Slight Air and Purging Fire by mainecoon

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Chapter 6

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They made good progress over the course of the next weeks. The open territory, while not ideal for concealment, allowed them to ride for the most part. Bumblebee did not object to Maglor's additional weight, so they often rode double, the horse's longer stride speeding them over the flat ground. Most of the time clouds shrouded the sky in a dull white blanket, and now and then a sharp wind carried a bout of rain, but they had traveled together under worse conditions - a long time ago, in a different age.

Several days before, according to Dís' map, they were to reach the River Mitheithel, a band of orcs ambushed them at the border of a small forest. They gave the elves little trouble, but Bumblebee stumbled and strained her knee, and a dagger pierced Maglor's shoulder from behind. It bounced off his shoulder blade, resulting in a wound that was inconvenient but not dangerous. Maglor bore it with little more than a wince.

"If dying was that easy, I would have managed long ago," was his only comment when Celebrimbor checked the weapon for traces of poison. Seeing that he possessed the accelerated healing abilities inherent in only those who had seen the light of the Trees, Celebrimbor was inclined to agree with him.

Even without being poisoned, elf and horse needed a few days to recover. Celebrimbor produced a large amount of inferior carving work, checked the patients' bandages until he could have sworn even Bumblebee rolled her eyes, and calculated the expected time of arrival in Imladris in twenty-six different ways, allowing for various hypothetical obstacles.

If you could carry them all the way, I'm sure you would, Narvi chided him one afternoon while Celebrimbor sucked on his bleeding thumb. He bit back a curse. So his knife had slipped, what of it? It happened now and then if you weren't a dwarf who could carve with a blindfold. Maglor, stretched out on his side to take weight off his shoulder, gave him an appraising look.

"By all means we can proceed tomorrow," he said. "I'm ready to travel as soon as our four-legged friend is sound."

"She's not what I'm worried about," Celebrimbor groused, dabbing his wound with a piece of cloth. Both the cut and Maglor's comment stung. If he was perfectly honest with himself, and he knew he could count on Narvi to ensure that he was, he was not overly worried about Maglor either. His companion merely needed rest and basic medical aid. Narvi was right; if they could fly to Imladris on the wings of the Eagles, it would not be fast enough. The land was sweet and gentle, but to Celebrimbor it felt like an ill-constructed tunnel: oppressive and dangerous, and he could already see the pillars bending inwards. They were not safe here.

"I have told you that I am well enough." Maglor picked a few blades of grass out of his hair. "Where are we going, anyway?"

Just like in the Ered Luin, Celebrimbor thought, he doesn't really care. He probably hasn't cared where the road took him for thousands of years.

"To see a friend of mine," he said aloud. "He lives in a small settlement near the Misty Mountains. He'll be able to help us."

Maglor's fingers, still tangled in the thick mass of his hair, went very still.

After a long pause, he asked calmly: "A settlement of the Eldar?"

"Noldorin, mostly. Probably a few Sindar by now."

"I won't go there."

"Nonsense." Celebrimbor smiled, inwardly bracing himself for battle. "No one will recognize you."

"Nevertheless."

"It's been six thousand years since you last walked among your kin," Celebrimbor said gently. "They have forgotten your face. Most have likely forgotten your name."

Except for the one who would never forget. They had not spoken much of the sons of Fëanor, he and Elrond, but for once in disagreement, when in fact it was the same grief they shared. We shall remember their deeds, Elrond had said, but let us also remember their love, so that something good will prevail. Celebrimbor had tried not to think of his father's smile, nor the expression of incredulous hurt on Curufin's face when Celebrimbor had refused to follow him.

Only in death had they met again.

"Keep to yourself, if you like," he said now, using whatever means of persuasion came to his mind, "but come with me, uncle. We shall not stay long if you don't wish to, but this is a place I must visit. You have chosen to follow me this far; would you abandon me now?"

Maglor frowned and looked up sharply. For a long moment he studied Celebrimbor's face, as if searching for a thing he had long lost, and the anger in his eyes faded to something much softer and sadder. He looked almost disappointed. "I won't go," he repeated, and rose to walk away.

Let him go, said Narvi. If he leaves his harp behind, he'll come back.

For over an hour they saw nothing of Maglor. Celebrimbor did not mind at first. For a while he and Narvi spoke about their journey, from which they moved on to map-making, geography, and the advantages of using small-scale models in architecture. But the evening drew close, and his worries would no longer be suppressed.

He had almost made up his mind to search for his uncle when the bushes behind him rustled, and Maglor appeared at his side again. He looked drawn and tense.

"Something's coming," he said without further ado. "The land is unsettled, I can feel it. Take arms."

"Could you be a little more concise?" Celebrimbor rose to his feet and reached for his weapons. "Have you seen something?"

