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Beta: The incomparable Anarithilien.

Chapter 2: The Citadel

The city was even more ruined after the seismic storm the night Rhawion died. The rumbling earth had dislodged great chunks of granite walls that had fallen and smashed into what were once narrow streets below, crumbling into scree and clitter, which they had to clamber over or turn back. There was light snow on the iron-cold rocks and the air had turned bitterly chill.

Great coils of dark ivy, frosted with the cold of winter, looped over ruined archways. It smothered old doorways so they looked like eye sockets watching the two elves as they passed. Glorfindel was unafraid but even he felt a sinister watchfulness about the place. It was desolate. Abandoned. Not even rooks cawing in the ruined towers or even the tracks of deer stepping quietly along narrow frosted paths. Nothing came here now but the Nazgûl and Glorfindel did not know what drew them hence.

Above them was the Tower, brooding and malicious and he kept glancing upwards

…A great winged dragon soared, flame burst from its open maw and blasted stone to rubble, melted the bejeweled heights…

No! He shook himself. This was not Gondolin. This was not Maeglin's treachery but Annatar's betrayal of Celebrimbor. Dragons did not belong in this life. *

Erestor led him unerringly along narrow stone paths that wound between huge boulders and scree that piled up hard against the old citadel wall. Ravens no longer nested amongst the crags that had once been battlements. One huge and ancient holly tree had fallen across an old doorway and its glossy leaves proved a more impenetrable defence than any stone.

'This is the great door to the citadel.' Erestor wrapped his cloak around him to protect him from the dense prickles. 'You would almost think the tree has fallen across deliberately to prevent anyone going in,' he grumbled. But they had no Woodelf with them to tell them if this were true and he pushed through the first thick branches and pulled the hood down over his face to protect him a little from the sharp leaves.

There was nothing further to bar their way for any defences had long ago been breached by Sauron's treachery and they found themselves in a long tunnel that went beneath the citadel wall. It was very cold and the tunnel stretched away into darkness that echoed their footsteps back to them.

Glorfindel paused for a moment, listening; he felt his chest tighten, and in spite of the cold the air was too still and the sense of being watched too strong.

Erestor turned his strange amber eyes upon Glorfindel. They glittered in the dark like some unseen light reflected in them. 'Not scared, surely, my Laurëlindë? All that is here are ghosts.'

Glorfindel clenched his teeth and began counting backwards from one hundred, very slowly. It was something he had noticed Gimli did when Legolas was being particularly irritating. It was beginning to lose its potency however and Glorfindel found himself having to count for longer and longer. It was taking him to fifty now.

'The Nazgûl are not just ghosts,' he snapped. 'And they are not the only danger. We are here alone. In the Wild and very far from home.'

He saw a flash of white that could have been Erestor's teeth and he gritted his own and followed Erestor into the suffocating dark. A cold wind blew lightly through the tunnel but it was ice and in spite of his own fearlessness, the hairs on Glorfindel's neck slowly stood on end.

'There is more here than ghosts,' he said slowly. 'Nazgûl or other.'

"Come,' said Erestor and there was a touch of nostalgia in his voice. He beckoned Glorfindel on. 'It is the resonance of Power you feel. Although this was the third city of Eregion and Ost-in-Edhel greater by far, this was still a lovely place once. The centre of learning in the West.'

Erestor walked on slowly. 'This tunnel was once lit with dimmed Fëanorian lamps made of green malachite.' he continued. 'It was like walking in a dense wood lit from outside by sunlight. Celebrimbor designed so you walked in the deepness of the woods, like the Unbegotten and then emerged into light of knowledge, of the Noldor. He wanted it to be a little like Menegroth.' He looked around but the dark pressed upon them, and Glorfindel wondered whether he should be more outraged at a Fëanorian wishing to re-create an aspect of Menegroth or Erestor's winsome memory of it*.

Something fluttered against Glorfindel's hair and he thought it was a bat. He felt it brush again though and it was too slow, too light for a bat.

