Slight Air and Purging Fire by mainecoon

---

Chapter 10

---

You aren't listening to a word I say.

Celebrimbor dropped his quill and looked up into Narvi's face. She had settled, weightless, on the edge of his desk. He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. "I’m sorry," he said. "I am a little preoccupied with this map. You were speaking of the dwarven feast…"

I was talking about linguistics, she informed him. I also quoted the larger part of Bofur's song. You've been staring out of the window for the past ten minutes.

Celebrimbor brushed a strand of hair behind his ear and leaned his chin into his hands. "Tell me, then. I'll listen now."

She said nothing for a long moment. Instead she watched him with a frown, which meant that they would not be discussing linguistics any time soon. He ached to place a hand on her leather-clad thigh as a reassurance to them both.

You worry me, she said at last. Elrond and Maglor too.

"I’m recovering well! Far better than I did in the Halls of Mandos."

I see that. Her eyes flitted over his arms and shoulders with clear appreciation. In body.

"I have not had so many nightmares of late! And less… that is to say, what happened did not return… quite as often as it did in the bath."

She nodded, undeterred. Aye. But the thing that happened the night before? That was no nightmare. I touched your mind.

He ran a hand over his face. "I’m not sure myself."

It had something to do with the rings.

Narvi was no fool. Trying to keep things from her would not work, and yet he felt loath to speak to her of this. It felt intimate, seductive, and terrifying, and she would hate it. She would ask him to let go of it.

He was not sure he could, or even wanted to. Imladris was a haven of peace and quiet, protected by powers he himself had evoked; yet something tugged at the edges of his mind, spoke to him in his dreams in whispering voices that echoed in ripples through the depths of his soul and made him restless.

"Something, yes," he conceded, because she would not forego an answer. Her intent, once set, was as implacable as the jaws of a ratcheting clamp locked closed. "That seems to be my fate, does it not? It is tied to these cursed things, which is why I need to get rid of them - that's one reason," he added quickly. "Thorin has said nothing more?"

Since I cannot ask him, no, she said patiently. What are we going to do?

"Dunland is here," Celebrimbor jabbed the end of the quill into the map, "and here is Azanulbizar. Mordor is not on this map, but it would be over here -," he gestured towards his water goblet on the right side. "I asked Elrond about the wraiths. He knows of them in rather more detail than he would like. They are Sauron's most dangerous servants, and one of them once led an army against Imladris. It was besieged, but did not fall. He thinks their stronghold is likely Dol Guldur, over here in southern Mirkwood, but it will be well protected." Celebrimbor chewed on his bottom lip. "They were only eight when we met them," he added. "There should be nine. I believe that the leader was missing - the witch king of Angmar."

Sounds charming.

"Doesn't it?" He grimaced. "So, the options we have are to search for Thráin, perhaps Thorin can tell us more about him, or…"

The touch to his thoughts was gentle, but he dropped his quill.

He knew this mind. Bright and sharp as a mithril blade, deep as the mines of Khazad-Dûm, light as a blackbird's song in the first hours of dawn: liege, mentor, rival, friend. He had called to her in his last moments, and she had cradled his soul in comfort and grief.

Now the fleeting brush of her thoughts burst into a song of joy.

Celebrimbor rolled up his map. "Galadriel is here," he said, shoving it into his bag. "I had no idea she was coming! Let's go and find her."

Galadriel? Narvi's voice brightened. You were somewhat at odds when we last met.

"I was a fool," he admitted. "We were both fools, but in hindsight I was considerably worse!"

He strode out of the library and rounded two corners, and there she stood in the entrance hall: frozen amid a group of people, her eyes wide and sparkling. Tyelperinquar, sang her thoughts, and he threw himself into her arms. "I'm sorry," he choked into her shoulder, and she held him tight, engulfing him in a wordless rush of jubilation. "You're back," she whispered at last. "You live! And you have brought…" She turned towards Narvi and smiled, radiant. I did not think I would see you again, namadith.

Narvi bowed low, grinning. Ever at your service, my lady, she said. You come in an hour of need!