"I saw-". Maglor stared into the woods, frowning. "This was once Elven country, was it not? I found stones set to to mark the road that were crafted by the Eldar in ages past. Perhaps that's why the land is still sensitive to evil presence."

Celebrimbor's hands stilled for a moment. "No," he said then, slowly. "My lands were further in the South. But the path that connected Eregion to the Great East Road- that's probably what you found. I walked there too, in my time."

"Your lands?" Maglor touched his hand briefly. "I am sorry."

"It was long ago," Celebrimbor said. Still the memories came unbidden: of many-pillared halls flooded with light, marble fountains and statues amidst holly trees, - and barbed whips flaying the skin from his back. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the bile, trying to get a hold on himself.

No time to grieve now, Narvi reminded him. He spoke of evil?

"Orcs," he asked then, "or worse?"

"Worse," said Maglor grimly, "and it is too late to flee. They will be here soon."

So Celebrimbor stretched his limbs and readied his swords. Maglor pulled his bandages a little tighter. Narvi's presence between them became sharp and focused.

They did not have to wait long. No branch moved in the cold breeze that heralded their foes. All around them the shadows of dusk grew denser. Bumblebee stomped and snorted, but did not try to escape. Celebrimbor almost wished she would.

The wraiths approached on foot, their foul blades held before them in a mocking salute. From all sides they came; they must have surrounded the clearing before they moved in on their prey. Beneath the hoods, Celebrimbor could see their true forms, for they were not faceless at all: raw flesh and bone and empty eyes, the shattered husks of the people they once were.

Maglor stepped lithely to stand back to back with Celebrimbor, swift and graceful as a mountain cat. His presence gave Celebrimbor strength, and so did the faint light that shimmered around them. Narvi did not speak, but he could feel her determination. He clutched his blades. Eight there were, and they carried...

They carried something he recognized, something that resonated deep in his mind.

Celebrimbor's breath caught in his throat. He did not remember how to move, how to think, had forgotten where he was and why he was there. All else ceased to matter but -

- voices calling out to him, singing to him as bright and sweet as blood -

"I know what you are," he whispered. The memory of Annatar's laughter, the bite of the barbed lash, returned so strong he could almost feel blood trickling down his back. Colour drained from his surroundings and his field of view narrowed as the unnatural creatures circled closer. There were no allies, no kin, nothing but these fragments of a nightmare and the alluring power they held... With a cry he raised his blades and charged at the nearest wraith.

They came at him with their swords raised high, but he pushed them back, burning with a wrath he had never felt before. There was a screaming in his ears, his skin hurt as they shrouded him in dark magic, but they could be beaten, could be destroyed, and he would see it done -

Behind him a cry of distress cut through the noise of battle. He blocked a blade and whirled around to see Maglor stumble to his knees. For a second Celebrimbor's fury gave way to blank horror. He watched, helplessly, as one of the wraiths raised its blade to kill - he was too far away to reach it, he had foolishly left his position - but before the blow fell, a blinding flash of light made the creature shrink back. Maglor caught himself smoothly and surged back to his feet, snarling. He seemed to be surrounded by a bright glow, which was strange, because now Celebrimbor heard Narvi's voice shout into his ear and turned around to parry a blow. She still tried to shield him, though he had attacked so ferociously that he had almost left her behind.

Go back to him! she bellowed. Help him, I can't reach you both...

But they were separated now, and while it was apparent that the wraiths were trying to take Celebrimbor alive, for Maglor they had no such care. Any wrong move could be his last.

Or not. The realization swept through Celebrimbor like scalding lead, liquid and glowing and dangerously beautiful.

"I know who you are," he cried. "You are the Nine, the servants of the Dark Lord. You are bound by the power of his rings. But that power," he added triumphantly, "is also mine!"

And he called to the rings that combined his own magic and Sauron's, intertwined to create something beautiful and terrible, and they answered to him. The wraiths screeched and recoiled, confused - he ripped the power of the rings away from their undead forms, it surged through him like a vortex that devoured all else - those rings were his , and he would not surrender -

But the strength of another opposed Celebrimbor's, and his hold slipped. The shadowy creatures withdrew, weakened, barely corporeal. He stumbled back, refusing to let go - they attempted to flee, but he could not let them -

Stop it, roared Narvi, you're killing yourself, and then Maglor was by his side, shaking him violently and shouting into his face. Celebrimbor broke to his knees while their foes vanished in the woods.

"I will find you!", he screamed after them. "I will destroy you! By Eru, I will-"

"No!" Suddenly Maglor's face was very close and terrible to behold. His eyes were cold with ancient fury, and there was a light, another presence around him -

"You will not swear," his uncle hissed. "You will not. I will hurt you before I allow it."

You will not swear, a voice echoed in his head. It was not Narvi's, but still it felt familiar.

