A language he speaks by yletylyf

Chapter one

Warnings for threats of violence and Sauron being Sauron, but there is no actual violence in the fic.

Read Chapter one

"Cousin," Celebrían said warmly, beaming and approaching the visitor with open arms.

"Oh, Celebrían!" the visitor cried, rather wildly, and stepped forward to embrace her. He released her and held her at arm's length, and she got her first good look at him.

Celebrimbor appeared quite ill. His normally warm brown skin had an unhealthy, ashen tinge and looked clammy. His eyes were shadowed; his normally perfectly smooth hair was straggly and unkempt; and his clothing was stained and ragged, as though he had been neglecting it for much longer than his most recent journey.

"Celebrimbor?" she asked tentatively. Had he encountered dangers on the very safe road through the dwarven halls between Ost-in-Edhil and Lórinand? "Are you well?"

"It is kind of you to come greet me on the borders of this land," Celebrimbor said heavily. "Though I had not expected to have to face you so immediately. I would you were spared my tidings."

It was the exact wrong thing to say to someone of Celebrían's spirit, and moreover, Celebrimbor knew better. She set her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and straightened her spine.

"Tell me," she ordered. "But, perhaps you should sit down first," she added, softening in concession to the fact that he was clearly ill. "Unless we are in some immediate danger."

"Oh, no," he said absently, his eyes looking somewhere beyond her. "Not immediate, I shouldn't think."

She took his elbow and guided him into the bower of the trees where she had been waiting for him, after intercepting a messenger warning of his approach from the northwest. She helped him to sit on the soft leaves and handed him a wafer and a generous amount of cordial in a leather skin.

He ignored the wafer, but drank deeply of the cordial, which restored a little of the usual warm undertones in his face.

He sighed, and leaned back against a tree trunk, and continued to stare into the distance.

"I am here to see your mother," he explained.

Celebrían quirked an eyebrow. "Truly?" she asked. "That's interesting."

She did not have to finish the thought. Celebrimbor closed his eyes. "I know," he agreed.

"I intercepted the message that you were arriving, in order to spare you from her," Celebrían admitted frankly. "I did not realize the two of you were back on speaking terms."

"Oh, we're not," he said, sounding exhausted. "But I... I need her help."

"Has something gone wrong in Eregion?" Celebrían asked in alarm. It must have been something truly dreadful, for her cousin to seek the counsel of her mother, after their very public and painful falling out.

Celebrimbor swallowed, and did not answer for some time. He leaned his head back against the bark, and Celebrían almost thought he had fallen asleep before he spoke again.

"You remember Annatar," he said, unnecessarily.

"Yes, of course I remember Annatar," she said, raising her eyebrow again. "Did something happen to him?"

He laughed, a ghost of a humorless, colorless laugh. "I suppose you could say that."

The silence stretched on again.

"Cousin," Celebrían said gently. "Please tell me what happened."

Celebrimbor finally opened his eyes, though it did not make him look less haunted or weary. He licked his lips, a nervous gesture that was out of place on him.

"Annatar and I... made... rings together," he said, his voice almost hoarse. "We wanted to channel... we wanted to focus, to crystalize the power we were working with. For—preservation, and fighting decay. For sharing the beauty of the works of the Eldar with all of Middle-earth, whether they possess our skills and arts or no."

"That sounds incredible," Celebrían murmured, her mind leaping across the possibilities. Oh, how cross she was with her mother for leaving Ost-in-Edhil! This was exactly the kind of project that Celebrían would have done anything to work on. She could see it perfectly in her mind—a sharing of light, the glories of the Eldar focused on a lengthier scale, hanging in the balance of time, bringing peace and beauty to Middle-earth. The people here did not have to be forsaken—they could share in the joys of Valinor without having to actually go West. "What a concept! Did you not manage it?"

"Oh, Celebrían," said Celebrimbor, sounding heartbroken. "We managed it. We managed it."

He pulled out a ring from his pocket. It was graceful and lovely: silver (or, she suspected, mithril) set with a clear jewel that sparkled of light. It was nothing less than she expected of Celebrimbor's work—it was slender and beautiful and resembled a flower, or perhaps a star.

"This has incredible power," he murmured. "It's the finest thing I've ever made, yes, including anything in the forges of Valinor or in Gondolin."

"May I?" she asked, eyes shining, and reached out for it.

Celebrimbor physically flinched away from her, and instantly closed his fingers around the ring. "No!" he cried.

She shrank away.

"Oh, lady of the stars." He whispered this as a curse or a prayer, Celebrían couldn't tell which, and put the ring back in a pocket. He gathered his cloak around his shoulders, and huddled under it as though seeking warmth without any real hope of getting warm. "I'm sorry, Celebrían love, I'm so sorry. But no. There are very few who I think should touch this ring."

He fell silent again. Celebrían waited, her heart beating a bit faster than usual.

"Annatar lied to us," Celebrimbor said eventually. "He lied to us all. He did not seek to help the free peoples and enrich all of Middle-earth. He sought to enslave us."

Celebrían laughed, very startled and quite sure she'd misheard. "What?"

"He lied to us," Celebrimbor repeated dully.

"Back up," Celebrían said slowly. "What on earth are you talking about? Annatar is of the Ainur, sent to us to...."

Celebrimbor laughed. It was even uglier than his previous laugh. "And what did your mother say of him?" he demanded, interrupting her.

"Mother does not like him, that's all," Celebrían said, a bit primly. "I don't see that as my problem."

"No," said Celebrimbor, staring grimly straight through her. "No. Your mother was right. Gil-galad was right. I was dreadfully, horribly wrong."

"About what?" Celebrían urged, leaning forward. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Annatar is Sauron."

His expression and tone were bleak. His eyes were expressionless. He might have been a corpse in this moment, save that he continued to speak.

"He forged a—a—a master-ring, to control the rings that we made. Whoever works through them, and everything they do, will fall under his dominion... will eventually become his slave. He will order Middle-earth exactly as he likes. We will all be his subjects."

"Oh," Celebrían said lamely, but then she could not find anything else to say. "Oh."

They sat in silence. Celebrían was frantically thinking back to all she had known of Annatar—it was nearly impossible to believe, except she would never do her cousin the discourtesy of disbelieving such a claim from his lips.

It was just that Annatar had been so....

"Stars and skies and Morgoth's eyes," she cursed, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling a little sick. Her hands were tingling and felt curiously distanced from her. "How?"

Celebrimbor laughed—a hollow, hopeless sort of laugh this time. "He is of the Ainur," Celebrimbor pointed out, and then laughed some more.

Celebrían opened her eyes and stared at him uncomprehendingly. It wasn't funny, at all.

"He is a shapeshifter, he did used to serve Aulë, he did live in Valinor for a time, and he is infamously a deceiver. It's really... not so hard to believe." Celebrimbor sounded like he was quickly becoming hysterical.

Celebrían let her hand drop away from Celebrimbor's shoulder. She felt curiously numb, still struggling with her instinctive disbelief.

"Your mother was right," Celebrimbor concluded, his chin drooping down until it was almost resting on his chest. "She was right."

