A/N: Write-on-the-spot experiment. After reading about Celebrimbor's death in Unfinished Tales, I felt like I just had to write about it. I tried to make it creepy. I think I failed.
For those who don't know the story, Celebrimbor, son of Curufin son of Feanor, is the maker of the Rings of Power (save the One Ring). He welcomed someone called 'Annatar' (Lord of Gifts) who was actually Sauron in disguise. Later, Sauron revealed himself and captured him. Celebrimbor died under torture, and though he revealed the location of the 7 Rings, he never talked about the 3.
His Quenyan name is Telperinquar (Silver fist), nicknamed Telpe.
Disc.: Anything Tolkien does not belong to me.
"Where are the Rings?"
He didn't answer.
"Tell me!"
He didn't answer.
The whip snapped against his skin. White-hot pain shot through him. Celebrimbor bit back an agonizing gasp.
Annatar was smiling at him in that strange, sinister way. But it was no longer Annatar—no longer the smiling Lord of Gifts. It was a demon standing in front of him, cruel and sly and completely merciless.
"Does that feel good, Telpe?"
"Do not call me that!" Celebrimbor hissed.
"I will stop," said Annatar simply, "if you tell me where the Three and Seven are."
"I will never."
Snarling, Annatar turned to the Orc holding the iron whip. "Heat it!" But then he paused, and slowly smiled. "No. Send for a Balrog. I want you to show dear Telperinquar how his grandfather met his end."
Celebrimbor's body shook. His eyes widened in horror, and blood from his bitten lip flowed down to join the dark red stain on his shirt. He took a breath, gasping at the effort and as his lunges filled with blood.A Balrog... a Balrog...
He didn't remember seeing the Orc leaving, but suddenly the two of them were alone.
"Just a few words, Telpe."
"Never..."
"Your voice is weak. Does it hurt? Do you want to be released?"
Celebrimbor looked into the eyes of Annatar, and bitterly wished he had the courage to mock him. Against his own will, his lips were forming words...
"Y...y—" He coughed, blood spraying from his mouth.
"What was that?" asked Annatar.
A sudden fire flared up in him. "I will never tell you! Curse you, dog of Morgoth! Rot in these pits forever!"
Annatar grinned sinisterly at him. "Yes, I think you will."
-xox-
He did not know how much time had passed. He did not know why he was sleeping on such a hard floor. He did not know why it was so dark, or why it was completely silent, or why it hurt to breathe.
"Where are the Rings?"
Ah, he remembered now.
Celebrimbor took a shaking breath and stayed silent.
"This is just the beginning," purred Annatar. "There is more. There will always be more. I will watch your spirit break, and watch you beg for mercy. I will keep you alive...just. Do you want water?"
"It is poisoned," he rasped.
"No, it is not. I need you alive, after all. You will die soon, if you do not have water. I cannot let you die, Telperinquar. You are a precious toy."
"I am no one's toy," Celebrimbor snapped.
"You are my toy," Annatar said calmly, "like you were a toy of your father's and grandfather's. Like you were a toy of the other Noldor, stronger than yourself. Like everyone was a toy of my master."
"... May the Valar ... cast you into the Void ... like your ... master..."
Annatar snarled. "I see there is need of more punishment."
-xox-
Pain tore through every inch of his body as the flaming whip struck him over and over again. His shirt dripped with blood. He could feel nothing—nothing but the scorching heat and unbearable pain. He could see nothing—nothing but a glowing streak of white-hot fire. He could hear nothing—nothing but his own hoarse screams.
"Where are the Rings?" whispered Annatar into his ear.
Celebrimbor opened his mouth, only to meet a whip across his face. He froze, as if dazed, then suddenly fell backwards, limp. The only things keeping him standing were the chains around his wrists and ankles.
"Where are the Rings?" asked Annatar again.
It hurt to blink, so he shut his eyes. For a few seconds, or minutes or hours, he slipped in and out of darkness. But the same voice always echoed in his head, and he could not be rid of it.
Against his will, he answered. "Seven ... The Dwarves ... Durin..."
Annatar's breath hitched with excitement. "And the Three? Where are the Three?"
Celebrimbor chuckled weakly, and moved his head a fraction to the side. "I will tell you not."
Annatar roared with rage. Again and again his sword impaled him, but the Elf kept silent.
"Perhaps you would enjoy a new type of treatment," said Annatar. "I assure you, it will hurt more than you can possibly imagine."
-xox-
"Fire."
The arrow slammed into his stomach. Blood sprayed out from his mouth. He hung there, unmoving.
"Where are the Three?" hissed Annatar.
"Never."
Another arrow stabbed him—this time from behind. Annatar repeated his question. Celebrimbor repeated his answer.
An arrow, a question, an answer. Another arrow, the same question, the same answer.
The next arrow shot him in the heart.
"Where are the Three?" snarled Annatar.
Celebrimbor looked up into those eyes and laughed.
A/N: If anyone doesn't know what happened after that, Celebrimbor was shot full of arrows (as mentioned) and then paraded around on a pike like a flag (It's disturbing, okay?)
So yeah...
-CC