Work Text:
After his long stay in Mandos’ halls, after he was healed and forgiven, Celebrimbor found himself back in Valinor. For a while, he travelled the blessed lands to find a place he could call his own. Tirion, as beautiful as it was, reminded him too much of the past. Living among his family embarrassed him. Their loudness, their arrogance, their constant quarrels, the memories of old grievances were too much to bear. Curufin was uneasy around his son, for reasons Celebrimbor could only guess. Galadriel’s piercing look made him uncomfortable. Not to mention those who had died during the war in Eregion, whose sight was downright painful, no matter how many times they assured him that he was guilty of nothing – they had been deceived along too.
He found a comfortable house a hundred miles away from the city, in a quiet place. It had a small forge on the other side of a very nice garden. A small road ran along the walls of a small orchard. From the window of the forge, he could hear tall poplars and elm trees whispering in the wind and a stream flowing softly. Somehow, he was happy. Life there was pleasant. To his friends old and new who walked through the gate of his new home, he was still the gracious host from before.
That day, Finrod Felagund, friend of men, had taken the trip. Spring in Aman was delightful, mellow, sunny and scented with all the sweet perfumes of new flowers. Lots of butterflies would fly around scented flowery bushes, collecting nectar, ensuring life and renewal. Celebrimbor watched as one of them rested upon the sleeve of his robe, his wings fluttering softly.
“I have never seen a butterfly like this one,” Finrod said, amused. “and it seems quite taken with you,”
Celebrimbor held out his fingers and the butterfly left his perch on his knee for his hand. “It’s a rather rare species, I guess.”
“I suppose so. There are such wonders here, so many of them I still have to discover. I forgot most of them, I’m afraid.”
Celebrimbor closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the armchair.
“I like this place. Peaceful, quiet. I even started a new work in the forge.”
“Beautiful news!” Finrod exclaimed. “I’m not surprised though; I can’t imagine you being idle.”
“I did for some time but… I get easily bored.”
The butterfly left his fingers and flew to a nearby branch, not joining in the frantic dance of his congeners but just sitting there, as if observing these tall strange creatures absorbed in small talk. Finrod talked about his new friends – hobbits, half-men, who had been admitted to Aman. He seemed to like them a lot. Finrod had always been enthusiastic when it came to other people. Celebrimbor wondered if he missed his human friends.
Later, when Finrod had left, Celebrimbor went to the forge. He had been sincere: he was working again, although none of his creations could rival with those of the old age. And probably it was for the best, he thought, perusing the beautiful gems lying on the counter. He was forging a thing of beauty, he hoped, for his cousin Celebrian, who had recently complained that she didn’t earn any bracelet of her liking. There was a strong possibility that the words were uttered to stimulate Celebrimbor’s desire to work, give him purpose. He was not one not to rise to such an enticing bait, of course.
He was not finished when darkness fell but he decided, nonetheless, to call it a night. As he was leaving he noticed that the butterfly was there, quiet, sitting on a shelf. In the setting sun, its wings took a reddish tint.
“Little friend,” he said. “Do you intend to sleep here? I shall leave a window open then, so that you can go out when you so desire.”
The butterfly shook his wings as if he agreed, and Celebrimbor left.
He woke up before dawn. He expected Celebrian to pay him a visit that day. She would propose a walk along the small stream and they would talk peacefully, like they usually did. That would be the perfect moment to offer her the jewel he was making. The thought spurred him into action and after a brief breakfast he was in the forge, kindling the fire. To his surprise, the butterfly was still there, flying from a shelf to a wooden beam and back, hovering by the window.
“Good morning, Mr butterfly,” Celebrimbor said softly, amused. “Are you certain you do not want to go outside? The weather will be wonderful today and you have friends waiting for you there.”
The butterfly left the open window and came to perch on Celebrimbor’s shoulder.
