought it.”

“You should have told me,” chastised Glorfindel. “The day Gil-Galad entrusted it to you, you promised me that I would always know where you and it were.”

“I had forgotten it until just now,” admitted Elrond. “I have not tried to wield it, and I would not attempt to do so here unless great need were upon me.” Even as he spoke, he could feel the conflict that radiated from his friend.  Like Celeborn, Glorfindel had been of the opinion that the elven rings of power should have been destroyed.  But Galadriel would not dispose of a tool that would aid the elves, for she knew that Sauron was not destroyed.  It was an old argument that could be traced back to the fall of Eregion, and was one that Elrond did not wish to hear or participate in again this day.  With the One lost, the Three could be of benefit and Elrond felt the weight of responsibility to protect the elves of Imladris and any others that came seeking shelter within her walls. He saw no need to destroy it now; indeed he foresaw that it would be folly to do so.

Glorfindel sighed, and Elrond grasped his hand. “I know if Sauron regains his strength and the One is returned to his keeping, Vilya could enslave me.”

“I will not let that happen,” promised Glorfindel.

* * *

Elrohir awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and the soft song of the trees.  The sides of the tent were partially opened and the scenery had changed slightly.  Realizing his bed was not nearly so comfortable as it had been, he propped himself up on his elbows and found Erestor and his mother patiently watching him. Memories of the storm during the night flooded his memory.

“Is everyone well?  Was anyone injured?” he asked.  His ribs and chest ached as he spoke, a reminder of how much effort he had expended merely inhaling and exhaling with all the pressure on his body.

“The only casualty was the oak tree,” answered Celebrían.

Erestor moved closer, sitting on a low stool near the cot. “I am sorry, Elrohir,” he said. “My intention was to protect you, not cause you harm.”

Elrohir laughed, relieved the ache did not seem worse when he did so.  “I do not think you could cause me harm. The storm was fierce, and I regret the loss of the tree.” He studied Erestor for a moment. “Are you injured?”

“Scrapes from the tree are all. Thankfully that young oak caught the other tree as it fell.” Erestor pointed to the young oak that was being trimmed of its broken branches as he spoke.  The elves then patched the injuries with a paste to protect the wounds from being infiltrated by insects or disease.

“I should go thank the tree,” mused Elrohir.  His eyes danced.  “Which means I have to stand.”

Erestor and Celebrían laughed, as did Elrond and Glorfindel as they entered the tent.

“The ground is wet and slippery,” warned Elrond. “You may stand here, but you are not to move without one of us at your side.”

“Yes, Adar,” promised Elrohir.  He waited while his mother slid something up over the bottom of his leg, protecting his foot but also the cast from moisture.

He sat up without aid and carefully moved his legs off the cot. His father pulled him to his feet and Glorfindel slipped the crutch he had made days earlier under his arm. Elrohir stood upright and smiled, as he felt no untoward effects from what had become an unusual position for him to be in. His father on one side of him and Glorfindel on the other, he discovered how to move without falling and they made their way to the spring for him to refresh himself and dress.

* * *

Celeborn sat watching his wife through hooded eyes.  Neither had slept, nor had they spoken.  Galadriel had been deep in contemplation for several hours, the small bag containing Nenya held in her lap and covered with both hands.

They had had this argument so many times he knew that he could recite both sides from memory.  There was no point in repeating it; neither of them would change their minds.  She would learn to wield Nenya, harnessing and directing its power for what she perceived to be the good of elvendom in Middle-earth. Both of them knew the risks of doing so, should the One be found and wielded by someone of great power.

“Promise me you will not wear it here, where we are unprepared.  Promise me that I will always know where you and it are, so I may slay you myself, if need be,” he finally said, the words harsh to his own ears.

Galadriel did not answer immediately, but she did focus her eyes upon him.  He glared at her, ensuring she knew he did not agree with her choice. Finally, she nodded. “It will be as you say.”

* * *

The day was spent in removing the debris and salvaging what could be saved from the tent.  Elrohir had grinned merrily when he learned his feather bed was slightly more compact, but still very usable, once cleaned.   Little had been damaged beyond repair, and elves had cleaned and fixed the tears in the canvas tent.

