Dreams Fade at Dawn by Zdenka

“Are you sure you have to leave?”

“Yes,” Annatar said, with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “There are things I can only test and accomplish elsewhere. I will return, Celebrimbor, I promise you.”

Celebrimbor would miss his friend and the way Annatar challenged him in their exchange of ideas. Working with Annatar was fascinating; they could spend hours in the forge together, and the rest of the world seemed to fall away. But it would be selfish of Celebrimbor to keep him by his side, when there was so much to learn and see. He said lightly, “I should have some things to show you when you get back. We’ve only begun to explore what can be done with the Rings of Power.”

“I know you will not be idle in my absence. When I return, I look forward to matching my work against yours.”

Celebrimbor laughed. “A competition?”

“If you like.”

“Return, then, Annatar! When you have finished your travels, the doors of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain will always be open to you.”

Annatar put a hand on his shoulder, and Celebrimbor felt warmed by it. “The Gwaith-i-Mírdain is something to be treasured,” Annatar said. “I would not willingly forsake it.” He leaned closer, smiling. “What we have done here, what we have accomplished in our work together—truly, it has surpassed my expectations. But then, you always do, Celebrimbor.”

Celebrimbor gave a last polish with a cloth to each of the jewels and set them down. The Three Rings sparkled in the sunlight from the window: adamant, ruby, sapphire. But his creations were more than merely beautiful. He could see the latent power imbued into every facet. It was time to test them—to see what they could do. His hand hovered over each of them before settling on the sapphire ring. Vilya, the Ring of Air. Celebrimbor drew in a long breath and let it out again, then slipped the Ring onto his finger.

He was sinking into a haze of shining blue. And then rising, expanding outward—Celebrimbor opened his eyes without having realized he’d closed them. He caught his breath in delight at the new world of perception which opened itself to him. He could see the air currents, a delicate tracery winding through the room. Though to call it seeing wasn’t quite right—perhaps seeing and hearing and feeling, all at the same time, and yet a sense which was none of those.

A gentle breeze was blowing in through the open window. He followed it back as if enchanted, until he could flow and rise freely. He found that with little effort he could send his consciousness upward on the winds, look up into the vast blue of the sky or downward to see Ost-in-Edhil spread out before him. The air was singing gently, but in a way he felt in his bones; a melody resounding with hope and light, both gentle and strong like the wingbeats of eagles. He could not say how long he soared and drifted through the air currents, learning more of how wind and air and air pressure worked than he had in a thousand lectures or experiments. At last he felt himself becoming tired and reluctantly spiraled back down into his own self.

Celebrimbor took many such flights, with each of the Three in turn; he also let the master-smiths of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain wear the Rings and record their impressions, for it was different with each mind and spirit.

Until Celebrimbor was torn from his sleep one night, encircled by words of fire and burning shadow:  One Ring to rule them all . . . And everything came crashing down.

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