“Beware of the fire, little thing!” The elf warned, taking a step back as a bunch of sparks came flying. The butterfly left his shoulder, flying a little further. Finrod was right. Although Celebrimbor was no specialist in the matter, this was a most peculiar tiny specimen, with dark-gold wings ornated with darker patterns, probably meant to frighten predators, elegant arabesques that could be mistaken for eyes, maybe. He stretched out his hand and the butterfly came to rest on his palm, confident, his touch a mere caress and for a second, Celebrimbor felt more happy than he had in some time. As he was watching, the butterfly took off and without any warning, dove headfirst in the roaring fire. Frozen in dismay, Celebrimbor shouted, dreading the sizzling sound and the foul smell of a burning tiny insect but after a few seconds, the butterfly arose from the fire, alive, its wings fringed with tiny flames, glowing in the dusty air of the forge. It flew in circles for a moment, spreading sparks in its wake and returned gracefully on Celebrimbor’s hand, looking, the elf thought, quite happy with itself. It lasted for a couple of minutes, then the sparks and the fire faded and it was again nothing more than a butterfly. Celebrimbor shook himself. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, his heart pounding. Such things didn’t happen. Didn’t exist. He must’ve dozed off, some sort of temporary absence, probably he was tired still. When he looked around the butterfly was gone. Celebrimbor spotted it on a flowery bush, fluttering around among others. Nothing unusual had happened, he thought, forcing himself to go back to his work.
Celebrian came that very day. She loved the bracelet, and praised Celebrimbor’s skills, and the way he had beautifully rendered every detail, small leaves intertwined with tiny rubies and emerald.
“I am not surprised” she added. “I know for certain that you are the best smith among elves.”
He smiled and said nothing as she turned her wrist under the light to admire the play of light on the gems.
But the memory, or the dream, whatever it was, nagged at him all evening and he was rather happy to see her go. He went to bed early but couldn’t sleep, rehearsing the events in his mind endlessly. For a butterfly, really, to deprive him of a well-deserved night of sleep, that was ridiculous.
Celebrimbor woke up late, ate the delicious cakes Celebrian had left for him, drank some tea and went to the forge. While he was busy cleaning up, setting everything in order, the butterfly came through the open window and perched on the same wooden beam. Watching him? Celebrimbor sighed and came closer, hesitating. Almost despite himself, he started a small fire and threw some very dry wood into it – flames exploded and the butterfly repeated its enthusiastic dive into the fire before coming back to Celebrimbor’s side, perching on his shoulder, mesmerizing colours and patterns playing on its wings and fire coursing along their edges.
That, Celebrimbor thought, was worrying.
“For a second I thought of crushing it,” he confessed a few days later. “It’s a butterfly. It would’ve been easy.”
Mithrandir looked at him and smiled.
“but you didn’t.”
“No. I… I can’t. It was just… too cruel. I wouldn’t stoop so low.”
Mithrandir’s stare hardened slightly.
“Is it the only reason?”
Celebrimbor looked away and sighed.
“It was a thing of beauty, you know. Had it been a bug… I don’t know.”
“This is exactly what Sauron relied on, last time. Supposing it’s him, of course. Is our suspect somewhere to be seen?”
They went to the forge. This time the butterfly seemed to understand the meaning of Celebrimbor’s presence and started flying wildly in front of him while Celebrimbor lit a joyous fire. The butterfly repeated the same exercise with obvious pleasure, seemingly bathing in the jumping flames and returned to Celebrimbor, bathed in light.
“A thing of beauty indeed,” Mithrandir said with a sigh. “You were right to call me.”
“Do you think it is… conscious of itself ?”
“I don’t know. Conscious enough that it knows what to expect from you, in any case.”
“Is it… dangerous ?”
Gandalf shrugged.
“I doubt it. Not in this … incarnation. I can sense no darkness in it. Not yet. But would he gain strength then I would advise you to tell me.”
They watched as the butterfly left Celebrimbor’s shoulder to wander outside, hopping from one flower to another.
The following days went the same way. Once, feeling tired, Celebrimbor didn’t go to the forge. In the afternoon, he found the butterfly on his kitchen table, and he could have sworn it was glaring. For some reason, it upset him.
“You held my beating heart in your hands, once, remember! How dare you use me still?” He said, furious suddenly.
The decorated wings fluttered prettily and the butterfly performed a delicate dance before landing on his palm. Closing his eyes, Celebrimbor took a deep sigh, focused on the memories his stay in Mandos had not quite erased, and willed himself to close his fist, crush the intruder once for all... When he opened his eyes again, there was nothing left on his palm but some kind of glittering dust. His heart constricted with unexpected pain and a tear rolled down his cheek. That had been horribly cruel and unnecessary.
“I’m sorry” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. Please. Don’t be dead!”