'A moth?' Erestor said wonderingly. 'Surely it is too dark and too cold for you, little friend?' The moth fluttered around them for a moment, perhaps drawn by the warmth and light of the elves for it was bitterly cold and utterly dark in the tunnel but Erestor drew Glorfindel onwards. Ahead of them was thin grey light that grew as they approached, and Glorfindel could see that there were indeed cavities scored in the sides of the tunnel walls where had been the bronze and copper torches holding those green Fëanorian lamps, long since plundered.

They emerged into a wide cavernous hall. Thin light slanted from cracks in the granite above, rough like cracks formed in the igneous rock and thick ivy crept like dark fingers between the cracks and for a moment Glorfindel imagined that they were pulling the cracks further apart, slowly tearing down the last ruins of a once great city. But Glorfindel knew it was the tower itself that had cracked apart, if not under the dreadful siege of Sauron upon Phellanthir all those centuries ago, then from the terrible storm drawn down by the Nazgûl when he had fled with Legolas and Rhawion. In the thin light, everything was grey, cloaked in thick dust like veils.

Erestor turned to Glorfindel conversationally. Almost as if he had heard Glorfindel's thoughts, and perhaps he had, thought Glorfindel.

'Those are not cracks. They were huge slanting shafts cut into the stone. Celebrimbor had returned from Moria and seen Khazad-dûm. He could not stop talking about it. When he had this hall built, the light poured in and reflected in hundreds, maybe thousands of crystals and precious gems, molten and swirled through mithril and silver. The floor itself is crystal…' He paused for a moment. 'Or was.'

He sighed and turned his face upwards to the cold light. 'You have no idea how it felt standing here. A temple of light. He spent years designing lamps to rival and outshine Narvi's.' Glorfindel looked up at the cracked stone roof. He could see now that it had been crafted; it was too smooth to be natural. 'They enjoyed the competition,' Erestor continued and Glorfindel realised he spoke still of Narvi and Celebrimbor.

Erestor paused beneath the great domed roof, looking upwards and Glorfindel walked slowly behind him…He saw the great hall as it had been

……And the graceful pillars that held the smooth vaulted roof were inlaid with the richest colour and he saw that they were precious stones that were molten and somehow swirled and traced into the crystal…Huge Fëanorian lamps of silver chased with mithril set with sapphires hung from the domed ceiling and the light poured into the chamber through the lamps onto the crystal floor. Beneath his feet was smooth crystal so it did indeed feel like he was walking on light, floating in starlight…

I have not seen this, Glorfindel thought bemused. And he knew it was Erestor's memory.

…The great chamber filled with golden light and jewels glowing in the light. Upon the walls were great silk hangings and richly worked tapestries showing the great works of the Noldor smiths. He knew that these silks and tapestries and wonderful carpets had been brought as gifts from the kings and potentates of the furthest Eastern kingdoms.

Erestor's voice was distant. 'It was a wonderful sight. And the smells…fragrances in the air were beyond imagining. Those were the Silk Halls.' He waved his hand towards a distant wall and Glorfindel realised that there were a number of smaller chambers leading off from this main one. 'You could get little ivory pieces, carved exquisitely. They would make you Strategy pieces if you had enough gold. I got a set for Elrond here…think he still has most of them.'

Glorfindel knew the set he meant; it was made of strange animals instead of the Valar and one piece was missing, a mumâk.

'It was so much more exciting here in Eregion than Mithlond,' Erestor continued. 'I actually thought about quitting Gil-Galad's service and pledging myself to Celebrimbor, not that he wanted me really- but perhaps he needed me.' He stepped carefully through the thick dust as he walked slowly through the huge empty hall. His voice did not echo for the dust muffled sound.

'I tried to persuade Elrond to come south,' he said conversationally as if they were sitting on the terraces of Imladris rather than treading on the edge of danger. ''There were people from the south here, and from far eastern kingdoms. They all came up river from Umbar to trade. Dwarves too. Everywhere. The smith-craft of Khazad-dûm was a wonder, now anything made by Narvi is priceless…Cirdan had a necklace. Mithril wire with pearls and emeralds. A lovely thing. Did you ever see it? When you arrived on these shores?'

Glorfindel found himself nodding, and taking out a memory of the piece, lovingly as if he handled the necklace itself…fastening it around the elegant throat of Mirlien, Cirdan's lovely daughter…

He frowned. He had not done that; wound her hair about his fist and kissed her neck…

Glorfindel shook himself, suddenly aware of his surroundings.