For long, agonizing seconds Celebrimbor felt the presence of the rings drain from his mind. All strength he had left faded with it. His sight blurred, and he swayed, trying to hold himself upright. Something tickled on his upper lip, and his fingers came away bright red; he stared at the blood, trying to make sense of it. Strong arms caught him and eased him gently to the ground. He heard Narvi swear in Khuzdul, and Maglor seemed to answer her, though Celebrimbor could not understand the words. Then he knew nothing else.

The stars in their eternal dance were the first thing he saw when he came back to himself. Their light was as faint and pure as it had been on many a clear night in Eregion, when he and Narvi had studied the reflective properties of ithildin depending on its density, only he had mainly studied the way her muscles flexed when she lifted a hammer. He wondered idly if she had noticed. Then he found that he was stretched out on his bedroll, wrapped in a warm cloak, his head cushioned by a bundle of cloth. Maglor was sitting at his side, turning towards him as he stirred and groaned.

"How are you feeling?"

"Headache," Celebrimbor managed, then paused to fight off a wave of nausea. A slender hand brushed a strand of hair out of his face.

"I've been talking to your wife," Maglor informed him. "We both concur that…"

"What?"

"She is a sensible woman, if a little strong-worded at times."

Don't tempt me, elf, said Narvi. He means to say that we agree on certain issues, one of them being that we worry about you.

Celebrimbor struggled to his elbow. "You can hear her? Since when?"

Maglor shrugged. "A while ago. It's been getting clearer all the time. She's not exactly subtle."

I'm a dwarf. Narvi sounded mildly annoyed. Ghivasha, what he's trying to tell you is that he'll come to Imladris with us.

"I said I would consider it. But you should go, at any rate. You need more help than I am able to give you."

Celebrimbor sat up and rubbed his throbbing temples. He did not recognize their surroundings, or as much as he could see of them in the pale moonlight. Maglor must have moved their camp. Bumblebee was dozing beside them, apparently unharmed. Narvi's translucent shape was seated on a log, her thick fingers fiddling with the braid that fell over her shoulder. She did not smile as Celebrimbor met her eyes. He wished he could take her hand and hold it in his own.

He still remembered the texture of her calloused fingertips on his skin. Then he remembered how she had been taken from him, and why.

"I want to go after them," he said viciously. "To turn the hunters into the hunted! But I am not yet strong enough. Perhaps -, perhaps the Lord of Imladris knows where they have their lair…"

Probably in Mordor, Narvi interrupted him sharply. Be glad that we are rid of them for now! We have a dwarf king to find, and besides - She looked pointedly at Maglor. Do you think, Master Elf, that others can hear me too? It would be just my luck, to be able to talk to a bunch of elves but be denied the company of my own people.

"I cannot tell," said Maglor, "But it may be that he who listens always is more likely to hear."

Now what is that supposed to mean?

Maglor smiled, but his eyes did not. He shook his head and would not reply. Celebrimbor leaned back and tried to banish the fury that still simmered underneath his thoughts. "Maker, you belong with us", he recalled grimly. Be careful what you wish for, Annatar.

They used the ancient stone bridge on the East Road to cross the Mitheithel, for it was marked as the only viable crossing point; but after that, they avoided the main path as well as they could. No further incident delayed the travelers as they pushed through the wild forest that covered the foothills of the Misty Mountains, and the trees offered cool shade from the first hot days of late spring. From the Ford of Bruinen they followed a narrow elven road, which after a few more miles led them into a sunlit valley that seemed to be the home of summer.

Glittering water cascaded from rocks that rose into steep heights beside the road. The air tasted fresh and sweet. On the gentler slopes grew wild thickets of bushes and trees, and an elven settlement was perched on the cliff face. Celebrimbor's heart ached when he saw it.

The buildings imitated the style of Eregion.

These dwellings were much smaller than Ost-in-Edhil, though no less fair. Círdan had told Celebrimbor that Imladris was a place of healing, where worries dissolved in the dust between the pages of ancient books, in the tune of a merry song, in the stillness of quiet contemplation. Celebrimbor knew why it was so. Here, at least, his work had not been turned to evil. He had crafted Vilya to heal and preserve, and by the hands of Elrond it was used in wisdom and kindness. No better guardian could he have chosen for the ring that should have been his own. He wondered how many of his people had lived to find peace in these halls, something he had tried so hard and yet failed to give them.

Some of them he might meet again. He had never learned what had become of Erestor, his chief advisor in Eregion and one of his closest friends. They had parted in anger, or rather Erestor had been furious with him, because Celebrimbor had ordered him to lead the civilians out of Ost-in-Edhil instead of fighting by his side. Knowing him, he had probably joined Elrond's ranks as soon as he could. At the thought of Elrond Celebrimbor rejoiced, even though they had not spoken since the forging of the rings. They had a lot to talk about, and much of it was not pleasant. He had yet to thank his friend, too, for coming to Eregion's aid, under the King's command but undoubtedly per his own wishes.

