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Eregion SA 1590
He blots the letter and folds it. It will return, its seal unbroken, but he stubbornly persists - Gil-galad cannot fault him for this, at least. What divides them now is not Annatar, though Gil-galad will not understand this. As Celebrimbor goes about his work, he more often thinks of Narvi with regret.
Still, a sadness comes over him at the oddest moments, when he longs for the unexpected caress of deep affection, the quiet pleasure of breakfast shared with a beloved, the soothing habit of stroking silken locks as he travels to his dreamworld. The most poignant memories are founded not in great moments, but in between them.
"Two might love, and yet be ill suited to one another," Annatar has said. Celebrimbor is, before all, an artist.
"This is a matter for Hiril Galadriel. I do not concern myself with tariffs." He glowers at the elf-lords. "Why do you bring this to me?"
"We hoped you would join with us," Adlain explains.
"That the Gwaith-i-Mírdain would spurn the High King's tax collectors? We will not. We have an army to maintain, and roads to be kept safe."
"We have an army foisted upon us, led by an elf who is not of our people," Hellar says. "That army could be turned against us, híren."
"You have no reason to believe that it will be so."
"No reason save Annatar's warning."
He leans against the mantle, dismayed. This is what Gil-galad has foreseen, what Celebrimbor has promised he will not allow. "You swore loyalty to Taur Gil-galad - such words are treasonous in your mouths."
"He rewards our loyalty by treating us as vassalage to enrich his coffers," Hellar insists stonily.
With a significant look at his companions, Adlain leans forward. "We in no way intend treason. Yet, we are concerned. We hear that the High King grows overly suspicious."
With a prick of anxiety, Celebrimbor realises that the elf-lords' concerns might not be entirely unfounded. "Who tells you this? Annatar? Perhaps he is the one who has become overly suspicious."
"Annatar has warned us of this, yes - but we have heard the same from another source, one very much in the High King's confidence," Hellar says.
Arphenion. The traitor can be no one else; all others within Gil-galad's small circle of trust would slit their own throats before they would betray him.
"This is easily solved," Methel speaks for the first time, forcing Celebrimbor's attention back to the trouble at hand. "We want control of the garrisons here and at Tharbad, and the right to oversee passage on the East-West road and the road to Tharbad. There should be no need, then, for Forlond to collect tax from us."
"You forget that most of the troops come from Forlond - they will not transfer their allegiance. Do you intend to raise an army of your own? By all means, you may try it, but you will divide the city."
Hellar rises to his feet. "We accomplish nothing here."
Celebrimbor turns to Adlain in desperation. "We are craftsfolk, not warriors. If forced to choose between the High King's protection and your sword, how many would cleave to you?"
Adlain looks at the other lords, eyebrows raised. Hellar purses his lips in a grimace. Methel shrugs. "They put down their tools and took up arms once before, híren. They will do so again, if they are threatened."
"It shall not come to that," Celebrimbor promises, though he feels less certain than his words imply. "However, I suggest you render what is due to Forlond."
Leaving Erestor to see his visitors out, Celebrimbor stares into the grate, following the flicker and leap of the fire without seeing it. He knows nothing of Gil-galad's mood - if only he would return his letters! His silence only lends credence to Annatar. Though moved at times by anger, the Maia's words appeal, for they do not entirely lack reason. Celebrimbor has let this go too long; beguiled by Annatar's instruction and the great works of the Mírdain, he has forgotten his purpose.
They had begun, some six dozen years ago, to unravel the mysteries of Aulë, to call into metal and gemstone properties reserved to living things. Rings of Power, Annatar called them.
"Such rings would gift men with longer lives, that they might gather the wisdom of the years, and so lead their people without the short sight of mortality. And when it seems good to them, they will join their fathers in death, and the rings shall pass to the next leaders of Men," Annatar had explained.
The Mírdain had forged the rings, taking such care that no rings had ever been so well made. Still, they were rings, of no greater use than were others. The smiths had laid them in Annatar's great palm and looked at one another in confusion. What now?