"Well," Celebrían said, feeling a little resurgence of courage within her. After all Celebrimbor had done for her, it was her turn. She would be strong for Celebrimbor, who was falling apart over this. She tried to smile. "We certainly shouldn't say it to her like that."

This produced the desired effect; Celebrimbor laughed. It was a weak laugh, but a genuine one; healthier sounding than all his laughter had been yet so far.

"I wish you could have been spared this," he said again, wistfully. "I only meant to speak to your mother."

"Nonsense," Celebrían said briskly. She stood, and offered Celebrimbor a hand. He stared at it a bit blankly. She stooped down, placed her hands underneath his arms, and hauled him upright. "We must plan together how to approach her. Er..." she added, having second thoughts. "What exactly do you want from her? Do you suppose she has special insight in what to do about Sauron?"

Celebrían politely did not say so, but she thought Galadriel had about as much experience fighting Sauron as Celebrían did.

Celebrimbor—of all the family that was left on Middle-earth from the First Age—was the only one who'd fought centuries of battle after battle, who'd stared the creeping malice of the northern wastes in the face for decades, who'd survived the desolation of Anfauglith and stood unbowed before dragonfire and demons of flame and the hoards of orcs that always outnumbered the elves a hundred to one.

Celebrían had always—and not so secretly—adored her cousin for this. Sometimes it killed Celebrían that she had been born after it was all finished. She envied the likes of Lúthien Tinúviel with all her heart, and then some.

"Oh, I doubt it," Celebrimbor said somewhat absently, in answer to Celebrían's earlier question. "As awkward as it is, I have to say I know him best of anyone left in Middle-earth at this point. No, I just... I would like her to take this."

His hand settled protectively over his pocket where the mithril ring rested.

"You want her to take a ring that will make her Sauron's slave?" Celebrían asked doubtfully. That was the logical conclusion of all that Celebrimbor had said, but it did not... seem quite right as a proposal.

"Well, if she wields it, it would," he said weakly. "I thought she could keep it safe, though, without falling to the temptation to use it."

"Ah," Celebrían said softly. "Yes, yes I expect she can. Shall we go seek her out, then?"

"Right," Celebrimbor agreed. "Lead the way."

She acquiesced, gathering up her gear and setting off through the trees in the direction of Caras Galadhon.

"What is this grand plan of yours for approaching her?" Celebrimbor asked as they walked. "She will be unpleasant about it, I think, no matter how it's stated."

Celebrían laughed. "But she will be impossible to live with if you start by telling her she was right! I think you should stick to the facts and politely explain what you wish her to do."

"Whether she's impossible to live with is not exactly my primary concern," Celebrimbor muttered under his breath, although loud enough for Celebrían to hear.

Celebrían threw a look back over her shoulder. If he had recovered enough to tease, that was a good sign. He was not, however, smiling.

He lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey, seeming lost in his thoughts and his gloom. He followed her with unseeing eyes until they arrived at the center of the realm.

"Oh," he said, as she paused before the gates of the city. He was gazing upward at the hill on which Caras Galadhon stood. "She has coaxed the mallorn trees to grow!"

They were yet young trees and had not reached great heights, but even so, their beauty stood out. Their leaves were a pale green and delicate silver, with blossoms of bright gold, and they danced in a soft breeze and shone very fair. The effect was remarkable.

"I did not believe they would grow here," he said, his dark eyes reflecting the golden blossoms as he gazed on the trees.

"Are you wishing you had some for your city?" Celebrían asked.

He shook his head. "No. This is the perfect place for them, isn't it?"

She couldn't disagree with that. They fit here, very properly, in a way they would not have in Eregion.

An elf opened the gates in the walls for them, with words of welcome for Celebrían and a curious look for her guest. Celebrimbor was very obviously related to her—Celebrían had inherited her hair color from neither of her parents. Both Celebrían and Celebrimbor had long, straight dark hair and warm brown skin; they were stouter and less slender than Silvan elves, and went about adorned in far more jewelry than elves of Lórinand preferred.

The guard did not stop staring, but he let them pass without asking questions.

"Mother can usually be found taking counsel or working with King Amdír," Celebrían explained. "We will seek her there first."

They mounted winding paths up the hill until they stood at its apex, beneath centuries-old trees native to the eastern slopes of these mountains. A ladder was before them, and Celebrían adjusted it with a little smile at Celebrimbor.

He blinked at her in astonishment.

"A tree house?" he asked blankly.

"They call them flets," she said, now broadly grinning.

"Please tell me you are joking."

"Nope," she said, giggling. The look on his face was priceless.

"Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, granddaughter of Finwë, fairest of the union between the Noldor and Vanyar, one of the last High Elves remaining in Middle-earth... dwells in a tree house."

"Well," Celebrían said evenly, "someone thought it no longer appropriate that she continue to dwell in the finest Noldorin city built in Middle-earth."

Celebrimbor sighed. "Yes. You're right. And I deserved that."

He reached out for the ladder, the gloomy look back on his face, and began to climb. Celebrían immediately felt bad for digging into this wound, especially now, and she should have refrained—but she was still sore about going with her mother into exile into the trees on the wrong side of the mountains.

Celebrimbor would have been delighted for Celebrían to stay in Ost-in-Edhil, of course. But Celebrían hadn't had the heart to break with her mother under the circumstances.

They climbed the ladder and emerged onto a grand platform, which led to a large house wrapped around several thick tree trunks. Celebrimbor did not again grumble about tree houses, although Celebrían suspected he was thinking it.

The guards outside the king's house looked upon them with the same curiosity as those at the gate, but also asked no questions. They knew Celebrían well, and had begun to overcome their instinctive distrust of the new residents.

Celebrían wandered through the maze of the rooms of the tree house until she found Amdír and Galadriel, draped lazily over the furniture and listening to a harpist. The harpist was singing a new composition—one Celebrían had not heard before. But she rather suspected it was yet another song about the mellyrn, and Celebrían had never understood the appeal of composing a hundred different songs about the same topic.

"Mother," Celebrían said. "Do you have a moment?"

The harpist stopped playing. Galadriel looked up, and her eyes fell on Celebrimbor with open astonishment. She did not move to stand.

"Artanis," Celebrimbor said neutrally.

"Tyelperinquar," she returned evenly. "How curious. What on earth could you be doing here?"

For some reason, she fell into Quenya. It was a bit rude to do so in front of Amdír, whose knowledge of the language was more academic than practical.

Celebrían cleared her throat. "King Amdír," she said in Sindarin. "Please meet my cousin, Celebrimbor of Eregion."

"Be welcome here," Amdír said, rising and holding out an arm to Celebrimbor. He was the taller of the two, and his eyes were shrewd, but he not looking on Celebrimbor with any discernible disfavor.

Celebrimbor clasped his arm warmly, and replied with gracious words of thanks.

Amdír gestured to the side of the room, where there was another elf sitting in the corner Celebrimbor had not noticed. "You are well acquainted with my son, Prince Amroth."

Amroth rose, and clasped Celebrimbor's arm in friendly welcome. Amroth was taller still than his father, and moved with a serene grace and intrinsic confidence. Objectively, he was surpassingly handsome, and Celebrían knew Galadriel and Amdír cherished hopes about the two of them ending up together.

