He fell face-down into the dust, with a buzz in his ears and a salty, iron taste bursting in his mouth, feeling that everything was spinning around him. While the terrible noise of battle seemed to have disappeared altogether, the wounds had not. A sudden pain engulfed him like an enormous wave, instantly saturating all his senses.
A cold hand grabbed him by the throat and pulled him up.
'Surrender the Three to me, Celebrimbor.'
He recognized the voice. Curiously, hearing this voice again he was neither angry nor afraid, but greatly relieved. His vision blurred by blood, he looked hard at the black iron helmet near at hand, wondering if it was still that familiar face hidden behind the hideous mask.
He opened his eyes but then was motionless for a moment, waiting for his racing heart to slow down. Outside the tall arched window, the waning moon cast a pale light over the land of Eregion, and the rolling hills in the distance appeared purple blue against the sky before dawn.
But such profound exhibition of beauty was merely an illusion. With his Elven sight, he could easily discern smoke and dust on the horizon, above which a red sun would rise soon.
This is probably the last night I will enjoy at Ost-in-Edhil, he thought. Storm is coming.
Fully awake now, he left the bed and walked across the marble floor barefooted; a chill rose from his soles and sent shudders up his spine, cooling the last trace of his ominous dream.
Annatar was almost at the gate. Annatar. He let the sound of it silently pass his lips once again, and could not but laugh at himself. The Lord of Gifts whom he had once taken as a close friend and even respected as a mentor. How ironic. As soon as the One Ring was used and the long-established disguise was gone, the truth became crystal clear: the so-called Annatar was not an emissary from the Undying Lands but an irreconcilable enemy; the dedicated teaching in countless days and nights served not only as a way to worm into his confidence but also a key to another purpose, for the once greatest and most trusted servant of the Enemy had planned to exploit the potential of the Firstborn all along.
One Ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all
and in the darkness bind them. (1)
He stopped in front of his new armor and traced its smooth, shining plates with a finger, feeling an iciness spreading from the fingertip.
Lowering his guard with empathy, tempting him with visions of grandeur, and awarding him with necessary knowledge and skill: he was led step by step into the forging of the Rings of Power, and then, 'One Ring to rule them all'. With that, the new Dark Lord would have dominion over Middle-earth and thus complete his grand scheme.
Except that in the end, the master of lies made the mistake of underestimating him: Celebrimbor son of Curufin, the Head of Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the Lord of Eregion, the maker of the Three Rings, and in Middle-earth the last of the House of Fëanor.
Notes:
(1): quoted from The Lord of the Rings.