Chapter Forty: Into the Fire
The fateful morning dawned bright and clear; blue skies and balmy summer wind lifted the spirits of all of the elves who were to take part in the plan. Everything was in order as Elrond I went over the plot a final time with his other half, Maglor, Gil-galad and Cirdan. It had to be perfect. There was no room for failure.
"We don't need the militia just yet," he said, looking up at his friends from the map that was spread out flat on the desk before them. "They're more like reinforcements – they can wait here until I send word for help. Today, you three–" he nodded to Maglor, Cirdan and Elrond II "–will accompany me to Eregion and meet Celebrimbor. Once we arrive, we'll warn he and his people about Sauron. They need to know as soon as possible… just in case."
"In case of what?" asked Elrond II, a faint tremor in his voice.
"In case Sauron gets it into his head that he should strike early," his godfather answered, his voice lowering to a murmur. "But let's not dwell too long on that."
"What next?" inquired Cirdan, his silver-hued beard twitching as he frowned. "What will happen once we warn Celebrimbor?"
"Then," replied Elrond I commandingly, "we'll begin setting up defenses around the city – as many as we can, and as quickly as we can. We must not be caught off-guard. Far too much is at stake for anything to hinder us."
The shipwright nodded. "Very well. And then?"
"Then we wait. But now," he said, a fierce glint entering his eyes, "we should get a move on. Do you all have what you need?"
----
An evening that came nearly a week later gently draped its soft black cloak over the lush green shoulders of the earth. The silver-white crescent of the moon clasped it lovingly in place, and the innumerable stars adorned it like so many tiny sequins. Their light revealed a splendid city on the horizon, and the four swift figures galloping toward it over hill and field; a group of elves on horseback.
The elf in the lead, a handsome, bearded lord with silver hair and bright turquoise eyes, scanned the land for a sign of approaching strangers. The darkened fields seemed empty, save for him and his comrades. The elf raised his hand in a signal to his fellows, and they sped up their already fleet pace.
Cirdan turned his eyes to the front yet again. The distance between them and Eregion was steadily decreasing. They would make it there within ten minutes, if not less. Good thing, too – he could just feel foamy sweat beginning to form on the glossy hide of his chestnut-colored steed.
"Nearly there," he murmured soothingly to the stallion. "You can make it."
The horse snorted softly in reply; Cirdan stroked his neck gently, and looked to his left as Elrond I drew abreast of him.
"How much longer?" the half-elf asked.
"We're not far now," replied the shipwright. "Ten minutes, if not less."
"Excellent. Gwainûr is tiring." He patted the dappled grey neck of his mount as he spoke.
"We can make it. And we will."
As Cirdan had predicted, they reached the city in good time. The friends dismounted their horses and approached the gates cautiously, leading their mounts alongside them. Cirdan raised his left hand, the one that wasn't full of reins, and knocked on the door. They only had to wait for a moment before the doors creaked open.
A noble-looking, silver-haired elf stood on the threshold; if he hadn't been clean-shaven, he would nearly have been mistakable for Cirdan. His blue eyes glinted in the moonlight as they took the travelers in; he addressed them in a hushed and rather worried voice.
"I saw you coming from afar," he said warily, with a nervous glance around them. "I am Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, lord of this city. Who are you, and what is your business?"
"We have come to give you an urgent warning, my lord," replied Cirdan with a respectful nod of his head. "King Gil-galad of Mithlond sent us. We are his response to your letter. My name is Cirdan; my companions are Lord Elrond the First, Master Elrond the Second, and Maglor, son of Fëanor."
Celebrimbor frowned in confusion, a strange look flittering across his face at the sound of his grandfather and uncle's names. "Maglor?" he repeated.
"Yes." Maglor stepped forward a pace, nodding courteously. "We've never had the honor of meeting before, sire. I am your uncle."
Celebrimbor's eyes lit up. "Well met indeed!"
Maglor laughed, sharing a hug with his nephew. When they pulled away, the younger elf addressed Cirdan again. "What is the message you bear?"
"I believe it would be better if we were to discuss it inside," Cirdan replied. "Voices can carry far over open space."
Celebrimbor nodded, stepping aside to let them pass.
"Yes, yes, of course. Please, do come in."
----
"So, what is it you were sent here to tell me?"
In the short silence that followed his query, the jewelsmith's gaze roved purposely around the small, round table, taking in each newcomer in turn. The pale gold light of a candle's dancing flame was reflected in each of their eyes. All of them looked extremely anxious. Celebrimbor studied their faces, particularly that of Maglor – the uncle he'd never known existed before this night. Unknown family.
Elrond I coughed slightly, breaking the silence.
"We're here to warn you that you and your people are in grave danger. Sauron is coming to take your city. He'll stop at nothing until it is destroyed. You must put up the strongest defenses you can muster. We can help you do that."
"We know nothing of his plans!" cried the jewelsmith. "We don't know when or how he will attack! How can we hope to protect ourselves?"