It was also very likely that he had seen Celebrimbor's mutilated corpse hanging from a pole.

Bumblebee's soft muzzle nudged his ear. Celebrimbor swallowed and gripped the reins tighter. Only when he led his mare on towards a narrow bridge, he realized that Maglor remained rooted on the spot.

"I don't belong here," his uncle said reluctantly.

"They will not know who you are," Celebrimbor coaxed, confident that in this case the end justified the means. "If you would just..."

Did running away always work well for you? Narvi scoffed. Seeing as you've been at it for thousands of years.

Maglor froze in his tracks. For a moment, a strange expression flitted over his face - distant, haughty, coldly dangerous. Celebrimbor had seen it before, and it made him shiver. "We don't know each other that well, Master Dwarrow," his uncle said darkly, but then he stalked off toward the settlement. Celebrimbor released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"You shouldn't have said that," he murmured.

You're welcome, said Narvi, sounding very pleased with herself.

A small group of elves in formal attire was already gathered to greet the travellers before the two large statues that marked the entrance of Imladris. Celebrimbor recognized a few faces - there was young Lindir of Gil-Galad's staff, and Idriél the harpist, both staring at him like some sort of apparition - but most he did not. They were polite, professional, mildly curious. Then Maglor beside him gasped, and his long fingers clenched painfully into Celebrimbor's shoulder.

Descending the steps in his familiar agile stride, tall and handsome, was Elrond Peredhel.

He looked magnificent in his auburn robes of finest silk trimmed with silver. A splendid lord he was now, Celebrimbor thought, more dignified than he himself had ever been, and on his finger -

He averted his gaze. The sight of Vilya had come too suddenly, too sharply to bear; he was not prepared.

Elrond looked over to them, no doubt intending to offer some well-chosen words of greeting - how his people had informed him of their arrival, surely the journey had been tiring, and he would be delighted to call them his guests. Celebrimbor could see all those words in his smile before it dropped, and Elrond froze.

Celebrimbor offered him a apologetic grin.

For a moment no one spoke. The Lord of Imladris stared at them, too shocked to adhere to the rules of courtesy while his gaze drifted helplessly from one to the other. Celebrimbor felt Maglor tremble beside him. His uncle began to back away, nervous like a trapped animal.

Celebrimbor grabbed his arm and drew him closer.

"No," he said quietly. The word echoed in the silent courtyard. "Stay."

The words seemed to break Elrond out of his stupor, and his features softened in sudden understanding. He approached them slowly, cautiously, his eyes fixed on Maglor's face. Only for a second did they flicker to Celebrimbor, shining with joy and gratitude. Maglor shuddered beneath Celebrimbor's touch. He did not fight against the hold, but his face was as pale as if he were standing before the Valar, awaiting their judgment at last.

Unshed tears shimmered in Elrond's eyes, yet his hand was steady when he brushed a strand of tangled hair behind Maglor's ear.

"Finally," he whispered. "I have waited so long."

And he ran a gentle hand across Maglor's jaw, cupping it in his palm as he might do with a frightened child.

"I'm just as tall as you now, you see," he said softly. "You can no longer carry me on your hip."

Very cautiously Maglor lifted his own hand and placed it over his foster son's.

"Elrond," he breathed, and it sounded like a plea. "Your name is Elrond."

Elrond's gaze flickered to Celebrimbor again, alarmed, but he caught himself quickly. "So it is," he affirmed, "and you are the guardian of my youth, whom I have dearly missed. Will you stay with me now?"

"But," Maglor's hand clenched around Elrond's, "Where's your brother? Where's Elros? I'm sure you were together when I last saw you..."

"Oh, my poor friend," Elrond said, and his voice shook ever so slightly. "The child you raised has long become a man, and aged of his own free will. Elros chose the path of Men. He has been dead for many years."

"Dead?" Maglor looked around forlornly. "But you weren't supposed to... I thought..."

I thought I was keeping you safe, he had told Celebrimbor.

Elrond hesitated for only a moment before he drew the soul-worn elf into his arms. Maglor collapsed against him and buried his face in Elrond's shoulder, his thin body shaking with sobs. Elrond held him close, rubbed his neck and kissed his hair and spoke softly into his ear. When he noticed the curious stares of his attendants, his glower would have befit a dwarf lord.

"I will thank you for preparing the guest rooms adjacent to my quarters, and food for three - no, make it four," he barked. "The very best of what the kitchens can provide! And someone see to that horse, clean and remove her baggage, I'm sure there's work enough to keep everyone occupied. Celebrimbor -" here he softened a little, "Lindir will show you to the bath, and don't you think for a moment that I'm finished with you."