The young oak had been honored in song by the elves, and the four who had been in the tent had laid their hands upon its trunk and given their thanks.  On one slender branch, Arwen had tied blue, purple and gold ribbons.

“Tomorrow we will go,” announced Elrond as they gathered after dinner.  He had watched Elrohir learn to move about the camp with his crutch and cast, and though he did tire easily, he had not been in pain or distress.

“Thank you, Adar!” cried Arwen as she flung herself into his arms. 

“I think you have had enough adventures to last you a long while,” whispered Elrond as he hugged her.

Arwen turned to face her father, looking him in the eye, and said seriously, “Adar, you have my promise that I will never stow away somewhere I do not belong again.”

“Good!” replied Elrond.  “I had intended to ask such a promise of you.”

Arwen bit her lower lip, then asked bravely, “Am I going to be punished?”

“You have suffered consequences far worse than any I would ever have imagined, and I will not add punishment to that. When we return home, we will have a feast to thank all of those who helped search for you,” answered Elrond.

At this Arwen smiled and turned in his arms to sit in his lap, pulling one of his arms around her. He knew she loved the times when all of Imladris gathered in the Hall of Fire or on lawn beyond the front porch, to eat, sing and be merry; and he was glad to give her something to look forward to.

“Daeradar and Daernaneth, will you continue your story? I think you should start now, as the elfling will need to go to bed early,” said Elladan, tweaking his dozing twin’s braid as he spoke. “He did the least amount of work around the camp today, so Elbereth only knows why he is so tired.”

Elrohir jumped slightly, then flushed when he realized everyone was looking at him and many were laughing.  He turned his eyes to Elladan, confused. “I would have helped, but no one would let me,” he yawned.  “And this cast is heavy.”

Elladan caught the pillow that Glorfindel threw him and laid it in his lap, then pulled his sleepy brother to him.

“He is far too tired to smack me for teasing him.  Does anyone else care to do so?” he asked.

“I will do it later,” murmured Elrohir as he made himself comfortable.

Celeborn smiled indulgently at his grandchildren, his eyes resting finally on his daughter.  In appearance, her children most strongly resembled their father, but he saw much of her in them too.

“As Arwen has wished to hear about the arrival of a certain elf, the most important person born in Ost-in-Edhil is soon to make her appearance . . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

c1550 of the Second Age, after Annatar’s departure

Celebrimbor held the gem in his hands, staring at it for many long minutes. His mind was busy, despite the inactivity of his hands, as he considered the work laid out before him.  He had sent word to the dwarves and from there to Men of the south and east, seeking the most perfect gems for the Three.  Many had been delivered over the years, but Annatar had held of little importance the stones used in the crafting of the Seven and the Nine.  They were beautiful, and exceedingly well crafted, but Annatar had valued most the craft that instilled the power into each ring.  Their beauty was of less importance, and their relation to the natural world largely unexplored.

This would not be true of the Three.

The gems of each would be unsurpassed, and from each gem he would craft in the element it represented.  The will and desire of the elves was not that of mortals or dwarves. These rings would preserve and heal, and help the bearer to understand. These qualities they would have in common, but each would be unique as well.

The ruby in his hand was as red as blood, its intensity that of the hottest flame. It was also the most unusual ruby he had ever laid eyes upon, for at the center of the gem was a star, its rays of light displayed completely to their rounding. Yet it was also nearly transparent.

Celebrimbor closed his hand around it, feeling its heat and passion. The one who wielded this ring would be able to spark the fire and passion in the hearts of many.

He began work on the Ring of Fire, using the knowledge and craft he had learned from Annatar. As he chanted his incantation for power into the ring, he did not speak of the desires the elves held for themselves, but those they held for Arda marred.  To these desires he bound the element of fire, with its passion and ability to kindle hope, and to draw to itself those seeking to escape the chill of a dark and cold world.

“Narya!” cried Celebrimbor when he was through and the ring complete.  This ring he did place upon his own hand and to his delight, he felt strengthened and warmed.  With it he would warm the hearts of all those in Eregion, in this land they had made their own.