They were destined to be disappointed on that front, although neither Celebrían nor Amroth had seen fit to let their parents know it yet.

"It's good to see you again," Amroth said, and he even sounded like he meant it. But it was hard to tell, with him; he had always been polite to a fault. If he was harboring resentment over the schism that resulted in his departure from Ost-in-Edhil, he'd never said so to Celebrían.

"Have a seat," Celebrían invited Celebrimbor, as it was clear no one else was going to. She sat on an unoccupied divan and patted the cushion next to her.

He sat without saying anything.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Galadriel asked, her tone making it clear she did not deem Celebrimbor's visit a pleasure. She was still sprawled carelessly on the sofa, not having bothered to sit up. At least she had returned to Sindarin.

Celebrimbor hunched over a little, as though he wished to disappear into the cushions.

He nevertheless began his explanation without further ado.

"After Annatar left Eregion, I used the craft we developed together to forge three rings, of surpassing beauty and power. I intended them to build great civilizations, in conjunction with dwarves and men, and preserve the glories and power of our people on Middle-earth in perpetuity."

He was speaking to his knees and not anyone else in the room. He dug three rings out of his pocket, and balanced them on his palm. The other two rings were made of gold, one set with a blue gem and one with a red gem.

"However," Celebrimbor continued in an admirably even tone, "I was deceived."

He struggled with the words for a few seconds. "Annatar is Sauron."

Everyone save Celebrían froze and stared at him.

"In secret, he forged a master ring, to rule all others. Every ring we forged together is subject to his will. Even the Three—the finest rings, the greatest works of my life, never touched by his hand—are bound to him."

He shuddered. Celebrían reached out and placed a light hand on his thigh, hoping to comfort him.

Galadriel slowly set up straight, her eyes boring holes into Celebrimbor. "How—and when—did you discover this?"

Her voice was very terrible.

Celebrimbor did not look at Galadriel. He was still staring at the rings in his palm. "I was wearing one of the Three when he forged his master ring. I—heard him sing the words which bound it to the power of the others. I knew him, in all his guises, and knew what he had done."

The room was silent.

"Just so we're all on the same page," Amdír said in a deliberately light tone, "Sauron is... ah... the Maia who was Morgoth's most fearsome servant during the First Age?"

"Yes," Celebrimbor said. "He was... he had promised to... he surrendered to the Host of the Valar, when we took Angband. The Herald of the Valar bid him go West to seek pardon."

Celebrimbor broke off and pressed his lips together very tightly.

"We have known for a while now that he did no such thing," Galadriel explained to Amdír. "But this is... quite beyond all my expectations for what he might have been doing lingering in Middle-earth."

"So have you come to us for help?" Amdír said, creasing his brow. "We will fight the Enemy in whatever guise he appears, but I am unclear what should be done about this matter of... magic rings?"

"Rings of power," Celebrimbor corrected, and Celebrían knew he was irritated at the use of the term 'magic rings.' She smothered a smile. "He doesn't have any of them, and can't use them for evil... at the present time."

Celebrimbor dug into his pocket again, and withdrew a stack of letters.

"But he knows they exist. And he has demanded them."

Celebrimbor put the rings down on the seat beside him, and began to rifle through the paper.

"He forged the master ring, mmm, a while ago," Celebrimbor said obliquely. "I warned everyone in Ost-in-Edhil that Annatar was not what he seemed and to bar the door to him if he appeared, but I wasn't sure if anything else needed to be done. Then the letters started coming."

Celebrimbor picked up a letter and stared at it dully. "This first one, he is still pretending to be Annatar. He thinks I do not know about the master ring, I guess. He gives a sort of lighthearted, and no doubt heavily censored, report about his travels after leaving Eregion. He wishes to hear what I have been doing."

Celebrimbor sat the letter face down on the cushion, next to the rings. "I, uh, did not respond. The letters kept coming."

Celebrimbor thumbed through the pages, placing them on the seat beside him, one-by-one. His expression was impassive and stoic. "They grow increasingly angry with me, and eventually he stops pretending. He sinks into a variety of.... vivid... threats and curses. I brought them so that you may see what we are up against. This last one is, ah, remarkably clear about his future plans. It is what prompted my visit to you now."

He did not put the letter down on the sofa. He continued to grip it with white knuckles. Celebrían reached out and gently eased it away from his hand, then looked at it.

She shivered as she read, a dull fear creeping over her despite it not being addressed to or directed at her. It was written on thick, sturdy paper in vivid red ink, the color of blood when it first spilled out of the skin. The handwriting was ugly and untidy, formed by someone gripping a pen too forcefully. The letter was alternatively threatening and begging, unhinged and borderline incoherent. The writer variously demanded the rings; disclaimed interest in them if Celebrimbor would only change his mind and work with him again; spoke at length of the nature of forgiveness without reaching any conclusions as to whether it was possible in this case; then ended with a vow to come with an army and destroy Celebrimbor's city, everything and everyone he held dear, set all of Eriador to fire, and reclaim the rings along with Celebrimbor's flesh and baptize them in blood.

Celebrían set the letter down on her lap. Her hands were shaking.

"He is coming to Ost-in-Edhil with an army," she summarized, and was pleased to hear her voice was steady.

"Oh, yes," Celebrimbor said. His voice was also perfectly steady, although his eyes could have been carved from obsidian. "They are fully warned, and will either stand against him it if seems possible, or evacuate to Hadhodrond if not. I am here because... I need to hide the Three elsewhere."

"You want us to take one of the rings?" Amdír asked, startled. "Are they not dangerous?"

"In the sense that whoever uses them, and whatever is made with them, will be turned to Sauron's purposes in time—yes, that would be dangerous. I was hoping my cousin would take one and keep it safe. It will require great presence and strength of mind, and courage to resist the pull of his will."

"Should we not... destroy them?" Celebrían asked. "If we cannot use them without falling prey to him, and if we do not want him to use them either."

"A tall order," Celebrimbor said. "They are the culmination of all my life's work, and additionally benefited from Sauron's talents and power. They are virtually indestructible." He swallowed. "Believe me, I tried. The only thing I have not tried is... something of very great sorcery, like dragonfire."

"Surely there are no dragons left in Middle-earth," Amdír protested.

"Not to our knowledge," Galadriel answered. "Though it is possible. We have never explored all the dark reaches of the north, where many foul things fled from Angband."

"In any event, it seems to be a feat beyond our current means," Celebrimbor said.

"Well, of course I will keep one of the rings, if you ask it of me," Galadriel said thoughtfully. "What will you do with the other two?"

"Send them to Lindon," Celebrimbor said. "I was also hoping you would take charge of that mission while I return to my city."

"Yes," Galadriel agreed. "I will do that."

"But surely you should not return to Ost-in-Edhil," Celebrían said weakly. "Knowing he will look for you there first?"

"He will look for me anywhere I go," Celebrimbor said bleakly. And a flash of insight hit: Celebrían realized that, since entering Lórinand, he had carried himself as one sentenced to die. "I would rather not inflict him on your realm."

Galadriel and Amdír exchanged a long look at this. Neither spoke for a while.

