Chapter 53
The smoke of war finally cleared from Eriador. Sauron's dark hosts were driven from the land by the combined strength of Númenor's golden fleets and the Elves' resilience. Peace, like a thawed stream in early spring, slowly but surely flowed through the scarred mountains and valleys. Fields once ravaged by war were cultivated again, new green sprouted at the edges of charred forests, and humble yet hopeful homes gradually rose from the ruins. The Elves, overcome with sorrow, began to live again, and Rivendell became a beacon of knowledge and peace. Eriador ushered in the longest and most stable period of peace since the dawn of the Second Age.
Peace, like a thin mist covering the valley, was confined to Eriador. East of the Misty Mountains, in the vast lands of the south, in the unknown shadows of the East, darkness never truly receded. Sauron was not utterly destroyed. His battered flesh, like a festering wound, after the devastating defeat in Eriador, he slipped silently into the deeper shadows of the East, filled with hatred and shame. He lay dormant, licking the wounds inflicted by the Númenorian fleets, burying deep his deep hatred for the mighty kingdoms of Men in the West. He hated their power, and even more so, hated them for thwarting his plans for hegemony in Middle-earth. But now, Númenor blazed like the sun, its mighty fleets enough to drive back any shadow. Sauron could only suppress his seething rage and turn his gaze eastward to the lands still untouched by the light. There, he sowed lies, corrupted hearts, and carefully wove new webs, biding his time.
Within this dormant hatred, a name burned like a red-hot iron, searing Sauron's consciousness. A human who should have vanished into the dust of history, a variable that repeatedly thwarted his carefully crafted plans. With each setback, each piercing pain, Sauron's murderous intent against Meereen deepened. He saw Meereen as the most unpredictable and abhorrent pawn of the Valar. Eliminating him, along with those hindering Maia wizards—Gandalf, Radagast, and even the proud Saruman—became the core of Sauron's whispered plot from the shadows. He needed time, strength, and, most importantly, the perfect opportunity.
The elves were not unaware. Gil-galad had organized several small-scale raids, with elite troops led by Glorfindel or Elrond deep into the eastern fringes in search of Sauron. Sauron was as cunning as a serpent blending into a swamp. He exploited the cover of the Easterling tribes, the vast and complex terrain, and even the subtle divisions within the Elves due to regional differences and past grudges. He always sensed danger before the Elven swords fell, vanishing without a trace, leaving behind only tribes further corrupted by darkness and the elven warriors' futile efforts. After several fruitless attempts, the elves realized that a large-scale search was like looking for a needle in a haystack before Sauron revealed his new lair.
During this relatively peaceful period, the envoys sent by Manwe also found their respective footholds and missions in Middle-earth.
Gandalf, the grey-robed wanderer, frequently appeared between newly founded human villages and ancient elven settlements. He recounted ancient legends and tales of the stars, igniting the flames of hope in the hearts of the people. He mediated disputes arising from war, using his wisdom to mend the subtle rifts that still lingered between elves and humans. More than a patient elder, he carefully nurtured the seeds of unity and courage in the storm-worn land of Middle-earth. His pipe was a familiar sight by the campfire, and his gentle and wise words were a guiding light for the lost.
Radagast, the Brown-robed Hermit, chose to take root deep within the forests of Lothgobel. Using magic and the power of nature, he constructed his abode beneath a mighty beech tree—a wondrous treehouse of living wood, its roof covered in moss, its walls entwined with vines. It lacked the grandeur of Rivendell or the forbidding severity of Fëanorion's fortress, but instead brimmed with the wild charm and vibrant life of the forest. Birds nested beneath the eaves, and small animals frolicked on the porch. When Meereen was first invited to this "Brown House," he was instantly struck by an indescribable sense of familiarity. The structure of the treehouse, its seamless connection with nature, remarkably resembled the first humble shelter he had built for himself in the unfamiliar forests upon his arrival in Beleriand. However, Radagast's abode was far more refined, imbued with a Maiar understanding and affinity for natural life. Meereen sat on the tree house terrace covered with soft hay, listening to the breathing of the forest and watching Radagast enthusiastically showing him how to talk to a lost hedgehog. A long-lost, pure and relaxed smile appeared on his face. This was a place that resonated with a corner of his soul.
Glorfindel found a new role in Rivendell. No longer merely a sword in the line of fire, he became Elrond's most trusted military advisor and protector. He assisted in training the Rivendell guard, combining Lindon's tactical expertise with Rivendell's geographical advantages. He and Elrond deduced potential threats from the east. His towering presence and quiet strength symbolized the security of this new sanctuary. Glorfindel would visit Lindon on weekdays when he had nothing else to do. His window faced the White Tree, now radiant with silver light under the power of Meereen.
