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Forlond SA 1600 - Part II
Elrond wipes the ink from his quill and looks long at Celebrimbor. "Well?" he asks after several moments of silence.
"It was you who summoned me."
"Gil-galad told me little, save that I was to question you further on the matter that so upset him yesterday," Elrond says.
And so again, he must tell the tale from beginning to end. Each word feels as if spoken against the wind, forced out with breath scarcely left in him. By the end, he leans forward in his chair, his hands on the desk to support his weight.
"What, exactly, can this Ring do?"
'Quiet!' he would say. 'Let us speak no more of this dread-horror, that we do not make it real.' Yet, it is real, and he has made it so.
"I do - I am not at all certain. It controls the other Rings of Power, and through it, those who wear them." He bites his lip, willing himself to remember again all that he had seen. "It may hold some of his own power, and amplify it, so that the tricks of fear and persuasion he already possessed are made greater."
Elrond pales. "This is a great weapon you have put into his hands."
"I had no part-" -in the forging of the One, he finishes silently. What had Annatar told him, when he had come to Eregion? Had he not said that Celebrimbor's work had inspired him? "That was not my intent."
"It hardly matters, does it? Even for love, you would not follow him but chose to pursue your own selfish glory." Elrond's eyes flash. "Have you any inkling of what you have done?"
He bows his head. "You cannot chastise me more than I do myself."
"That, I believe," Elrond says, rising to his feet. "I am expected in the training yard just now. We will talk more about these Rings later." Outside, in the passageway, Elrond turns to him. "Had you thought less of your own guilt and more of what Gil-galad asked of you, we would not now be in such straits."
Is it your lover or your craft of which you speak, Tyelperinquar? For one will fall to fire, the other shall live in death.
So had the Lady said to him, long before Annatar had come to Eregion, but he had misunderstood her. In a cold sweat, he leans weakly against the wall. His work will outlive him. What, then, does Varda's prophecy mean for Gil-galad?
"Keep them shuttered, if you please."
"Yes, híren," the chambermaid says, refastening the shutters. She finishes her work and leaves him once again in gloomy solitude.
He has no heart for the forge, and in the taverns, he sees the faces of those who will soon know him as their betrayer. He takes his exercise in the gardens when Tilion rides high in the sky and his meals in the privacy of his rooms. Condemned, he awaits his final sentence.
Elrond has recalled him to his study twice. The interviews are inevitably torturous; he knows well enough what the Three will do, but he must delve into his memory to describe the Nine and the Seven, for Annatar had deceived him. As for the One, he can only guess at its powers, given what he knows of the Maia.
"If, indeed, the Ring holds the very essence of Morgoth's lieutenant, it is certainly meant for evil purpose. Yet once, he was a Maia of Aulë. He would not destroy without reason. He would have been pleased enough to have the Elves under his control."
He returns from this session and takes to his bed in exhaustion, but even his dreams seek what he must remember and wishes had never been. Here, he looks again with wonder upon Annatar as the Nine and the Seven are transformed; here, this Maia, who has promised to unlock the secrets of Aulë, is again his much-revered teacher. With relief, he wakes to an insistent knock at the door. Rising from his bed, he calls for the knocker to cease and enter.
Arphenion's boy, a pert thing of no more than an ennin, bows and delivers his message.
The Captain of the Guard cordially requests the pleasure of
your company at supper in his chambers.
"You may tell him that I cordially decline," Celebrimbor says, but he already reconsiders. His own company has become odious to him, and he has business with Arphenion. "On second thought, tell the Captain that I accept."
"That will be all - for the moment," Arphenion says, when the footman had laid their dinner upon the table.
The boy smiles and takes his leave.
"Is it true that you snatched him from his nanny?"
"As I recall, you were leering at your cousin when he was well shy of Oroden's age." Arphenion takes up his knife. "I gather you have got yourself into some trouble in Eregion - Elrond has been annoyingly secretive about it."
"A pity you do not share that trait."
"It is a pity," Arphenion agrees.
"How is it that you remain at your post? Twice, now, you have plotted against the High King, and we both know he is no fool."
"Are you looking for advice in your present situation? Has Annatar got them all in revolt again - is that why you are here?"
Celebrimbor stabs at his meat. "You have wrought more damage than you know - in your lies they find reason to doubt the High King at a time when he most needs their confidence."
"Then call it fortunate that I only hinted at what I knew to be untrue. I might have told them of his fondness for drink or his nervous disposition," Arphenion smirks. "But come, you are like a dog guarding his master after he has let the fox into the chicken coop."
