Chapter Text
“The ring. Show it to me.”
“Foolish act if I brought it here.”
Foolish, but not impossible. Though mithril sang against Elrond’s breastbone like a silmaril, thrumming between chainmail and linen in a manner that could only be described as preening under Adar’s attentiveness, it was indeed foolish to carry a power Elrond had no intent to wield, and he had told the king thus. Yet here he was, the unwilling courier of power beyond Elvish gifts, tamping down the song as Nenya wormed into his resolve. The plan was to bring the ring to Celebrimbor, should his mind not be entirely lost, and if it was so then Gil-Galad would use both rings to loosen Sauron’s hold on him.
They had not expected Galadriel to survive, and that changed everything.
(In the end, perhaps that was Sauron’s plan all along, and Elrond walked into his labyrinth willingly.)
“Eregion may be lost, but Celebrimbor might still be swayed,” he countered Adar’s threats, rising with the fallen Elf and fingering the folds of his cloak (loosening that which must be set free, just as Maglor had shown him). “Galadriel is ill-suited for such a hostage.”
In the corner of his eye he saw Vorohil shift uncertainly, trying to follow the change in plan. For it was Galadriel’s head on a pike which Adar had promised, and her life which now balanced alongside the weight of Celebrimbor’s future in Elrond’s hands. Yet he did not see in this path the road which Nenya had revealed, reluctant as her bearer was to acknowledge her coy chimes. He could defend the walls in blood and glory, or he could free Galadriel to reclaim her own.
“What would a courtier offer in her stead?” Adar scoffed, recognizing the offer and dismissing it with the same regard he held for Celebrimbor’s resolve.
“You said yourself, her likeness is my own,” Elrond said, prowling in challenge as Galadriel hissed and Vorohil gripped his sword. “Celebrimbor may be lost, but there is still one other who remembers her face with rancor.”
“Elrond!” Galadriel rebuked, heedless of the sword at her neck and the threat of permanent silencing.
“You think that Sauron would reveal himself for Lúthien’s child.” The derision in Adar’s tone bordered on intrigue.
“You think he would not,” Elrond countered.
Calculating eyes appraised him in a new light. “I could behead Galadriel now and then cut off your hands and still test your claim.”
“And I could slay your children before the first drop of red blood mingles with yours.” It was a bluff and a poor one indeed, but Orcs dealt in violence and respected those who spoke their creed. When Adar wavered Elrond cast out his last barb. “I know the words to bring forth both Celebrimbor and the Deceiver.”
“You know nothing!” Galadriel hissed. “He knows nothing! Sauron does not know that Melian’s lineage survived. He did not recognize Elrond before and he will not —”
The flat of the blade pressed into her throat, cutting off her words in a gurgle of suppressed air.
If Adar had not entertained the exchange before, Galadriel’s scathing attempt to divert his attention settled his mind. “What are the terms of your surrender?”
“Galadriel leaves with Vorohil. Unharmed,” Elrond said curtly, blocking his mind to Vorohil’s alarmed probe. “Though I cannot speak for the king’s army, I will lay down my sword. Do with me as you will.”
Galadriel bucked against the hand that wrapped around her mouth as Adar stepped forward, looming to intimidate and inclining his head when Elrond held his ground. “Lay down your sword now, and I will believe you.”
The blade was Elros’s; Númenórean steel stamped with his crest. Without looking behind him Elrond removed his sword belt, holding it out for Vorohil to take with him.
He expected to reclaim it when Galadriel was victorious.
Unimpressed, Adar held out his hand until dirk, dagger and pen knife were relinquished in turn. Galadriel gnashed her teeth as she was released, spitting at the Orc Father’s feet. “He is nothing to Sauron! This night will end in folly for you and all of your children!”
“Let me say goodbye to her,” Elrond said softly, holding Adar’s gaze with the subservience of a prisoner realizing his end had come.
Perhaps pity stirred the self-proclaimed father’s heart, or perhaps he wanted to prove to Galadriel that she was helpless to stop him. Adar beckoned to the Orcs, allowing Elrond to approach, and then hovered while he slid his cloak over his head just like Maglor had taught him. Silver glinted in the folds as Elrond wrapped it around Galadriel’s neck like he would send a little sister out into the snowy meadow, pressing Nenya against her skin and touching his forehead to hers in one last shared breath.
‘Do not do this!’ Galadriel implored him.
