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Mirdania watches in horror as Adar’s orcs attack Eregion. Even from across the river, their advanced siege weapons destroy towers and flatten homes, leaving nothing but ruins behind. Bodies lay everywhere, crushed beneath boulders as the days trudge on. Mirdania does her best to bring people to safety while overseeing Eregion’s soldiers. In another city, a mere smith would not hold such power, but in a city build by smiths, forge-workers are revered over all others. Though she would never measure herself even close to Celebrimbor himself, those in his company have always held a higher status. In the midst of this battle without their lord to guide them, they listen to her as much as they do Lord Annatar.
Two elves fall to the ground as a fireball hits mere yards away. The ground shakes and another tower crumbles, but Mirdania stumbles onward.
“Get them to safety!” She calls over her shoulder as she moves to the base of the new forge. It hurts her to see the forge in ruins. It took nearly twice as long for it to be created as it did to be destroyed, the beauty of their partnership with the dwarves far too fleeting.
Another rock lands nearby as Mirdania reaches the tower’s main entrance. Lord Annatar waits for her there, just having descended the steps.
“My Lord!” Commander Malendol calls out to him, moving to converse with them alongside a few of his soldiers.
“What orders from Lord Celebrimbor?” Mirdania asks, desperate.
“Lord Celebrimbor refuses to permit a counterattack. He says the river will protect us.” Dread pools deep in her stomach. After so long fighting, they are all covered in dust and blood, and her face and arms sting with scratches that might never have a chance to heal if they don’t do something. Everything hurts, even her arms that are so used to long days in the forge are starting to burn. They won’t survive this onslaught much longer. They have to do something.
Lord Annatar converses more with the Commander, but Mirdania knows him well enough now to know he is holding something back. She shares a quick look with Commander Malendol as he walks off. She turns back to Annatar.
“What is it? What are you not telling them?” Mirdania asks, and Lord Annatar’s face falls. He does not want to say it, and if someone so strong fears to admit the truth aloud, she is even more wary of it.
“Celebrimbor’s mind is gone.” She feels her face fall. For so long, she had practically worshipped Lord Celebrimbor. The greatest of elven smiths and someone as unimportant as Mirdania was given the opportunity to work with him. It was a blessing to work by his side, and the longer she did so, the more she was grateful for it. Lord Celebrimbor appreciated her input, desired it, even. While the dwarves assisted them in build the new forge, they’d worked closer than ever, and Mirdania truly got to know him. He was kind and thoughtful, always focused on what’s ahead. Overly proud, sure, but what right did Mirdania have to judge him for that? He held his title for a reason.
Everything fell apart so quickly, and she feels a pang of sympathy for Lord Annatar. He was closer than anyone to Lord Celebrimbor, and he had to watch his madness descend far closer than any other. Mirdania hated having to stand by while he lost his mind, but she was far too aware that there was nothing she could do to stop it. Whatever power clouds him is far beyond that which she can alter.
“We are alone.” Lord Annatar finishes with a sharp exhale, as if he cannot believe the truth of it. Just moments ago, he had told the Commander he was taking charge, but how confident can he be in that choice when the last one to hold the position was taken by such madness?
Mirdania shakes her head, forcing the doubt from her. Since Lord Annatar arrived all those weeks ago, the forge has been filled with such light. He guided Mirdania and her fellow smiths to crafting the seven dwarven rings, the most beautiful creation she has ever seen. It was because of him that they had accomplished something so monumental, a work that would save all the peoples of Middle Earth. If anyone can lead them through this fight, it is he.
“Not alone.” Mirdania says, stepping forward to grasp his arms. Her heart lightens as she looks up at him, smiling for the first time since the siege started. Lord Annatar looks down at her hands, taking hold of her.
“You have proven your quality, Mirdania.” Warmth spreads through her at his praise. He so rarely gives it. Even after the forging of the seven, he approval was so fleeting, giving more meaning to her earning it now. “When the time comes, I will see to it that you are… duly rewarded.” He hesitates at the end, his eyes going distant as if looking at something far away.
“What is it?” She asks again, nervousness overtaking her once more. Lord Annatar steps away from her, moving through the rubble and towards the overlook. Beyond the flaming ruins of Eregion, are the hundreds of tiny lights the enemy’s torches give off. It gives off an eerie light, shadowed over through the layer of smoke in the air.
