Deific Flame

By Bejai

"The Three were not made by Sauron, nor did he ever touch them . . . 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."

- The Lord of the Rings, Fellowship of the Ring

Chapter 5: The Three

The page, a young elf, tapped on the frame of the door to Celebrían’s chambers. "Lady," he said, "have you seen Master Elrond?" Given the amount of time they spend in company together, he rather suspected she had.

"I am here," Elrond said, rising from a chair across the room.

The page bowed. "Master, Celeborn has returned. He bids you attend him …" the page paused judiciously. "As soon as is possible." Elrond nodded, and with another quick bow the other dashed away.

Celebrían laughed. "Methinks the boy did not deliver the message quite as my father gave it," she said.

"No," Elrond said slowly, his voice amused. "Far more likely that the command was 'Get Elrond. Now.'" Then a heaviness descended in his face. "Yet I have never known him to speak without reason, and I doubt that he simply seeks to prevent me from further distracting your packing."

Celebrían smiled ruefully at the clothing and half-wrapped parcels spread around her chambers, untouched since Elrond had entered some hours before. He was rather distracting, in the most pleasant way. "Go on then," she said, shooing him out with a smile. "Before my father comes looking for you."

Elrond hesitated at the door as she turned back to her packing. He thought again of asking her not to leave for Belfalas, but to stay here, with him. How pleasant it would be to hear her laughter in the halls, and to wake every morning to her face … he shook himself, appalled at his own presumption, and levered himself out into the corridor. He rounded a corner and, seeing Galadriel ahead of him, hastened to fall into step beside her.

"Do you know what this is about?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries or preamble. He had learned long ago that such things were not necessary. Though Galadriel and Celeborn could summon grave formality to strengthen quailing hearts, such things were not the true expression of their power. Inheritance and necessity had pressed the position upon them, yet both were the youngest children of youngest children -- noble, yes, but more accustomed to walking among the people as emissaries while their elders grappled with the politics. Though those elders were dead or gone this long age hence, neither had quite forgotten what they had been born to be.

"What this is about? New battles, and old ones," Galadriel answered him cryptically. Elrond grimaced in dissatisfaction. Such answers were also a remnant of lineage, he was sure. One became accustomed to speaking in riddles when one knew more than one was permitted to say. And one became accustomed to patience when dealing with them. Elrond did not quite sigh, and composed himself for whatever would come. He gloried for a moment on the sunshine that flitted across his face as it darted between the trees and in the merry arpeggio of a bird singing counterpoint to the Bruinen's steady bass.

A moment later, they stepped from the airy corridors into a courtyard filled by men. Númenoreans, without question. They were composed, but quite clearly awestruck, and a little frightened. One was in quiet conversation with Celeborn as Galadriel and Elrond stepped to his side.

"This man has news," Celeborn said after murmuring introductions, "that you should hear privately."

"My study?" Elrond asked, and both Celeborn and Galadriel nodded. "I will see to the lodging of these men, and join you there.

Elrond caught a steward's arm, his mind distant even as he spoke the necessary instructions. Númenoreans had come to Imladris before, of course. Several had had the look of Elros graven in their faces. Several had been quite disappointing. Many had come seeking advice or adventures. But these men had a glaze that Elrond had seen too many times before -- the look of refugees, and of dread. It did not bode well.

When Elrond came to his study, he breathed deeply, stepped over the threshold, and closed the door firmly behind him.

"They are men," Elrond said at the end of the tale, his voice resigned.

Galador lifted his head. "How can they be men?" he asked, begging the three great and terrible elves who sat with him to say otherwise. "I have known evil men. Foul men, twisted men, murderers and ravagers. And even they, the darkest of men, do not have the power and terror of these creatures. What could do this to a man?"

