Bringing Trouble to Barad-dur by Aiwen

But Will it Do Any Good?

Gil-galad and Celebrimbor held the drug packets in reserve until they could find a good time to use them for greatest effect. Preferably in public, and when Sauron really needed to be thinking clearly. In the meantime, there were lots of other things for them to do.

Now that they no longer had to make their pranks look natural, there were plenty of new things that they could to, ranging from inconveniences like dying Sauron's underwear maroon, misfiling his papers, making the ceiling in the Palantir room leak and painting a white tree on the outside of Barad-dur, to truly serious things like the diversion of two divisions from the attack on Minas Tirith to helping the farmers of northern Harad in their spring planting. Now they wouldn't be there for the attack Sauron was planning.

Despite this, Gil-galad couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't doing enough. While Celebrimbor concentrated on driving Sauron out of his wits, he had spent a lot of time learning the enemy's plans and the current situation that those seeking to resist him faced. It wasn't good; in fact it was extremely bad. He could see why Lord Namo had sent them - what he didn't understand was how the two of them could make much difference in the outcome if they didn't resort to finding a way to kill Sauron or a large portion of his armies. And yet... there must be a way for the people of Middle-earth to win, or they wouldn't have been sent.

The only thing he could think of was if whoever had the Ring managed to destroy it in Orodruin's fires. But all the evidence suggested that Isildur's heir had been as foolish as his ancestor and had taken the Ring for himself. Gil-galad rubbed his eyes, despite the fact they didn't actually hurt, and sighed silently. He hadn't actually seen Isildur take the Ring, but it still hurts to think that his and Elendil's deaths and the deaths of so many other people had been so casually set aside. A wereguild for my father's death. Pah! As if that could possibly make up for betraying everything your father and brother died to make possible.

Gil-galad sighed again. He really shouldn't hold grudges after all this time, he really shouldn't. But they had come so close, and so much suffering could have been avoided if Isildur had only dumped the fell thing in Orodruin while he had the chance.

And now here he was, playing pranks on Sauron while so many men and elves fought and died for the fault of a man thousands of years dead. Even having been in the halls of Mandos for over 3000 years didn't prevent him doubting the wisdom of the Valar sometimes.

"What are you sighing about?" asked Celebrimbor as he appeared through the closed trapdoor into the attic.

"The whole situation," said Gil-galad. "You do realize that the free peoples of Middle-earth are not going to be able to win this war."

"You would know more about that than I," said Celebrimbor. "I take it the situation is not merely bad, but terrible."

"Yes," said Gil-galad. "I feel like I'm playing games while my friends fight and die. We aren't to win the war for the living, but I don't see how they can win this war for themselves. They would have to dump the ring into Orodruin and all the evidence seems to show that this Aragorn man has taken it for himself. The fool! And I'm not allowed to do anything about the situation but disarrange Sauron's papers and break teacups. Why did the Valar send us if we cannot do anything of use?"

"I don't think they would have, if what we are doing is truly useless. We have to trust that Lord Namo knows what he's doing and do the best we can."

"But half the time when the Valar do do something, it's too little too late! Or not even the right thing to start with."

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows, then put an incorporeal arm around Gil-galad's shoulders. "I thought complaining about the Valar and despairing of the future was my job."

"I had another 1,744 years of fighting Sauron after you died, Celebrimbor. Struggling to keep our people alive, and watching Numenor defile and destroy itself without being able to stop it."

"Gil-galad, you aren't High King anymore. It's not your responsibility now. Let go of it." He paused. "You were probably the best High King the Noldor ever had in Middle-earth, in any case."

"You don't stop caring just because you no longer have a crown, Celebrimbor, not if you're any good as a king to start with."

"I'm not asking you to stop caring. That would be impossible. Just accept that it is not your responsibility to fix the world by yourself. That's how I got into trouble with the Rings, you know. Trying to turn back time and heal things that were never in my power because I felt responsible for the sins of my forefathers..."

"That's different."

"Is it? How?"

Gil-galad sat in silence and thought about it. "Maybe less so than I had thought," he said. "But I always hated standing around and doing nothing while others get hurt, and it seems to keep happening to me. And it is so tempting to drop a five ton rock on Sauron or start a fire in the record room."

"Or steal the Dwarf Rings and use them to collapse Barad-dur," added Celebrimbor.

Gil-galad looked at him in surprise.

"They're helping hold up the upper stories of Barad-dur," Celebrimbor said. "You are not the only one to feel this way." He grinned suddenly. "You know, we could set fire to the record room. That's a good idea."

"The lanterns they use are the Feanorian variety, so we can't just spill a candle."

Celebrimbor began to dig through the equipment they had gathered in the attic. "I know I put some matches in here somewhere..."