…She had pulled him down upon her and pressed herself against him…

No. She had definitely not done that, thought Glorfindel. Cirdan's daughter was a lovely woman, rare as a pearl and as unravished as he, for he was pure in all things…

…Except that one time. Rich golden hair…the colour of old coins…eyes barely seeing him, so lost in grief…His own mouth on that warm and generous mouth, stopping the grief even for a moment…

He shook himself. Where had that thought come from? Long suppressed and best forgotten.

But still he jerked when he saw Erestor smile and incline his caught a gleam in Erestor's amber eyes and the counselor gave a slow, knowing smile.

'What are you grinning at?' he demanded more aggressively than was warranted, but he could not help it.

'I am merely smiling,' Erestor said irritatingly and then cocked his head slightly and his eyes were bright, curious as a magpie. 'What has riled you so?'

'You know what!' Glorfindel said through clenched teeth. 'I am thinking things and seeing memories that are not my own.'

You are seeing my memories as I am seeing yours. Erestor smiled again, but more sadly than taunting.

'You are seeing nothing of mine,' Glorfindel answered defiantly and ruthlessly shut down, suppressed, locked up all memories of his time before and since his return.

'That is a pity. I was enjoying that.' Erestor grinned wolfishly.

Glorfindel ground his teeth and determinedly imagined himself punching Erestor hard on the jaw, tying him up and leaving him for the Nazgûl. Make what you will of that! he thought.

But Erestor merely smiled and slid his gaze back to the empty chamber. Full of ghosts. Full of memory.

Ice stole into the air and he thought frost would soon coat everything in a silver sheen.

But the cold was not a memory. It stiffened the hairs on his scalp, he felt it prickling against his collar and in his hand was his sword, Eruvatorë, already unsheathed and he wondered how long he had stood like this. Erestor watched him, as if waiting. The thin grey light was almost dissolving now into dusk.

'Ah, my friend,' said Erestor with sudden and uncharacteristic gentleness. 'I think you have begun to realise the power of this place. This was Celebrimbor's Oromarde-Curvë.'

Glorfindel frowned. Oromarde, literally High Hall, but the word was used to describe a temple's inner sanctum and he had never heard it used to describe a place of Curvë before. This side of the Sea there were few temples for the Noldor did not worship the Valar as did the Vanyar in Aman and he was certain the silvan elves had no such thing. He wondered what Celebrimbor had been thinking to call his citadel a temple of knowledge. Had it been Curufin or any one of his uncles, Glorfindel would guess at it being ironic, but he remembered Celebrimbor in Nevrast; there was a different intensity, an earnestness that was more Fëanor than Curufin. And his thirst for knowledge was more like Maedhros, Glorfindel admitted grudgingly. He did not doubt Erestor though, for he had been without question, a spy. If there was anyone left alive who knew what had been going on, it was he…And Annatar. Sauron.

'Celebrimbor played with Orma here beyond anything anyone before had even imagined.' His voice was strange, as if coming from a long way away. 'Matter, physics, is different here…' His amber eyes flicked up to Glorfindel's and he smiled indulgently. 'You can call what he did Magic, curu, if it makes you happier, Glorfindel.'

'It does not make me happy,' Glorfindel replied and sheathed his sword. He looked around warily. The emptiness and silence was preying on him, he knew, and if he were honest, the recent past and the encounter in the Tower had unnerved him. He was not afraid of the Nazgûl, although he was no fool; fear was not their only weapon and he and Erestor were made of flesh and blood and could be slain.

'He experimented here…' Erestor walked slowly through the dim, silent hall. 'He was using the same curvë that made the Palantri, and Galadriel's Mirror. I do not know what he was making, nor the nature of his experiment. But the last time I was here, there was a strangeness…like everything had become…stretched. Almost dreamlike at certain times. It was like Lothlorien has become with Galadriel's use of Nenya.' He looked down as if thinking for a moment. 'Time was different. It passed slowly… sometimes it seemed the air trembled and there were apparitions… Visions… of the past and the future. Like the Palantri and the Mirrors. Celebrimbor was interested in Nirmë and something he called Tumnalómë.'

