@scion-of-kings continued from X
Write me off. Ereinion let out a sigh and concealed his grave gaze behind his interlaced fingers, as if that gesture could help him contain every doubt he’d had, every hunch he’d felt, every warning he’d uttered for the last eight hundred years.
“I’d gladly do so, were I not the King”, he replied, his voice low and suddenly croaky, “but it’s not the time for that”. He cast a weary glance over his desk, to the opened silver box resting between them, and its contents. Was he angered? Yes. Would letting that sentiment lead his actions help them? In his experience, anger seldom helped.
Gil-galad tore his gaze apart from the gems set on Vilya and Narya and adopted a more confident posture in his seat. He forced himself to look confident, to look like one who knew exactly what to do in the wake of Celebrimbor’s news. “I’ll keep them safe, Telperinquar, even if the price is my own life”. He closed the box, his fingertips briefly lingering on the ornamented clasp. “But what ill power awaits us out there, we’ll face it together”.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty... I must disagree.”
His own gaze is furious as he paces before the King -- yet it is not a fury aimed at Ereinion, but rather toward himself. Celebrimbor had been so foolish not to heed the warnings offered to him, nor to listen to his very own doubts of Annatar’s intentions. Wise were they in refusing him, but he had been too prideful; too trusting of the Lord of Gifts, whom helped him perfect his works.
He alone allowed that filth into the walls of his city, let him spread his corrupting influence upon the works of the Mírdain... But not the Three. They are without doubt his greatest creations, created separately from Sauron, and yet they would not be without his prior teachings.
His accomplishment feels bittersweet.
“Sauron will come for me -- and when he does, nobody
should have to witness it.”
He unfolds his arms and ceases his pacing to look at the King, and somewhere beneath that angry stare of his lies anxiety, regret... Perhaps even fear. He knows what is coming. The great Wars of the past have left him weary, and Celebrimbor cannot help but feel responsible for kindling the fires of the one that is sure to come.
Is this truly no better than the arrogance of Fëanor and his Sons, whose legacy he has tried so desperately to remove himself from? Perhaps he is no different to them, after all.
“I would not ask anyone to lay down their life for my creations.
Fight only for the ideals of freedom and peace that we cherish,
and the rings shall serve you well.”
Shame -- it settles in his heart and leaves his chest feeling heavy, shoulders visibly sagging. Never had he meant for this, to bring war upon these lands and burden his King so. It is better, he thinks, to abandon him entirely. His doom is entirely self-inflicted, and he is ready to face it alone... But he cannot, not until the people under his care are guaranteed pardon and refuge from his own selfish actions.
“If something should happen, do not go looking for me. Look
instead for my people; they will need you more than I.”
Perhaps it is not his place to make demands, but he does so nevertheless in the hope of reducing as much of the fallout as possible. No soul should share his fate unnecessarily. He is doing the very best he can by refusing to do this together, and he desperately wishes the other would see that.
“Know now, Majesty, that I am so, so sorry for refusing your
wisdom. I shall not forsake thee, not upon the gravest of
wounds or the threat death itself. I will give him nothing.”
His request is entirely serious, and he steps up to the desk, both hands resting upon its to the edge as he looks Gil-Galad head on.
“This, I swear: I will never betray you again.”
