Many Meetings : the Night is Passing by bunn  

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Celebrimbor and the Ringbearers

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Celebrimbor rode off with Finrod and Orodreth to Tirion, to meet with many old friends and long-lost relatives, and to re-establish the House of Fëanor in the city, while Elrond, Celebrían and Galadriel went on east, down the long road to the white shores and blue waters of Alqualondë, to catch the ferry home to the Isle of Exiles, the isle that looked forever east across the Sea to hidden Middle-earth. 

It was some time before Celebrimbor came to Tol Eressëa, to visit Gil-galad, who had once been his king, and to meet with his last living uncle. 

Maglor and Elrond came to meet the boat, walking down the winding path into the white town of Avallónë towards the tall tower by the quayside that once had looked out east to Númenor. 

They were speaking of Elrond’s new harp. Although it was, Maglor thought, a very good thing that he was now able to ensure that Elrond’s harp was a decent one, Elrond’s taste in harps did not entirely meet with his approval. 

“Silver, really, Elrond? It won’t have such a rounded tone.”

“I like a silver harp,” Elrond told him. “And if I wanted to hear only what you think is a perfect tone, I could always get you to play instead. I’m having it made because I enjoy playing, and I prefer silver.”

The newness of being able to wrangle amiably over music or play together whenever it took their fancy had not entirely worn off yet. Maglor felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. However, that would not win the argument. Instead, he shook his head gloomily. “If you aren’t careful, it will sound tinkly.”

Elrond gave him an amused but entirely obstinate smile. “Perhaps I like tinkly. I am sure you will make sure it is as close to perfect as you’ll admit it can be, and still be silver. But silver it will be, since it is my harp and not yours!” 

Maglor held up his hands in defeat, and sighed. “Silver. All right then.” 

Egalmoth and Galdor of Gondolin were following them down the hill with a handful of their people, as a kind of escort, though not a particularly welcome one. 

Both lords were veterans who had been in the retreat from Gondolin to the Havens of Sirion. At the Havens, Egalmoth had died under Maglor’s blade, when Maglor and his brothers had come down in flame and terror upon the exiled remnant of Gondolin and Doriath, seeking for a Silmaril. Galdor had survived and returned to Aman at the end of the War of Wrath to greet his friend Egalmoth again when he returned to life from the Halls of Mandos. 

Neither was at all inclined to trust that Maglor could be safely left to wander Tol Eressëa. So taking turns with other lords and assisted by a changing group of old companions from Gondolin, they watched him. Maglor had almost become used to them by now. 

Elrond looked back at them with a slight frown as they came down towards the harbour. “Are you sure I should not speak with Turgon and demand that he order them to leave?” he asked. 

“Do as you wish, Elrond, it’s hardly for me to say.” Maglor glanced over his shoulder at the Gondolodrim himself and wrinkled his nose. “I admit, if I must be watched, I prefer Ecthelion. He’s less unyielding than Egalmoth and a much better flautist. Also, he has more of a sense of humour than Galdor and is certainly better tempered than Rog! Being watched by Rog is rather like having a thundercloud lurking behind me... But I thought you felt that it would be wiser for me to try to win them over?” 

“It seemed a good idea originally,” Elrond said. “You have got somewhere with Ecthelion at least, and I think perhaps Galdor too. Glorfindel always spoke highly of Ecthelion. But it’s beginning to annoy me a little to be constantly reminded that they distrust both my judgement and my ability.”

Maglor grinned. “I share their doubts about your judgement. Silver harps and sons of Fëanor? It all seems most unwise!”

Elrond looked amused. “There’s nothing wrong with silver harps!” 

“I’d love to take their doubts of your ability as a great compliment to mine,” Maglor told him cheerfully. “But I suspect it’s more that they haven’t been paying much attention to events in Middle-earth in all the long years since the War of Wrath.”

Elrond laughed. “Well, that is a great comfort to my pride!”

“I hope they aren’t going to treat Celebrimbor as they do me though. He doesn’t deserve mistrust. Well, except that he shares your taste for silver, so probably shares your terrible taste in harps too.”

“He had enough of mistrust when he was in Lindon,” Elrond agreed, refusing to return to the subject of harps. “Gil-galad would not wish him to be mistrusted either, and after all, Gil-galad rules here in Tol Eressëa...I’ll speak with them and remind them of the Three Rings and what we owe Celebrimbor for them.” 

“You could just order them to leave, if that’s what you want,” Maglor pointed out. “In Middle-earth, they’d all owe you allegiance as Turgon’s heir.” 

“You know I never wanted that,” Elrond said, with just a hint of discomfort on his usually composed face. “That was Gil-galad. I’m no king.” 

“Maybe your judgement isn’t so terrible then. Even if I didn’t have many other reasons to be profoundly grateful to Fingon, I would be grateful for saving me from kingship.”

