What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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Uncorrupted Still

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Frodo woke to the smell of rain and the curtains flapping in the open window. He slipped from the bed where Sam was still snoring and stood for a moment at the window, letting the rising wind pull at his hair, and breathing the mountain air laced with the scent of the upcoming storm deep into his lungs. Then he closed the window and drew the curtains. It wouldn’t do for the cushions on the window seat to get damp, and Sam had been up late talking with Gandalf about something or other. Better to let him sleep.

Frodo wandered downstairs towards the kitchen. He stopped to examine a new sculpture that popped up in the hallway outside the kitchen. Just as he was deciding that yes, it was a nude of some kind, just highly abstract, he heard a conversation in the kitchen. Rather — he heard one side of a conversation.

“But few things are better at creating a sense of movement than triplets.” Maglor paused.

“Yes, triplets of all kinds. They are perfect when you need to convey flowing water, running, tripping, anything like that.” There was another pause.

“Oh well, triplets over eighths or sixteenths are a different matter altogether. Hello Frodo.”

“Good morning Maglor. Good morning Miaulë.” The second good morning was addressed to one of the cats who Maglor had apparently been discussing musical theory with. In truth, Frodo was relieved that Maglor had at least been talking with another living being; he often spoke to himself and held conversations with no one. But Maglor must be having a good day if he knew Frodo’s name.

“I’m afraid all that’s prepared right now is tea and porridge. I know how much you small folk like a large breakfast.”

“That’s quite alright. I’ve found that can be quite sufficient to start the day with in Valinor. Although I still like a hearty breakfast on occasion!”

After breakfast, he gathered his notes from the room he had made his office and went to find Celebrimbor. He found him in his room, by his desk, frowning down at something. Bits of string and pins stretched over the desk and the chair, reaching to the floor. The pins held down models of paper, clay, and metal — basically anything Celebrimbor could get his hands on. He looked a little tired, and Frodo hoped he wasn’t interrupting him.

Frodo cleared his throat loudly. Celebrimbor looked up with a start, and smiled at him from where he kneeled on the floor.

“Hello Frodo. How did you find the last round of equations?”

Frodo sat down next to him. He was still amazed sometimes to be spending time with legendary figures out of the First and Second Age. Celebrimbor surprised him especially. He had been expecting a tall, dark haired elf with intense eyes, full of pride and power. After all, he had helped make the Nine and the Seven, and made the Three by himself; surely someone who shaped the destiny of Middle Earth for two ages would be an imposing figure. Celebrimbor was tall, and did have dark hair, and when he really got going on a topic he could be quite intense, but he also laughed often, spoke with no condescension, and listened well with a true sense of caring. In fact, he was one of the few people Frodo had told the whole story of the Ring to. 

Frodo often found he did not have to say much when asked about the Tale of the Ring. Once Bilbo had been feeling better, he had a very good telling that he could do in a few hours. When Sam came, he took over that duty. One evening though, not long after Frodo had arrived in the Blessed Lands, he found himself alone with Celebrimbor after dinner in the small cottage he and Bilbo had shared on Tol Eressëa. Celebrimbor had been one of the elves who had been there to greet him and the Elven ring-bearers at the docks, although he hadn’t known it at the time. He had introduced himself afterwards though and began visiting occasionally, usually with friends Frodo and Bilbo had known in Middle-Earth. 

The evening Frodo told him of the ring, Celebrimbor had come alone. After Bilbo had gone to bed, they sat down together by the low fire in the sitting room.

Celebrimbor had stretched out his long legs and looked at Frodo consideringly. “Would you tell me some of your story? I have heard parts of it second hand, but I’d like to hear it from you if you don’t mind. I can’t help but feel it touches my own life, although there are thousands of years between us, and I was oblivious in Valinor all the while.”

Frodo had started the story, beginning as he usually did during a proper telling with Bilbo’s birthday party, but he soon found himself revealing parts he usually glossed over. He spoke of the burden of the ring, the weight of it, and the exposure when he wore it to that burning Eye. He quoted Gollum’s words as far as he could remember them, which he normally avoided. He ended with his last memories on Mount Doom, convinced it was the end, but happier and lighter than he felt in decades.

After he finished, Celebrimbor was quiet for a long time. Finally he said, “I am amazed, Frodo, at your strength to bear such a thing for so long. And that you survived it all, still capable of pity for Gollum, pity for all who deserve scorn, and still uncorrupted in heart, gives me hope.”