Finally, Galadriel cleared her throat. "Show me these letters?"

Celebrían glanced at Celebrimbor, who nodded. Celebrían collected all the letters and crossed the room to hand them to her mother.

Galadriel read through them carefully, starting from the one Celebrimbor had indicated was earliest. Her face betrayed nothing of her feelings for a long time. Eventually, she put down the last sheet, and swallowed hard.

She looked up at Celebrimbor with absolutely no expression. "You gave him so much," she said at length.

"As you can see," Celebrimbor agreed, his lip curling.

"Tyelperinquar," she breathed, and her expression collapsed. She was giving him a look of mingled horror and revulsion. "How could you. Sauron."

Celebrimbor surged to his feet. He didn't say a word, and he left the rings where they were. He turned and fled the room as fast as his feet could take him without actually breaking into a run.

"That's not helpful right now, Mother," Celebrían admonished. "We need a plan, not recriminations."

"I told him," she said sharply. "I told him that so-called emissary of the Valar was no such thing."

"As though you had any more idea what he really was than we did!" Celebrían cried. She sprang to her feet and followed Celebrimbor. He had left the tree-platform altogether; there was no sign of him.

Celebrían hurried down the ladder and found him on the ground. He had one hand on the trunk of the tree, and was bent over with the other hand on his knee.

He looked up as she approached, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She glanced at the ground and realized he had come down here to be sick.

"Cousin," she said, as gently as she could. She stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was trembling.

"She's right," Celebrimbor said hoarsely. "I freely gave the work of my hands and all my knowledge and craft to Sauron. I am cursed, my line is cursed. Everything we touch is tainted."

"Stop this," she said. "You are not the only one who trusted him."

"Celebrían, that just makes me feel worse about it," he said tiredly, taking a few steps back and collapsing onto the ground. He drew his knees up and folded his arms on them, hunched into a small ball. She followed him and leaned against his side, again placing her arm around him. "I should have listened to your mother and kept you well away from him."

"Ha!" she laughed. "I should have liked to see you try. Keep me away from the pretty Maia offering to teach me to weave the Song into metal and jewel and stone!"

That drew a wan smile from him. "Yes, you have always been determined to do things your own way. But it was up to me to protect you, and I—didn't."

"Hush," she said gently. "What Annatar taught me to craft was not evil. His lessons were beautiful, and he was so gentle with me. I will not regret any of it."

"You're not the one who created objects of great power at his bidding," Celebrimbor said bitterly.

"I crafted many things at his bidding," Celebrían said, with a sigh that might have been laughter. "I was fond of him and I esteemed him and I valued his counsel. I refuse to let you accept that either of us ought to have known better."

"Your mother knew better," he reminded her gloomily. "And Gil-galad."

"And Elrond too," Celebrían said lightly. "But they didn't know. They just—disliked the idea of accepting help from the Ainur. And who can blame them? Whereas I have no such baggage."

"They might have known," Celebrimbor argued. "On some instinctive level that I barreled right past."

"I promise you Elrond did not know Annatar was Sauron," Celebrían said, highly amused. "And you know that Mother was simply... envious, don't you?"

"She was absolutely not envious of any of Annatar's 'gifts'," Celebrimbor said, his tone still argumentative.

"No, not that," Celebrían agreed. "But she—she saw it as Annatar taking you away from her. And when you finally snapped and ordered her out of the city—"

Celebrían broke off at the look on Celebrimbor's face.

"I'm sorry," she said, more softly. "It's not helpful to bring all this up again."

"You're wrong," Celebrimbor said, sounding tired. "Annatar did come between us, but she was more angry than jealous about him."

Celebrían shrugged. "Either way, do not let her pretend with you now that she always knew he was the infamous servant of the Enemy. She did not."

"This is all beside the point now," Celebrimbor said. He sounded bitter again. "Whatever came between us is in the past. She is my cousin and the only one I can trust to handle the Three. And I must go back to my city. I cannot bring myself to return to say farewell to her and Amdír. Will you say it for me?"

"I—of course, but—do you mean to go back by yourself?" she asked, suddenly highly alarmed. "To face Sauron's army with nothing but craftsmen?"

"The city is a little more than the Gwaith-i-Mírdain," he said with a ghost of a smile. "We do have warriors."

"Cousin!" Celebrían exclaimed sharply. "We have warriors here too! Were you truly planning to leave without asking for help?"

"I made this mess," he said miserably. "I won't ask anyone to stand with me to my doom."

"Well it would be your doom if you don't form an alliance," Celebrían said tartly. "Cease this sulking at once. I will speak to Amroth. We'll pass through Hadhodrond and gather the dwarves and I'll send a message to Lindon as well. Do you really think all of us will just sit by and watch as Sauron burns Eriador and murders our kin?"

Celebrimbor stared at her blankly.

"Every single one of these armies would march to your aid the instant they learned of the need," Celebrían said, trying to gentle her tone. "The difference between asking for help now is that we might all arrive in time to stand together, rather than pick up the pieces after Sauron has leveled your city."

Celebrimbor still said nothing.

"Oy," Celebrían said, and stood up. She pointed a stern finger at him. "Wait here. If you leave while I'm gone, I will chase you, and I will be very cross about it."

She hurried back up the ladder without waiting for his response. Amroth was still in the room with his father and her mother, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, while Amdír and Galadriel were apparently busy arguing with each other. From what Celebrían picked up, Amdír apparently thought it unwise to keep one of the Three in his forest realm. Galadriel, as Celebrían well knew, was going to do just as she pleased regardless.

Celebrían caught Amroth's arm and tugged him away from the scene.

"How many warriors do you think we can bring to Ost-in-Edhil?" she asked a little breathlessly, as she pulled him towards the ladder.

He considered the question while scaling the ladder and leaping to the ground. "About eight hundred," he estimated. "Of course, we aren't outfitted for war the way the Noldor are. We'll march with our bows and quivers. Hopefully we can obtain armor and knives in Ost-in-Edhil."

Celebrimbor was where she had left him, huddled on the ground, but he managed to stagger to his feet when he saw Amroth.

"I can't ask anyone to join me in this madness," Celebrimbor said, his voice thick.

Amroth gave Celebrimbor his sharpest look. "You stand against the Enemy," Amroth said. "What do the other details matter, in light of that?"

"You just heard that I willingly—" Celebrimbor began to say.

"Oh, stop," Amroth said, his lips quirking. "Did you forget that I knew Annatar as well? I thought him very fine and admirable. I am exceedingly sorry to hear that he is otherwise."

"As are we all," Celebrían said with a decisive nod. "Amroth, we will leave you to muster your forces here, as quickly as you can. We must hurry before you and advise the dwarves of the situation. You may catch up to us in Hadhodrond. We'll also tell them of the army about to arrive on their doorstep so you're welcomed!"

"Perfect," Amroth said with satisfaction. "Give me three days."

Celebrían embraced him, and then hauled Celebrimbor up by his arm. "Come, cousin," she said. "I need to pack."

Celebrimbor trailed behind her obediently enough, and she finally elected to release his arm. She led him to a small wooden home—on the ground, thank you, Celebrían wasn't living in any tree homes—and invited him to sit while she packed her things.