“I know,” Elrond said. “You’ve mentioned it, now and again, always with an air of having escaped an awful doom! Given your history, that’s quite alarming. Though Elros did quite enjoy being a king,you know. It suits some people. I shall just ask them politely not to bother Celebrimbor. Would you mind waiting here while I go and have a word with them? It’s hard to talk to Egalmoth when he’s glaring at you mistrustfully.”

The ferry from Alqualondë was running late. Elrond had time to talk the Gondolodrim into a strategic retreat, and still there was no sign of it. 

Maglor wandered alongside the long wharf that jutted out into the clear green water of the harbour, looking at the shoals of small fishes, their scales flashing silver as they turned all together and caught the light for a moment. He caught a glimpse of something larger in the sea, a dark blur beneath the water that moved swiftly in through the open harbour mouth and sent the fishes flickering into the shelter of the long green weed. He pointed it out to Elrond. “A seal?” Then as it wove a half-circle through the clear water showing bright flashes of colour on its flanks, “No, a dolphin! They are supposed to be lucky.”

“It seems to have brought us the ferry at last,” Elrond said, as the dark prow of the ferry nosed in through the harbour-mouth. 

And there was Celebrimbor, with his long dark hair caught up in a silver circlet that was clearly one of his own designs, wearing a long dark-green coat, with a great silver brooch in the form of the star of Fëanor upon his shoulder. He looked like his father still, but stronger and more confident, as if he had filled out the outlines of a person that Curufin had never quite managed to be. He resembled Fëanor too, though steadier, without Fëanor’s intensity.

A few of his people out of Tirion were with him. Maglor recognised a couple of them as veterans of Beleriand, and nodded. Elrond greeted them all courteously.

“You look well,” Maglor told his nephew as he came down onto the wharf.

“I can’t say the same for you,” Celebrimbor said, and without more ado hugged him. “You look like your own ghost. And after last time, I’m never going to believe another word you say without checking it. Even If you tell me the Sun is shining, I shall look to make sure!” 

“That’s more or less what Elrond said,” Maglor told him. “Except I think he said that if I said I was playing the harp, he would check it over carefully to make sure it wasn’t a lute. Same idea though. I’m sorry, Celebrimbor. You can see that we couldn’t risk you getting involved there at the end. We wanted you safely out of it.”

“It was obvious what you were going to do,” Celebrimbor said, clearly annoyed. “I’m only irritated with myself for not seeing it and stopping you.” 

“I’d like to have seen you try,” Maglor said, amused. Then it occurred to him what might so easily have happened if Celebrimbor had tried, and felt profoundly grateful that Celebrimbor’s hope had overwhelmed his common sense, at least on that occasion. At least neither he nor Maedhros had Celebrimbor’s death upon his conscience. 

Celebrimbor gave him a long unimpressed stare with considerable power behind it, reminding Maglor that it was a very long time since Celebrimbor had been his little brother’s young son. “And then you vanished, leaving no word,” he said. “Why didn’t you at least let me know where you were?”

“I thought you’d prefer to be free of your disreputable relatives,” Maglor said, surprised. “It can’t have been easy, even having disowned us, having the name following you.”

“No,” Celebrimbor said. “No, it wasn’t. But I never disowned you. I repudiated my father’s deeds and Celegorm’s, in Nargothrond. I defended those who stood with me at the Havens, because that was only right. But I kept the name, and the badge. I looked after our people, as I promised Maedhros I would. I put the star on everything I made. I still do. And you should have told me!” 

“In that case, I’m sorry for that too,” Maglor said. He still thought it had probably been better for Celebrimbor not to know, but one more apology was neither here nor there. “I didn’t mean any hurt by it. I would have come, if I’d known you were in trouble. I hope I would have, anyway... Not that one person would have made a difference. But I was rather out of touch, I’m afraid. The first I knew of the invasion of Eriador was when I saw the Numenorean fleet arriving, and it was far too late to try to help by then.”

The other passengers on the ferry had gone up into the town now, and Celebrimbor’s people were waiting politely at a little distance. The ferry-elves were turning their boat, ready to go back to Alqualondë. Grey gulls were shrieking overhead. 

Celebrimbor shrugged. “It was all over too quickly, in the end. Even Elrond didn’t come in time — not that I blame you, Elrond, no-one could have! And as you say, one more person would have made no difference.” He looked Maglor sternly in the eye, and Maglor realised that Celebrimbor was now a little taller than he was himself. Presumably he had been when Maglor had last seen him, but he was standing with his shoulders back and head up now.

 “I’m glad you are still alive. I am so very glad.” Celebrimbor said. “Just... Just don’t ever do it again!”

“I don’t want to do it again!” Maglor said. It was true, but not exactly a promise. Elrond noticed that, and gave him a thoughtful sideways look. That would not do. 

Maglor took a cautious look at his Oath, wound deep in music in his mind and fast asleep, and said, “I forswore it. The Oath.” 