Hope for what? Frodo wondered, but he hadn’t asked Celebrimbor that. Instead he protested, “Uncorrupted? Did you hear the tale at all? I tried to claim the Ring! What else is that but corruption?”

Celebrimbor shook his head, and his eyes grave. “It could not have been otherwise. That it should be impossibly precious to anyone who held it was part of its Maker’s deepest design. I’m sure you’ve been told that before, but perhaps you will finally believe it from me, who knows more than anyone else how the Ring works and what its Maker purposed. That Bilbo and Sam were able to give it away before is amazing, but I hazard that even they would be unable to give it up at the place where the Ring was forged. 

“Yes, you are uncorrupted still, and here you will hopefully find the healing you seek.”

Frodo frowned down at the empty mug he had been clasping, uncertain, but with a glimmer of hope.

“Were you able to find healing?” he asked.

“Yes, although it took a long time. But I was healed in body when I was reborn and healed in mind with the help of those that love me, and now I am very normal and do only slightly ill-advised things like keep kind hosts up until dawn telling long stories.”

Frodo remembered that conversation still as he sat down next to Celebrimbor and spread his work on the floor. 

“I think I mostly understood it.”

“I’ll check your work. Now, how do you feel about another lesson?”

“That is what I’m here for,” Frodo said with a smile.

“Excellent!” Celebrimbor stood up, and then frowned at his desk where he and Frodo usually went over the day’s lessons. “I’m afraid our usual spot is taken.”

“If I may ask, what is all this?”

Celebrimbor pulled on his braid with frustration. 

“I am attempting to pull together the astronomical theories of the Eldar, the Númenoreans, and my own observations. I’m inclined to give greater weight to the Númenorean theories, as they made great use of their knowledge in their voyages, but they still don’t add up. I have years of data on the paths of the stars from Middle-earth and Númenor, as well as from Aman before and after its separation from the rest of Arda, and it does not fit together.”

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Frodo, examining a particularly glittery orb fastened to the top of a chair. 

“It’s well established that after the sinking of Númenor, the paths of Arien and Eärendil changed dramatically so that the best explanation became a model where Arda circles Arien instead of the opposite. Now, I am not fully satisfied with the theories proposed, but they are explained by the need to alter their paths after the world was bent. That is also what Arien and Eärendil say themselves, as far as I can understand.

“What is perplexing is that previously, I was able to establish that while the stars travel across the sky, they did not travel in relation to each other. The Gwaith-i-Mírdain built devices stronger than any before, even than those in Valinor I believe, that allowed us to closely examine the heavens.

“After the fall of Eregion, all of those who were able to craft those devices and had recorded their observations died, and our records were lost. Late in the Third Age however, Erestor realized that a portion of how to construct a heliometer had been preserved from a random stack of notes, and he was able to construct one himself. He shared with me what he crafted, and it was not as powerful as those we had built in Eregion. However, it would be functional and stronger than other devices in use at the time. 

“The strange thing is that Erestor recorded precisely what I had not; some stars move in relation to each other. What’s more, the level of light emitted by some stars varies from what I observed in the Second Age and what I observe here in Valinor, even the very same star. And yes, I traveled to Valmar and Ilmarin to investigate what the loremasters there say. I even petitioned Elbereth, and spoke to the Kindler herself.”

“And she couldn’t explain it?” Frodo had seen the Valar, and had even spoken to some. It had been an overwhelming experience and not one that granted any clarity, so he was not as surprised as he might have been to hear Celebrimbor had experienced the same.

“I would not say she couldn’t, rather, she wouldn’t. Or perhaps the more pious answer would be that I, with my limited view, couldn’t comprehend the perspective of one as lofty as the Queen of the Stars.” He shrugged. “So, I am back to trying to figure it out in my own way.”

Celebrimbor motioned to the nearest mess of strings. “I decided to actually model everything out based on the notes Erestor wrote up for me. I trust his observations entirely, but I ended up with something quite different than my own model from the Second Age.” He frowned down at his notes again and picked up a measuring stick.

“Well, I can always come back another time,” Frodo offered.

Celebrimbor looked up with a start. “Oh no, let's do the next lesson. I’ve been staring at this all night and am still no closer to the answer; a break would serve me well.”

“How about we go to the office I’ve been using? There’s a chalkboard there too.”