Annatar had loosed his tongue in a language that made the elves cringe. A red glow had come over the rings as swift flame engraved Annatar's harsh words in the most ancient Tengwar of Fëanor. What had been inert metal then writhed with a life of its own, or so it had seemed. (1)
He has searched every book and scroll in his possession, but this strange language of Annatar remains beyond Celebrimbor's understanding. Similar words spoken over rings intended for the Dwarves fail to solve the riddle. He is reluctant to reveal anything of their work to an outsider, yet clearly, the making of additional rings hinges upon a similar charm. Impatience having won over discretion, he copies the script to a slip of foolscap and sets out to see the one elf who might have lore enough to make sense of them.
"What tongue of Morgoth is that?" Pengolodh asks, taking his hands from his ears.
"I hoped you might tell me."
"It is none that I have ever heard," Pengolodh says, scurrying to move books that his guest might sit. "Yet, neither is it entirely strange. What I know of Valarin is only what you have taught me and what we might divine from Khuzdûl , yet I do not think this cursed tongue is entirely dissimilar."
"Perhaps it is a dialect?" Celebrimbor says doubtfully. He unfolds the foolscap over an open volume of Falathrin fairy tales, and together, the two elves study the lines.
Ombi kuzddurbagu gundum-ishi
Nugu gurunkilu bard gurutu (2)
"See here, this word," Pengolodh points to bard, "is similar enough to the Eldarin root of 'doom'. And nugu must come from the Valarin for 'nine'." (3)
"Do you suppose that kuzd is the Valarin word for 'Dwarf'?"
Pengolodh nods and frowns. "I have heard this word durbagu before. It was used by Boldog, the Orc captain, according to the tales of those who lived to recall the Nirnaeth. Glorfindel thought it meant 'ruler' or 'king'."
In such a way, they arrive at a plausible translation.
"But who made this language, and why? Why would one who calls himself an Elf-friend use a word of Orc-speech?" Pengolodh questions.
"Perhaps the Orcs took it from elsewhere - a tongue of Men, maybe."
"That may be so." Pengolodh tosses aside the paper and jumps to his feet. "You will have supper with me, I hope?"
"Gladly."
They retire to the slightly less cluttered dining room (the table being only half given over to books) and Pengolodh calls upon a servant to bring the soup. "I have just finished a history of the people of Hithlum following the Nirnaeth. I am having it copied now - the High King is quite impatient for it."
"May I ask your opinion?"
Pengolodh smiles. "Am I to refuse my lord?"
"You are free to do so. It concerns Gil-galad." He pauses at the return of the serving maid with the soup. When they are once again alone, he continues, "Is it your perception that he has grown overly cautious and distrustful?"
"We do not discuss Annatar - save in purely historical terms - if that is what you wish to know. Our correspondence does not concern present matters - the High King is quite aware that much of what may be revealed in histories must be kept secret in this day."
"It is not precisely Annatar with whom I am concerned." He pretends great interest in his soup while he works out the question. "Is he less forthcoming than you have known him to be?"
"I think he is uneasy," Pengolodh says. "I think you are, too, if you will allow me such impertinence. This quarrel does neither of you good."
"It is less a quarrel than stubbornness."
Pengolodh looks at him shrewdly. "You have a penchant for grand gestures, Celebrimbor. I know not what devilry the Mírdain do, but I know you. You seek that one great work that will save you. You, of all elves, should know that no jewel should be valued above life and love."
Celebrimbor finishes his soup and reaches for the wine. "But what if a jewel can give us such things as it is good to desire?"
"Then I would say that such a jewel derives its power from the Ainur." Pengolodh sits back and gives him a kindly look. "Our talent lies in beauty - in our own radiance and in our ability to create beautiful things."
"Yet, the ability to heal Arda resides within us, too."
"Indeed, but what need have we, then, of a jewel with such powers? What you do goes beyond what is given to us - do not deny it!" Pengolodh waves his hand impatiently at Celebrimbor. "I think," he adds, "you will find that a simple sacrifice for love is all the penance needed to put your heart at rest."
