The Last Maker by Ecthelion

Prologue

Ears ringing, he fell facedown to the ground, with a salty, iron taste in the mouth, feeling that everything was spinning around him. While the terrible noise of battle seemed to have disappeared altogether, the wounds he had no time to tend before broke out all at once; a sudden pain overwhelmed him like an enormous wave, instantly saturating all his senses.

Just then, a cold hand grabbed him firmly by the throat, and pulled him up.

'Surrender the Three Rings to me, Celebrimbor.'

He recognized the voice. Curiously, hearing this voice again he was neither angry nor afraid, but greatly relieved. Vision blurred by blood, he looked hard at the black iron helmet near at hand, wondering if it was the familiar face hidden behind the hideous mask. ...

He opened his eyes abruptly but then was motionless for a moment, waiting for his rapidly beating heart to settle down. Outside the tall arched window, the waning moon cast a pale light on the land of Eregion, and the rolling hills in the distance appeared purple blue against the sky before dawn.

But such exhibition of profound beauty was merely an illusion. With his Elven sight, he could easily discern smoke and dust on the horizon, above which a red sun would rise soon.

This is probably the last night I can enjoy at Ost-in-Edhil, he thought. Storm is coming.

Fully awake now, he left the bed and walked across the marble floor barefooted; a chill rose from the soles and sent shudders up the spine, cooling the last trace of his ominous dream.

Annatar was almost at the gate. Annatar...eyes darkened, he let the sound of it silently pass his lips once again, and could not but laugh at himself. The Lord of Gifts whom he had once taken as a close friend and even respected as a mentor...how ironic. As soon as he put the One Ring onto his finger and tore off the long-established disguise, the truth became crystal clear: the so-called Annatar was not an emissary from the Undying Lands but an irreconcilable enemy; the dedicated teaching in countless days and nights served not only as a way to worm into his confidence but also a key to another purpose, for the once greatest and most trusted servant of the Enemy had planned to exploit the potential of the Firstborn all along.

One Ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all
and in the darkness bind them. (1)

He stopped in front of his new armor and traced its shining and smooth plates with a finger, feeling an iciness spreading from the fingertip.

Lowering his guard with empathy, tempting him with visions of grandeur, and awarding him with necessary knowledge and skill: he was led step by step into the forging of the Rings of Power, and then, 'One Ring to rule them all'. With that, the new Dark Lord would have dominion over Middle-earth and thus complete his grand scheme.

Except that in the end, the master of lies made the mistake of underestimating him: Celebrimbor son of Curufin, the Head of Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the Lord of Eregion, the maker of the Three Rings, and in Middle-earth the last of the House of Fëanor.

Chapter End Notes

(1): quoted from The Lord of the Rings.