You must tell me all, Galadriel urged, and she took Celebrimbor's face into her hands and kissed his forehead. The touch of Nenya hummed against his cheek. "You have always been with me in spirit," she said gently. The ring speaks with your voice, sometimes.

Narvi crossed her arms and growled softly in the back of her throat. Celebrimbor bowed his head.

"It is a small comfort that my legacy was not all evil," he said. "It brought more than enough ill to Middle Earth! That is why I am here."

Tell him it was not his fault, said Narvi. He refuses to believe me.

Celebrimbor winced. Galadriel's eyebrows rose, and a sombre expression crossed her face. "We must talk, Tyelpë," she said. "Elrond requested I make haste, but I expected worse tidings! Still, I feel that it is not only good news you carry."

"And I am not the only one who brings news," he said, looking over Galadriel's shoulder at her entourage. The fifteen elves were all unfamiliar to Celebrimbor. They stood clad in the garb of Lórien chatting with several elves from Elrond's staff, all apparently waiting for the Lady's signal to disperse. Galadriel turned and watched them by his side but made no further conversation until Elrond arrived a few minutes later. He greeted his mother-in-law cordially, invited everyone to refresh themselves, and ushered Celebrimbor and Galadriel to his private quarters.

"You could have told me about them!" Galadriel said, sounding uncharacteristically reproachful. It was rare for her to admit that she was surprised, and perhaps a sign of how deeply Celebrimbor's return had affected her. "I am aware that there are issues that make a meeting of the White Council necessary. Mithrandir is here. But to see my dear friends returned is a matter of the utmost joy."

The wizard, again. Celebrimbor clenched his fingers around the goblet Elrond had pressed into his hand.

"Your friends?" Elrond raised both eyebrows. "I am pleased to hear you deem it so. I have not seen - him - all morning; in fact, I wonder if..."

"I was in the library," Celebrimbor interrupted him quickly. "Your collection of maps is outstanding, so I rather forgot the time."

Elrond gave him a sharp glance.

"Fine," said Galadriel, settling on the most comfortable corner of the sofa. "I believe we have matters to discuss. Be so good as to start at the beginning."

"It is of no use to talk of guilt," Galadriel told him later when the two of them shared a bottle of Elrond's finest wine on the balcony of her quarters. Narvi squatted, cross-legged, on a stone bench beside them and fiddled with the buckles on her boots. It was an uncommonly warm night, even for midsummer, and in the olive bush behind him a cricket chirped loudly over the ever-present rush of the falls. Back in Eregion, this would have been an evening of idle talk and pleasant company. Now the shadows of the past crept into every thought. "I remembered you in grief, not in anger," Galadriel continued, sounding uncommonly gentle. She reached out and clasped Celebrimbor's hand. It was not a thing she would have done in his first life. "You remained strong for us. Lothlórien and Imladris would have dwindled long ago without your enchantments to protect us."

"Without me he would never have risen to such power," Celebrimbor objected unhappily. He twisted out of her grasp, but surely she could see how much he was trembling "I was a fool. I should have listened to you! If I had not let him blind me with all the things he offered..."

"He would have found another way."

"I doubt it."

"Besides, there was a reason why he approached you." She leant her chin into her hands and studied him thoughtfully. Even after all these ages, the starlight still caught her hair and glittered in sparkles of gold and silver. It reminded Celebrimbor of the Mingling of Treelight before the doom had come upon them. "You were vulnerable. For no one else his offers were as valuable as they were for you. He knew you would jump at the chance..."

"Gil-Galad turned him down."

"Gil-Galad did not feel he had to make up for a family of kinslayers. He had no interest in crafting, and was never close to mortals."

"Narvi never trusted him."

"Of course." Her luminous eyes turned towards Narvi, and Celebrimbor drew a sharp breath, because he could tell from the look on her face what she was going to say and he could not stop her. "That's why she had to die."

Narvi's hands stilled. Her eyes were huge when she raised her gaze to meet Galadriel's, then turned to Celebrimbor. He forced himself to look at her. "I knew," he admitted softly.