"Are you still so bitter that you had no part in the defeat of Morgoth? You wanted a war to fight."
"We were too content in the Elder Days. While we gadded about hunting and courting, Morgoth was planning our ruin. You have already made Annatar too comfortable in Eregion."
"Annatar has left Eregion and there shall be no comfort in his return."
Arphenion sits forward, a gleam in his eyes. "Well, this is news."
A game of shells they have been playing, each elf shuffling his secrets even as he tries to uncover those of the other. In truth, Celebrimbor could not have won; without a conscience, his adversary has nothing to hide.
With a cold, thin smile, he lays down his fork and stands. "You will have your war, and we can only hope for help from abroad. Valar save the High King - and all of us."
"You do so look like your father when you grin like that," Arphenion says, draining his glass. "But I trust in the Valar no more than he did. Ennor belongs to the High King, no matter how fervently he might pray to them for relief."
Three more days pass in self-imposed isolation. He has taken to using the servants' staircase, the better to avoid pretty courtiers and their cheerful pleasantries. By his own doing, these young lords will soon exchange their silk shoes and fine robes for boots and tunics of blue and silver. Even the back stairs prove treacherous, however, for it is here that he comes face to face with the elf he most wants to avoid.
Círdan breaks off conversation with Gil-galad's valet. Neither he nor Celebrimbor is disposed to speak words without need, and so a simple nod suffices for greeting.
"He has returned, then."
"He has."
The ancient eyes take the hard measure of his character, shearing him of all excuse. Naked and shamed, he looks away, unable to bear it. Círdan, not one to relish the pain of another, no matter how well deserved, quickly continues on his way, leaving Celebrimbor alone with the valet.
"He is his child," Elwandor says stiffly.
He thinks of Men and their gift of death with envy; no such escape can an Elf expect from guilt. Wearily, he asks if Elwandor has a message for him.
"The High King summons you to his study after breakfast."
At last, he shall have this done. Even Sauron with his din-horde is preferable to the genteel curiosity of the court. Let his crimes be known, and soon.
'Maedhros,' he thinks. Time and trouble leave their mark upon the First Born, just as they do upon Men, but less swiftly. When he had last met with Maedhros, so changed had he been that Celebrimbor hardly recognised him. Deep lines of age and weariness had told the tale of loss and regret, and despite his great crimes, Celebrimbor had pitied him.
So the past days have worked change upon Gil-galad: they have cost him his youth.
He stands at the window with a book in hand, seemingly oblivious to Celebrimbor's presence. O Ñgaurhoth reads the title, a depressing choice, all things considered. (1)
"I expected betrayal from Arphenion." Gil-galad snaps the book shut and turns toward him. "He only confirmed what I feared to be true - that Annatar would turn Eregion against me. He counselled me to bring force against Annatar. I could not countenance this, not should it pit my people against yours. I relied on you to see his designs, but even after his intentions were revealed, you allowed him to remain. Which is the greater treason, Tyelpë?"
He cannot breathe, much less speak. Gil-galad's soft voice cuts neatly through to the bone and his eyes know all that his heart would conceal. He is terrifying in such moments.
Gil-galad sits at his desk with a sigh. "Who knows?"
He swallows hard, and forces his lips to move. "The Mírdain, of course. Galadriel and Celeborn. Durin suspects."
"Why?"
"He holds one of the Seven. I had to be certain that he had not been wearing it."
"But he still keeps the ring?"
"I could not see a way to take it from him without explanation. He will not wear it."
"This bodes ill for us -we cannot fight the Dwarves and Sauron together."
"I know Durin," Celebrimbor says quietly. "And once everything is revealed, he will not make use of it."
"No one else?"
"No." Celebrimbor wonders where this is leading. Surely, Gil-galad does not think to keep this a secret.
"Númenor cannot know that we have put such a weapon in Sauron's hands," Gil-galad says flatly. "They will see his fury as a matter for Elves alone. In a few generations, with our people ruined and enslaved, Sauron will turn upon them, but Men do not think so far ahead - they concern themselves only with their own lifetimes."
"He has chosen to reveal himself - that much, you cannot hope to conceal."
"Nor do I intend to conceal it. The Rings, however, are another matter. Already, the White Ships bear many who remember the First Age." His voice trails off as he leaves his chair and returns to the window. "I shall be left with an army as inexperienced as I am."
"Not all will leave. I have told you often enough, they love you. They will see it as cowardice to abandon their king."
"And you?"
He studies Gil-galad's profile, but can read nothing by it. "I will return to Eregion. It is what you want, is it not?"
