The Advisor

He said he had always liked crafting. Ever since he was very young he had been allowed to sit and watch the working of his father, his mother, his grandmother and her father, his grandfather... He spoke those names with some sadness but also indignation. Yet I could see that the education he had been given had made him immensely talented even when compared to his kin. I admired his talent greatly.

Celebrimbor of the Noldor was a master smith whom everybody admitted as being one of the great minds of the Second Age. At first I had only observed him from afar, but then I started to work alongside of him and saw that he truly was what people said of him. He was a smith, a friend of Dwarves, a Lord of the Gwaith-I-Mirdain. He was Celebrimbor Silverfist and I was his friend.

"What do you think?" he said with a grin - one those smiles he always has when he really had come up with something. "I came up with it last night and stayed up until morning light sketching them."

I was examining the designs of rings he had handed to me - the first thing he did when we met. He had been fond of rings for a long time - since his youth - and had recently again taken up the crafting of them.

"They are excellent," I said truthfully as I examined the parchments with writings and sketches while Celebrimbor paced to-and-fro in the room. "And your concept sounds good, too."

"You think so?" Celebrimbor replied with another smile. "You think it will work?"

"Absolutely. I trust you will be able to find a way," I confirmed and offered the Ellon a smile. He met it with one of his and I could see his eyes brightening. His eyes were always very bright and clear, his gaze piercing – they made my heart beat faster.

"In that case, my friend," he said, ceasing in his pacing, "I will do it. Thank you. I... I will give you one of these rings when they are ready." I laughed softly at that. "No, truly you deserve one," he insisted. "I have this other counsellor who... I do not know about him - his motives are unclear to me - but he asks me why I am making common rings when Fëanor made Silmarils."

"Ah, but the are no common rings, Celebrimbor," I said and rose up. "These are something unique. Who is that counsellors and what would he have you do instead?" I asked, making a mental note of keeping an eye on him.

"It doesn't matter," Celebrimbor said quickly. "As long as you think this idea is good. Truly, you can have two rings and my or counsellor needs none... though I daresay he would greatly want one... I fear there is greed in his heart."

"Do not keep such persons near you," I said sternly. Celebrimbor looked up a bit surprised at my concern. "Do not trust people who seek to change your plans too much because such people are working for themselves only."

Celebrimbor smiled sadly. "I know..."

"Now if you didn't have any other plans to discuss, go working on this project," I said with an encouraging smile. "My friend, you will go down in history when you complete these."

"My family went down in history and nothing good came from that," Celebrimbor said. "But you have a point."

He smiled again and collected his parchments from the table. He thanked me before getting back to work. I stood long beside him, watching his skilled fingers form the jewels he would embed into his creations. He didn't usually care for audience when he was working, but he never told me to leave. He was my comrade and I was his. He worked and I observed, and night after night we would stay in the firelight of the forge.

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Celebrimbor's dark hair was messy, drops of sweat shimmered on his brow, and he was biting his lip. It was a sweet sight and I smiled. My weight and my hand held him still, though, to keep him from moving from where he was - pressed against the very crafting table in his forge by which we had met so many times before. I tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Celebrimbor dear," I said softly, when he seemed to mean to say something. "Don't."

He opened his eyes and stared into mine. His eyes that made my heart beat faster. Despite my words, he spoke, his voice hoarse: "Two rings. I gave you..."

"Yes, I still have them," I replied calmly. "I will always have them. They are very, very dear to me. They were made by you after all."

He said nothing. I reached out for his spear and felt the pulse in his chest beneath my arm increase in speed. "You," he said. "You once said something about keeping your friends close..."

"That I did. Why, I have given you lots of good advice," I said. His spear was now in my hand. He tried to get a look at what I was doing, but I kept him down and his legs still and he could but wriggle. "It's a beautiful spear," I commented. "It suits its master." I grinned at Celebrimbor who wriggled even more when I licked the tip of it.

He did not moan, he did not whine, he did not fight back too much - he was at my mercy and I loved every second of it.

"Celebrimbor, come with me," I said again. "I would make you a king."

"My father desired to be a king. I am not my father. I thought you of all people would know."

"I take that as a declination."

He looked at me, his face a frown, and his eyes glittered dangerously. Again he would have said something - I felt his chest rise as he drew breath - but I silenced him. This time not with words.
It was the best so far, a sweet kiss on his chest; his throat made a strangled sound. He must have clung to sheer willpower - the kind of willpower one would expect from a Noldo. For he was one of the Noldor though he denied it, and their curse was on him.

"I gave you two rings," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "But I will never give you the rest." He spat at me.

"True, my dear," I said. "I can find them myself. In end it is I who is called the Giver of Gifts." And so I pulled the spear - his very own royally ornate Elven spear - out of his chest. My last gift to him was death.

I licked the spear again, this time tasting the blood of my foe. Under my hand I felt Celebrimbor's pulse slow down: slower, fainter, gone. I let him go, getting my weigh off his legs that I had broken earlier on in our struggle. My sweet victory made up for the wound he had given me in return. I closed his eyelids to spare myself from the Light of his eyes that had seen the trees. That light that still arouse anger in my heart. I took the rings and jewellery from his fingers and throat. They were nothing compared to the rings I was looking for, but I would not let him keep them. I put the rings onto my own hands. The Lord of the rings they had called the elf whose blood had spilled onto me as well as onto table. I would show them who their true Lord was. And Celebrimbor Silverfist, stripped of his pride, would be my banner.