For a few heartbeats there was only silence.

How long have you known this? Narvi demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

"He told me when I was... when I..." He broke off. Slow breaths, grounded in the present - to drown out the memory of the whip on his naked skin, the hand on his jaw forcing him to look into a smiling face, too close to his own, golden eyes turned red -

A wave of light flooded his fëa, the clear brightness of Galadriel's spirit blazing against the darkness. He reached out to Narvi, but his hand passed through her knee and dropped onto the bench.

"He gloated," Celebrimbor managed. "I never suspected him. It looked like an accident... there was no reason to think..."

There were thirty-three Khazad in that cave, Narvi said in the same ominous tone. Among them my best friend - and my apprentices, they were barely of age -

"Do you think he cared?" His voice sounded shrill to Celebrimbor's own ears. "What matter to him if a few dwarves got slaughtered, he didn't like them anyway, mistrustful bunch, hard to manipulate - unlike me..."

Galadriel reached for his hand again and pressed it hard.

"It was a brilliant scheme, he was proud of it! He told me every detail - revelled in how I had danced to his tune all along, how he murdered my wife right under my nose and then caught me in his web like a fly, naive and brainless..."

"Sssssh, little one." Galadriel's thumb caressed the back of his hand. "It’s over now. The one you dealt with was far beyond your power. A master of cunning."

Celebrimbor wiped his eyes with his free hand.

"How can you say that, after I cast you out?"

"Though you bade me go, it was I who chose to leave." She gave him a wry half-smile. Her presence was warm and bright, not coldly furious as it had been on that damned afternoon when she had turned on her heel and left him alone in his marble hall. "I should have stayed. I thought we would have more time! We had plans, Celeborn and I, to find out what he was and convince you to break with him. But the spies we sent to the borders of Mordor and Dol Guldur did not return... We never meant to sacrifice you, or them. And certainly not Eregion."

"You did not sacrifice me."

"It felt so when you gave me Nenya. When I watched you leave Lothlórien to return to your people, and we both knew what awaited you."

"Nothing I did not deserve."

Say that one more time and I'm off to find someone with a brain, snapped Narvi. Useless elven self-deprecation. It was in fashion when I lived and it is in fashion now. And they say the Khazad are slow to change.

"Celeborn will tell you that it is always wise to listen to you wife," remarked Galadriel.

Speaking of your wife... Narvi waited until he turned to meet her eyes. Her features were calm, and her eyes to him looked as deep as they had in life, when they had been dark and thoughtful and never revealing all that passed through her thoughts. Often he had wished to open his mind to her, to share with her more that the faint sense of empathy that was the most a dwarven mind could offer. She had become more tangible to his fëa since she was a ghost, but now that had faded again, as though she had taken a step back.

Why did you not tell me that I was murdered?

"We never talked about your death," said Celebrimbor.

It did not occur to you that I might wish to know?

"Yes," he admitted. "It did. I'm sorry, melmenya. I was not sure..." He broke off, because he could not lie to her. It had never been the point whether or not she was ready.

You blame yourself. Again.

"It would never have happened if I had not welcomed him."

Mahal curse your head of stone, she snapped. Can you lay off your own guilt long enough to think about me? I died in that cave. I was crushed under a mountain of granite! But it wasn't quick. Dwarven skulls are thick, you see. I can't compete with you when it comes to the most gruesome death, but the worst was knowing they would never find me, or Jari, or anyone else, because we were buried under a mountain and slowly choking our lives out. Curse him! Curse his smooth ways and treacherous tongue!

“I’m…” He broke off. She would not accept another apology. “What do you need?”

Her face twitched, and she looked away. For a long moment she stared down into the gardens, where the tiny lights of fireflies flitted through the cherry trees. Celebrimbor watched her, torn between grief and desperate gratefulness that she was with him at all. He tried not to imagine the scene she had described.

I need to be alone, she said at last. Abruptly she stood and walked away, her figure quickly fading from view.

