Who are you? Where are you from?
I am Annatar who once served Aulë; I came from across the Sea.
He remembered the questions and answers.
The man's words weren't completely false. It was true that he had served Aulë and had come across the sea. However, he had carefully omitted some crucial details, such as the fact that he had long been serving another and that he had used other names in Beleriand, names that Elves and Men were both familiar with.
Gorthaur, Sauron, a Maia who had fallen under Morgoth's command and become his most loyal and vicious servant, whose hands were stained with blood that even the waters of Belegaer couldn't wash away.
He wanted to laugh, but the sound got trapped in his throat.
How could he have been so deluded? In retrospect, the truth was painfully obvious: every element was meticulously crafted to drop his defenses and confuse his mind. Finrod's countenance, Maedhros' stature, and Curufin's voice…
It was me that he wanted to deceive from the very beginning. No one else in Middle-earth is ambitious and talented enough to be tempted by what he has to offer, except for me, the last descendant of the House of Fëanor.
But he saved my life. The other half of his mind was still hesitantly questioning. Even if he was using me for his own device, why should he value me enough to risk his life for mine?
Little by little, fragments from that night began to emerge from the depths of memory: the whispers in the forest, the cold eyes in the moonlight, and the disbelief on the stunned, ugly dead face. Once stripped of wishful thinking, they were gradually pieced together into a blood chilling picture.
At the time, he intended to kill me because I had discovered his secret.
He slowly raised his head, his lips stained with blood.
He did change his mind then, but only because I accidentally made him realize how valuable I still was.
He finally let out a laugh, this time hearty and enduring.
Very well. He believes he can use the One Ring to master all the Rings of Power, the pinnacles of the creation of Firstborn's wisdom and skill; I will prove him wrong.
"What are your plans?" Galadriel inquired.
"I have directed that everyone cease using the Rings of Power." said Celebrimbor, turning away from her living room window, his face as pale and haggard as that of a mortal recovering from a severe illness. "He thought he had a perfect plan, but he did not expect me to make this move, so he is understandably not in a good mood."
Despite his lighthearted tone, the mere thought of that exchange made his fingers dig into the window ledge. Even from thousands of miles away, the enemy's rage could be felt through his creation and was as terrifying as rolling thunder.
You do not seem to value my extended kindness. I will then no longer honor our old friendship.
And he could only scoff at such rhetoric.
Friendship? How dare you utter that word to me, to my house, to my kin?
"He will start a war, and Eregion will be his primary target. Wearing the disguise for all these years must have been as difficult as it was painful for him." he said, breaking free from his memories. "No wonder he could not wait to rip off that warm mask once Barad-dûr was ready."
"In that case, simply ceasing to use the Rings of Power is not enough," she frowned, fine lines appearing on her smooth, bright brow.
"What do you think?" He asked, knowing exactly what she would say.
"Destroy them," she said firmly, just as he had anticipated, "and completely destroy his hope."
"That would also effectively end my existence," he gave her an innocent smile, "You were there when the Lords of the West asked my grandfather to break the Silmarils, and you heard his answer. Furthermore, once the Rings of Power are forged, they are far more difficult to destroy than you might think."
"Then there is only one option: hide them," she said calmly, "and you must already have plans."
"Indeed," he admitted, "I will be travelling soon. In case of emergency while I am away, you can pass through Hadhodrond (1) - just remember to tell them you are a friend."
He did not disclose the secret of the West-gate of Moria, but he thought this much hint would suffice.
"What can I do for you, Celebrimbor?"
He was about to leave when he heard her and couldn't help but check and turn around.
"There is one thing indeed." He said after a while, curling his lips, "Artanis Nerwen Alatáriel (2), Lady of the Golden House of Arafinwë, may I have a lock of your precious hair?"
Surprise flashed across her fair face, and he felt a note of indignant humiliation beneath it. Of course. He kept his smile on and waited for her answer, knowing that his demeanor and words must have stirred her memories.
Then, much to his astonishment, she rose in front of him and loosened her long hair. Before he could react, she took a small silver knife from her desk and cut a lock of hair - the hair that had been praised for enmeshing the Light of the Two Trees - in a single, graceful movement. She set the knife down and handed up the long lock of hair without saying a word.
He looked at her outstretched palm for a moment, inhaled gently, then carefully picked up those lavish golden strands, pocketing them as if they were a priceless treasure. As she retracted her hand, he caught it and placed a ring on it in return.