* * *

The next gem came to him decades later, from somewhere in the East.  He paid handsomely for it, and regretted it not.

“An adamant of the first waters,” he whispered, nearly unable to draw a deep breath in his excitement over this diamond of unsurpassed quality.  Pure white and clear, the gem was perfect. His heart immediately thought of Galadriel. “Only one of noble birth can wield such a stone. She is as pure and unconquerable as adamant.”

He gave long thought to the qualities of adamant, the hardest of stones, and thought of the element that was harder still: water.  It shaped and smoothed all that it passed over, seemingly molding to the object as it flowed past, but in time it was the object that was shaped by the water.

To the white stone he bound the element of water. “You are Nenya, the Ring of Water, and the one who bears you will bring knowledge, healing and refreshment to all who come to her.”

Secretly he wore Nenya as he went about Ost-in-Edhil.  Reclusive since beginning his life’s most important work, he opened his heart to others and felt a serenity and tranquility develop in those around him.

* * *

The year 1590 of the Second Age

Celebrimbor held at last the sapphire that would complete the Three.  He had struggled the most with this ring, for its qualities were not wholly his own.  Fire he loved and Water he understood, but the breath of Arda was elusive. The sapphire was the sky and contained within it was Arda. To this ring he bound the element of air. “The skies and stars we share with Valinor, and the gifts of Varda shine to us as a reminder of unshakeable trust and faithfulness, loyalty and harmony.”

“Vilya I will call you, the Ring of Air, for you are the sky and in your clear blue depths twinkle the stars we hold precious. The one who bears you will be one of deep understanding and knowledge of all that is past and one with the ability to see what is to come.”

He sank to his knees, Vilya in his hand.  He was finished! The Three were complete and of all the Rings of Power created, they were the greatest.  They did not bind the wearer to the ring, nor seek to increase the one.  Instead, the gem and the elements of nature that created them were joined, and the power they held was for Arda and her people.

Trembling with anticipation, he slipped Vilya on to his hand.  As he wielded it, tranquility settled around him and he felt as though he drifted along on a slight breeze.  Cool, refreshing calm settled about him and he found himself exploring the subtle differences between this ring and Narya and Nenya.

Few knew of his accomplishment, and none knew that he wielded the rings himself, learning their ways and seeking to use their power.  But Ost-in-Edhil prospered and grew more beautiful over those years.

* * *

Spring of the year 1600 of the Second Age

Celeborn strolled through the city, as was often his wont, for it was on such unscheduled and relaxed excursions that the citizens of Eregion were most open and direct with him.  He could not remember a more serene or peaceful time in the land; indeed, never had they been more prosperous.

“Lord Celeborn!” called a shopkeeper.

He turned to greet the elf, who smiled broadly from behind his display of goods.  However, the reason for his smile was held in his arms.  Celeborn approached the shop, smiling indulgently at two small elflings who raced in front of him and then around to the fountain behind him in a game of chase and capture. 

“My daughter, Narusel,” said the shopkeeper.

The infant cooed and waved an arm at him, and he caught the tiny hand on one finger.  She wrapped her five tiny digits around his, and smiled at him from beneath dark lashes.

“Mae govannen, Narusel,” replied Celeborn.  He lifted the child into his arms, waving the father away when he reached to disengage the child’s fingers from the handful of his silver hair she had grabbed with a delighted cry. Narusel kicked and squealed as she played with the soft silver strands.

When finally he returned the infant to her father, his silk robes were rumpled and drooled upon, his hair in slight disarray, and the tip of one finger thoroughly gummed.  “Thank you,” he said to the shopkeeper, who managed to grin abashedly that his daughter had so engaged the lord of the city, and flush with embarrassment that the lord of the city would leave in less than pristine condition.

Celeborn decided to return home, for deep inside him had flared an unquenchable fire.

Celeborn found Galadriel in her garden, seated amidst roses that had never been more fragrant or of colors so true. As he sat down next to her, a grin tugged on his lips as her finger rose to the stain on the silk near his shoulder. She raised her eyebrow at him in question.