“She’s right,” said Galadriel.

“I brought that onto myself, I know.” Celebrimbor leaned his head into his hands. “I should listen to her, trust her to understand. But I don’t see how anyone can. He took everything I loved, and then – I cannot forget what happened. Even now I’m not free of him!”

A shadow passed over Galadriel’s face. For a brief moment an image flared up in her mind, so brightly that Celebrimbor could see it also: a laughing man with clear blue eyes, his blonde hair braided down his back, the circlet on his brow adorned with the golden flower crown of Arafinwë’s house.

“I do understand,” she said softly. ”You know he murdered my brother, too.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be foolish. I wish Finrod was here with us. He would know what tortures you.”

“I thought of him often, when I was… held captive. How brave he was, and how kind. But he was released from the Halls before I got there.”

“I like to imagine that he and Celebrían are sitting in my father’s yard right now, drinking wine and disagreeing on politics.” Galadriel smiled, but her eyes were serious. “But let them enjoy it! They both did more than enough already. As did you, by the way.”

“Enough damage, indeed,” said Celebrimbor bitterly.

Galadriel shook her head. “My poor friend! Narvi’s view is not obscured by guilt. You should listen to her. I am very glad she is with you.”

“It is a mercy.” He laughed shortly. “I never expected the Valar to be merciful with us.”

“They surprise me sometimes.” Galadriel leant back in her chair and turned the glass in her hand. “Surely Elrond has introduced you to Mithrandir? He and the head of his order, the white wizard Curunír, will attend the White Council tomorrow at first light.”

“Another of them will come here? And you will ask them for council?” Celebrimbor’s voice was shaking, however much he tried to steady it.

“Mithrandir is a gentle soul, and a very dear friend. He was a student of the Lady Nienna.” Galadriel reached out and gently pried Celebrimbor’s fingers out of his sleeve. “You need not be afraid of him.”

Celebrimbor wished he could believe her.

When Celebrimbor returned to his quarters that night, Maglor’s harp and bundle were missing. Elrond, when informed, went pale and quiet, and told Celebrimbor to go to sleep. Through the window Celebrimbor could see him rapidly walking down the staircase towards the gardens, gazing left and right as if he expected his mentor to hide behind the rose bushes. Celebrimbor lay awake for long and worried. Of Narvi’s return he was sure, but if Maglor had found out about Galadriel’s visit, he might have left to return to his life of solitude. Likely he did not even realize how much it would hurt those who loved him.

He had nearly fallen into reverie when Narvi’s shimmering form appeared beside his bed. Automatically he shifted aside, and she stretched out beside him as she had done so often.

“I’m sorry,” he said before she could speak. “For not telling you.”

She nodded. It still bothered him how the movement of her beard did not rustle in the sheets, and the bed beneath him was not moved by her weight.

I hate him, she said simply. I never wanted to hate.

She lifted a hand and ran her transparent fingers across his temple, then along a thick black lock that fell over his shoulder. It felt like a breath of air.

“I know,” he returned quietly. “It is another of his crimes that he turned us into this. One of so many that it hardly matters.”

It does to me.

He almost reached out to pull her against his chest. Instead he shifted towards her, so that their faces were almost touching: intimately close, yet separated forever by the nature of their races. A single strand of her hair, once dark brown and warm to touch, fell over her cheekbone and had gotten tangled in her beard. He wished he could untangle it and wrap it around his finger. It would be coarser than his own, slightly curly, carrying the faint scent of her favourite oil. She followed his gaze, but did not smile.

He did this to us, she said. He did. Not you.

Their fingers rested next to each other on the pillow: hers broad and strong, his long and slender. It hurt that he could not join them. Abruptly he reached out to her with his fëa, to see if he could find the mind that so resolutely remained out of his reach. He had attempted it often when they had first grown close, used as he was to mind-speak, but he had never felt her as he could feel those who were dearest to him. Maglor did not allow him inside his mind now, fearing, perhaps, what he might find; but Narvi had touched him once, and he was yearning for more. She had tried to hold him back that night when the call of the Rings had become too strong, and like a rock in a rushing stream he had sensed hard granite, bottomless depths in the heart of the mountains, the heat of a forge fire, the rustle of parchment, the starlit glow of ithildin. It was there now when he reached out, but very faint, and when he tried to move closer, it slipped away again. Another time, perhaps.