He will save you, if you will let him.
So Elrond had once said. Yet, who will save the King? Gil-galad needs no relief from the Doom; he is still young. He has no desire to recreate Valinor - he has never known the Blessed Realm. His torments are entirely bound by Ennor, in its past and in its future. So very nearly is it within Celebrimbor's ability to lighten that burden, to ease the weight of Time and weariness under which the Noldor labour. If such things can be done, Celebrimbor does not understand why they should be forbidden to him.
He holds his horse to a sedate pace on his return to Bar-i-Mírdain. He sees now that the ten-syllable length of the lines is no coincidence; they are meant to form a verse. The first line, then, should refer to the first-born of the peoples of Arda. His feet have come to the precipice; nearly within his grasp is the skill to surpass all Elves who have come before him, save Fëanor.
"Gold has its own special property - an appeal beyond beauty or rarity. Men desire it greatly, as do Dwarves." Annatar waves his hand, and the molten gold forms twenty rings, already hardened and cool to the touch. "A symbol of our faith in one another," he calls them, giving one to each of the nineteen Mírdain, and the last to himself.
Celebrimbor lingers in the forge after the other smiths have gone. "Why rings? Why not jewels, or other ornaments?"
"Rings are not worn simply for adornment, as one might wear a necklace. They signify our deepest allegiances. In them, we represent the desires and gifts we most cherish."
To Men, the Nine would give the gift of time; to Dwarves, the Seven would give the gift of Mahal's secrets hidden beneath ground. "Yet, to draw such things as we most desire-."
"The secret is within Arda itself. One draws from Arda what is wanted and brings it to bear on what is needful."
Suddenly, he understands. In the starry firmament had Elves first seen beauty; in the stars rests their hope. One ring would recreate the bliss of Valinor. One would heal the hurts of Arda. One would lighten a load too heavy for bearing. All would slow the decay and fading of Time. So caught up is he in his thoughts, he hardly hears Annatar's next words.
"I will be away for some time. I regret it, for I think you are nearly ready to work on your own, and I leave you waiting on me with the last rings - those I intend to give to the Elves - yet to forge. It cannot be helped, however."
He makes an appropriate sound of dismay. Annatar, smug in the jewel-smiths' devotion to him, seems unaware of his pretence. Celebrimbor does not imagine that perhaps Annatar has reason to be smug.
"Neldë cormar i Eldaranin nu Elenarda!" (4)
He hisses with frustration. With the help of those he trusts most, and who have the greatest skill, he has finished the Three. Every part of the forging has been faithful, yet his words fail to bring the rings to life.
"Perhaps," Enerdhil suggests, "they are not spoken rightly."
He considers this. Could the power lie in that terrible language of Annatar? Might it be possible to complete the verse only as Annatar had spoken the other lines? He recoils at this: What tongue of Morgoth is that?
The days draw on, and no other solution presents itself. Heady with success so nearly at hand, his better sense fails him. Grasping the Three in his hand, he speaks.
"Shre nazg golugranu kilmi-nudu!" (5)
SA 1600
"I feared you would not have the strength."
"I feared the same for you."
Galadriel leads him up to the house and into the parlour. "I think you need this," she says, pouring a small measure from a silver flask.
He samples the drink - it is miruvor, not of the sort made by the Exiles, but the very mead of Valinor. It brings warmth to him, fleeting though it may be.
For a moment, all things of which he had ever dreamed had passed through his mind: knowledge Aulë had given to none but his most skilled Maiar; gems only the Silmarilli could surpass; cities of art and learning to rival Tirion. Yet, he had seen through the mirror into darkest night. He had looked into the glowing eyes of the wolf and had known it; he had recognised the teats on which he had fed; had met the beast that had grown inside him.
"I will not say that I was suspicious from the start, for that will bring you little comfort."
He grimaces. "You were suspicious of him, indeed, but you permitted him to remain here, and you needed little persuasion to take the ring. You have a way of remembering the past, Galadriel, as it suits you, but you and I know the truth." (6)
"You are welcome to see it as you please, but history will bear me out." In her brisk way, she changes the subject. "He will coming for them."