“I have just met the most beautiful elleth in Ost-in-Edhil and fallen in love,” he answered with a smile.

Galadriel frowned at him; then a smile spread over her face as she understood what must have transpired.  “Indeed.  And will you forsake me for this one more beautiful?”

Celeborn paused in consideration, enjoying the sly smile on her face. “Rather I would create one with you,” he answered.

Galadriel reached her hand out to touch his face and words were not needed. Long they had discussed a child, but always they had lived under the danger of Morgoth’s wrath or had duties that made parenthood seem impossible.

“Such passion I see in your eyes,” she murmured. With one final caress of his cheek, she stood and began walking to their house.  She had gone only a few feet when she turned to look at him, her brow raised in question. “Have you changed your mind already?”

Celeborn felt the grin spread across his face, and he laughed as he rose gracefully to his feet.  Where he had come prepared to reopen the discussion, she apparently had already reached conclusion!  Trust his Galadriel to do what she wanted, when she wanted.  In this case, he would not argue.

* * *

Celeborn strolled the street to the city plaza, nodding to the many who greeted him but not stopping until he came to the shopkeeper’s store.  The shopkeeper began laughing upon sight, and quickly disappeared inside his shop.  He returned just as Celeborn had reached his counter.

“Baby!” squealed Narusel as she bounced in her father’s arms.

“My daughter, Celebrían,” said Celeborn.

The shopkeeper leaned near, allowing Narusel a closer look at the child. Narusel clapped her hands and giggled, “Pretty hair!”  She pointed at Celeborn.  “Pretty hair too!”

Celeborn smiled, for indeed his daughter already had a head of silver hair, as soft as silk, and eyes of blue-green.  She cooed and giggled in return, reaching in fascination for the long black curls of the child above her.  Narusel’s father quickly substituted his own dark hair into Celebrían’s grasp and she tugged on the strands in wonder.

When their visit had concluded, Celeborn held Celebrían so she could see the activity of the world around her as he walked.   He found a seat at the fountain where the elflings played, and he did not have to wait long for several to run by.  They stopped, recognizing the lord of the city, but it was not his presence that held their attention. Soon surrounded by ellyn and ellyth of many sizes, he let his little silver queen hold court among these little ones who would be her playmates.

* * *

Celebrimbor felt a strange foreboding come over him, as if a dark and dangerous wind had swept in the eastern window of his workshop.  Unconsciously twisting Narya on his finger, he turned his thought and will to the ring and then to the east. A long moment passed as he sensed a connection through the ring, and then a look of horror crossed his face, reflected back to him in the gold of the ring’s band.

“No!” he cried, falling to his knees.  He tore the ring from his finger as an anguished sob escaped him.  Gasping for breath, he leapt to his feet and raced to the locked chest where he kept the rings when not wearing them.  He carefully laid Narya with Nenya and Vilya, and his tears splashed on to the Adamant stone of Nenya. “No,” he whispered in despair. He locked the chest.

The words he had heard repeated over and over in his head: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.  Annatar had made a ring to enslave them.

“Annatar!” he spat into the silence of the workshop. “Sauron, lieutenant of Morgoth, survivor of Beleriand!”

 

He lit the fire in his forge and while waiting for it to heat to the temperature appropriate to melt gold and Mithril, he unlocked the box in which he stored the Seven and the Nine.  One of the Seven he had already given to the King of Khazad-Dûm.   As the rings were bared before him, he sensed a sizzling power radiating from them, and he feared to touch them.  Taking tongs in hand, he took one and carried it to the fire. 

Despite his fear, he found it nearly impossible to cast the ring into the fire.  Finally, with a great force of will, he closed his eyes and dropped it into the flame. The minutes ticked by interminably slow, but he was patient, not retrieving the crucible until he was sure the ring had had time to fully melt.  Using his great gloves, he pulled it forth.

Fear overwhelmed him and he cried out in anguish. “Betrayed!  We are betrayed beyond measure!”  He sank to the chair near his worktable, the crucible left on the stone hearth by the forge.  In the middle of it lay the perfectly formed ring, unscathed by the fire.