“Does your death haunt you?” he whispered. “We have only been talking about what happened to me. I should have asked earlier.”

Sometimes. Narvi shrugged. It was horrible, but I believed it to be a misfortune. We always know it can come to this, we who dwell beneath the rock. You and I would have been separated still, even if you had watched me age! But if it was his doing, that changes everything. I could only live once, and he stole decades of that life from me. She watched him for a moment, her dark brows drawn together in thought. Don’t you dare to apologize, she said. Don’t you dare to wish you had never met me.

“I couldn’t, if I tried.”

Good. Her ghostly fingers brushed along his own, as if to curl around them. Amralizu.

“I love you, too. In all the ages of my life, you were the best thing that happened to me.”

Flatterer.

“My life wasn’t very good.”

Her eyes widened. He had never told her much of his past, and she had not asked. Since she did not ask now, he did not need to elaborate. Not yet.

There was another thing she needed to know, and it was a good one.

“Not all Khazad in that cave were killed,” he told her. “Three of your companions were close enough to the entrance, so that they were not entirely crushed. Jari was among them.”

Narvi propped herself up on an elbow. Jari?

“They lost a leg. But they lived to be almost three hundred! We met now and then for a drink and a chat.”

You did what?

“Aye, the old bastard liked me and you know it. Besides, you would have met with Erestor too if it had been me. We missed you.”

Only if I’d missed being bored out of my mind. A smile tugged at the corner of Narvi’s mouth. Jari. That’s… that’s good news, ghivasha.

They were long dead, the engineer who had possessed unmatched knowledge on hydraulics and wits as sharp as a dagger blade. But they had gone in their own time. It was a comfort not only to Narvi.

Celebrimbor considered telling her that Jari had not lived to see the fall of Eregion, but thought better of it.

“Have you seen Maglor today?” he inquired instead.

No, she returned. But I saw the dwarves again. I believe I could make myself known to one of them. Have you met Bifur? He suffered a head injury and speaks only Khuzdul. He addressed me twice, and I think he heard me too. She frowned. Thorin and his advisor met with Elrond, and I believe they plan to leave soon. Have you considered going with them?

“Thorin has not asked me to.”

What if he did? She watched him thoughtfully. Or Tharkûn?

“You know how I feel about Tharkûn. But if Thorin asks…” He bit his lip, considering. “I still need his help to find his father. We could accompany them for a few days, maybe cross the Mountains with them. But we shall see what is decided in the Council tomorrow.”

Her features relaxed into a smile.

The faint mist rising from the valley was coloured orange by the morning sun when Celebrimbor and Elrond ascended to the domed rotunda high above the falls, where the White Council was set to take place. The view was breathtaking, even more so than it was usual in Imladris, but Celebrimbor scarcely had eyes for it. His mind was on the three people who were already seated around the stone table: Galadriel, Mithrandir, and beside them a tall bearded man dressed entirely in white. He looked sterner than Mithrandir and resonated with power. Celebrimbor found the very sight of him terrifying.

Narvi, beside him, trudged on in silence, a short, stocky figure among the elves and wizards. She had not been invited, but there was no one to stop her going where she pleased. Now Celebrimbor took satisfaction in the fact that she ignored all polite conventions, especially since he and Elrond had vocally disagreed on how and why Thorin Oakenshield was not included. Elrond had been apologetic, but insisted that he deemed it unwise. Celebrimbor had very nearly refused to attend himself, until Galadriel had informed him that, since he was a topic of discussion himself, he should have a say in these matters. She did not elaborate on which “matters” she referred to.

