History Lessons, The Second Age, by Nilmandra

Chapter 14: Bonds Forged

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Celebrían shook her head. “No, Adar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?” asked Elrohir curiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

“Adar, is there any left?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How progresses your work?” asked Celeborn directly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Author's Notes:

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

Regarding just a few things in this chapter:

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

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

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

Chapter 15: The Pursuit of Wisdom

Elrond watched as Glorfindel and Erestor mounted their horse 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, Valandil'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 poke 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 forced 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.

 

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.

 

Chapters 17 - 19

 

Chapters 11 - 13