A Different Kind Of Peace by Tyelca

Farewell in Middle-Earth - Part II

Celebrimbor is executed.

He hung limp in his chains at the time a small band of Orcs entered; almost twenty-four hours had passed since Annatar had left. The Orcs carried various tools and Celebrimbor expected they would release him and bring him wherever Annatar had ordered him brought; thoughts about escape crossed his mind, but Celebrimbor was too weak to act on them.

However, the Orcs did not even touch the chains he hung in; in open-mouthed amazement Celebrimbor watched as they took down the tent around him and unearthed the central wooden pole from deep in the ground. This they lifted on their shoulders and the chains pulled Celebrimbor forward; his legs scraped over the ground and the coarse earth entered his wounds. Celebrimbor didn’t even feel the pain anymore; it was as if his body was shutting down and he knew he was dying.

He wasn’t certain for how long he was being dragged away or where he was being taken, but his fuzzy mind estimated it was neither very long or far. Then the pole was put upright in the mud again and Celebrimbor sagged against it, closing his eyes against the sunrise. A shadow fell over him then, and Celebrimbor looked up to see an Orc, different from those who’d brought him here, tightening the chains that held him to the wooden pole and adding some new ones securing his arms and legs to the wood. After the creature was done Celebrimbor was unable to move a single limb, even if he’d had the strength to do so. The Orc grunted as he moved out of the way; Celebrimbor’s eyes had adjusted enough to look into the east.

He saw black silhouettes against the golden sun, standing casually in the muddy field. They all held a bow and had placed an arrow on the string and Celebrimbor understood. This was his execution.

Despite his threats otherwise, Annatar was merciful this way, for though it would hurt, his death would also be over quickly and that was much preferable to being whipped day after day. It was more honorable as well. Celebrimbor felt how the morning sun warmed his face and didn’t see the first arrow fly at him, penetrate his abdomen and pin him to the pole. He looked down and saw a black shaft protrude from his stomach and a thin stream of red blood vividly paint his filthy clothes. The arrow carried a single feather of gold and Celebrimbor knew Annatar had fired the shot. He didn’t have the time to think about it as another salvo was released. Piercing the air, they each met their mark and Celebrimbor felt their impact, though not the pain.

His vision flashed golden once before it faded to black.