“The Council is assembled,” she announced when Celebrimbor and his companions had stepped under the domed roof. “The Valar have sent us Celebrimbor the Ringmaker, who knows more about the Enemy and his weapons than any of us. Celebrimbor, this is Curunír, who is the Head of this Council. He has long studied the Rings and the secrets of their power.”

“The maker of the Three.” Curunír inclined his head. “How interesting. I wonder what the Valar mean to achieve by sending you here.”

“It all comes together, does it not?” Mithrandir, undeterred as ever by Celebrimbor’s disregard, gave him a warm smile. “I am very glad to have you here with us, Celebrimbor, even if I fear the topics of this council may not make you very happy. I would rather have presented you with a world that was rid of your old sorrows… but as it is, we can fight them together.”

“You speak of fighting,” said Curunír. “That is a grave exaggeration. We have been at peace for many centuries. The Enemy was vanquished. He lost the One.”

Mithraniír shook his head and leant back in his chair. He let his gaze glide over Galadriel, standing behind her chair, waiting, then to Elrond, whose brow was furrowed, until it rested on Celebrimbor.

“You don’t agree with this.”

“Indeed, I do not,” Celebrimbor confirmed, slightly annoyed to find himself and Mithrandir on the same side of the argument. “Ever since I left the coast, I have been hunted by his creatures. They tried to capture me. He knows I am here, and his mind is not idle.”

“The Nazgûl are afoot,” said Elrond. “This is a bad sign.”

Curunír shook his head. His deep-set, dark eyes scrutinised Celebrimbor in a way that made his skin crawl.

“We have come together at Elrond’s request,” said the White Wizard. “It must be decided if, and how, Celebrimbor’s reappearance results in a shift of powers that changes the status quo of the peace we have held for so long. We also need to speak about your recent activities in regard to that Dwarven kingdom, Gandalf. You take a great risk, and you did not consult us first.”

Celebrimbor could have sworn he saw Mithrandir roll his eyes. Galadriel placed a slender hand on the wizard’s backrest. Her gaze was unfocused, which probably meant that she was engaged in a mental conversation. Mithrandir’s beard twitched, and he inclined his head, as in acknowledgement.

“Indeed,” he said, “though those two matters are closely related. I have long been worried about Smaug. We all remember the great dragons of Melkor. Can we risk to give Sauron the advantage of so mighty an ally, should he ever rise to power again? I think not. The dragon could be turned into a terrible weapon against all who dwell in the East.”

“But if your dwarves wake him,” said Curunír, “he will turn on them also!”

“I am planning to prevent that. We will proceed with stealth and cunning.” Mithrandir folded his hands. His bright blue eyes focused on each of them in turn. “I believe that our time is running out,” he said, “and I think the Valar feel it also. Celebrimbor’s presence here might give us the advantage we need. We should attack Dol Guldur. It is the most likely place to find…”

“We have been over this,” huffed Curunír. “It is folly!”

“Folly it is to leave him to his designs!”

“I remember the long years of peace after the Dagor Aglareb,” said Galadriel. “The elves thrived in Beleriand. We believed that our siege could hold Morgoth at bay. We were wrong.” Her eyes found Celebrimbor’s for a moment, and he nodded. He remembered those times all too well, ancient as they were to the world today, and the assault of horror and flames that had followed.

“But this is precisely the point,” mused Elrond. “Should we attack, if we do not know his strength? What we need is more information. Much as I am loath to say it, we must send spies again before we plan an attack. People who are brave and experienced enough to…” He broke off and frowned, as if a sudden, unpleasant thought had crossed his mind. Both Gandalf and Galadriel looked at him curiously as he leant back in his chair, his mind shuttered so tightly that Celebrimbor felt the barriers from afar.

“It would be a useless sacrifice,” said Curunír. “Resulting in certain death for the unfortunate spies – perhaps worse, which is not without risk to us.”

“So what is your suggestion?” Celebrimbor had watched the conversation with mounting unease, and now could keep still no longer. “You do not wish to disturb the dragon. You do not want to confront Sauron. Do you think they will leave the world alone of we ignore them hard enough?”