“The siege engines. They’ve gone silent.” Several archers are already at the overlook’s edge, watching as the orcs turn the large catapults away from the city and towards the nearby crags of the mountain. They move so slowly, but Mirdania cannot understand it no matter how long she takes. Why would they stop attacking the city? Then, Lord Annatar utters the most terrifying words she has ever heard.
“Prepare for ground assault.” His voice is shaky with fear, though there is still a sternness to it that only the wise possess. The Commander barely has time to question how such a feat is possible when the weapons fire once again and the mountain shakes with such a ferocity she fears the ground itself will open wide and consume them all. Cliffs that have existed longer than any of them come tumbling down, damming the river and turning it from an uncrossable hazard to a significant benefit for the enemy.
“They’re damming the river.” Mirdania speaks the truth aloud in order to believe it, her voice sounding just as unstable as Lord Annatar’s did. They watch in horror as the mountain crumbles, and the guard hurries off to prepare.
“What do we do?” Mirdania asks, Lord Annatar still standing at his side. One of his hands is clenched tightly into a fist at his side, anger radiating through him. Even now, he stands tall,ready for what’s ahead. How lucky they are to have him there to guide them.
“I will talk to Lord Celebrimbor. He must be made aware of the urgency of the situation.” Lord Annatar begins walking away before she can protest, and she catches up to him quickly.
“My lord, you said yourself Lord Celebrimbor is gone. We cannot trust him to guide us now. We need you here.” Mirdania reaches out to him again but Annatar dodges her grasp as he continues towards the tower.
“Even so, I will not leave my friend to perish in that tower. He must be told.” He must be able to sense the hesitancy in her, as he pauses halfway up the entryway steps to glance back at her.
“We will make it out of this. Follow Commander Malendol to the wall. You are wise, Mirdania. Offer them what insight you can.” Spurred on by the gleam in his eyes, Mirdania turns on her heels and rushes to the wall.
It takes nearly double the time it should to reach the far side of the city, the rubble forcing extra caution and making several passageways completely untraversable. Even though she knows the city like the back of her hand, it becomes a maze. She has to weave her way through soldiers and injured eldar as she walks the wall in search of the Commander, her voice ringing out as she calls his name.
“Mirdania!” Her shoulders sag in relief as she finally hears his voice and rushes the last steps to him. His arms are on her in a second, checking her for injury despite having just seen her. She winces as he touches some of the cuts on her arms and face, though they are far from fatal.
“I am alright, brother.” She assures him, taking a precious moment to lean her forehead against his. They had hardly even acknowledged each other as kin in the heat of the battle, and here on the cracked outer wall of their decades-long home, they allow but a moment. Malendol steps back from her, ushering her to the side as an archer rushes past.
“They’re at the water’s edge. It won’t be long before they are upon us.” Looking past the river, she can barely see the dark shadows of orcs through the smoky haze that has started to linger. They are there, though, in a number beyond anything she ever imagined existed in this age. It terrifies her to think of her brother facing this madness, leading their kin to their deaths, and she holds tighter to his arm.
Mirdania squints, scanning the horde before them. They had retreated further north when they took down the mountain, and only a scarce few have turned back to where they first staged their assault upon Eregion. An hour later and it seems they have no intent on moving back to where they started.
“Bring more archers to this wall. They will begin the attack here.” Malendol looks at her with curiosity for only a moment before he seems to come to the same conclusion and begins barking out orders to the men around him. They quickly lurch into action, eager to follow orders.
In the next hour, the orcs reach the wall. The archers release arrow after arrow to the point Mirdania is sure their barracks have to be close to empty by now. Like every Elven city, Eregion is prepared for battle, but they were far from stocked for a weeks-long siege upon their own walls. Every soldier she passes as she stalks back and forth is bloodied, covered in so much dust and smoke they are near unrecognizable. Ever her brother she knows only by his armor. She sees him only a handful of times, and each time Malendol passes by he squeezes her shoulder so tenderly she thinks she must have imagined it. When it happens several times, she knows he is offering what little comfort he can as they pass each other in the chaos.
Mirdania orders elves with every step, aiming their sight at whichever enemy she thinks is most critical, the strategy coming to her quickly. There is a design to war, she realizes, a rhythm which the orcs follow and she can pick up on. It is so similar to the ins and outs of Lord Celebrimbor’s designs, well thought out and structured in a way that comes to her naturally. When the enemy moves this way, she moves the soldiers the same. Just as when the metal of a ring is working to be shaped into the desired design, she listens to its song and obeys. And despite the distance between them, Mirdania and her brother work side by side in commanding the men to fight the fierce enemy before them.