“That will work.” Celebrimbor looked regretfully at his desk. “I’ll have this figured out someday.”

~

“There really isn’t any rush.”

“No, there really isn’t.”

“And the rain won’t hurt us, and I trust you crafted the lens so that a bit of water wouldn’t damage it.”

“Of course.” Galadriel stopped in the hallway and narrowed her eyes at her brother.

“And yet, I do not like to wait.” Finrod smiled apologetically.

“Neither do I,” Galadriel admitted. “I am as inpatient as a young elleth before her first yén!”

“Most unsuitable for such a grand and ancient lady.” Galadriel lightly swatted Finrod.

“We selected Ñaulë in part because Írissë loves her so, but there are likely suitable animals here,” Galadriel said.

“Yes. Any animal who has lived for a while among the Nerdanelië seems like a safe choice for the lens.” Finrod glanced into the open door they had stopped in front of. “Frodo! Perhaps you can help us make a decision if you’re not too busy.”

Frodo looked up from where he sat on a couch, working at a lap desk, a ginger cat next to him.

“Certainly.” Frodo shifted his notes to the side and looked up expectantly. “What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s not a problem per say, it’s only—” Finrod noticed Galadriel glaring at him and looked slightly abashed. “Yes, you should explain it to Frodo; after all, you’re the inventor.”

“Thank you. You remember, Frodo, the lens I was telling you about?” Galadriel swung the leather satchel she was wearing around and lifted the flap to reveal the lens. “Well, we had planned on going up to Árëmar today to try it on one of Írissë’s dogs. It’s our largest planned experiment to date, and we had vetted the dog thoroughly.”

Frodo nodded solemnly, and although Galadriel thought she could detect bemusement in his face.

“I just don’t know if I want to go to Árëmar in the storm.” Galadriel continued.

“And you don’t want to put it off until tomorrow?” Frodo guessed.

“No, and it would have to be put off past tomorrow, because Írissë is busy all day tomorrow doing something for Fingon, and I promised that she would be there when we used the lens.” Galadriel smiled ruefully. “I know we have all the time in the world, but I was eager to try out the lens on something more complex than an insect.”

Frodo nodded. “As we say in the Shire, ‘Lost Time is never found again.’”

“See?” Finrod beamed. “That is the beauty of mortals. They truly value time. I can’t help but wonder what the perpetual sundering of our kindreds will do to our concept of time.”

Galadriel cut him off before he could start theorizing on the future of Time and the Eldar. “There are plenty of animals here. Finrod and I were just discussing if we had any likely candidates.”

Frodo tilted his head in thought. “What made Lady Írissë’s dog a good subject?”

“Well, she had been badly injured by a boar during a hunt, and walks with a limp. We also spoke with her after a fashion, and through Celegorm as well, and she seems to be highly intelligent. She also seems very good natured, and is a respected member of her pack.”

“So, you are looking for an animal that needs healing, and also seems to be temperamentally sound — perhaps one who is familiar with somebody you trust?”

“Yes, exactly,” Galadriel said.

“How about Miaulë here?” Frodo asked, gesturing to the cat next to him. The cat in question half opened his eyes, before yawning and rising to do a deep stretch.

“He does appear to have sustained some injuries,” Finrod mused.

“Yes, look at the scarring here,” Frodo pulled away some of the fur at the cat’s neck to better show the scarring, “and he’s even missing a toe.” He wasn’t quite bold enough to grab Miaulë’s paw. “And he’s lived here for many years. He came with Amrod and Amras, but he really seems to belong to Celebrimbor, if a cat can belong to anyone. In my experience he’s very friendly.”

“Hm.” Galadriel and the cat stared deeply into the other’s eyes. “He does seem to be agreeable enough. We’re not sure how much of your personality the lens changes, if at all, but that is something we’d like to determine with this experiment on intelligent animals.”

“Well, I think he’s a good candidate in that way at least. I think I’d notice if his personality changed a lot. Maybe not if it were quite subtle.”

“Of course the most important bit is that Miaulë agrees to the process,” Finrod said.

“Right, well I’m sure we can just ask him. He’s intelligent — I think he understood the mathematics problem I was trying to talk through earlier,” Frodo chuckled.

“Quite possibly,” said Finrod. “The more intelligent animals are attracted to elven settlements. I even found that to be the case in Beleriand.” 