Gil-galad laughs without humour. "I do not recall that my wants were ever in your consideration. Why should they be so, now?
"It was not my intent to bring you pain."
"I gave you warning and you heeded it not. I gave you order and you defied me. How can I not see intent in all that you have done?"
"I am sorry."
"Sorry. Yes, I imagine that you are."
The question spills out before he can stop his tongue. "Do you regret it? All of it?"
Gil-galad closes his eyes. The air hangs still, suspending even the dust that falls in a ray of sunlight from the window. "Yes. Yes, I do."
Not since he tore Vilya from his flesh has he allowed himself any illusion. Sauron's rage had been almost indignant, as if the slave had cheated the master of ownership. Celebrimbor's life has value only in the Rings of Power - he will serve as a distraction. He is no great captain, no military genius to elude and frustrate Sauron; he has not hefted a sword since Alqualondë. He will die, and have ages to consider his unfortunate life in the Halls of Mandos. It is now left to him to give the one he loves most a chance at what he should have given him in the first place.
"You know that Elrond is in love with you."
"Am I to take jealousy as reason for this?"
"You misunderstand me," he says quickly. "I told you I would bind myself and my doom to no one."
"And yet we are bound just the same. You do see this?"
Celebrimbor leaves his seat and joins Gil-galad at the window. "To what purpose? Is it the will of Eru that you should be tormented so? Love is as air and water to you, Artanáro. You cannot endure without it."
"Stop!" All at once, Gil-galad's cool manner is gone. "You cannot change the laws of nature, Tyelpë! You have come to ruin doing that, and yet still, you will not stop!"
"So great is your anger! Yet much of what you wished of me was not mine to give - I cannot replace those you have lost. You will drown in your grief, Artanáro." He touches Gil-galad's shoulder tentatively. "My time is short-."
"Time may be short for all of us."
"Then open your heart to him. Let him be what I have not been to you."
"Perhaps it would ease your conscience, but it would not ease mine."
"You love him."
Gil-galad whips around to face him. "It is a passing fancy, nothing more. I have never betrayed you."
"No, you would not. But I do not think that a fancy may be called 'passing' after more than an ennin."
"Elves do not love more than once. Even were it not forbidden, it is impossible."
"And yet you do."
"It is impossible."
"What is said today must go no further than these walls." Gil-galad looks at each member of the King's Council in turn, lingering long on Arphenion. "If you feel you cannot keep this in confidence, you will find a ship going in West in Mithlond. I daresay some of you will wish to take that route ere we are through today."
He stands at the head of the table; drawn to his impressive height, his eyes piercing in their brightness, he is every bit as formidable as Fingolfin. The elf-lords glance at one another uneasily.
"We have discovered that the Shadow is already known to us. In times past, we named him Sauron." He pauses while hisses of dismay run the course of the table. "We know, too, that he assumed fair form as Annatar. That much, we will reveal to our friends - and to those who are less than friendly. The rest must remain secret.
"A Ring of Power has been forged," he continues.
As the story unfolds yet again, Celebrimbor stares at the table, unable to meet the eyes of the other elf-lords. Still, their eyes burn through him, some in anger, others in pity.
"The One Ring has only made Sauron more fearful," Gil-galad concludes. "We face not the Maia who defeated Finrod, but one of still greater dread."
A long silence falls.
"I will remind you," Arphenion says at length, "that I advised you to force Annatar from Eregion long ere this Ring was made."
"Yes - and the others may know that you attempted to stir a revolt against me, that we would have reason to go to war with him. Had we slain our kin in Eregion, I have no doubt that the ears of the Valar would now be closed against us."
"Perhaps he intended to use the Three to achieve just that, as Morgoth turned us against one another in the First Age," Gildor muses. "To turn Eregion against Forlindon would do the work of all the Orcs in Hithaeglir."
Celebrimbor lifts his head reluctantly. "You may be right," he says, recalling the temptation Sauron had shown him. "He did not expect that we would know him, or that we would reject his lies."
"Yet, it is certain that he now prepares for war against the Elves," Elemmakil says.
"I do not think Sauron marches upon us just yet. The power he wields is beyond even him. His original plan has failed, and he does not possess the other Rings," Círdan says. "He will be sure of his strength before he comes forth."
"He will turn toward Eregion when he does," Arphenion says, glancing at Celebrimbor.
"He dearly wants those Rings," Celebrimbor says grimly.
"He can set the whole city - and its lord - afire, and it would be no loss." Elemmakil says.
