6. How Carnelian Came to Be
A couple of centuries after Arwen's birth, Elrond secretly experimented for a formula to help elves who had lost their will to live and started fading. He spent long hours in his laboratory, mixing all manner of plants together. At last, he mixed morel mushrooms, sage, bee balm, and hickory together. He grinned as he boiled the mixture, watching it bubble and inhaling the soft scent. After allowing it to boil ten minutes, he put dry ice all around it, then threw in a special ingredient: a purple glowing rock he had discovered in a cave one day. The powder he had ground it into hissed and sparked as it hit the mixture. "Perfect!" Elrond rubbed his hands together, eyes wide as he watched his formula form. Five minutes later, he removed the dry ice and dunked a ladle into the concoction. He poured it into a clear glass, admiring its warm, lavender tint and holiday smell. It fizzed as it hit his tongue, tingling his mouth in a delightful manner.
However, the results of his experiment were not what he intended. He felt his face twitch, pain like fire shooting through his veins. He dropped the glass, shattering it to pieces as he stumbled backwards against the wall and fell to the ground. He looked at his hands, which also experienced a sharp burning sensation, and saw they were now a deep, carnelian red. Jumping up, he looked into the mirror and stared horrified at his reflection. What was once a fair elven face now had turned into a hideous, carnelian orc who looked like he had been in a few fights and was about to starve to death. Perhaps this strange being had even had other battle scars and needed skin grafts to patch the injuries. In fact, come to think of it he looked like a skull that had just been covered in some hideous red substance, a pitiful excuse for real skin but necessary for protecting what lay inside the skull.
Elrond sighed and sat down. What was he going to tell Celebrían? She had never approved of his experimenting, especially not when he insisted on taking his concoctions himself. Thus far they had never harmed him, but now….Well, perhaps he would just refrain from telling her.
He hurried about his laboratory and finally produced a mask, the very likeness of his former self. The only bad thing about it was the ingredients had a reaction to fried chicken, which meant if he ate the foul stuff his mask would come off, revealing his secret. Good thing elves eat no meat other than fish. It should be simple enough to ban all the nasty stuff from his kingdom.
"Lindir!" He summoned his trusted, fearful servant.
The elf ran into the room, having been waiting outside the door just in case something went wrong and he needed to fetch help, or Lord Elrond simply needed another body. "Yes, Lord Elrond?" he quaked.
Turning around, the elven lord looked at his subject. Lindir gasped and fainted. Mumbling to himself, Elrond fetched his smelling salts and waved it under the silly elf's nose. He woke up immediately and shrieked.
"Oh for crying out loud! It's me, Lindir, your Lord Elrond." He put his hands on his shoulders to calm him, and Lindir shook, eyes wide. "Now listen carefully. My experiment has not turned out how I desired, and Celebrían must not find out. You are not to ever tell another living soul about this, understand?"
Still quaking, he nodded.
"Good. Now I will need your help." He held up the mask, and Lindir gulped. "I need you to glue this onto my face. The only thing about it is the mask reacts to fried chicken. You are to help me keep the kingdom free of that foul stuff. You got that?"
Again, he nodded, calming a bit. "Do you want it on now?"
"Yes. Celebrían will send someone after me if I don't return soon."
It took Lindir a few tries before the mask was in its proper place, then the two made their way back to the main palace. Celebrían greeted him with a kiss. "Successful today?"
"No, I'm afraid not," he sighed, giving in to her affection.
He lived in fear the next few years and tried to undo his failure. However, he never could get the antidote right. Then new thoughts popped into his head. A slight jealousy of the Elvenking Thranduil had existed in his heart a long time. It just wasn't fair that he got the title of "king" while Elrond was merely a
"lord," even if the latter was a charter member of the White Council and one of the first elven rulers. Why shouldn't he be king? Better yet, he could rule the entire world! Then all would have to bow to him and obey his every whim. He entertained this thought for years until he became so obsessed with the idea that is was part of him, albeit a secret one.