"Yes."
"We should destroy them."
"Yes." He looks at her boldly, challenging her to be the first.
Her eyes drop. "I can protect Nenya. The other two must go to Forlindon."
He must tell Gil-galad that he has betrayed him to an enemy who has sought him since he was a child. Sauron had known, even then. "There are others - meant for Men and Dwarves, and some lesser rings."
Galadriel sits for a moment in thought. "Keep them here. We might gain a measure of time for our cousin if Sauron believes that the Three might also be found in Eregion."
All at once, Celebrimbor recalls that another holds one of the rings. He finds his feet. "I have an errand to which I need attend before I leave for Forlond."
"You cannot delay this, Celebrimbor. He must be told at once."
"What will it signify, should I leave now or in a fortnight? What strength have the Elves, that we might stand against him?"
She gives no answer, and he does not wait for it.
Durin receives him with concern. "You are not well, Celebrimbor."
Celebrimbor lets out his breath in relief. "You do not wear the ring I gave to you." (7)
"Do not think your gift was unappreciated. Yet, we have riches in abundance here, and it would be foolish to seek what we do not yet need - any of our mining folk will tell you of the ills that wait where one has delved too far. Mahal was not the only one to leave surprises hidden in the deeps.
"But what so worries you," Durin continues, "that you arrive in haste, looking as if you have seen a shade?"
What can Celebrimbor tell him? Of the forging of the One, and the Elves' part in it, his King must be first to know. "Ill tidings have come to me," he says at length. "You will understand that I cannot speak without my lord's permission."
Durin frowns. "If this matter concerns the Dwarves-."
"My lord will not keep it from you. He values your friendship."
"Gil-galad is as unsentimental as a Dwarf," Durin snorts. "He will do what is best. Whether or not that is best for the Dwarves, we shall see."
He hides the six of Seven and the Nine in a dern within the frame of the great Dwarven bedstead. He is less careful with the nineteen rings of the Mírdain - the elves had removed them at once and come to him, their faces pale with shame and fear. The rings have proved less binding than Annatar - Sauron - expected them to be. Nestled in their boxes, Narya and Vilya - brilliant, beautiful and innocent - slip into a pouch around his neck.
At the gates of Ost-in-Edhil, four guards await him under the deep blue sky of near-dawn. Celeborn approaches. "You are still well ahead of his servants, but the road holds other perils. Your escort knows you must reach Lindon, even at cost of their lives."
The guards sit motionless upon their mounts, their eyes forward, their faces expressionless. They will follow their orders without question. Celebrimbor swallows. He knows that Celeborn has given such orders without feeling - he thinks only of what must be done. Gil-galad will act likewise; such is the mark of those chosen to lead. The House of Fëanor is forever dispossessed with reason.
"Elbereth an edraith le." (8)
Elbereth save you. In Celeborn's eyes, Celebrimbor reads not accusation but pity. He cringes in shame at this small understanding; he surely does not deserve it, least of all from a Sinda.
A coldness has been growing inside of him, rattling his very bones. He cannot guess what Gil-galad will do, but he can feel the hurt already, as if his own body contracts with it. He has not loved enough, but it would be better if he had never loved at all.
As the party passes through the gates, Celebrimbor secures his cloak more tightly; is it his imagination, or does the air already have a scent of snow? "Onward, now, and swiftly," he orders. The winter of the Noldor will come too soon.
(1) ...swift flame engraved Annatar's harsh words in the most ancient Tengwar of Fëanor.
There is no evidence, to my knowledge, that the other rings carried inscriptions. With regard to the writing that appears on the One Ring, Gandalf says, 'The letters are Elvish, of an ancient mode.' (ref LOTR, Book 1 Ch II p 49 pub Houghton Mifflin) Of course, to Frodo, TA 2000 would be 'ancient', so that gives us little clue as to the actual form of the writing. In Appendix E, however, Tolkien writes, The original Fëanorian system also possessed a grade with extended stems, both above and below the line. These usually represented aspirated consonants... . (ref Ibid, App E p 1094) Such aspirated consonants are not used in Quenya or Sindarin, and so the extended stems fell out of use. The Black Speech does have aspirated consonants, and hence, we find the extended stems in the Ring inscription.