“Really?” Celebrimbor said, sceptical. “Maedhros thinks that impossible.”

“Maedhros thought it was impossible to go on living,” Maglor said. “We don’t always agree. There was little choice at the end of the war, but there was some. We got it wrong. I got it wrong. I should have stopped him, not you. But it won’t happen again. Quite apart from upsetting everyone in general, it would make Elrond very annoyed! There has to be a limit to his patience, though I haven’t found it yet. And to yours, for that matter. I’d hate to be the final straw that got us all disowned at last.”

“I’ve had many thousands of years in the Halls of Mandos to lose patience with all your brothers,” Celebrimbor said with a wry smile. “I haven’t done it yet. They sent their love.” 

“I’m glad you made it up with your father,” Maglor said. “He missed you. He wasn’t the same, after the Dagor Bragollach. Well, you know that better than I do. I can see why you stayed in Nargothrond. But still, I’m glad.” 

“He wasn’t the same after Alqualondë. Or before that, really.” Celebrimbor said. “None of us were. ” 

“Come on, Celebrimbor” Elrond said smiling. “I have a pair of hobbits up at the house who are very keen to meet you.”

. . . . . .

“So you’re the one who helped Sauron make our old Ring, are you?” Bilbo said, examining Celebrimbor with a bright eye, as they sat in the garden of Elrond and Celebrían’s house, looking out across the sea that shimmered and rolled blue below the cliff’s edge not far away. 

“Not the One Ring itself,” Celebrimbor said, apologetically. “Even I am not that naive. He made that himself, alone. But the Seven and the Nine, and many of the lesser rings, yes, I am afraid so.” 

“You did make a great pile of trouble for yourself!” Bilbo said. “And for a good many other people, too. But I’m told you didn’t mean it.”

“The history of the House of Fëanor summarized in a handful of words!” Maglor said ruefully. “More concise than your usual style, Bilbo.” 

“Oh, but who wants to be concise!” Bilbo exclaimed. “There are far too many fine words to use for that, and far too many tales to be told!” 

“It’s fortunate you don’t desire brevity, Master Bilbo,” Maglor told him very seriously. “It’s not as though you often manage it.” 

“Well, hark at you, Master Maglor! You’re a fine one to talk about keeping things brief!” Bilbo said laughing. 

“I didn’t intend the Rings to end up as they did. I regretted it greatly,” Celebrimbor said, with what Maglor considered to be monumental understatement. 

“So I heard,” Frodo said. He gave an uncomfortable laugh. “You know, when we were walking across deserted Eregion, on our way to take the Ring to the Fire, someone told me that the Noldor of Eregion had left their land and gone to the Grey Havens. I think he was being kind. If he’d told me the truth about what had happened to you then, I think I would have screamed and not stopped running until I was hiding under my own bed at home in the Shire!” 

“Don’t let it haunt you,” Celebrimbor said. “It was very dark and terrible, yes, the ending.” He looked at Elrond and Celebrían. “All the more terrible for knowing the danger I was leaving behind me... But before the ending, Eregion was very fair. For five hundred years before Annatar first came to trick us, Ost-in-Edhil was a place of joy and light. And now it’s all over. Here we sit beneath the the Sun, listening to the waves and the birds singing.” 

“They cannot conquer forever,” Frodo said. “You’re right, but I’m still glad I didn’t know at the time.”

“The Three, at least, achieved a great deal,” Elrond told Celebrimbor. He looked down at Vilya on his finger, then pulled it off and offered it to him. “Would you like it back?” 

Celebrimbor took it and looked at the clear blue stone closely. “Not much left of him now, is there?” he said, as if talking of a favorite hound or horse, now old and grey and tired. “Still, he did his best, I can see that.” He held it out to Elrond. “Keep him, Elrond, as a remembrance if nothing more. He likes you, and he’s used to you now... I’ll make something different, instead. There’s no point hanging on to treasures made. Better to give them away and move on to make something new.” He gave Maglor a sharp look. “And yes, I did tell my grandfather I thought that.”

“Whew,” Maglor said with respect. “Rather you than me.” 

“That is something Bilbo here achieved,” Elrond said. “Bilbo gave the One to Frodo, did you know, Celebrimbor? After carrying it for sixty years. Quite unprecedented, I believe.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t able to do the same,” Frodo said quietly. “But then the circumstances were rather difficult then.” 

“One who cannot cast away a treasure at need is in fetters,” Elrond quoted.

“Yes,” Frodo said simply. 

Celebrimbor’s face had crumpled in distress. “They were never supposed to be hard to give away,” he said. “Only hard to lose. The Nine were supposed to... well, never mind that. I can’t undo it now. Only learn from it.”

Frodo gave him a sympathetic look. “I only saw Eregion and Khazâd Dum long after they were ruined,” he said. “Would you tell us about them?”