The Nazgûl crept ever closer to the haven’s east entrance, rendered completely invisible by the thick blanket of darkness. No-one could see or hear them now. Their target was so close now, they could almost smell his rushing blood. Celebrimbor would be dead before the hour was past.

The wraithsÂ’ robes whispered over stone as they reached the threshold. One raised a hand to try the door; it was shut tightly and locked. They would have to find another way in. A window, perhaps? Yes, that might do.

The first wraith raised his hand again, feeling silently along the wall. There were a great number of small openings, but none large enough for the Nazgûl to fit through. All of the larger gaps had all been barricaded, it seemed.

The second wraith turned to its partner, speaking softly to it in the speech of Mordor. The first nodded in silence at the new information it had been given. They had no real bodies; walls and windows scarcely mattered to them. They could get in easily.

And they did, without any elf knowing.

*Draw back from the walls! The wraiths have breached your defenses!*

Elrond II flinched visibly as the cry burst into his unsuspecting mind, a voice fraught with desperation. Mandos!

The half-elf knew better than to delay obedience. He roared to the others, “Pull back! The wraiths are inside! Pull back!”

He himself leapt ahead of his people, and was soon joined by Elrond I. They ran together, hearts pounding as one, knowing just where the wraiths were headed.

*Awake, Celebrimbor! Danger is approaching!*

The imperative voice slashed through the jewelsmithÂ’s dreams like a knifeblade through a thin cloth. Celebrimbor jerked awake, snatching up his sword even before he was entirely conscious. He leapt from the bed and stood facing the barricaded door, which was now shuddering beneath a hail of blows from the other side. The wood was steadily cracking.

The silver-haired elf backed up a few paces, picking up an unlit torch from the desk and thrusting the end into the hearth. The firebrand flared to life immediately, crackling and spitting sparks. He braced himself for what he knew was to comeÂ… there was no backing down now.

“Come on,” the jewelsmith snarled under his breath. “Get in here.”

They got in.

Elrond I and II hurtled down the corridors of Imladris side-by-side, driven by nothing but adrenaline and fear. They unsheathed their swords as they ran, eyes fixed upon that which they least wanted to seeÂ…

The Nazgûl had reached Celebrimbor’s bedroom and knocked the barricade aside. Both of Elrond’s halves sobbed in horror as the hems of the wraiths’ robes disappeared into the room. They couldn’t be too late… they couldn’t be…

Inside the room, Celebrimbor stood his ground as the two robed figures advanced with swords drawn. The flames from the elf’s torch were reflected off of the steel of all three adversaries’ blades. The Nazgûl seemed to be wary of the fire, but willing to ignore it to complete their task.

Celebrimbor’s heart slightly relaxed its galloping pace as a reassuring voice whispered in his mind: *Do not worry – help is coming! Stand firm!*

Thank you, the jewelsmith thought gratefully, whoever you are!

Elrond I snatched a torch from its bracket on the wall even as he raced on. With sparks flying behind it, the firebrand turned over in the air as the elf flung it over-handed around the corner. It met its mark in the back of a wraithÂ’s robe.

The Nazgûl screeched in rage and pain as it was consumed by fire. Its companion ignored it, advancing toward Celebrimbor. The silver-haired elf was steadily forced back into the far corner of the room, between the fireplace and his bed. He had nowhere to run, and no room to fight.

At that moment, Elrond I flung self-concern to the four winds. He darted into the furthest corner from the trapped Celebrimbor, gave a piercing whistle, and prayed.

The wraith turned toward him, holding its blade out in the half-elf’s direction as it moved away from the jewelsmith. Elrond I’s heart fluttered against his ribcage; Celebrimbor was safe, but now he was the one in mortal peril. He knew what a mere cut from the Nazgûl’s blades could do.

CelebrimborÂ’s blue eyes widened in speechless horror. Elrond couldnÂ’t endanger himself for his own sake! The wraiths wanted only him, the jewelsmith!

*Don’t you dare!* cried the half-elf’s voice – not through his ears, but inside his head. *You don’t know what they’re capable of! I do!*

Celebrimbor faltered, his eyes brimming with tears. The elf-lord was putting his own life on the line, all for his sake! It was a sacrifice he couldnÂ’t possibly accept!

While all of this had been happening, Elrond II had sneaked up to Celebrimbor along the wall. The younger half-elf whispered urgently into his friend’s ear. “Now is your chance to escape! Go!”

The jewelsmith needed no second instruction. He bolted toward the door, toward where Elrond I was cornered. He was mere feet awayÂ… he could make itÂ…

It happened in one breathless instant. The Nazgûl whirled around, turning from Elrond I and facing Celebrimbor. The wraith’s blade shot out, plunging deep into the jewelsmith’s chest. The silver-haired elf crumpled to the floor with a scream, clutching his chest, and Elrond II shoved a second torch into the hearth before flinging it toward the robed figure, which instantly burst into flame.

Shrieking, the wraith floundered and staggered out the door, leaving behind its sword, the end of the blade notched. Elrond I and II rushed to the jewelsmithÂ’s side, cringing at his agonized cries.

“I can help you,” said Elrond I, struggling to maintain the reassurance in his voice, and to dispel the fear. “Let me see the wound. Elrond,” he added, turning to address his godson, “get me Celebrimbor’s sword. Now!”

Both elves did as they were bidden. Elrond I ripped away the fabric covering the wound in his friendÂ’s chest, tensing when he saw how deep the wraithÂ’s blade had gone, and how close to the heart it was. Was there even any hope?