“So, Miaulë. Do you consent to have the lens used on you? What it has done in the past is heal the wounds that time has not managed to solve. The trees and other animals we have tried it on have all seemed to have had their spirits lifted as well, but it is unclear how much that is due to the nature of trees and insects, and how much of that is to do with the lens,” Galadriel said. 

Miaulë had stood up, tail twitching, and when Galadriel finished speaking meowed and bobbed his head.

“That seems like a very clear assent to me,” said Finrod.

“Wait!” Frodo scribbled something on two different scraps of paper and set them on the ground. “I think we can be even clearer.”

Frodo glanced around, clearly feeling a little silly, and addressed the cat: “Miaulë, I’ve put ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ on two different pieces of paper.” He gestured to each paper in turn. “Step on the answer you give: Do you agree to have Lady Galadriel use the lens on you, for the purpose of healing your wounds, but with, as of yet, some unknown outcomes?”

The cat leaped off the couch and walked without hesitation to the ‘Yes’ paper, and then batted it several times for good measure.

“Now that is quite clear!” Frodo said with triumph.

“Indeed it is.” Galadriel took several steps from the couch away from the window, and considered her position. “Now, Miaulë, can you stand right where I am now?”

The cat walked over and stood next to Galadriel before sitting down with a yawn.

“This may take some adjustment and time,” Galadriel cautioned. “Despite the storm, there is still enough sunlight to use the lens, but I haven’t tried with this much cloud cover before.”

“Should we open the window?” Finrod suggested. “The glass will not offer much interference, but we should remove anything we can think of that could skew the experiment.”

“Yes, please do.” Finrod opened the window after Frodo snatched his notes away, swinging it out from it’s frame. A gust of wind blew in, smattering Galadriel, Finrod, and Frodo with rain. Galadriel was wearing sensible traveling clothes, but her hair was loose and billowed dramatically in the wind.

She lifted the lens and began to adjust it. As expected, it was difficult with the diffused light from the storm clouds. Arien was powerful though, and Galadriel was finally able to get the right calibration. 

“Are you ready?” She asked Miaulë. Miaulë twitched his tail and meowed. Finrod and Frodo stood back to eliminate any distraction. 

Galadriel began to sing, the now familiar arc of the spell coming naturally. Nature seemed to join in, thunder booming when she hit a low note, and with the piercing last note came a flash of lightning.

She felt power go out from her and watched as Miaulë shifted and shifted, and then changed even more. The room was utterly silent, and Galadriel almost dropped the lens in shock. Sitting where Miaulë had been was something like an elf. The naked figure was very familiar. He held up his right hand, and looked at the four fingers there in wonder. Galadriel distantly registered that the lens had not been able to reform the previously missing claw. Given how the claw, or rather finger, was lost though, she could find no fault in the lens.

“Oh my,” Frodo said. “Miaulë, did you know you weren’t a cat?”

Large gold eyes blinked at Frodo. He opened his mouth a few times, before finally saying “Yes, but I wasn’t expecting this!” A brilliant smile spread across his face, and he lifted a hand to his throat at the wonder of speech.

Galadriel drew her first breath since she finished the spell. “How are you here?” She hissed. Frodo and Finrod looked at her astonished. She ignored them. “How are you here?” Her tone was now commanding and loud.

“I’ve lived here for quite some time. I could ask you the same question!” He went back to examining himself, threading his fingers through his hair and finally standing up, looking surprised at the ability to easily lift himself onto two legs.

“Finrod, don’t you recognize him?” She asked her brother urgently.

“No, I’ve never seen him before. What’s the matter?” Finrod asked.

“Look beyond,” Galadriel urged. She herself did not sense the lurking malice shrouding a restless, burning presence that she had battled for so many years, but the unguarded spirit had the same unique color and shape that she would have recognized anywhere.

Finrod frowned at what had formerly been Miaulë and then gasped.

“No!” he said.

“Yes,” Galadriel said. They both watched in horror as Frodo Baggins approached what was certainly Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor, in the form he had held for most of the Second Age.

“I did think you were a bit too smart for a cat.” Frodo smiled good naturedly up at Sauron. Sauron smiled back. “How are you liking two legs instead of four? And fingers?”

“It’s wonderful. I had enjoyed being a cat, they are very athletic, but this feels very natural.” He held out his hands again.

