The Last Maker by Ecthelion  

The Downfall: Part Two

Notes, scrolls, and books were everywhere: stacked on the table, scattered on the floor, and piled against the walls. Celebrimbor paced back and forth in the limited space available, frowning and unsettled like a trapped beast.

He must have overlooked something—something of true importance.

It was not lack of progress in forging the Rings of Power that troubled him. In fact, with both him and Annatar collaborating and providing guidance, the craftsmen of the Mírdain toiled continuously yet never encountered any truly insurmountable obstacle.

“I am more adept with metal, while you excel with gems,” Annatar remarked during a brief respite from their extended exploration and discussion. “Metal is malleable and adaptable, whereas gems are steadfast and enduring. Your strengths and mine do indeed complement one another.”

“You forgot to mention words and scripts,” he added lightly. “Among the Noldor, we have always esteemed them above all else.”

Words and scripts were not merely for record-keeping. He and Narvi, one of those deep dwellers of the Mines of Moria, had designed the West-gate of that Dwarven kingdom in the Mountains. The concept was simple yet effective: runes rendered in ithildin upon the door hinted at a subtle riddle, readily discouraging those who approached in ignorance. He had no intention of revealing such details here, for the Dwarves had entrusted him with a secret that safeguarded their home.

“Alas, I have indeed overlooked them,” the golden-haired man conceded with a smile. “Allow me to reflect on how their power might be put to good use.”

All proceeded according to plan, yet as the Seven and the Nine neared completion, Celebrimbor’s dissatisfaction grew daily, until he was entirely disenchanted.

Because these were not what he had envisioned.

“They are Rings of Power,” Annatar said, unfazed by his protest. “They are infused with strength for the benefit of the bearer: is this not what we intended?”

“No, it is not,” he denied flatly. “It is merely our current limit.”

With that, he returned to his work, failing to note the strange gleam that flickered in those pale grey eyes.

So far, all the creations of the Mírdain had followed Annatar’s design: first exchanging life for power, and then harnessing it to prolong mortal years. Life, though finite, need not be lost beyond recovery—at least according to Annatar. Since this power, drawn from life, emerges from the essence of primeval creation and thus surpasses all reckoning, borrowing it briefly is deemed acceptable.

He did not object to this design, for it provided a clear, seemingly miraculous path to their goal. Yet he was not satisfied, for it fell far short of the ideal he sought. He remembered vividly how the Three Jewels of Curufinwë Fëanáro had rejoiced at receiving light and then returned it in even more radiant hues.

Receiving without depriving, giving without diminishing—what on Arda would be necessary to achieve such a state?

He remained restless and anxious day after day, and in marked contrast to his inactivity, Annatar, having attained a high position in the Mírdain, began to journey abroad. He started by exploring within Eregion, but soon extended his travels, spending more and more time beyond its borders. Some voiced concern over these expeditions, and a few even speculated that the Lord of Gifts, having encountered this challenge, was seeking escape. But Annatar quickly proved them wrong by always returning—each time bearing an abundance of unusual minerals and exotic materials for the craftsmen to study and experiment with. Over time, his journeys became routine, and the unease in the city gradually diminished.

“I have tidings of Lady Galadriel,” Annatar remarked casually upon returning from yet another journey. “She has found a new refuge east of the Misty Mountains.”

Celebrimbor, hunched over a cluttered table strewn with papers, stones, and bits of wood, glanced up in mild confusion before nodding halfheartedly. “Good for her.”

Annatar said nothing more, merely smiling as Celebrimbor returned to his labors.

Celebrimbor waited until the soft thud of the closing door subsided and the footsteps faded into silence. Only then did he lift his head and gaze out the window at the moonlit flowers below.

She had been gone from Eregion for decades—perhaps centuries—had she not?

After he announced that the Mírdain would welcome Annatar, Galadriel—who had previously kept her distance—made one final attempt to sway his decision.

“I thought you, of all people, would understand me,” he said, patiently waiting for her to finish, though he could not entirely hide his disappointment. “What you said in Lindon, I have never forgotten.”

“But you do not understand what you are doing.” She paused at his words, yet spoke again, her voice gentler but no less firm. “I, too, studied under Aulë and know something of making. I do not trust Annatar. Through your choices, you risk yourself—indeed, not only yourself, but the Mírdain and all your people in Eregion.”

“If this unproven threat troubles you so, why not find another land and await my good news there?” He laughed. “Men have a saying: out of sight, out of mind.”

He never learned exactly when people began whispering that he had driven her away to protect Annatar. Yet when he heard it, he never spoke up to correct them. Had he not, in part, contributed to her departure? She had chosen to leave, but could he honestly claim no role in that decision?

She will understand when I succeed, he told himself. And so will Ereinion and Círdan.

That night, he worked late as usual. On the threshold of Irmo’s domain, he heard those familiar voices again—voices long etched in his heart.

...It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their like; and if I must break them, I shall break my heart, and I shall be slain.(1)

...A part of you will pass into your making and dwell in it ever after.

He awoke. The night still stretched on, yet his heart felt illuminated, and at last he knew he had found the answer he had sought for so long.

Chapter End Notes

(1) Quotes from The Silmarillion.