Maybe there still could be. Elrond I spoke softly and gently to Celebrimbor as he held the jewelsmithÂ’s sword up to the awful gash.

“There’s a piece of the sword in your chest,” he explained. “I’ll have to cut it out before I can heal you properly. It will hurt, but it’s the only way. Can you find something to bite down on?”

Elrond II pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to Celebrimbor, who shoved it into his mouth and clenched his teeth over it. Elrond I nodded mutely, and got to work.

Bright crimson blood welled up as Elrond carefully pushed his sword into the gash, using his right hand. He slowly levered the two folds of skin apart, and poked his left forefinger and thumb into the widened hole. He was very close to the heart already. Just a little deeperÂ… deeperÂ… there!

The half-elf had a hold on the sliver of steel; now all he had to do was get it out. Elrond II was ready with a second handkerchief, to staunch the blood flow once his godfather was done his task.

Elrond I carefully drew his hand out, and threw the steel shard aside. Then Elrond II pressed his handkerchief against the gash, and godfather and godson placed their hands, both clean and bloody, on top of the blood-soaked cloth. The elder of the two poured out his healing energy for Celebrimbor, praying all the while as the jewelsmithÂ’s anguished screams subsided into silence.

But even as he lifted his hands away, Elrond I knew that all hope had turned its back on Celebrimbor. The wound had healed successfully, but the jewelsmithÂ’s face was horribly pale. The elder half-elf shuddered as he realized the truth: even with their swift actions, Elrond I and II had been too late.

The Nazgûl’s blade had been too near to Celebrimbor’s heart; the poisoned weapon had fulfilled its deadly task. Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, was passing into the shadow-world. He would never see the Halls of Mandos.

*No, there is still hope for him. Follow his final wishes.*

Elrond I looked up sharply, his mind ringing with reverberations of MandosÂ’ voice. There was hope? How? How could it lie in CelebrimborÂ’s wishes?

*Listen and find out.*

Celebrimbor gazed at Elrond I through gradually clouding eyes. As the elf-lord bent over him, the jewelsmith managed to whisper faintly, “Kill me.”

Elrond I’s eyes swam with tears. “I can’t.”

“You must,” Celebrimbor insisted, summoning the last droplets of his weakening energy. “Let Mandos take me… before they do.”

Elrond I suddenly saw that his friend’s skin was turning to an ashen grey hue, and that the light in his eyes had all but disappeared. The jewelsmith spoke again, more urgently. “Do it now… before they win!”

The half-elf picked up the knife he had just discarded, gripping it in a shaking hand as he poised it over Celebrimbor’s chest. The silver-haired elf nodded weakly. “Quickly.”

Elrond II buried his face in his hands, trembling and sobbing, as Elrond I closed his eyes and steeled himself. He had to act immediatelyÂ… CelebrimborÂ’s soul was on the line.

“Forgive me,” he choked, and brought the weapon down. There was no scream, merely a gasp and then a quiet sigh as the jewelsmith’s final breath fled his lungs.

Elrond I knelt by his friendÂ’s side, his clenched fingers refusing to let the knife go. At last he wrenched his hand away, and opened his eyes again just in time to see a pair of semi-transparent figures fade to invisibility.

Elrond II placed a hand on his godfatherÂ’s shoulder as they both gazed wordlessly down at CelebrimborÂ’s lifeless form. Tears poured out unheeded from four blue eyes as one elf mourned the death of a dear friend.

Elrond I was the first to speak again.

“Do you think it was right?”

“Lord Mandos told you to do it,” Elrond II replied gently. “He of all people would know what’s best.”

Elrond I nodded, but voiced his adamant doubts. “Would this make me a… a Kinslayer?”

“I don’t think so,” said Elrond II. “The Kinslayers only killed because of the Oath they all took, didn’t they? This is different: you aren’t cursed by Lord Mandos, and Celebrimbor was willing to be killed. He was dying anyway.”

Elrond I shook his head. “He wasn’t dying. He was fading. Dying would have meant that Lord Mandos would have come to take his soul, which he did. If Celebrimbor had… had faded, he would have become like one of the wraiths – neither living nor dead, but caught up in between the two. He would have been under Sauron’s power. You’re right… it was better this way.”

They both flinched and scrambled to their feet at the sound of footsteps. Maglor appeared in the doorway, white-faced and breathless. His eyes swept over the scene, drinking it all in: the remains of the smoldering wraith; his nephewÂ’s body, and the two figures standing over it; the blood on the hands of Elrond I. CelebrimborÂ’s blood, staining his friendÂ’s hands.

“You,” Maglor breathed. “You…”

He took a shaky step forward, his eyes haunted. His right hand moved toward the knife in his belt, groping for the handle.

“L- leave that th- thing well alone!” Elrond I cried frantically, stuttering in his panic. “I- I can explain!”

The son of Fëanor withdrew his hand, breathing hard through his nose as he struggled to rein in his emotions. “So explain.”

“Th- this isn’t at all what it looks like,” the elder half-elf replied carefully, losing some of his stutter as he calmed down a bit. “You need to know the whole story…”

He explained everything, his voice trembling and cracking in sorrow. Maglor listened to him, in a silence so thick it was almost material. Silent tears flooded down his face as his friend came to the conclusion of the bloody narrative.

“Ah,” Maglor whispered, nodding slowly. “I… I understand. Yes, it… it is forgivable.”

“Thank you,” Elrond I whispered back.