"There is a land, now ashes," Celeborn answered after some moments of heavy silence, his voice low and pained. He gestured at Galadriel. "A land where we were once stewards, in which dwelt a great craftsman of the elves. He was never my friend, but this I know: he knew the power of longing, of dreams, for he had seen them consume all his kin. Though he was as obsessed and stubborn as they, he hoped to refocus this great power for good, to re-channel the skill of his family to create gifts for the world. "

Galadriel smoothly continued the recitation: "Among these gifts were nine rings for the world of men. Yet his faith was deceived, and the rings came under the dominion of evil. We had hoped that they were lost, but it seems not so. The power of purpose is become the power of ambition, the power of hope is become the power of greed. Your enemy is your own worst natures, made slave to Sauron."

Galador lifted his face and trembled. "How could you have permitted this!" he cried as he sprang to his feet, his rage and fear carrying him far beyond any line of propriety.

"Sit down," Celeborn said coldly, thumping the table with an empathetic gesture. The man sat. Celeborn glanced at his companions and leaned forward. "We did not create the rings. We did not condone them. We do not bear …" he smiled grimly and continued with careful specificity "the Nine. We have paid for them with our blood an hundred fold, and we will fight this evil long after your children's children are dead."

Galadriel lightly placed her hand on her husband's. "We all speak in grief and fear," she said to Galador, though she did not remove her hand. "We all mourn the marring of our world and the end of our peace."

Galador bowed his head. "How do we fight them, Lady?" he asked.

"I do not know," she answered. "But this I will say. The tools of these ring-wraiths are hatred and malice, fear of death, and lust for dominion. Replaced such things with love, with bravery, with humility, and perhaps they will lose their power over you."

"Easier it would be to raise stars in the sky, Lady," the man said in despair.

"That has been done," Elrond said with a faint smile. "You do not stand alone; we will not forsake you nor Middle Earth until this evil and its master is undone."

Galador bowed his head. "I pray that your faithfulness is enough."

Elrond sighed. "Alas, it is not. But go now and rest. We will speak of this later, if you wish it."

The man stood and bowed before withdrawing. New battles, Elrond thought to himself before he glanced at Celeborn. "It seems we have a new enemy," he said, consciously attempting to muscle the conversation away from the roiling subtext that had underscored the Númenorean's report. "Unfortunate, as we have not yet learned what to do with the enemies we already had."

"I am less concerned about mannish ring-wraiths than I am other matters," Celeborn said heavily. Elrond dropped his head. And old battles. Naturally. It ever seemed their way to re-fight what had merely been paused, not won, even with one another.

"Will you now heed me?" Celeborn continued. "Or will you permit the possibility of a greater horror remain in the world? Will you guard the chains of your own slavery? Will you not destroy them?" He looked at the closed faces before him and pushed angrily away from the table.

"He feels strongly about this," Elrond commented ironically as the door swung shut again, with considerably more force than was needful.

"Indeed," Galadriel said with a sigh. "He blames himself much that the rings were ever made, and for Eregion's fate. And he dreads what may yet be required." She smiled sadly and followed him out.

Now alone in the room, Elrond indulged the groan that had been swelling since he had been rousted from Celebrían's fair presence. How much more pleasant, he thought, to have stayed with her, than to do this again. He well remembered the conversation -- ha! fray -- that had taken place in this very room, over this very subject, centuries earlier.

The king and his allies had come to Imladris at last, crushing Sauron's army between his forces and the vengeful residents of the hidden vale. There had scarcely been time to murmur words of relief and thanks before Gil-galad had gathered them into a private meeting. Gil-galad had swept aside Elrond's usual bookish clutter and placed Narya and Vilya on the table, Elrond remembered, two incongruous bands that, it seemed, should have shattered the table for the weight they gathered around them.