He glanced at Glorfindel and then said patiently, 'He was experimenting with how to use it to open Time… like in the Palantir, or the Mirror.'

Glorfindel had heard of Nirmë of course, and Tumnalómë; you could not spend so much time in the company of Elrond and Erestor, and sometimes Mithrandir, without absorbing knowledge of the arcane curvë of the ancient days, and he was no longer so naive to believe that everything was down to the Power of the Valar.

Erestor stopped and glanced upwards. The roof was swathed in darkness and they could not see how high it was, but ahead of them was a mouth of utter silence, utter darkness. His eyes gleamed and Glorfindel saw in them, the thirst too for knowledge, for curvë. Erestor smiled then, a subtle smile that was knowing. 'Have you ever looked into a Palantir or a Mirror and seen the threads of Time unravel?'

Indeed Glorfindel had. Once he had looked into a Palantir. Ah, so long ago. Another age. He would never forget the shock of seeing another face appear, and speak. That one time it had been Maedhros, his hair bronze and his once-lovely features blurred and a little indistinct but his voice clear as Telperion's light, and as rich… Asking…No. In his subtle and persuasive way, commanding Turgon to come out of his mountain sanctuary and take up arms against Morgoth in the dreadful battle that became the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Glorfindel had admired Maedhros then…Forged into steel by his dreadful ordeal in Angband, bending the Noldor to his will through subtle and careful tempering, holding to his will alone his mad, beautiful brothers…It was the Tears that broke him.

He became aware of Erestor's intense gaze, almost greedy, and felt his memory probed, delved. He turned away appalled at Erestor's shameless and greedy invasion.

'Stop it,' he said quietly.

'You cannot blame me.' Erestor's voice was full of longing. 'It is so long since I saw his dear face. To see him as others did is a rare morsel. How can you begrudge me?'

'You do not ask.' But that was not why. Glorfindel could not bear the desperation, the terrible loss. It was too close to his own.

'You would deny me.'

That was true. 'Do not look again.'

Erestor turned away suddenly and Glorfindel felt almost as though he had been leaning against something that had given under him. He blinked and breathed in sharply. It was this place, he thought. Too like Lorien for him, with its strange ethereal quality, too like a dream and unreal. If Celebrimbor had been playing with Tumnalómë, that would explain the strange merging of memories and dreams.

Deep shadows gathered in the corners and along the edges of the hall, creeping forwards as the thin grey light slowly dimmed, as if they were waiting for the darkness to fall. And the last watery rays of the sun touched the old stone in silence, slid up into the deep cracks that had once been the rival of Moria. Frost drifted on the cold air then and Glorfindel shivered.

'It is cold now the sun has gone,' Erestor said abruptly and he too shivered slightly.

It was then that Glorfindel felt it.

A stroke of cold down his spine.

'Erestor,' he hissed. 'They are here.'

If he thought Erestor would not hear, he was wrong. Instantly Erestor was at his side, amber eyes gleaming. 'Not they. Not yet. It has been near for some time,' he grinned and it was chilling to see how gleeful he was and how quickly his loss forgotten. Not for the first time, Glorfindel wondered if his companion was a little mad. 'Let us see what it is so keen to keep from us.'

Glorfindel was not afraid, but he was first and foremost a warrior. And no warrior would go into battle unprepared or weaponless. 'What do we do if we find anything?' he asked warily.

'I do not know.'

He should have been less surprised, for this was far from the first time Erestor had led him into mortal danger without a shred of reason or plan. Nevertheless, it was always worth asking again. In case he had actually thought of something. 'There is nothing in the libraries of Imladris, nothing you read in Mithlond, in Himring? Nothing?'

'Well if I could somehow flick through all the tomes and scripts, all the references to Úlairi ever written, I might find something,' Erestor snapped.

'I am surprised that one of your great Fëanorians has not invented something that would enable you to do so!' Glorfindel snapped back. 'It seems they invented everything else you could possibly want; seeing stones, stones that hold light, stones that heal…anything to do with stone. Why not a stone that can read for you?'