Bewildered and lost by what he had seen, he walked out into the sunny streets of the city. Nothing appeared different; children laughed and the fountain bubbled and trade was conducted in the plaza.  Stumbling over his own feet, he caught his balance before tumbling on to the brick paved road.  Hands reached out to him, but he pushed them aside.  Nearly blinded by his anger and shock, he began to run through the streets, seeking the home of Galadriel.

Banging on the door, he pushed past the servant who opened it and found Galadriel in her sitting room.  She had stood when she first heard the noise at the door, but he was not whom she was expecting.  His eyes did not comprehend the clothing of an infant that she had laid aside, nor the soft pink blanket draped over the chair.

“Celebrimbor?

Galadriel grasped his arm tightly as he swayed and forced him to sit.   “What has happened?” she asked calmly.

Celeborn had entered on his heels, dressed as if he had been out, but Celebrimbor did not remember seeing him.  He held an infant in his arms, the child cooing and gurgling in delight at the sight of Galadriel.  Celeborn handed the child to her, smiling as tiny hands grasped at the bodice of Galadriel’s gown and tiny lips sucked on the fabric of her dress.

Celebrimbor stared at Galadriel with what appeared to be disbelief. She held a child, a child she was about to nurse, a child that was apparently hers. He rose.

“Nothing,” he answered curtly. “I was overcome by the heat of the forge. All will be well now.”

He walked out the door, not looking back, and returned to the House of the Mírdain.  There he locked up the ring with the others, and sat in silence throughout the day and long into the night.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Celebrimbor did not reveal to you then that Annatar was Sauron and had made his own ring?” asked Elladan, disbelief in his voice.

“No, he did not,” answered Celeborn mildly.

“He was in shock himself, I believe, and seeing us with Celebrían only furthered his . . . lack of wisdom,” added Galadriel.

“Why could he not destroy the ring in the fire?” continued Elladan, puzzled.

Galadriel sighed.  “There are several thoughts on why this is, though I do not purpose to know which, if any, are the whole truth.  The craft of Sauron was such that he placed a part of himself into each ring.  That craft, when used by the smiths of Eregion, did so even when he did not touch the rings.  That is why the One can have dominion over the Three.  It is said in ring-lore that a ring can be unmade only by its maker or in the fire in which it was created.  Celebrimbor and Annatar together made the Seven and the Nine; some believe this is why Celebrimbor alone could not destroy it.  The fire of the forge did not burn constantly, thus the fire that day was not a continuation of the fire that created those rings.  At times the forges did grow cold and were cleaned, and all new fuel was used.  Some believe that the same fire which made the ring must be used to destroy it, and this is why the ring could not be unmade.”

“What of the Three, then?” asked Elrohir drowsily. “Celebrimbor made them alone.  He should have been able to test the theories and see which was correct.”

All eyes rested on Galadriel and next to her, Celeborn bristled.

“The power of the Three was not in destruction or domination. There was no reason to unmake them,” she said.

Celeborn snorted in disgust and stood, moving to the cooking area to refill his glass of wine.  Elladan looked around the circle and realized that this was an issue of contention among more than just his grandparents.

“If the wise could not agree, then I suppose there are many facets to the issue that discussing tonight will not resolve,” he finally said.  He pushed his brother’s head down when Elrohir looked at him in confusion. “Go back to sleep, elfling.”

“Naneth, did Narusel become your friend?” asked Arwen.

“Yes, she did.  She became one of my best friends, almost like a sister to me,” answered Celebrían, relief on her face at the change of subject.

“There were many children in Ost-in-Edhil then,” added Celeborn as he resumed his seat. “But Narusel was the first friend your naneth had and the two of them did have adventures together.”

“Tell me one, Naneth!” cried Arwen.

“Not now, Arwen, for we all must rest tonight, as we did not last night, and rise early, for tomorrow we begin our journey home.”

“Praise the Valar,” mumbled Elrohir.  “It is about time.”