“Mirdania!” Once again her name is called, but this voice makes chills run through her. She turns, catching her brother’s eyes a few yards away as Lord Celebrimbor approaches her. He runs, brushing past Commander Malendol as he nearly runs into he in his haste.
“Thank the Valar you’re alive. We have been deceived. All of us. He planned all of this, to force me to forge the Rings.” The terror in his eyes pierces her very soul, and her heart aches to see this being she once admired so broken. He is just as filthy as the rest of them, blood running down his cheek in a great gash that only widens to bleed more as he talks so swiftly, rarely taking a moment to breathe between words.
Mirdania listens in growing horror as Lord Celebrimbor voices his illusions. He talks of a prison of the mind, and rubies, and mice, his words so scattered it makes her heart ache. She realizes just how far gone he is. Lord Annatar had not exaggerated at all, he has lost all sense of reality. Malendol steps up behind Lord Celebrimbor, a gleam in his eyes that tells her he was hoping for a plan of attack that would save them. The look is barely there before he hears their lord’s ramblings and closes his eyes tightly. Despair overwhelms his face as Lord Celebrimbor continues. Mirdania turns away from him, unable to listen to it any longer, finally causing him to falter.
“You must… you must believe me. You have to believe me!” Lord Celebrimbor screams at her in desperation and Mirdania takes a gasping step back.
A loud crash sounds beneath them, drawing their attention away. They simultaneously lean over the wall, a hole in the foundations in front of them that gives them a clear view of the orcs hammering spikes into Eregion’s facade.
“This is the thinnest part of the wall.” Lord Celebrimbor echoing her own thoughts aloud. “We have to brace the foundations! Quickly, now!” Despite the wisdom in his words, neither her nor the Commander move terror silencing all movement.
Realizing this, Lord Celebrimbor turns around to do something himself, but he stills as he watches someone behind Mirdania. She turns to see Lord Annatar approaching them.
“Seize him. He is Sauron.” He says to Commander Malendol who now stands directly beside him. Mirdania whips around, exhaustion creeping through her. He is so far gone. How could this person she admired so much go after Lord Annatar. He has done nothing but support them. When Lord Celebrimbor was too far gone or too distracted, he was there for them. Lord Annatar is Sauron? It is so far from possible she doesn’t bat an eye. He shouts his orders again as none of them move to do his bidding. “He has been lying to you all along!”
“No. He has been protecting us.” Mirdania refuses to allow even Celebrimbor to sully Annatar’s name. Malendol quickly does the same, rightfully claiming Celebrimbor would have brought them all to ruin had he not stepped up. Mirdania agrees even as the once great lord of Eregion pushes his point once more.
“No, that was him.” His voice is so low now, cracking on every syllable. “If you do not believe me, cut him open.” His voice is hysterical, a near laugh escaping him as he suggests they harm their own kin. Mirdania turns to Annatar, the same regret she feels painted on his face.
“Look at his hand, look at his blood. Black as pitch.” Annatar looks down at his friend, shaking his head in disbelief. Sure enough, when Annatar raises his hand, the blood that runs from a cut on his palm is bright red. The cut is deep enough to need attention, though he cannot afford it any more than she can at the moment. She will have to remember to see to it as soon as there is time.
Celebrimbor gasps and shakes as if broken, and a swell of pity overcomes her. Reaching out towards him, she moves to guide him away. This is no place for one whose mind is as fractured as his.
“Come, my lord. Let’s get you back where you belong.”
“Get your hands off me!” Mirdania has no time to react as Celebrimbor throws her from the ramparts. Time seems to slow as she falls, the meters between Mirdania and her death closing with every moment. She knows this will be the end of her, and a flash of hatred runs through her. After all she did, how could he do this to her? After all she sacrificed, put her blood, sweat, and tears into his work, this is how he repays her?
Her bones snap and turn inward as she hits the ground, her body turning on itself to pierce her lungs. Her limbs are splayed in awkward directions, the pain blurring her vision as her lips taste dirt.
Clawed hands dig into her sides as they flip her over. The orcs loom over her, and Celebrimbor looms over them all. Mirdania meets Celebrimbor’s eyes, gasping through blood-filled lungs as an orc raises their axe. There is horror in her lord’s eyes as he realizes what he’s done, and in those last moments as pain dulls her senses, she forces herself to keep eye contact as the axe comes swinging down and darkness takes her.