"Tea?" she asked. "Something to settle your stomach?"

Celebrimbor just grunted, so Celebrían decided to take the response whatever way she pleased, and she decided it was a yes. She put the kettle on before turning to her wardrobe.

"I suppose I'll bring my bow as well as my sword," she mused out loud. "I wish I had my armor! I left it all in Ost-in-Edhil. Do you still have it?"

"Yes, of course," Celebrimbor said. He sunk down in a chair at her table, looking drawn and weary. "You left many things behind, and I saved them all."

"Do you remember who helped me make that armor... the first full set I ever made?"

Celebrían was feeling wistful all of a sudden. It was all tangled and hopeless now, but she had liked Annatar ever so much at the time. It was basically impossible to imagine the Annatar who helped her forge her armor as the same person who sent that horrid letter to Celebrimbor, and Celebrían decided she would not even try.

Celebrimbor didn't answer. When she glanced back over at him, she saw he'd buried his head in his arms on the tabletop.

"Right," Celebrían said to herself. "Stop talking about Annatar."

She made Celebrimbor a cup of tea with ginger and placed it beside him, touching him gently on the arm to let him know it was there.

She left him alone and turned to the business of packing. She stripped off all her jewelry and gathered her sturdiest outfits for fighting. She plaited her hair with simple, utilitarian braids. She found her best pair of boots, swept some waybread and dried fruits into a sack, and filled another leather skin with cordial.

When she returned to the table in the sitting room, Celebrimbor had managed to sit up and was sipping at his tea. He gave her a passably grateful smile.

"Thank you," he said.

"I'm packed and ready," Celebrían said, "but I want to send a message to Lindon before we leave."

"I thought your mother was taking care of that," Celebrimbor said, frowning.

"Her message will get there much too late," Celebrían said. "They need to leave now and meet us in Ost-in-Edhil as soon as possible. I will use óswanë."

Celebrimbor blinked. He sat his teacup down. He looked at her carefully.

"To use óswanë at this considerable distance implies a great... affinity... between you and another," Celebrimbor said slowly. "One much closer than I share with any of my cousins who reside there."

"Oh, I am well aware," Celebrían said, pouting a little. "Don't tell Mother. She doesn’t know."

"Celebrían!" Celebrimbor cried, looking a little livelier. She was heartened to see it. "Have you secretly married without telling anyone!"

"We are not married," Celebrían said, but she found herself smiling. "Yet."

"Who?" Celebrimbor insisted, his eyes very wide.

Celebrían only gave him a mysterious smile, and disappeared into the bedroom. She settled onto the bed comfortably and leaned against the wall, then closed her eyes.

Even though there indeed existed the closest of affinities between them, it still took her a while to seek and find Elrond's mind at such a distance.

Dearest of my heart, he projected into her thoughts, after eventually picking up on her attempt. I'm sorry for the delay, I was with Gil-galad. Is everything all right?

Not really, she responded honestly. My news is quite dreadful. The Maia Annatar was actually Sauron. Celebrimbor made some rings that Sauron wants to use to enslave the elves, or so Celebrimbor says. Sauron means to march on Ost-in-Edhil with an army and take the rings and burn Eriador to the ground. Also he is throwing a temper tantrum over Celebrimbor's refusal to answer his letters, as though he is a child; it would be funny if it weren't so dire.

Elrond was silent in her mind for a full minute. She could not, at this distance, tell what he was feeling or how he was reacting to this.

Celebrían, he finally sent. My love. I believe you, but... this is the wildest story I've ever heard.

I know, she agreed. Anyway, Amroth is gathering an army in Lórinand, and we're calling on the Hadhodrim for help next. Will you bring all you can and come south?

Yes, of course, he returned immediately. I will notify Gil-galad at once. He must send word to Númenor as well; it sounds like our need is great. Do you know the strength of Sauron's forces?

Not at all, Celebrían thought. Alas, his otherwise detailed and very colorful letter did not share that part.

Elrond managed to project his distinctive, dry amusement.

How many spears do you believe you will bring? she asked.

There was a pause. Celebrían knew Elrond was thinking.

I believe I can manage three thousand, perhaps a bit more. Anything else I need to know?

I think that covers it, Celebrían thought. She paused. I love you. See you in Ost-in-Edhil.

I love you. Be careful.

She surfaced from the connection, feeling an odd mixture of happiness and grief. It was always delightful to make contact with him, but she and Elrond had decided to wait for an unknown number of years before marrying, given the separate demands on them in Lindon and Lórinand. It was a sound decision, but its soundness did not make the distance easier.

Celebrían returned to the sitting room. Celebrimbor had washed the cup and drained the kettle, and was looking out the window when she returned. There was nothing to see except tree leaves, and she wondered what thoughts absorbed him so.

"Lindon will come with all they can muster," Celebrían said aloud. "They will also seek aid from Númenor. Shall we head out?"

Celebrimbor rubbed his forehead as though he had a headache. He did not again ask who she had been speaking to. He merely nodded, and followed her out of the house.

Galadriel was waiting for them at the city gates.

"I love you," she said to Celebrían, kissing her on the brow. "Varda protect your path and light your heart."

"And yours," Celebrían responded, squeezing her mother's hand briefly.

Galadriel turned and kissed Celebrimbor on the cheek. "Be safe, cousin," she said. She looked grave and worried; if she was still repulsed, all signs of it were gone. She held out a stack of paper: the letters from Sauron. "Don't do anything foolish."

He laughed weakly as he accepted the letters from her. "Too late for that. But I thank you for the concern."

Galadriel stood aside as they walked through the gate and disappeared into the forest.

 

Celebrimbor did not say anything as they traced a path to the northwest and eventually traced their way up the banks of the Celebrant. He was still downcast, but more pensive than when he'd arrived in Lórinand. As Celebrían felt a sense of urgency about their mission, they walked well after darkness fell, and camped only for a short time. They woke before dawn the next morning.

"Is Elrond leading Lindon's forces himself, or sending someone else?" Celebrimbor asked, apropos of nothing, as they began the climb up to Nanduhirion.

"He didn't say, but I'm pretty sure he—oh, cousin," Celebrían explained, coming to a halt and sending Celebrimbor a disbelieving glare. "What a cheap trick!"

Celebrimbor sent her a warm smile. "Ah, perhaps it was, yet I do not regret it. But why do you hide this from your mother? Elrond is... very dear to us all. Surely you don't think there will be any issue."

"No," Celebrían agreed. "It isn't that. I only... well, we'd like to marry, but that involves thorny questions of where we'd live. He won't leave the High King and I won't leave my mother, and...."

Celebrían trailed off, trying to phrase it correctly.

"I don't want her to feel guilty about it," she finally said. "I'm unhappy in Lórinand, and I'm there for her sake, and I don't ever want her realizing that."

Celebrimbor was silent for a while as they climbed. He took up their conversation again only when they were nearly on the doorstep of Hadhodrond.

"Your mother is very wise," Celebrimbor said, as they crested the final slope. "There is little she does not see. You must live your own life, darling, and trust that she will be happy knowing you are happy."