“It’s unfortunate your finger is still missing,” Frodo said. “But you’re in good company.” He held out his own four fingered hand in comparison.

“So I am. And look, It’s the same finger!”

“Frodo,” said Galadriel, her voice perfectly even. “Please step away.”

Frodo looked at her surprised. “Why? Is something the matter?”

“I will explain in a moment. Come here.” 

Frodo correctly read her short tone as fear and hurried over. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

Galadriel ignored him and locked eyes with Sauron. “ Pusto ,” she commanded, putting every ounce of will into the word and drawing upon the many threads of Power that wound about the room. 

Sauron froze, one arm still raised. Galadriel grabbed Frodo’s shoulders and hustled him out of the room, Finrod following close behind. She shut the door firmly behind her. She found she was breathing hard, the panic she had held off in the room encroaching.

“What is going on?” Frodo sounded a bit angry now.

Finrod was the one who answered. “I don’t know this has happened, but that was Sauron, the very same being whom I thought was defeated by your effort and many others.”

Frodo’s mouth opened in shock. After a long moment, he asked, “Are you sure? That didn’t seem like Sauron as I knew him at all.”

“Very sure,” Galadriel said. “I would know that face anywhere.” Her mind was awhirl with thoughts. How was this possible? Sauron had been destroyed; she had been filled with joy that he who had slaughtered so many of her family and corrupted so much of the world she loved was dead. As the shock wore off, a deep dread settled in the pit of her stomach. The fight was never over. She had left for Middle-earth with ambitions and hopes, but what she had faced instead was death and defeat. Until the end. But apparently even that victory had been false and her Enemy would follow her even to the Blessed Realm.

“What should we do?” She was dismayed at how quickly she turned to her older brother for help. 

Finrod just frowned. “Let’s take council. There are many powerful people here, there’s no need to fear. By all accounts, Sauron seemed to actually believe himself a cat.”

“That could easily be a lie.” This time at least Galadriel was certain she could convince people that a fair form could hide a deceitful heart. “But yes, we should seek help.” She felt slightly better, although she had a feeling of dread still in the pit of her stomach. “I will find Olórin.”

“And I will find Nerdanel,” said Finrod. “The lady of the house deserves to know what we found first of anyone.”

“Very good,” nodded Galadriel. “Between the two of us, Olórin, and Nerdanel we should be able to contain him. He must be weakened. He must.”

Finrod glanced at the door. “How long will your spell hold?”

“At least an hour,” Galadriel replied. “Maybe a whole half a day.”

“Right, we will gather here after we find our targets,” Finrod said.

“And I will wait right here, and keep watch,” Frodo said. Galadriel and Finrod looked at him in concern.

“No need for worry! I won’t do anything foolish. You should know me better than that at this point.”

“We’ll be back before anything happens,” Galadriel assured him, before taking off to find Gandalf. 

~

Pain laced through his body as Miaulë tried to break through whatever mysterious force held him in place and had stolen an unknown amount of time. The knowledge of how to shake off such a thing seemed to come through some deep instinct, but accessing the power it took to act hurt worse than when he had been savaged in the woods. His muscles suddenly unfroze and he collapsed on the ground.

As he lay there, he tried to figure out why Galadriel had done this to him. She’d never seemed to dislike him before, although she was not one who he would count among his friends, but after he’d transformed, her eyes had held something forbidding and frightening. 

His joy at his sudden transformation dimmed. What am I? he thought, as he ran his hands over his face. He had been aware that he wasn’t like the other cats at Ondomar, but he had met several other animals that had a greater intelligence and spirit than others of their kind, so he had not thought himself particularly special either.

He considered for a moment what to do. Maybe Frodo and his friends were just outside the door, and if he followed them they would explain what was going on. That might not work; he could just be frozen again and lose another chunk of time. He brightened. He knew who would tell him what was going on. He jumped onto the couch and went out the window, heedless of the rain, heading towards Celebrimbor’s room. Just because he wasn’t in a cat’s body anymore didn’t mean he couldn’t take a cat’s shortcuts.

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Chapter End Notes

Pusto - (Q) Halt. Invented word from the Qenya 'Pusta' meaning stop.

Miaulë is the name of one of Tevildo's cat servants in the Book of Lost Tales, and I think it is a thoroughly delightful name for a cat. I imagine it's a very common name for an elvish cat, the equivalent of Mister Whiskers, Chairman Meow, Fluffy, etc.