Curunír met his eyes. At least this time, Celebrimbor thought grimly, there was no flattery or pretence of friendship. There would be no love lost between the two of them.

“Who would profit from an ill-advised attack that weakens our forces?” demanded the wizard. “Sauron could come out strengthened from it. You know this. There have been precedents… in your family, I believe.”

Celebrimbor grit his teeth. From the corner of his eye he saw Narvi crossing her arms, and a bright tendril of Galadriel’s thought touched his mind. Mithrandir shook his head and leant his elbows on the table.

“Now, now, there’s no need to get personal,” he said. “I do concede that spies are essential. But we must not wait long. I shall finish the business with the dragon, but then I plead we act without delay. Celebrimbor’s return at this point gives us an advantage, yet has also drawn Sauron’s attention…”

“Unfortunately,” Celebrimbor muttered.

“But what sort of advantage has it given us?” challenged Curunír, his bushy brows drawn into a deep frown. “Is the maker of the Rings an asset to us, truly?”

“I do hope so,” said Celebrimbor sharply.

“I do not mean personal offence,” said Curunír. “We must look at this from a purely reasonable side. The last time the grandson of Fëanor encountered Sauron, their joint powers brought doom over Eriador.”

Celebrimbor rose abruptly from his seat.

“That was not his fault,” Galadriel cut in before he could speak. Her mind had acquired a sharp edge, like a polished diamond.

“I am not suggesting he did it on purpose. But the power he wields is held together by a mind that could not resist Sauron before.”

“You have no idea,” said Celebrimbor very quietly, very much in control, “how much I resisted.”

“I am merely pointing out that it is a risk. We cannot afford to rely on friendship here.”

Abrâfu shaikmashâz, said Narvi very loudly into the silence that followed. Descendant of rats!

“Let me make sure I understand, and I want Celebrimbor to hear this,” said Elrond at last. “You believe that he is a liability?”

“I am merely suggesting caution.” Curunír’s eyes had not left Celebrimbor’s face. Celebrimbor bared his teeth. “All cards must be on the table now, else this council cannot fulfil its purpose. What are your plans, Ringmaker?”

“I have already told Elrond and Galadriel,” Celebrimbor said, still standing. “I mean to find and destroy as many of the Rings as I can.”

“That, to me, sounds like an even more improbable and dangerous undertaking than Gandalf’s journey with the dwarves.”

“Oh? How so?”

“There seem to be few possible outcomes to this,” said Curunír. “The chance of success is negligible. We know that all but one of the dwarven rings are lost; however, they cannot be your priority, as they were not of much effect -”

Celebrimbor had not known this, but his momentary distraction was short-lived.

“The Three are all gathered around this table, and I doubt that you wish them destroyed - indeed, it is to hope that you do not claim them from their current owners. The Nine are carried by the Nazgûl, who you have no hope of overcoming; you would, indeed, play into his hands if you try, for they would overwhelm you and submit you to his will.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Elrond calmly.

“As to the master ring,” continued Curunír, “it is better to be lost. Who would want it in the hands of the last Fëanorian?”

The world around Celebrimbor went very still. The ever-present sound of the falls in the distance faded, the song of birds ceased, and Mithrandir’s mouth moved but there were no words. Only a shrill, high tone pierced his thoughts, and with it rose a wind that shrouded his mind in shadow. For a moment he could see himself wielding the One, felt the rush of absolute power in his blood, elements and souls bending to his will, a web of control that rippled through Middle Earth from the Mordor to the Ered Luin. He saw the dark shape that had once been Annatar squirm beneath his foot, desperate, full of hatred, and he used the powers of the Ring to rip it apart until nothing remained.

When his vision returned to the present, he saw for a moment the formless shape of raw power behind the image of the white-robed wizard, radiating fierce intelligence, thirst for knowledge, contempt, greed. Greed.

“You want it for yourself,” Celebrimbor whispered. “You want them all for yourself.”

“Celebrimbor!” Elrond had risen to his feet, alarmed, but Celebrimbor did not wait for his opinion. If this creature held the trust of the wisest people in Middle Earth, there was only one thing left to do.

