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Maegisil stood on his small balcony overlooking the streets of the city of Ost-in-edhil, playing with the ring in his hand. There was always something about rings. He stared out into the sky, which was growing a pale grey and pink with a mild sunset. The city had grown mostly quiet after all the chaos of the day. But it was a disconcerting feeling for it to be so quiet, particularly when you knew what horrors lay within a few miles of your own home. Soldiers were all that one could see moving, their mail softly shimmering red in the dying light. Maegisil turned around to peek through the door leading into his house to catch a glimpse of his wife within, busy with something. She was always keeping herself busy, and Maegisil did not blame her. Now that Celebrimbor had no more need for Maegisil's help, the counselor had too much time to think.
Turning back to look down at his hands, which still fiddled with the ring the dark creature had given him. He wondered what it must have been like, when Celebrimbor held one of his Rings in his hands, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship finally completed after years of work. Could he feel the magic in it? Did he also feel the treachery, even before he put it on? Was it a desire to have power that made him don his Three Rings, at least for a moment, until he realized fully the mistake he had made?
Suddenly Maegisil found himself slipping the ring onto his finger. He jumped when he felt its cold weight, but he felt nothing strange about the ring. It was simply a signet, as the creature had said. What else had he said? Maegisil wondered if the dark one had indeed suggested what the elf thought he had. Was there truly a way he could save Sairien? He could save himself, too. He did not want to die. He was a good soldier, and was the protector of his lord for hundreds of years. Now, he was the protector only of his wife, and of himself. Sairien wanted a child, and he had never been able to give her that. He felt that he had never been able to give her what she wanted, though he always desired to. It seemed they were running out of time. He needed more time; he was not ready to depart from Middle-earth yet, in any way.
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Celebrimbor sat in his chair, staring sightlessly at an elaborate wall hanging. He had been there, slouched over and looking lost for hours. The arrival of an actual physical presence of Sauron through the emissary had been more than enough to destroy what was left of the lord's courage and faith. He thought about getting up and moving just far enough to make it into the next room and into his bed, but he was unable to make himself budge. It seemed he was lucky he could still exert enough effort to breath.
His thoughts were wild. One moment he was filled with guilt and grief, wanting to wail that it was all his fault, that it was he who brought doom to the Mírdain. The next moment, his mind darkened, and he was filled with anger, considering the possibilities, if only he had kept his Rings. He could have stood up to the might of Sauron, as the Rings of the Lord Celebrimbor were the most powerful - even Sauron knew that. They would be his, and he would be an everlasting presence of power and glory on Middle-earth, even when the population of his people dwindled and the race of Men grew. He could have been a King. Why should Gil-galad be the only King? He was certainly no King in Eregion. Lindon was far away to the West, and it was the East that both Elves and Men had to stand against.
I could have been responsible for the end of Sauron, not the end of my people. But I have no power now.
Several miles to the East of the great walls of Ost-in-edhil, the Dark Lord's army was fully assembled, and preparing their attack. It was too late even for surrender, now. Angoroth's cruel smile announced what all had been waiting for: Sauron's army would begin their siege before dawn.
I have no power now, if ever I had any...
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