Celebrían felt tears spring to her eyes. "Thank you," she said. "I'll keep that in mind, for after we win this battle."

Celebrimbor did not have a chance to respond to this, as they had arrived at the gates of Hadhodrond and were swiftly intercepted by dwarven sentries.

Celebrimbor and Celebrían were well known and always welcome in the halls of the dwarves. They explained their business only briefly to the sentries, and were swept away over the delicate arched bridge marking the east entry to this underground realm. They were ushered through great halls that always made Celebrían's heart sing, past the beautiful shafts of lighting with mirrors set up to reflect the sun into the beauty of the halls, accompanied by the harmony of axes and the dwarven song raised in praise of and as a plea to their beloved rocks.

Oh, how Celebrían loved this place!

"Two of my favorite elves," the King of Hadhodrond greeted them when they were escorted to his side in the grandest hall. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Come now," Celebrían said, laughing lightly and bending down to plant a kiss on Durin's cheek. "Don't lump us together like that. Surely I am your most favorite elf."

Durin threw back his head and laughed. Celebrían was teasing him, and they all knew it; Celebrían was friend to the dwarves only because Celebrimbor and her mother had forged the path for the relationship in the first place.

But Durin sobered quickly. "You mentioned you had very serious tidings to the sentries. Sit, sit. Are you hungry?"

He waved them at a long table set in the back of the hall, and they accepted the offer of food. Great plates of spicy vegetables and steaming dumplings were in front of them almost as soon as they'd said yes.

Celebrían dug in with relish. Celebrimbor still appeared to have little appetite, but when he saw Celebrían watching him warily, he gave it a good faith effort.

"Yes, well, you know who Sauron is, right?" Celebrían decided to explain on Celebrimbor's behalf.

"Of course," Durin said, his eyes going shadowed.

"Well, um, I guess we accidentally hosted him in Ost-in-Edhil for a few centuries... unfortunately, about four hundred years... you never met him, but we had this Maia in residence who said he was called Annatar...."

"Ah," Durin said, making the connection very quickly. "And this Maia was actually Sauron the Deceiver."

"Yeah," said Celebrían unenthusiastically, while Celebrimbor winced. "He left the city, and Celebrimbor discovered his true identity, and hasn't let him back in, and he's rather upset about it. He's bringing an army to burn Eriador to the ground if we don't give him these rings of power that he and Celebrimbor forged together."

"Charming," Durin said dryly.

"Charming," Celebrían agreed. "We're mustering forces in Lórinand—they'll be here in two or three days, under the command of Prince Amroth, hoping to pass through your halls—and we've also got Gil-galad's forces coming down from Lindon. Will you stand with us?"

"Unhesitatingly," Durin said. "I will sound the alarm and send the message among my people at once. I suppose we will be able to muster... hopefully a thousand axes, without sacrificing too much of the daily business of the realm?"

"Every bit helps," Celebrían said warmly. "We should have eight hundred under Prince Amroth, three thousand under Elrond, and five thousand who can fight in Ost-in-Edhil itself. That makes us nearly ten thousand strong! And Sauron has only had—how long to build his own army?" Celebrían asked, turning to Celebrimbor.

"He left Ost-in-Edhil a hundred years ago," Celebrimbor said. "I cannot say how many orcs can be bred from scratch in that time."

"He didn't... immediately intend war, though," Celebrían mused. "His shift was rather gradual over the decades you didn't answer his letters. Hmmm. I would be very surprised if he had more than one or two generations of orc soldiers."

"Regardless, we will be there," Durin promised solemnly. "Stay the night in my halls, if you please. I will ask my son to lead an army a few days after you, hopefully alongside Prince Amroth."

"Perfect," Celebrían said, beaming at him. "Look at what happens when we ask for help," she added, nudging Celebrimbor in the ribs.

He grumbled something and did not look at her.

Durin peered at Celebrimbor. "Am I to understand that is why you recently advised me not to use that ring of power you gifted to me?"

"Yes," Celebrimbor said, quiet and unhappy. "I should have told you the whole story. I am sorry."

"Am I to expect Sauron to come try to burn down my halls demanding I give up the ring?"

"No," Celebrimbor said, shaking his head. "I don't think so. He approved and encouraged me to gift the ring to you. I see now that it was part of his plan—to corrupt the peoples of Middle-earth to his will. That is why I advised you not to use it."

Durin snorted. He looked and sounded unimpressed. "I don't see how a ring can corrupt me."

Celebrimbor fiddled with the food on his plate. "I do think you will have the ability to resist his corruption even if you use the ring. I don't believe he really understands dwarves, despite being of Aulë himself. But if I were you, I wouldn't risk it."

"Well," Durin said slowly. "You're right about one thing. You should have told me the whole story."

Celebrimbor nodded, but he said nothing. He stared at the table.

They ate in silence for a while, until Durin put down his fork and gave Celebrimbor another searching look.

"Are you doing all right?" Durin asked.

"Not really," Celebrimbor said. "I think I have eclipsed my grandfather in making cataclysmic mistakes, though, and I've always desired to best him, so there's that."

Durin laughed, although Celebrían did not think Celebrimbor had been joking. "Well now, that's presumptuous of you. Shouldn't you wait and see whether your actions result in the sinking of an entire continent before you decide such a thing?"

"I am not likely to be around to see the outcome of my mistakes," Celebrimbor said, picking at his food halfheartedly. "It seems that murdering me is first on Sauron's to-do list, well above sinking continents in priority."

"You should believe in your allies," Durin said, hardening his voice. "What are you doing building an alliance if you do not trust we can make a difference?"

Celebrimbor stared at the table in silence for a while. He was still playing with his food, pretending to eat it. Eventually, he sighed and nodded. "You're right," he agreed. "I should trust in my friends. I just wish...."

He trailed off, shredding his bread into a thousand tiny pieces.

"You wish?" Durin prompted when he did not continue on his own.

"I wish the consequences of my mistakes rested on my head alone," Celebrimbor said with a sigh.

"Might as well wish you did not have any friends, then," Durin said, a bit tartly.

Celebrimbor only offered a half-smile and said nothing. He only barely managed to give Durin a proper farewell and to thank him for the hospitality when another dwarf arrived to show them to the guest quarters.

Durin placed a hand on Celebrían's arm and held her behind Celebrimbor for a few moments.

"He's going to do something stupid," Durin advised. "Like try to sacrifice himself to save the city."

"Mmm," Celebrían agreed. "I'm afraid you might be right. I'll be at his side the entire time."

She stooped and hugged Durin before hurrying after Celebrimbor.

 

The path from Hadhodrond to Ost-in-Edhil was well traveled and crossed through country that Celebrían had always found very beautiful—the windswept plains meeting the rocky foothills, the towering peaks crested with snow, the bright holly bushes growing wherever they pleased. It was land that had stayed wild and untamed no matter who lived here. The horizon was far away and the sky was a bright blue. It had always appealed deeply to her sense of adventure.

Ost-in-Edhil was built in the confluence of two rivers, the Sirannon and the Glanduin. Most of the city sat on a level patch of ground stretching between the riverbanks, while the rest of it sprawled up the slopes of the forested hillside. The hill continued to rise above the city and crested in a small mound, Amon Thonion, perched in between the two rivers and the treeless slopes of Hithaeglir towering in the background.