(2) Ombi kuzddurbagu gundum-ishi
Nugu gurunkilu bard gurutu (Black Speech)
(ref Fellowship of the Ring film soundtrack, 'The Treason of Isengard', translated by David Salo) Most of these lyrics are better characterised as 'Neo-Black Speech', as Tolkien did not leave us with enough words for a proper translation of the Ring Rhyme (with the exception of the portion he translated himself). The discussion between Celebrimbor and Pengolodh owes an enormous debt to Ryszard Derdzinski's analysis of Tolkien's languages used in the films. It can be found at the Fellowship of the Word-smiths website.
In Appendix F, we are told that the Black Speech was made by Sauron during the Second Age, but it seems plausible that he might have used some words in common use at Angband. (ref LOTR, 'Appendix F' p 1105 pub Houghton Mifflin) The link between Valarin and the Black Speech is, I believe, only hypothesised, but we have strong evidence. Helge Fauskanger, in 'Orkish and the Black Speech', has observed the similarity between Valarin naškâd and the Black Speech nazg, 'ring'. (ref Ardalambion website) The connexion between Valarin and Khuzdûl is noted in 'Quendi and Eldar', where Tolkien suggests that Aulë would have used his native tongue in the making of the language of the Dwarves. (ref The War of the Jewels, 'Quendi and Eldar' p 402 pub Houghton Mifflin)
(3) And nugu must come from the Valarin for 'nine'.
This is my own nonsense - Salo probably derived it from the Eldarin root for 'nine', NÉTER-, and applied what is known of Khuzdûl, Valarin and Black Speech phonology to it.
(4) Neldë cormar i Eldaranin nu Elenarda! (Q)
'Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky' - from neldë, 'three'; cormar, 'rings'; i Eldaranin, 'the Elven-kings' (composed from Elda, 'Elven' and aranin, dative case of 'kings' after the fashion of Eldamar, 'Elven-home'); nu, 'under'; Elenarda, 'star-kingdom' (this is a deliberate mistranslation of 'sky').
(5) Shre nazg golugranu kilmi-nudu! (Black Speech)
(ref Fellowship of the Ring film soundtrack, 'The Treason of Isengard', translated by David Salo)
(6) You have a way of remembering the past, Galadriel, as it suits you...
The external explanation for Galadriel's many histories lies in Tolkien himself. As he grew more religious later in life, he was less tolerant of conceived imperfections in his beloved Elves. He rewrote Galadriel's story several times to exculpate her in the flight of the Noldor and the events in Eregion. For the internal explanation, I've imagined that Galadriel herself rewrote her history. As the years passed and few could recall the Elder Days, who was to argue with her? Not Celeborn, certainly (though I'd guess he put his foot down when he was turned into a Teler named Teleporno). I've taken bits from several different anecdotes - the notion that she was wearing Nenya when Sauron revealed himself is within canon (ref Unfinished Tales, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' p 263 pub Ballantine/Del Rey), as is her tolerance of Annatar during his years in Eregion (ref Ibid, p 248). It might be more faithful to the text to choose one story and stick with it, but all versions in some way contradict LOTR.
(7) You do not wear the ring I gave to you.
It was believed by the Dwarves of Durin's Folk to be the first of the Seven that was forged; and they say that it was given to the King of Khazad-dûm, Durin III, by the Elven-smiths themselves and not by Sauron. (ref LOTR, Appendix A p 1050 pub Houghton Mifflin)
(8) Elbereth an edraith le (S)
Elbereth save you, lit. 'Elbereth (be) for (the) saving (of) you', adapted from Gandalf's fire spell, 'Naur an edraith ammen!' (ref LOTR, Book 2 Ch III p 291 pub Houghton Mifflin)