His ears rang as he stormed down the steps toward the gardens, back into the building, up another staircase and towards his chambers. With shaking hands he pulled his clothing from the wardrobe - travelling gear, heavy cloak, boots - the jewellery he had made in the Ered Luin -

What do you think you're doing? demanded Narvi, who had appeared in the doorway more quietly than a dwarf ever should.

"Packing," he snapped. "Leaving. This is urgent."

Let me get this straight, she growled. You want to run off and go - where?

“Dol Guldur. I must get there before he does.”

Have you lost your mind? Narvi strode up to him and crossed her arms. You said yourself that it will be well defended. We need a plan!

“The Nazgûl are there. I can control them; I know I can! The Rings will answer to me, I helped make them -“

They nearly killed you last time!

“Only because I was surprised! I’m better prepared now.”

This is madness! She reached out to grab his shoulder, then dropped her hand again. Celebrimbor, something is not right with you. Wait for Elrond – wait for Galadriel –

“They will tell me to trust the Maia! They are my friends, Narvi, but they do not see as I do…”

What about Maglor?

“I don’t know where he is. Perhaps he left already. Elrond knows, but he will not speak of it.”

He stuffed Dís’ map into his pack and rose to fetch his swords, which were resting in the corner by the door.

Didn’t you want to help the dwarves? Narvi asked, loudly.

“I can’t.” Both swords were freshly oiled and in good shape; he slid them quickly back into the sheaths. “I need to go after these rings now.” The thought of them in the hands of a wizard was unbearable. Mithrandír he did not trust; of Curunír’s ambitions he was sure.

It always comes back to the rings! Narvi intercepted him as he turned to grab his bundle, daring him to walk through her transparent form. They have been dormant for millennia! Even Tharkûn deems it wise to help Thorin before he goes after the Ringwraiths.

“Do not speak to me of Tharkûn!” he snarled. Unease stirred in the back of his consciousness, reminding him of Dís and his promise, but there would be time for that later. Nine rings were likely in Dol Guldur, and no one else had a right to them –

No one else has a right to them echoed another voice in his memory. He remembered Father brandishing his sword, swearing an Oath that should never be sworn, and Mother in armour, grim and determined, kissing his forehead one last time. No one else has a right to them!

But that had been something else entirely.

Narvi backed off, wide-eyed. Ghivasha, she said sharply. Wait a few hours at least. I’ve never seen you like this.

“There is no time! I must go as soon as I can be ready. Are you coming?”

For a long moment she stared at him, then she faded from his vision without another word.

Celebrimbor cursed her thick dwarven skull in several languages. For over an hour he held himself back, pacing, brooding. She did not return, and no one else came to see him. When the sun had fully risen over the top of the mountain, he could wait no longer. She would be back. Even if she was too stubborn to show herself, she would not abandon him.

Bumblebee rested her head upon his shoulder when Celebrimbor stepped to her side. He leaned his face against her reddish fur, savouring her warmth and the distinct smell of horse. He had seen her often, but given her less exercise than she would have liked, and so she was eager as a filly when he fixed his bundle behind the saddle and led her out of the stables.

Maglor waited for him outside, holding the reins of a tall brown mare.

“Elrond gave her to me,” he said by way of explanation. “Her name is Nightingale. We are ready to leave when you are.”

“I am glad you go with me.” Celebrimbor drew his uncle into a one-armed hug. Maglor froze in his embrace, looking surprised but pleased. It was a great relief to see him, though it could not fully disperse the feeling of unease in Celebrimbor’s heart.

“Have you seen Narvi?” he asked hopefully.

“Perhaps,” said Maglor, unblinking. “She will find us if she wishes to.”

That was not what he needed to hear, but he pushed the doubts away. She would come. It was inconceivable that she might not. “She would never let us go alone,” he said. “And you?”

“I have been waiting for you to leave.” A brief smile flitted over Maglor’s face. “Come now! Let us be on our way.”