'You are ignorant, Glorfindel. Astonishingly so. Locked up in your mountain for all those centuries. What were you lot doing apart from eating and drinking and growing soft.'

He ignored that barb and imagined Erestor trussed up and howling as Glorfindel left him for the Nazgûl.

There was a gleam of white; Erestor must have smiled then, thought Glorfindel.

'You are not afraid of one Nazgûl surely?'

Glorfindel sighed. 'No. But they are not merely wraiths. They can wield weapons. Like that bloody blade you have in your pocket!'

'Oh that. I had almost forgotten.' So casual.

Erestor suddenly strode off into the absolute darkness and Glorfindel followed more in irritation than in fear of losing his companion.

It was dark as pitch and the darkness pressed upon his eyes, Glorfindel thought the smell changed, the air was dank and there was something rotting rather than simply the smell of a deep place. It slicked his mouth, coated it like the smell of death, of putrefying meat.

He could barely see Erestor ahead of him and suddenly he stumbled and swore, for he stubbed his foot on something hard. He whispered to Erestor to stop. 'We can hardly see where we are going!' he whispered angrily.

Erestor was suddenly in front of him and his hand was over Glorfindel's mouth. 'Hush. Listen.'

He froze. Listened. Could hear…nothing.

Blinked. Shook his head frowning and then realised Erestor could not possibly see. 'I cannot…' he began to whisper but Erestor's hand was back over his mouth.

'Hush.' Even softer, his hand pressed hard against Glorfindel's lips.

He stilled absolutely. Opened his senses to the cold, dank air and then felt it rather than heard…

Far off, a distant sound. Not quite distinguishable from the silence. He could not place it. Had no word for it but it chilled his soul. No. That was not right either… It tore at him, with pity. Oh the pity of it!

He grasped Erestor's arm and tugged at him. "What is it?'

'I do not know. I have never heard anything like it…but is it not terrible and sad? And in pain perhaps?' He paused and then said, 'I think we will find it up this stairway, for this is the heart of the citadel.'

Glorfindel was aware then that Erestor stood slightly above him and that he had stubbed his foot on the bottom stair of a wide sweeping steps. He prodded it with his foot and felt for the next step upwards.

'You could at least warn me of the step!' he hissed. Erestor did not reply but Glorfindel felt his hand being taken by Erestor's warm one and tugged gently. Grateful that at least he knew they were ascending, he followed.

The pitiful cry did not come again, but he thought he heard a whimper like an animal in pain and misery. But then all was silence.

Darkness pressed against their eyes. As they followed the steps upwards, it seemed almost to thicken and felt cold and heavy against him. Glorfindel found himself wishing he did not have to breathe for it felt that the Dark was entering his body and would suffocate him from within. He remembered how Legolas had spoken of the dark coiling about him, a serpent, and as if the thought had taken shape, he thought how it insinuated itself almost between his ankles and thighs, and pressed itself against him. Like a live thing.

There was a slide of something leathery in the shadows. A slow drift of colder air across his neck.

Glorfindel froze. He felt Erestor do likewise.

Far off, deep in the bowels of the Tower was a rumble like far off thunder. And then that strange trembling cry once again. Misery and pain…and despair.

Then nothing…..

He felt Erestor tug slightly at his sleeve and edged towards him. In the pitch dark, his blade gleamed slightly but it was still silver, not blue. No Orcs then…but there was a dull green-ish edge to the blade that he had only seen rarely…but each time it had indicated the presence of the wraiths. He saw that Erestor too had drawn his blade and it gleamed the same eerie light.

'That sound is no Nazgûl.' He felt rather than saw Erestor nod.

'I think we have found what we came for.'

'So Legolas was right. Rhawion is still here.'

0o0o

* Dragons destroyed Gondolin in Glorfindel's previous life.

* Menegroth was the old name for Doriath, which the Fëanorians invaded to reclaim a Silmaril. Erestor would believe they had the right and Glorfindel believes that any killing of other elves is wrong whatever the reason, justified or otherwise.

Tumnalómë - Hidden Power. Celebrimbor would have been without question, knowledgeable about Quantum Mechanics in my verse. In ME the Mirror and Palantri had been made for thousands of years before this time. To me, there is the idea of QM behind both of these artifacts.