More hesitantly, Galadriel placed Nenya beside them. Elrond had been surprised … nay, not surprised. Although he had not known that Galadriel guarded one of the rings he had suspected it was so. It certainly explained some of Celeborn's more irritating behavior since the founding of Imladris. Eregion's injured lord had survived the exodus, barely, and it had been many weeks before he had been coherent enough to answer Elrond's questions. Though the tale was a hard one, Celeborn had told it, but when pressed about the rings or Galadriel, he begged off on grounds of weariness. Later, when he was well, he had merely stalked off.

"And so," Gil-galad had said, spreading his hands wide on the table, "what do we do?"

"A moment," Celeborn growled from where he sat at the opposite end, his arms folded across his chest. "This is premature. I still believe we should involve Amdír and Oropher in this. It touches them as well as us."

"My heart tells me the fewer people that know of this, the better. I would have excluded you, old friend, if you had not already known," the king said apologetically. "Now … "

"Amdír may know all ready," Celeborn interrupted. "My kinsman is no fool, and Nenya dwelt in his realm for many years. And if Oropher finds out he was excluded …"

"Nevertheless …" Gil-galad said, his voice cooling.

" … moreover," Celeborn continued, "it is unwise to disregard their voices."

"I suspect you speak for them," Gil-galad returned, truly annoyed. "Indeed, you have spoken enough for three already. The matter is closed, and we will proceed."

Celeborn leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "They are your allies, Ereinion," he said in a voice over-smooth. "As am I."

"I see three options," Elrond said, leaping into the conversation before Celeborn could launch a coup. The sovereignty of the kindreds was not the issue today. Fortunately Elrond knew there was a substantive issue that could distract the ancient Sinda from this well-worn tangent; unfortunately, it would be a greater battle. "Keep the rings, send them over the sea, or destroy them." Elrond braced himself and spoke on. "I must admit, I am inclined toward the first."

Across the table, Celeborn shook his head in frustration. "No. No. They should be destroyed."

"Why?" Elrond asked, ignoring the look of combined gratitude and annoyance that Gil-galad shot him.

"Because they have been marked by evil."

"It was my understanding that Sauron had no part in their making," Gil-galad countered, and pushed off the table. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced, as if measured steps would reveal the path ahead.

"He did not touch them, true," Celeborn said, twisting in his chair as the king came behind him. "But he was entwined in their conception. In knows they exist, and he would have them. This is the very reason he destroyed Eregion, the reason for this war."

"There is a very important point here," Elrond said. "Sauron desires the rings. Does he know where they are?"

Celeborn sighed. The damned Peredhel was Maia-like in his ability to direct the conversation, but it was too late to go back. Luthien had always been able to do this to him, and Melian. "The Nine are almost certainly in Sauron's hands. They were in Ost-in-Edhel when the city fell. As for the Seven and Three … Celebrimbor was tortured to his death. He may have well have revealed their secrets ere he died."

"He did not reveal the Three," Galadriel replied, adamant.

"We heard his screams, Galadriel!" Celeborn replied, rounding on her in grief and anger. "Even across the battlefield, I could hear the kind of agony I would not wish on my dearest enemy, and could see them post his … unneeded … parts on pikes as Sauron searched for his prize. It was beyond horror. How could I witness that, and not wonder if he had betrayed you, if only for the promise that his death would come sooner?"

"He did not betray us," Galadriel answered.

"You cannot be certain of that," Celeborn said.

"Yes, I can be, for many reasons. And one is this: what happened after Celebrimbor's cries ceased?"

Celeborn frowned at her, then shook his head in curt denial. "I do not know. I fell wounded shortly after."

"Exactly," Galadriel said quietly, catching his hand urgently in her own. "You have not spoken of it to me, but from others I have learned that a troop of orc came directly for you. Through the lines of your soldiers, through the weary refugees, they came for you. Why, Celeborn? Why, after Celebrimbor's death, would Sauron seek for you, whom he so often disregarded? If Celebrimbor died with the secret of the Three, who else on the battlefield was likely to know where they were hidden?"

