A Different Kind Of Peace by Tyelca

Farewell in Middle-Earth - Part I

Celebrimbor has a final conversation with Annatar.

Celebrimbor was tired. After weeks of torture he didn’t feel the pain anymore and his parched throat stopped whining for water. His left eye was half-lidded and his right eye wouldn’t open anymore, but he was determined to remain awake. He refused to give the foul creatures who came in every day the satisfaction of dying on them; he was too proud to allow himself such an end. The treatment he endured was harsh, but not infinite; he had calculated that the Orcs only stayed for a little more than four hours a day, which left him with enough time to heal in order to survive the next day, and to think.

Perhaps not surprisingly, for the first time in centuries his mind went out the uncles he had lost long ago. Had uncle Nelyo experienced the same feelings of despair, pain and eventual numbness? Celebrimbor had not been near him as his father had kept him away until uncle Nelyo had sufficiently recovered, and he had never dared to ask. It was easy to forget the strength he must have possessed to survive in the hands of Morgoth himself for so long, and remain sane afterwards. Especially because of that last part Celebrimbor’s respect for his uncle grew immensely. Celebrimbor had so often condemned his entire family for the crimes they’d committed that he’d forgotten their strengths. He felt so weak now in comparison to his uncle, who had survived so much worse.

Celebrimbor was ashamed to admit he’d broken under the tortures inflicted and revealed the location of the sixteen Rings of Power, as well as the existence of three more. Annatar had personally come in to see him and found him sobbing in anger, still chained to the pole. The Maia had taken him into his armored arms and shushed him, and to his eternal embarrassment Celebrimbor had indeed calmed down under the soft administrations. After that, he had refused to speak any more, especially when Annatar gently probed about the three other Rings he’d made. After several more tries the Maia gave up and left, but not before saying, “There is hope for you yet, my friend. Perhaps one day my armies will march under your banner.” Celebrimbor had shivered at the promise in those words. The next day the Orcs returned with their whips. That had been two weeks ago; now, he just wanted to sleep. Had he not fought his wars? Had he not redeemed himself, atoned for his sins and mistakes? He was too exhausted to contemplate the answer.

Footsteps sounded loud in the silence of predawn. Celebrimbor gathered his energy and lifted his head as the flap of the tent was opened and a tall, lithe form slipped inside. It was Annatar. Of course, Celebrimbor thought. He was close to a breaking point, he knew it, and there was nothing like an old friend with a familiar face to tip one over. For once Annatar was not elaborately dressed, either in armor nor in flowing robes; the only other times Celebrimbor had seen him like this was when working in the forges or while traveling. Annatar had done neither, for ever since Celebrimbor had been captured they were camped at Tharbad, and the smell of coal and sweat was absent. As it was, the Maia wore simple black trousers and a sleeveless black tunic; two golden bands stretched around his bared upper arms and hooked into flesh to keep them in place while his one golden ring adorned his right hand. His hair was bound out of his face by a black leather tie and he wore a single golden chain that pierced through the outer length of his ear multiple times. Compared to Annatar’s usual assemblage of jewelry, he was very bare indeed.

Celebrimbor didn’t know whether the Maia presented this picture of innocence and vulnerability for a purpose or not; knowing Annatar, it could be either way. It did work, though; Annatar was keen on appearances, and it was a sign of trust that he showed up like this.

The Maia regarded him for a moment critically, then dropped unceremoniously to his knees before the pole so that he was on eye level with his prisoner. For all his focus on presentation, Annatar had always been surprisingly careless with his carefully assembled outfits.

“You are not going to last long, my friend,” Annatar spoke softly after checking Celebrimbor’s wounds. Celebrimbor had half a mind to remind him who exactly was responsible for his situation, but exhaustion won out. Annatar must have seen something on his face though, for he said, “You are a direct descendant of Fëanor, Telpërinquar; your Doom was decided long before our paths ever crossed.” It was true enough, but that didn’t mean Celebrimbor didn’t hold Annatar directly responsible for his current circumstances. Again it must have showed, for Annatar chuckled.

“Why have you come?” Celebrimbor managed to bring out, although the words were barely recognizable and his throat flamed up in protest. Annatar sobered and waited a few moments before answering, and Celebrimbor saw he was deciding on what to say.

“I have come to say goodbye,” Annatar finally answered and from his voice Celebrimbor understood this was not just another game. He swallowed to wet his throat, but the motion only irritated his sensitive flesh. “I shall ask you one more time,” Annatar suddenly continued, “and I shall grant you a swift and merciful death if you answer me honestly. Where are the three Rings you made without me?”

Celebrimbor kept silent and watched as Annatar’s eyes grew hard. The Maia waited, his gaze ordering Celebrimbor to reveal the location of the three Rings, but Celebrimbor did not falter. When it became clear Annatar’s trouble was for naught, the fire in the golden eyes died down before dulling completely and Annatar looked away. “You are a traitor and I have offered you mercy multiple times now,” he said in an unreadable voice. “But you refused time and time again. Now face the consequences of your choice and die a traitor’s death.”

Annatar did not look back as he rose and left the tent. The encounter left Celebrimbor filled with a nameless dread, but the feeling was muted, as if coming from far away. For many hours after he was left alone; even the Orcs tasked with his torture did not make an appearance. Celebrimbor was grateful for the respite, but was nonetheless unable to drop his guard and relax after the conversation with Annatar. Yet for many hours nothing happened; the filtered sunlight that fell into the tent cast his shadow on the ground and Celebrimbor watched and waited as it made half a circle around him. Then the light faded and Celebrimbor was alone in the dark.