Inside the royal court of Lindon, a lingering melancholy loomed. Celebrimbor's body had finally healed thanks to the dedicated care of Gil-galad and Círdan. His broken bones had healed, and his spirit, tainted by the dark magic, had been cleansed. However, the wounds of his soul were far beyond medical healing. The fall of Eregion, the countless sacrifices of his gullibility, the sight of the city he had built reduced to ash... like a heavy yoke, gnawing at his soul day and night.
He became unusually silent. The once-flashing passion for creation and craft in his eyes had all but vanished, leaving only a deep pool of self-blame and exhaustion. He rejected all offers to rebuild his workshop or participate in government affairs, spending most of his time sitting quietly in a secluded corner of the royal garden, gazing out to sea. His father Curufin and uncle Celegorm remained by his side, almost constantly. A deep sense of worry and powerlessness overtook Curufin. He no longer rebuked him, but instead watched his son with a concerned gaze. Celegorm, in his usual, somewhat abrasive way, tried to distract Celebrimbor with recounting recent events in the lands or past adventures, but to little avail. Gil-galad patiently accompanied the agonized craftsman. Understanding his devastating guilt, he offered silent protection and a king's care, hoping that time might bring a glimmer of hope.
Life in Meereen unfolded in a new rhythm, and the settlement he had built on the plains between the Woodland Kingdom and Rhún became an important transit point and information node. He often rode to the human settlements that had been rebuilt after the war or had recently become dependent on them.
There, he became more than just a warrior or messenger; he became more like a gentle mentor. He taught them how to cultivate the land more effectively, identify edible wild plants, and use herbs to treat common ailments. He simplified and passed on the more advanced farming techniques he learned from the elves. In his spare time, he even taught the children to identify the stars and recounted ancient tales of courage and hope. His very presence, his weathered yet gentle and resilient demeanor, earned him immense respect and trust among humans. He became a bridge connecting elven wisdom and human existence, silently fulfilling the mission entrusted to him by the Valar to "heal the rift."
When the affairs of the plains came to a close, or when thoughts of his old friends in the east returned, Meereen would ride eastward, crossing the vast plains along the Inner Sea of Rhûne, toward the hidden realms established by Fëanorion near the shores. Unlike his first encounter with swords, his arrival was now met with a warm and courteous reception. Maglor would often await him in the astronomical tower overlooking the shimmering waters of the Inner Sea. The silence between them faded, sometimes gazing at the tranquility of the merging sea and sky, and sometimes Maglor would improvise an ancient ballad, the melodies less mournful and more imbued with an indescribable sense of vastness. Curufin and Celegorm occasionally returned to this territory. Curufin's temper was still not good. Cursing Sauron and worrying about Celebrimbor's current situation were his eternal topics. But when facing Meereen, the complex friendship that originated from the joint battle on the walls of Eregion and the grace of saving his son allowed him to at least suppress his anger, and occasionally he could even calmly discuss the recent disturbing rumors from the east.
One afternoon, in the stone hall of the manor's main keep, overlooking the shimmering inland sea, Meereen and the three Fëanorion brothers sat together. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting warm patches of light on the cold stone floor. A simple set of refreshments sat on a low table.
"Is Celebrimbor still unhappy?" Meereen asked quietly, putting down his teacup. He had just returned from a visit to Lindon, and the gloomy atmosphere there worried him.
Curufin snorted heavily, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the hard stone tabletop. "He stares out at the sea all day, with Gil-galad by his side." His voice was filled with frustration and heartache.
Celegorm stuffed a piece of cake into his mouth and said vaguely, "He is much better than when he first came back. At least he is willing to eat and no longer locks himself in the dark room. Gil-galad is patient, let him endure it slowly. But you," he turned to Meereen with a probing look in his eyes, "I heard that you went to teach those humans to farm again? And teach children to look at the stars?" His tone was teasing, but there was no malice.
Maglor held his silver cup, his gaze fixed on the distant sea and sky outside the window. He said calmly, "He is doing what he believes is right. Repairing wounds and igniting a glimmer of light is better than sinking in darkness." His silver-gray eyes turned towards Meereen with a hint of imperceptible understanding. "Just like when you built your first hut in the forest? I heard that you missed Radagast's hut very much?"
Milin was slightly startled, then smiled, a smile that was warm and genuine. "Indeed. It is a kind of peace that comes from returning to one's roots. His tree house reminds me of my first days of clumsily trying to survive in this world. Although it is simple, it is my own foothold."
"A foothold..." Curufin repeated in a low voice, his irritability seemingly calmed down a little by these words. He glanced at Meereen, said nothing more, and simply picked up his teacup and took a long sip.
At the same time, in a deep dark cave somewhere in the east, Sauron carefully looked at the nine human rings in front of him and began to plot to find a breakthrough among humans, because humans have the weakest willpower among the three races and are most easily corrupted by darkness, and they crave power and knowledge.
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