It was done, and the hands that tore Elrond away from her were pitiless as he was shoved to his knees. Galadriel sprang forth with curses, fighting Vorohil as he seized her from behind, and Adar’s conceit was tangible as he balanced Elrond’s dagger in his palms. “Leave now, before I withdraw my terms.”
“This is not the end!” Galadriel railed as she was yanked from the tent. “Elrond! I will find you!”
She would indeed, whether on the battlefield or within Eregion’s walls. Elrond barred her from his mind just like he shut out the press of filthy hands tearing off his armor and chainmail. They searched him, finding every lock pick Lorel had woven into his sleeves and the knife sheath sewn into his leggings, and when he was sufficiently disarmed they smoothed the creases from his robes with the smugness of delegates parading their monarch before a conquered people. They chained his hands and marched him to the cage while horses thundered in the distance, clipping flesh and battering skulls with the fury of a robbed king.
A path was cleared with trebuchets and troll, guarding their stolen prize lest the Elves pluck him away, and Elrond pushed apprehension down into that weeping shroud of his fëa where he yearned for the bond with his brother. He raised his eyes to the parapet and shuddered all the same as a proud and fair form stared down with hunger.
“You need not bargain for an audience,” Elrond huffed, locking his teeth as malice slithered from above and clung to his skin. “He is already here.”
“Further bloodshed is unnecessary.” Lies spoken to the Master of Lies; two serpents coiled with bared fangs, each boasting of the greater poison. “Swear to me that you will no longer hunt my children and I will give you Lúthien’s heir.”
The coddling smile was simpered with premeditated victory. “I have no need for slaves. I merely wish to carry on my work in peace. Tell the Uruks they are welcome to depart.”
“Your oath.”
Hanging in his chains, Elrond had nothing but amusement to raise his courage. Adar would plunge his blade through Sauron’s heart as soon as they met on common ground, and Sauron would sway the Orcs with the soothing whispers he learned from the creator. False promises rang valiant and hollow, even to the troll who scrunched up his nose at the exchange.
Elrond’s only hope was that Celebrimbor was yet alive and Galadriel would turn the tides of this war. Though he perceived that Sauron’s spirit would not be rended by blade alone, he knew that Galadriel would not rest until the Shadow was routed from Eregion.
Adar was the fool, however, to believe that Sauron would keep any oath when he had no intent to honor his own. Yet the ease with which the Deceiver planted his words made Elrond’s spirit tremble, for he saw how concealed truths would have smothered Celebrimbor’s doubts and lured his aspirations without conscious thought. Such words could pit Elf against Elf in needless war and none would look back and wonder how it had started.
So this was how Morgoth had routed his enemies.
“I swear by the gift of Ilúvatar,” spake the fair one with tender smile and compassion ringing true, “Your children shall not come to harm by my hand. Only leave me this city, and the captive you bear, and I shall tell the archers to stand down.”
“Come down and claim him,” Adar commanded.
Now fear rose in Elrond’s throat and it would not be tamed, as blue eyes gleamed black and the Dark Lord scampered down crumbling steps. Celebrimbor’s guards scattered in bewildered terror as the gate was raised and the lurching mob surged within. Heedless of the thicket of blades braced to maul him, Sauron strolled out to claim his prize.
“Well met again,” he said to Adar with a chagrined flash of white teeth.
“Better you had retained the illusion of death than hastened it,” Adar answered. He lifted his hand and black arrows flew from the vantage points of ladders and heaped stones. A mortal wound seemed inevitable, yet gossamer flared like a sun ray catching the river and in that blinding instant Sauron was simply not there.
His smile remained contrite as Adar looked down, a pierced lung squelching as black blood trickled down the hilt of his own sword.
Words of power blackened the clouds as Sauron tilted his chin in pitiless appraisal. “Children should not remain fatherless. I will attend to them now.”
Something like scales deadened yellow eyes and the Orcs stepped back as their father was shoved off his blade and cast into the mud. Without verifying his adversary’s demise Sauron tucked the sword into his silken belt, peering up at Elrond with the glittering satisfaction of a hunter finding a perfect mink snared by the neck. “Bring him up to the tower. Finish off the rest.”
In mindless bloodlust the Orcs turned once more upon the Elves, pouring into the city and shooting from the shelter of impenetrable walls. Despair snuffed the beat in Elrond’s chest for three seizing, breathless moments, and then he kicked out and hauled on the chains.
This was not how it was meant to end, and yet he had ordained it. He had followed the labyrinth straight into Sauron’s hand and delivered Eregion to destruction.