Celeborn glanced away, his face somewhat gray, but Galadriel reached up and turned his face toward hers. "Would you have betrayed them? Me?" Celeborn looked into her eyes, not caring that the others were watching, and shook his head minutely.

"Never."

"Celebrimbor loved me also," Galadriel continued softly. "And the Three were his greatest work and greatest love. He did not betray them; he took the secret to his death." For his ears only, she whispered, "Thank Elbereth for Calandil, that you did not have to do likewise."

Celeborn cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, shaken.

Elrond was not above pressing the advantage. "Further, we do not even know if the rings can be destroyed, nor how to do so."

"We have not tried," Celeborn cried, swiftly collecting his composure. "Let us try. A fire burns here; shall I cast them in?" and he moved to sweep the Three into his palm.

With a cry that Elrond would have described as rage, had he not known better, Gil-galad and Galadriel surged forward; beside him, Galadriel caught Celeborn's hand in a white-knuckled grip and Gil-galad seized his shoulder from behind, his fingers clamped on a pressure point.

Across the table, Elrond's heart clenched in his breast, and he felt as if it were he who had been immobilized. He watched the muscles in the other's neck stand out as he tested the resolve of the ring-bearers, and the flash of pain in his face as they made their answer. He looked pointedly across at Elrond, then relaxed back into the chair, tipping his free hand in surrender.

He was immediately released, and his erstwhile captors looking mildly ill. Celeborn discretely rolled his shoulder and Gil-galad came to sit down again. Elrond dared a look at his king's face, which was dark and concerned as he contemplated the rings.

"There are…" Gil-galad cleared a rasp in his throat. "There are too many unanswered questions," he said slowly. "We do not even know what power Sauron would have over the rings. Does the One Ring give him strength only when the rings are used? What happens when they are dormant? Can he control the ring-bearers, can he see their hearts and works, or could a strong bearer withstand him? Why does he want the rings? This is a question we cannot answer, and until we can, it is folly to throw them away."

Celeborn stared at him, dumbfounded. "Yes, Ereinion. Clearly, they have no power over their keepers, and Sauron desires them because he thinks they would be a pleasant counterpoint to the décor at Barad Dûr."

"Enough, Telpë," Círdan said mildly, speaking for the first time from where he stood against a bookcase. He was the eldest of the old in Middle Earth, and alone of all the Eldar, the weight of time radiated from his eyes into an aging face.

"Surely, Círdan, you cannot believe that we should keep them," Celeborn said, lowering his head into his hands. "So long as the rings survive, we put our people and ourselves at risk of great agony. And for what? We cannot wield them so long as Sauron holds the one ring, for fear of the consequences. Indeed, even if we could use them openly, they were not made to be weapons. This interminable fight shall be hard enough without fearing the unknown in our midst."

"I believe they have a purpose yet," the Shipwright answered. "For good or ill I cannot say."

"I would rather not learn," Celeborn said softly. "What of sending them over the sea?"

"And pass our problems onto others?" Círdan said with an ironic lilt. "How very Vala-like of you, kinsman."

"There is a symmetry in it," Celeborn growled. "If they had finished this in the first place, we would not be here."

Gil-galad stood with an overwrought sigh. "Elbereth save us from old battles." The humor was sour, but the best he could muster. "I shall keep Narya. Galadriel, Nenya is obviously yours; 'twas made for you. But Vilya …"

"Do not dare," Celeborn said dully, not looking up.

Gil-galad lifted an ironic eyebrow as he appraised him. "Clearly not," he said, and turned to Elrond.

In the silence of his study these many years later, Elrond fingered the Ring of Air, which hung unseen around his neck. 'What power could the One ring have over the others?' they had wondered. Now they knew. Ring-wraiths, Galadriel had called them, the horror of their people. To fight the strange and deadly was terrible enough; to fight the familiar was magnitudes worse.

Of course, if the Three fell to the Dark Lord, that would not concern Elrond in the least.

continuing …