Looking up, he saw the butterfly perched on his lamp, and relief flooded him. He walked briskly to the door and out to the forge where he lit a fire of great magnitude and watched as his guest bathed in it for minutes before emerging, shiny and fiery and oh so beautiful.
“Are you telling me THIS” Frodo pointed a finger at the shiny insect, “This is Sauron?” He sounded dumbfounded and incredulous.
“Well I cannot be certain, of course,” Celebrimbor said. “Do you want to see what it does?”
Frodo gave him a wary look. “Is it dangerous?” he asked.
“Not in the least. I wouldn’t submit you to anything dangerous!”
“Sorry” Frodo said, and followed in the forge, the butterfly flying ahead of them, like he found his companion much too slow to its taste. It fluttered impatiently while Celebrimbor lit the fire – the elf had to shoo him away once or twice- and dove joyfully into the flames for his daily bath.
Frodo watched, eyes wide, as the sated butterfly came back to Celebrimbor’s fingers, beating his wings with slow deliberation.
“Show off,” Celebrimbor whispered, amused and resigned.
Frodo kept silent for a moment, watching the insect flying around and out.
“I always thought, if I was to meet him, that I would feel something… sinister, terrifying. Like those sensations when I carried the ring but actually…” He shrugged.
“You think it’s him, though?”
“I am fairly certain it is. It’s Sauron – although the concept of Sauron the abhorrent as a butterfly holds something puzzling. Yes, I can sense him. But something is missing. It’s like comparing an infant to a grown adult.
“He is learning. Trying to recollect some sense of self. Memories. Capacities. It worries me.”
“Did you tell Gandalf about this?”
Celebrimbor sighed.
“I did. He seemed to think that there was no immediate danger. It’s a butterfly. What could it do?”
“you could get rid of it.” Frodo said. “But could you?”
- I tried. Without success. But I did try. It made me feel like a monster, killing a living thing. I felt terrible.”
Frodo he had not known for very long but having heard the stories of the ringbearer, he had been curious to meet him and he had thought that he, maybe could feel the Dark Lord’s presence. Before leaving, Frodo said: “I should’ve brought Sam. He’s much less sensitive and soft than us. He would have crushed your insect, if only to protect me.”
Celebrimbor was happy he hadn’t.
After that it became a routine. The butterfly was there, living his fiery life and flying across the garden. Never too far, waiting for the blissful moment in the forge. Months went by, and two whole years. Certainly two years were much longer than the duration of a butterfly’s life, Celebrimbor thought.
That morning of summer, Celebrimbor woke up with a feeling of dread. He felt a familiar presence, someone sitting on the edge of the bed, close to him, and silent. The mattress didn’t dip under his weight.
“I’m not opening my eyes,” Celebrimbor said. If he did, where would he find himself? What if it all had been a dream, a reprieve, and he was still in the dungeons, bleeding and in pain. He took a deep breath. The absence of pain meant nothing at all – pain could be erased at will.
“The weather is wonderful outside; you should open your eyes,” The familiar dreaded voice said. “I can’t stay long.”
Taking a deep breath, Celebrimbor shooed the terror away and opened his eyes.
“How did you get here?” he asked trying to move away from the creature sitting too close to him. Golden hair, golden eyes. Fair of form. Annatar. Sauron.
“I flew through the open window and summoned this form. But I cannot keep it for long. I came to thank you and say goodbye.”
Celebrimbor sat up – the image of himself lying down, and having to look up to the returned Dark one upset him.
“You welcomed me in the frail and perishable form I had managed to summon, and fed me. Offered me the fire I needed to grow stronger. Not much stronger but enough to feel solid again. I shall not burden you much longer, though. It seems somewhat inappropriate.”
Celebrimbor couldn’t speak. Eons ago, he had loved this creature passionately. What was left of that? Cinders. Fear. Sadness. Anger.
The former Lord of Darkness smiled – it was the same smile as before, when they had succeeded in some bold project together, or when he was slowly eviscerating him. Celebrimbor looked away.
“Thank you, Tyelpe,” he heard against his ear.
“How did you manage to creep back into the world, exactly?” he asked, anger suffusing his whole being. “How dared you? How could the Powers allow this?” His voice had been rising and he was shouting, now. “How is this even possible?
“So much fire in you still, Lord Celebrimbor.” The voice was mocking.