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:

Some readers like these little notes of what influenced my writing, so I’ll add a bit here.  In the timeline in Appendix B of LotR, The Tale of Years, there passes about 95 years from the time Celebrimbor ‘perceives the designs of Sauron’ and when Sauron has finally amassed an army to attack the elves.  Why, in 95 years, did the elves not destroy the rings?  In Unfinished Tales, in the section ‘Concerning Celeborn and Galadriel,’ Tolkien writes: ‘Now Celebrimbor was not corrupted in heart or faith, but had accepted Sauron as what he posed to be; and when at length he discovered the existence of the One Ring he revolted against Sauron, and went to Lórinand to take counsel once more with Galadriel. They should have destroyed all the Rings of Power at this time, "but they failed to find the strength." Galadriel counselled him that the Three Rings of the Elves should be hidden, never used, and dispersed, far from Eregion where Sauron believed them to be.’  This certainly suggests that Celebrimbor could have destroyed the rings, but this version does not fit the timeline of Appendix B and has other problems.

In the books on ring-lore, it seems that no ring of power is easily destroyed.  I then found the following quote in FotR:

It has been said that dragon-fire could melt and consume the Rings of Power, but there is not now any dragon left on earth in which the old fire is hot enough; nor was there ever any dragon, not even Ancalagon the Black, who could have harmed the One Ring, the Ruling Ring, for that was made by Sauron himself.  Gandalf to Frodo in Concerning Hobbits, FotR

This could suggest that even the lesser rings of power were not easily destroyed.  The whole quest is concerned with getting the One Ring back to the fire where it was made.  Mount Orodruin is a volcano, and its fire would have bubbled at its core continuously, making it much different than a forge.  The One Ring could be destroyed in the same fire. 

'The Three were not made by Sauron, nor did he ever touch them. But of them it is not permitted to speak. So much only in this hour of doubt I may now say. They are not idle. But they were not made as weapons of war or conquest: that is not their power. Those who made them did not desire strength or domination or hoarded wealth, but understanding, making, and healing, to preserve all things unstained. These things the Elves of Middle-earth have in some measure gained, though with sorrow. But all that has been wrought by those who wield the Three will turn to their undoing, and their minds and hearts will become revealed to Sauron, if he regains the One. It would be better if the Three had never been. That is his purpose.’ Elrond, at the Council of Elrond.

Somehow, in his craft, Sauron poured his own strength and malice into the One Ring with the purpose of ruling all of the other rings.  He did not touch the Three and as Gandalf told Frodo ‘they endure no evil.’  He may not be able to bend the bearer of an elven ring to do his evil will, but Elrond says ‘their minds and hearts will become revealed to Sauron.’  What that means in open to interpretation, but it seems Sauron having any insight into one’s heart or mind would give him the power to endlessly torment, and ‘enslaved’ might be a good word to describe that.

So, the Three perhaps should have been destroyed, on the chance that Sauron ever regained the One.  Perhaps this is what Celebrimbor and Galadriel had not the strength to do.  And, perhaps Celebrimbor in his horror may have denied the truth to himself for some time.  It did take Sauron nearly a century to amass a force large and strong enough to attack Eregion.

The situation must have felt truly helpless, if indeed the Seven and the Nine could not be unmade by the elves.  Sauron made them and his craft put some of his power into the rings, power to bind the wearer to the lesser ring and the lesser rings to his own.  The desires he exploited were for wealth and power, and the pursuit of them corrupts.  The Elven rings were different in this way – they did not bind their bearer and perhaps Sauron could not control the bearer. For as Gandalf pointed out at the Council: ‘For he is very wise, and weighs all things to a nicety in the scales of his malice. But the only measure that he knows is desire, desire for power; and so he judges all hearts.

There is also lore on the symbolism and meaning of the ruby, sapphire and adamant gems.  It fits surprisingly well with the final bearers of the rings and the fruits of how they wielded them.  These gems are part of myth and lore, so I rather believe Tolkien intended this.  The depths of his work continue to amaze me – and I suppose we are like amateur archaeologists uncovering the layers of the world he created.

As always, thank you very much to all who are reading and especially to those who leave encouragement, questions and their thoughts.   

 





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