"I know his plans," the half-elf murmured, so quietly that Celebrimbor had to concentrate to catch the sound.
"What are they?" he demanded, his voice abrupt and sharp.
"He moves to claim your city by force," Elrond I answered, pinning Celebrimbor in place with his eyes alone. "But he is coming for you, first and foremost. He wants to know all that you know about the Rings of Power. And he will do anything to get that information from you."
The jewelsmith let out a furious snarl. "I would sooner surrender my soul to Mandos than give anything to Sauron!"
Elrond I shivered; only he knew the full weight of those words. In the half-elf's past life, Celebrimbor had died after being tortured by Sauron.
Elrond I made a silent vow as he sat in that dim chamber: to do anything and everything in his power to save all of the lives that he could.
"You needn't fear," he said, in what he hoped were reassuring tones rather than nervous ones. "He won't come for some time. "You'll have plenty of warning."
"Then why have you come so soon, if you know the attack will not occur immediately?" The jewelsmith's eyes were as hard as the gems he worked with.
"We came because King Gil-galad sent us," replied Elrond II.
There was another pause, filled with stifled coughs and the nervous squeaking of chairs. No-one seemed to know what to say. But at length Cirdan spoke up, rather hesitantly.
"The Three Rings have been hidden," he said, "but that will not daunt Sauron in the least. Whether you would reveal these secrets or not means little or nothing to him. He will find other methods, other victims. One slight hindrance will only spur on his rage."
"Cirdan is right," Maglor spoke up firmly. "That's why you need to defend yourself! Let us help you. We might at least be able to hold him at bay long enough for your people to escape."
"Escape to where?" Celebrimbor snapped at him. "Where shall we flee, nephew? Into the mountains? The Dwarfs care nothing for our race. They hide in their caves seeking riches for their own pleasure. They would never assist us!"
He stopped for a breath, and put his hand up to his forehead as though it was hurting him. When he looked at his guests again, there was weariness in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he sighed tiredly. "I can't seem to concentrate. It's late. We should all get to bed. I will arrange for your accommodations at once."
They nodded, rising and leaving in single-file. A few hours' rest would do them all good.
----
Elrond I was jolted from a deep sleep by someone shouting and pounding on his bedroom door. Regaining his senses rapidly, he leapt from the bed, only to find that his ankle was tangled in the sheets.
The elf stumbled awkwardly toward the door and flung it open. No sooner had he done so that Cirdan rushed in, nearly knocking him off his feet.
"Get out of here!" the shipwright gasped. "Now!"
The half-elf nodded hurriedly, wincing as his friend seized his wrist. They sprinted down the corridor, which was slowly being lit up by the pastel pink and golden sunrise. There was no time to wonder at its beauty, however. Cirdan urgently half-tugged Elrond down the hallway as he ran.
"What's wrong?" cried the half-elf in alarm.
"We're—"
The shipwright's voice was drowned out by an enormous crash, followed by a cacophony of frantic screams. A sharp, bitter smell assaulted their nostrils. Smoke!
"Cirdan, what in Ûdun is going on?"
"We're under attack!" Cirdan gasped.
A flood of elves, all of them hysterical, poured into the corridor, pushing and shoving the half-elf and the shipwright away from each other. Cirdan was flattened against the wall while Elrond was jostled further down the hallway. He struggled desperately to rejoin his friend, but the bearded elf was soon lost in the mad throng.
"Cirdan!" Elrond I screamed. "Cirdan!"
There was no reply. The half-elf stumbled as someone elbowed him hard in the side, but he was pulled up in time to avoid being trampled. He sighed gratefully when he saw that his rescuer was Maglor.
"Hannon le!" (Thank you!) he gasped.
"Don't mention it," the son of Fëanor replied. "Have you seen Celebrimbor?"
"No, I was just with Cirdan—"
Maglor swore under his breath. "Where is he?"
"We'll never be able to find him in this horde!" cried Elrond I. "And Elrond the Second is missing, too!" Cold terror seized his heart.
All at once the roof exploded above them, showering the seething multitude of elves with chunks of white-hot stone and other debris. Smoke and dust rose in thick, choking clouds. Coughing madly, eyes burning, Elrond stumbled on half-blind.
He didn't even have time to breathe before a cold hand clamped tightly over his mouth. Another seized his shoulder in a ruthless grip, and steered him toward an open door. The half-elf squirmed wildly in his captor's clutches, but whoever it was had no intention of letting him go. A pitiless voice hissed into his ear, and the accompanying hot breath made him cringe.
"We meet again, Elrond the First."
The hands released him, giving him a hard shove forward. He stumbled, but regained his balance before falling. The voice chuckled softly, mocking him without remorse.
"Did you really think me such a fool? You should have known that I would come. All the worse for you, I suppose. Some things can't be helped."
The voice was chillingly familiar to him. Mouth dry with dread, his entire body trembling uncontrollably, Elrond I turned around to face the stranger, and found himself transfixed by two icy blue eyes, above a hooked nose in a sallow face framed by pale golden hair.
Sauron.