One day, while meandering through the forest, he stumbled upon a small group of orcs who had lost their leader. Grinning wickedly, Elrond stripped off his mask and stuffed it into his pocket, then approached the orcs. "What are you lazy slobs doing just standing here?"
A large Uruk Hai swaggered over until he stared at him, nose to nose. "What's it to you, snaga?"
Unamused at the insult, Elrond glared back. "I am the infamous Carnelian Orc. I want you to get me into your caves, and I shall be your leader. Lord Sauron sent me especially for that. I am his right-hand man, next to the Mouth."
The Uruk Hai, Grodd, stood his ground. "I don't care who you are, snaga. Give me proof, then we can talk."
Elrond sighed. "I seem to have lost my belongings in the forest. I got a bit turned around trying to get here. So I am afraid you will just have to take my word for it."
"Fine," Grodd growled. "But if I find you have lied, I will personally escort you all the way to Mordor and let Lord Sauron himself deal with you. He has far better torture than we have here."
"Alright, lead me to your hideout."
The orcs made their way inside of the Misty Mountains, where Elrond soon worked his way into being the ruthless leader. He began waylaying unsuspecting travellers, afraid they would somehow discover his secret and tell those in Rivendell about his new identity. He never let anyone but the orcs and those he tortured to death see his face – that is, until Celebrían came along.
Elrond concluded with the real story of Celebrían's torture, laughing manically. "Don't you see, ionnîn? I had to do this!"
Elrohir stared, shocked. "No, Ada, if I should even call you that, I am afraid I do not understand. You could have told our people about your accident. They would have loved you anyway, despite your looks. Don't the elves in Mirkwood love the Elvenking, even if he sports a nasty scar? At least he never tortures innocent people like you do," the younger elf accused.
With movements faster than a biting cobra, Carnelian knocked the elf against the wall, who promptly passed out in a concussion. He knew once Elrohir woke up, he would remember nothing, thus his secret was safe for now. The red orc nabbed the keys to the dungeon and slipped out, dragging the unconscious elf with him. He definitely needed to take him with him, just in case. Having another minion around would be nice.
Carnelian stomped up to Lindir's cage and released him. "Come, we must get far away from here. The twins and Estel are onto my secret and I am afraid they will somehow worm the information out of you."
Lindir agreed and followed his leader as they slipped through the secret passages back to the lair under the Misty Mountains. They put Elrohir between them, with Elrond hanging onto his arms while Lindir took his feet to transport him to the caves.
Elrond paused before entering the secret door to his private chambers. "I will have to treat you as my captive, Lindir. They do not know that I am also Elrond. However, I will ensure you are not tortured. Just continue to do my bidding and you will be fine. As for Elrohir, I shall lock him up as well. I don't care what my minions do to him, short of killing him."
"Yes, Lord Elrond," Lindir shivered.
They exited the chamber into the secret lair, greeted by rather upset orcs. They yelled that he let so many of them die and the elves win, then went and let himself get captured.
Carnelian growled at them. "I escaped, so what does it matter? You useless creatures are expendable. That is your purpose in life, after all. Come, we must plan an attack on Rivendell. You should all be punished for failing to exterminate the twins and that scummy man."
Grodd approached him. "Sir, what are these prisoners you have?" He pointed a black, dirty finger into Lindir's chest, who immediately began to quiver in fear.
"This is my own, personal elf. None of you are to lay a finger on him unless I say so. He is all mine! As for the other one," he jerked his head towards still-unconscious Elrohir," you may torture him if you like. But whatever you do, you must not kill him. I daresay he will become rather useful to me."
The orcs backed away, rather confused and frightened. They gathered in the meeting chamber for a council after Lindir and Elrohir were locked away in the best cells, which in reality were dark, dank, and reeked of dead animals. Lindir was not happy, especially when the only food he got was dark, mouldy bread filled with maggots and some water filmed over with pond scum.
Carnelian strategized with his minions, hoping to rid the world of that troublesome trio once and for all.