Celebrían had always thought it perfect. Despite the circumstances, her heart rejoiced to be back.

Celebrían had missed her father during their separation after leaving for Lórinand, and she'd missed her old friends, and she felt like she was exactly where she needed to be. The streets of the city were singing to her. This was her home, and she was not going to let Sauron take it from her without a fight.

They entered a city that was busy preparing for war. Celeborn had not been idle while Celebrimbor was gone. He had troops outfitted and drilling and training all hours of the day—for most of them had never seen a true battle. He had scouts constantly riding out in the countryside for news of Sauron, but they had nothing concrete to report by the time Celebrimbor and Celebrían arrived.

Over the course of the next week or so, their allies poured into the city: Prince Amroth along with King Durin's son, Fáin; a handful of companies from Vinyalondë who'd heard of the need; and best and last, Elrond with the troops from Lindon. Elrond and Celebrían had time only to embrace each other and then they were swept off to various duties—outfitting the visiting troops with as many helmets and sets of armor as the forges could produce on short notice; cross-referencing and comparing the reports from the scouts riding out looking for Sauron's arrival; finding and organizing shelter and food for the massive numbers of new arrivals in the city. All told, they had mustered nearly twelve thousand troops.

The leaders and captains of the alliance set up headquarters in a citadel built into the cliffside, the tallest building with the best view of the city and the plains and forests to the west and south.

"Why doesn't this city have walls?" the dwarf prince Fáin asked, blunt and to the point. "It is not like the Noldor to build something so open and unprotected."

Celebrimbor exchanged a small, private smile with Celeborn. Celebrían stared at the two of them, convinced that she was hallucinating. Since when did her father and her cousin actually get along with one another?

"We have something better than walls," Celebrimbor said.

Celeborn took up the story from there. "The three of us—Galadriel, Celebrimbor and I—chose to build here after wandering the foothills of the mountains searching for the perfect place for many years. The confluence of these two rivers is a location of immense power. We found that the water is alive here. We spoke to its spirit."

"It is not quite the same as being told where to build a city by Ulmo himself," Celebrimbor continued the story, with a wry smile. "But it's the closest the Second Age has. We are protected by the waters and can call on them in need—to dismantle the bridges and wash away enemies attempting to cross the river, or flood the plains, or even our own city if it comes to that."

"Oh," Fáin said. "That's... very Elven of you." He sounded torn between skepticism, admiration, and exasperation.

Most of the other captains laughed or nodded along with this, but Amroth raised one eyebrow and gave Celebrimbor a rather arch look. "Does Sauron know this about the power of the waters?"

The smile that had been lingering on Celebrimbor's face vanished at once. He chewed on his lip for a while before answering. "He knows I do not fear an approach by enemies over the water. I did not share with him the details, but...."

"So we should expect him to come from the direction that is not a river," Amroth concluded.

And he was proven completely correct when the first useful scouting report came in.

"We've found them," the messenger gasped, having run as fast as possible to deliver the news. "A great army of orcs, marching in the high foothills of the Hithaeglir. If they stay their current path, they will come round north and attack us from the east—from the higher ground."

The captains left the citadel and climbed Amon Thonion to scout the terrain. Celeborn and Amroth took charge of arranging troops on the hillside and positioning them among the trees. Meanwhile, Celebrían and Celebrimbor climbed to the top of a rocky cliff that faced south, to see if they could obtain a view of the enemy. Sure enough, by the time they cleared the trees and found a perch with a view, the enemy was close enough that their Elven eyes could already make them out. It was a cloudy day, and as a result, the orcs were all apparently comfortable enough to march without waiting for nightfall. They were coming, and coming fast.

Celebrían stood at Celebrimbor's side on the forestless slopes and looked with awe on the lines of orcs weaving their way among the foothills. They had not taken the easiest path here, the one down on the plains—they had taken some pains to be in a position where it would be challenging to attack them from above, had someone wanted to send a sortie from the city to meet them ahead of time.

And there were so many of them.

"Still wish you had been alive for all the First Age battles?" Celebrimbor murmured, throwing her a knowing glance.

"I am not afraid of these orcs," Celebrían said immediately, and she felt certain that it was true. "They are doing a neat job of hiding their numbers by weaving in and out of the trees and the contours of the mountains, but the scouts have said there can't be more than ten thousand. We outnumber them—and even if we didn't, men and elves have always been able to best an equal number of orcs."

"Yes," Celebrimbor murmured. "He must have planned for the five thousand troops he knows is the maximum Ost-in-Edhil can muster."

"He would have indeed found us easy to mop up if facing everyone separately," Celebrían pointed out. "The scattered hundreds or thousands here and there."

"Yes," Celebrimbor agreed. "I—that's your doing. Thank you."

She reached out and squeezed his arm. "And yours! You're even getting along with my father."

"Yes," he agreed, but unsmilingly. "I wish... I had not kept him at a distance for so long."

"He kept you at a distance as well," Celebrían reminded him. "You needn't take the whole of it on yourself. And look at him now—laughing with you over old tales and willing to speak civilly to Prince Fáin!"

"I know," Celebrimbor agreed ruefully. "It seems it only took the existential threat of the Enemy to unite us."

Celebrían tried to laugh, but it came out sounding forced and unhappy.

"Do you think he can be reasoned with?" Celebrimbor asked abruptly. It sounded like Celebrimbor had wished to ask this question for a long time, but had been suppressing it. And Celebrían knew that the 'he' did not refer to Celeborn anymore.

"Surely military strength is a language he speaks," Celebrían said. "He is not dealing with you standing in your ruined city alone. He cannot take Ost-in-Edhil with the force he's brought, and he risks Minastir arriving and utterly annihilating him. He is not stupid, whatever else he is."

"I fear him," Celebrimbor confessed. "I fear I will give him whatever he wants. That is why I had to put the Three beyond my power to give."

"You do not face him alone," Celebrían said, standing up a little straighter. "You have all of us at your side—Amroth, Fáin, Elrond, my father. Me. And twelve thousand soldiers at your back."

She had no intention of letting Celebrimbor stand alone, even if he wanted to.

"I know," Celebrimbor said softly. "Do you... do you suppose there is anything of Annatar in him? Or was it a complete lie?"

"I don't think anyone can live a complete lie for that long," Celebrían said immediately. "Not even him. Annatar was not a lie. Annatar was one facet of Sauron, just as the angry letters and this orc army are another."

Night was closing in, and there was no more time to speak of such things. They left the cliff to join the captains' counsel on how best to prepare for the orcs' arrival.

Celebrimbor left a handful of companies to guard the city itself, just in case. He positioned many more companies on the slopes of Amon Thonion near Ost-in-Edhil, closest to their own city and ready to reoccupy it if Sauron withdrew his forces from the hills onto the plains and attacked over the rivers. The men from Vinyalondë joined these companies. Amroth and his wood elves stayed hidden and scattered throughout the trees of the upper reaches of Amon Thonion. The remaining companies of Ost-in-Edhil's troops joined those of Elrond and Fáin, who used the well-armored bulk of their forces to draw up battle lines facing south, ready to confront the approaching orcs as one unit.