"Elemmakil," Luinel chides him. "Did you not hear Gildor's words?" She turns to Gil-galad. "What forces does he gather? Orcs, Men? What of Balrogs and werewolves?"
"We do not know, hirilen," Elrond says. "Orcs, certainly, and we know Sauron has already had dealings with Men. Of other evils, we have heard no rumour."
"Sauron would be hard-put to control a Balrog, if any escaped the War of Wrath," Círdan says. "They are also Maiar."
"But werewolves, he bred himself," Gil-galad says. (2)
"Could we not attack first, before he is ready?"
"I have given that much thought, Gildor. We are not prepared yet to do battle with him, and we do not know precisely where he is," Gil-galad says. "I have written to Minastir, in hopes that I might persuade him - and his father-sister Tar Telperien - that the peril is not ours alone. The Edain remember Sauron and have no love for him. Beyond, our prayers rest with the Valar." (3)
He wakes to find Gil-galad in a chair drawn near the bed. Throwing back the covers, he sits up and reaches out to cover Gil-galad's hand with his own. "You are cold."
"I would be less so had you thought to bank the fire."
"I am-." Sorry? The word has lost its meaning; it has not the depth of what he feels. He bites his lip and reaches tentatively to run his fingers through Gil-galad's hair, closing his eyes against tears as the silk caresses his fingers.
"I am terrified," Gil-galad says in a whisper. "My father was never the same, after Sauron took Tol Sirion. None have suffered as Ingoldo did at his hand. What strength have I, Moriquendu, against him?"
"He fears you, Artanáro. He has feared you since you were small. What fate he has seen for himself is our hope. He fears you still."
He cannot read, in the embers' dying glow, whether Gil-galad is better or worse for his words.
At first light, he gathers the few necessities he had carried from Eregion. When he emerges from the bath, he finds a packet of letters next to his satchel. He had hoped that Gil-galad would see him off. This is not the parting he would have wished.
At the palace gates, his mount and escort await him. He stalls, making adjustment to his pack and checking the horse's shoes. At last, Gil-galad emerges from the great doors.
"I intended to miss you."
"I know." Leave-takings are painful for Gil-galad, and this one more so. "I should not go, if you-."
"No." Gil-galad puts his finger against Celebrimbor's lips. "It is better if we do not speak of it. Love lingers, though I wish it were not so. It is a failing in the Quendi, love cannot grow cold."
He bows his head; the last judgement has been passed. "By your leave, Tauren."
Gil-galad steps back as he mounts his horse. "May your journey be safe and swift."
The party turns toward the Mithlond road. Celebrimbor risks a backward glance; Gil-galad is gone.
(1) O Ñgaurhoth (S)
Of Werewolves. o takes the stop mutation, and gaurhoth is one of the special words derived from Eldarin ñg. o does not precisely follow the pattern of e, which also induces the stop mutation - where e would add a consonant, o is unchanged. en before gaurhoth is a special case, however - the -n actually represents ñg. Since our orthography is only an approximation of a language meant to be written in Tengwar, I decided to do away with any quibbles over o vs on and spell gaurhoth with the nasalised stop. (Helge Fauskanger, Ardalambion website, 'Sindarin: the Noble Tongue')
(2) 'But werewolves, he bred himself.'
This is unclear. Sauron is called 'lord of werewolves' in The Silmarillion, and is master of Draugluin, sire of all werewolves. ('Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin' p 182; 'Of Beren and Lúthien' p 206 pub Ballantine/Del Rey) However, Tolkien never explicitly tells us whether Sauron or Morgoth first bred them.
(3) 'his father-sister Tar Telperien'
The Númenórean succession is a bit complicated here. Telperien was the eldest child of the previous king of Númenor, Tar Súrion. According to the law of succession as stated in 'Aldarion and Erendis', a daughter would only inherit if there were no sons. (Unfinished Tales, p 218 pub Ballantine/Del Rey) However, Súrion did have a son, Isilmo, who was in turn the father of Minastir. For an explanation, we must turn to LOTR, in which the law simply states that the oldest child, whether son or daughter, would inherit. ('Appendix A' p 1025 pub Houghton Mifflin) Finally, the year in which Tar Telperien passed the sceptre to Minastir is debatable. In the 'Tale of Years-Second Age', the entry for 1700 states that Tar Minastir sent a fleet to Gil-galad's aid. (Ibid, 'Appendix B' p 1058) I've interpreted this to refer to his future title, as in 'The Line of Elros', he does not become king until 1731. (Unfinished Tales, p 230)