It was made of mithril and adorned with a white diamond, shining with an adamant brilliance.
"It is Nenya, the Ring of Water," he said, his gaze fixed on hers, "May it one day assist you in realizing your dreams."
Lindon, between the Mountains and the Sea, was exactly as he remembered it.
To avoid drawing attention, he only brought two guards, and everyone in this small party was disguised as ordinary travelers. Tightening his cloak against the winter sea breeze, he gazed out over the waves lapping endlessly against the rocks in the distance.
There beneath the waves lay Beleriand, the land that was no more. He was there when the War of Wrath ended and the hosts of the West were ready to depart, and witnessed the final bloodshed caused by the remaining two Silmarils.
He didn't know if Maedhros and Maglor, desperate and surrounded, had recognized him in the crowd.
"They intended to keep the Everlasting Dark from falling upon them." when everything had settled, he found the golden-haired daughter of Finarfin standing nearby in her armor, looking at the blood on the ground with steely serenity, "But that is no reason to bring darkness to others."
That was the first time he learned anything about her, the lady whose name had almost become a taboo in his family. Since then he had associated her with "adamant", but then later in Lindon, he chanced to see her in front of a withered rose bush, the sadness between her brows almost palpable. Even the most skilled gardener couldn't bring it back to life, he realized after a quick glance.
"I am grieved in Middle-earth, for everything fades that I have loved." She exhaled a sigh.
"Then why did you refuse the pardon? You could have passed over the Sundering Sea and returned to the Undying Lands." He had to ask.
"What about you?" Instead of responding, she asked, "Why did you refuse?"
Because the price of the pardon is submission.
He made up his mind right then and there. He had to be able to do something. Couldn't there be a sanctuary in the vast Middle-earth where his people could retain their last dignity while being exempt from the rapid changes in the mortal world?
I did what I could, he thought. But I am still far from mastering the ways of the world.
He expected to go through tedious routines because he had requested to see the High King without revealing his identity, and had even planned how he would mock Lindon's hospitality when he met Ereinion; but a golden-haired guard at the gate ruined all his plans, calling out his identity with just one look, and he didn't remember who it was - or rather, who it had been - until he was led into the King's parlor.
"I was going to surprise you, but your staff surprised me. You and I both heard their song to mourn for the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower back then on the Isle of Balar." Before the King spoke, he said casually, dragging a chair over and sitting down.
"It is not that the dead cannot be brought back; Glorfindel has joined the House of Elrond." Gil-galad smiled and poured him a cup of tea, and the fragrance of flowers and herbs instantly wafted through the house. "It has been a while, Celebrimbor."
"It has been a long while, but let us save the pleasantries for later." he said while pushing the cup aside, "This is Vilya, the Ring of Air, surprisingly appropriate for your house."
A sapphire was set in pure gold as a symbol of fidelity, integrity, and steadfastness. The depth of the sea and the light of the sky, two disparate qualities, were miraculously merged into one, indivisible whole.
Gil-galad appeared surprised. He stared silently at the ring for a moment before raising his gaze to meet Celebrimbor's.
"Are you concerned?" Celebrimbor grinned, pleased with the King's response, "Is it reminiscent of the advice you gave me? In Arda Marred, few gifts come at no cost. Now that I have given you something for free, you should probably think about the cost."
After a pause, he became more serious. "You are wiser than I am, Artanáro, and you must have realized that hope is found in change, not in preservation."
Even though the King was much younger and had never seen the Light of the Two Trees, he had no doubt that his words were perfectly understood.
"And that is why there is also Narya."
He took out the last ring and carefully placed it beside Vilya: gold, with a blood-red gem in the center.
"Fire has the ability to both destroy and create." He stood up, knowing that his mission had been accomplished. "Please find it a new keeper. As the long night approaches, may it help them kindle all hearts to courage."
"Celebrimbor, what about you?"
He heard his cousin ask as he turned away. For the first time in years, he detected a shiver in the King's voice.
"Where are you going?"
"To Eregion," he replied without looking back, "to Ost-in-Edhil, to the Mírdain. I have a personal matter to which I must attend."
It all began there, and there shall it end.
Notes:
(1) Hadhodrond: the Elvish translation of Khazad-dûm. Thanks to Thuringwethil for reminding me that the name of 'Moria' didn't exist when the story happened.
(2) Artanis Nerwen Alatáriel: Galadriel's father-name, mother-name, and Telerin after-name.
There is no mention of Celebrimber asking Galadriel for her hair. I made it up.