“Don’t you dare call me that!” He hit him, hard and the body faltered, like a vanishing image, before regaining its stability.
“I do not know what happened.” Sauron explained. “The half-man and the ugly creature who followed him threw my ring in the flames of Mount Doom – that I remember. But after that…” He shrugged, then frowned. “You’re hyperventilating, Tyelpe. Don’t faint, please! I couldn’t help you.”
Celebrimbor glared. “Go on.”
“There’s nothing more to say. I roamed. The wind carried what was left of me and I managed to grab a form. I entered it with my fea and made my best to keep it alive. Then I was here and I saw you. Your sight warmed my heart.”
“You do not have a heart.”
“Of course I do. Only it’s not one you can comprehend. I felt happy when I saw you – I couldn’t believe my luck. I knew you would not be cruel to a small, vulnerable form of life, no matter how suspicious you were. You have always been insufferably kind.” He was speaking softly, and smiling. “Even if you tried to kill me. You didn’t put much in it, though.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I can’t believe you’re here, talking to me like nothing happened, like you did not flay me alive, torture me for weeks, kill me, expose me. Burn my city. Ruin everything I loved, kill my people…”
“I did that, yes. Which is why I feel like I should not stay.” He shrugged. “I will not apologize, it is useless. There is nothing I can say that will be enough. Nothing will ever change what I did. I know you still have nightmares, Namo isn’t that good at healing, after all. Listen. At the moment, I thought I was entitled to act as I did. You were right I suppose about the ring, and you were brave to keep the others from me, but it angered me to a degree I had not experienced for a long time. I wanted to erase you from my existence, belittle the memories I had of you, desacralize the… affection I felt for you. I succeeded – I forgot about you, after a while. The memories of you were almost nothing.”
Celebrimbor listened, incredulous, to the dissection of the Dark Mind by himself. How cold, how detached, how lucid, how completely devoid of emotion his analysis sounded.
“But when I saw you again, all those memories came back, like they’d been repressed for too long.” He smiled. “I was a very happy butterfly, you know. So I thank you for that.”
Celebrimbor looked at him.
“You said you could not maintain this form. Will you leave… in the form of a butterfly?”
“Until I can do better, I will.”
“And what comes after? How long before you are yourself again? The Dark Lord?”
Sauron laughed softly. “That will not happen. A part of me is gone that will not come back. Power is out of reach.”
For a second, Celebrimbor looked away, overwhelmed by a sensation of unreality.
“I can’t believe it is you, sitting here, talking to me like everything is… normal between us, like it’s just a casual conversation between… friends.”
“I remember friendship as something pleasant. I never had many friends, obviously.” He sighed, which made his form tremble. “You were a fine friend, Tyelpe.”
The words gave him pause. Maybe it had not been so one-sided, after all. “What will you do now? Where will you go?”
“I did not make up my mind, yet. I cannot very well show up at Aulë’s door. Nor afford to be recognized. But you do not need concern yourself with my fate. I’m pretty good at surviving.”
He rose from the bed, his body almost transparent already, and headed to the door without a backward glance. Celebrimbor called him back.
“Wait! What… Do you have any regret at all?”
The dark Lord stopped, seemed to think.
“I regret that I failed. That I never had a chance to prove that my dream of a new world was a good one. But it’s all gone now.” He turned around to look at the elf who was now sitting, naked, at the edge of the bed, staring at him. “I know what you want me to say, Tyelpe. Your heart is still as soft as it was then. But, although it wouldn’t be a lie, I don’t see the point. I quite liked you, although I hated elves with a passion, but at the same time, you made it so easy for me that I felt sorry for you. If I had a second chance… I don’t know how I would play it without hurting you. Once I was caught up with the One, there was no other way.”
“You could have given it up.”
The lord of Darkness let out a short bitter laugh and for a second he was a butterfly again, before regaining his form.
“Did your grandfather give up on the Silmarils? Such perfect creations can’t be abandoned. Not even for a gentle, brave and beautiful elf like you.”
Suddenly, the body gave way – there was a slight trembling in the air, and it vanished completely.
“But now you don’t even have the ring, or anything,” Celebrimbor said. “So what is left?”
The butterfly danced in the dusty ray of sun for a moment, as if considering, and then it was off, disappearing among the bushes, and further, until it couldn’t be seen any longer.
He was gone.
The end