The orcs, however, did not offer battle that evening. They halted in the foothills, outside of bow range, and seemed to settle into camps dotting the hillside. Campfires appeared here and there in the nooks and crannies of the mountain slopes, and the smell of roasting meat wafted on the air.

"This is quite odd behavior," Celebrimbor observed as they watched the camps spring up. "Orcs customarily attack at nightfall. What can he be waiting for?"

No one had an answer to this. The captains on the crest of Amon Thonion debated and decided to keep the troops in place, to sleep in watches and without fires. As a general rule, the Eldar and the Edain could last longer without sleep than orcs; they would all be fresh enough tomorrow. They sent a few companies down onto the plains to ensure that the campfires were not some diversion for the orcs passing out of the mountains and attacking the city from the south, but the reports came back that all was quiet and still.

After this was settled, there was nothing to do but wait. Celebrían herself had no intention of sleeping. She stood next to Elrond and entwined her hand in his, and they gazed at the stars above the tree branches.

"Nervous?" Elrond asked her softly. Too softly to carry to the ears of the other captains on the hilltop.

"No," she answered honestly. "There is no place I'd rather be right now. And no one I would rather stand beside."

She leaned her head onto his shoulder. She relaxed as she breathed in his comforting scent.

They were silent for a long time, waiting and watching—until suddenly Celebrían's eyes darted to an unexpected movement behind Elrond in the trees.

Something about it made her instincts scream. Celebrían gave a small start and drew her knife.

"What is it?" Elrond asked, whirling around.

A figure dressed in grayish-green robes was suddenly standing among the trees where Celebrían was quite sure there had been nothing before. It looked like an elf, with dark brown skin, wearing a hooded cloak that shaded his features.

Celebrían did not need Celebrimbor's sharp intake of breath to alert her. There was something about the way he held himself—or the way he seemed to radiate an unearthly power—and she knew it for him.

"Annatar," Celebrían said, modulating her voice to sound as pleasant as possible. She lowered her knife to her side. "Fancy seeing you here."

Sauron laughed, and reached up and shook his hood off his head. A cascade of long, silver hair spilled out and seemed to shine in the forest like starlight. And then she indeed was looking at someone who looked precisely like Annatar, and not the terrifying lieutenant of Morgoth who had featured vaguely in her nightmares. As always, he appeared very fine and very fair, his warm brown skin closely matching the shade of her own. He was, also as usual, wearing many rings and jewels in his hair and on his ears, exactly after the manner of the Eldar. Although none of the real Eldar present here were wearing such things to battle.

Celebrían looked down at Sauron's hand, without being able to help it. She didn't have a clear idea of what she thought she was looking for, but she knew it at soon as she saw it. He was bearing one surpassingly fine, pure golden ring. It was plain, without any markings or gemstones, but it shone with power and perfection. It was splendid in its simplicity.

Celebrían tore her eyes away from the band. Celebrimbor had explained the nature of this ring as a monstrously evil thing. Surely she could not be thinking of it as beautiful. She forced herself to look back at Sauron's face, which was so horribly, so exactly Annatar's face.

"Don't mind me," Sauron said. His tone and his manner were extremely casual. He might have been chatting with Celebrían over a lunch of freshwater trout and spring greens, discussing the latest research into dissecting light. "I was just doing a little spying."

No one seemed to have anything to say to this. Fáin hefted his axe off the ground, but no one else drew any weapons.

"Lovely armor," Sauron added to Celebrían, a tiny smile quirking his lips that was so familiar, it hurt her heart.

"Thank you," she said, pleased by how calm her voice sounded. "Someone who was once a good friend of mine helped me make it."

This prompted Sauron to broaden his smile, showing gleaming teeth. Elrond's hand tightened around hers.

"You are much better prepared than I expected," Sauron continued, still as though it were perfectly normal that they were all holding this conversation here and now. "I do not expect my forces will prevail against yours."

"Then you should leave," Elrond said, finding his voice. Celebrían squeezed his hand in turn.

"I suppose I will," Sauron said mildly. "I have never been one to throw myself into a hopeless fight against the odds."

A beat of silence. Then—"Just like that?" Amroth asked, sounding like he could not decide whether he was bewildered or angry.

Sauron made a noncommittal sound, and tilted his head. His eyes left Celebrían and went to Celebrimbor.

"I am sorry about that last letter," he said, his tone very light. "Well, I am not sorry for writing it, it was cathartic, but I am sorry for sending it. It was not very diplomatic."

Celebrimbor was very still. He said nothing.

"If I... do leave... and write to you again... will you respond this time?" For the first time, Sauron's manner was hesitant.

Celebrimbor stayed silent for a long time. He was not even blinking.

"I will think about it," Celebrimbor finally said. "It depends on what it says."

"Hmm," Sauron said. He reached up and tugged his hood back into place, covering his shining hair and casting his face back into shadow. "I will think about it too, then."

He did not turn and walk away. He simply melted back into the shadows until it was as though he were never there.

"Well, this is the most absurd turn of events I have witnessed in a long time!" Fáin exclaimed, letting his axe fall back onto the ground.

Amroth laughed. He sounded slightly hysterical. "Was that really Sauron?" he demanded. "Offering to just leave?"

"It was really Sauron," Celebrían said softly. "Or at least, it was really Annatar. No one else—ah—glows like that."

Celebrimbor let out a small sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a sob.

"We are not simply taking his word for it," Elrond said firmly, and very rationally. "We will hold our positions and wait and watch."

"Quite right, my love," Celebrían murmured.

And they waited and watched, but daybreak revealed the orc army indeed in full retreat.

 

There was some talk of chasing the orcs and cutting them down in the rear, against the possibility that they would return, but Celebrimbor refused to allow it. Celebrían rather agreed with him; a battle that ended in no losses for either side should be accepted as an unlooked-for, peaceable solution.

Elrond and Celebrían decided to stay in Ost-in-Edhil for the foreseeable future, to help fortify it and forge an array of stronger and better weapons. They were determined not to let Sauron come at them unawares in the future. The men of Vinyalondë, the Silvan elves of Amroth, and the dwarves of Fáin headed home, but their homes were not far, and they would remain willing to come again at need.

"It's not over," Celebrimbor said. They were taking a break from pouring over blueprints for new city walls—not to line the rivers, which Celebrimbor maintained they did not need, but to wall off the approach from the forested hillside above the city.

"It's not," Celebrían acknowledged, leaning back in her chair and stretching out her legs. They'd become cramped as she'd lost herself in the debate over the designs. "He could spend another hundred years breeding exponentially more orcs. But for now... it's the reprieve we needed, isn't it?"

Celebrimbor sighed. He no longer walked around holding himself like he expected to die, but his eyes would still fall into a haunted look every now and then, and Celebrían knew he was dwelling on his mistakes. She continued to try to jar him out of it when she noticed.

"Yes," he agreed. "It is. We have many possible futures before us, instead of just one."

Celebrían was surprised, and pleased. That was more optimism from him than she'd expected.

"I don't think we can ever ask for much more than that," she said, giving him her warmest smile.