Marvel: Silver Hand

Alexander felt the now-familiar pull of Celebrimbor's memories dragging him into the past once more. Each time, the weight of what he experienced became heavier, more vivid, and more harrowing. This time, Celebrimbor's voice was grave, carrying an edge of pain that even centuries could not dull.

"This is the beginning of my greatest folly," Celebrimbor said, his spectral form floating beside Alexander. "And the darkest chapter of my life."

Alexander blinked and found himself in a grand hall. The walls shimmered with intricate designs of gold and silver, depicting the stars and constellations beloved by the Elves. He sat on a throne made of polished mithril and white stone. On his brow rested a silver circlet, and at his side stood a woman with golden hair and piercing blue eyes. Her beauty was otherworldly, but her expression was tinged with worry. At her feet stood a little girl with dark hair and curious eyes, clutching at her mother's dress.

"My wife, Eledwen," Celebrimbor said, his voice soft. "And my daughter, Taurwen."

The doors to the hall swung open, and an elf entered, tall and handsome, with a presence that radiated confidence. He knelt before the throne and held out a black cloth. As it was unfolded, a hammer of stunning craftsmanship was revealed—its polished steel head adorned with runes, its haft wrapped in supple leather.

Celebrimbor reached for the hammer, marveling at its beauty. "A gift," the elf said. "For you, Lord Celebrimbor, greatest of the Elven-smiths. My name is Annatar, a messenger of the Valar."

Alexander felt a surge of unease at the name. "Who is Annatar?" he asked aloud.

Celebrimbor's voice was heavy with anger and regret. "Annatar… was Sauron. The Dark Lord himself, in a fair guise. My trust in him was my undoing."

In the memory, Celebrimbor smiled warmly at Annatar, embracing him and welcoming him to stay in Eregion. As a servant led Annatar away to a guest chamber, Eledwen placed a hand on Celebrimbor's arm.

"Do not trust him," she whispered. "He was rejected from Lindon by the High King Gil-galad. There is something about him that feels… wrong."

Celebrimbor dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. "He is a craftsman like me, Eledwen. If we can learn from him, imagine what we might create."

Eledwen's frown deepened, but she said no more. Taurwen tugged at her father's sleeve, and Celebrimbor lifted her into his arms, spinning her around as her laughter echoed through the hall.

The memory shifted, and Alexander now stood in a grand forge, the air filled with the glow of molten metal and the hum of magic. Beside Celebrimbor stood Annatar, his eyes gleaming as he spoke of crafting artifacts that would preserve the beauty and strength of the Eldar for all time.

"For centuries, we worked together," Celebrimbor explained. "Crafting lesser rings, perfecting the art of ring-making. Annatar was my partner, my teacher, and my greatest friend."

Alexander watched as Celebrimbor and Annatar labored, their creations growing ever more magnificent. Dozens of rings were forged, each one imbued with power. Finally, the day came when Celebrimbor and Annatar created sixteen rings of power, which Celebrimbor granted to the greatest craftsmen and warriors of Eregion.

In the next memory, Celebrimbor stood alone in the forge. He was older now, his face lined with determination. "I will create three more rings," he said aloud. "greater than the sixteen rings"

For years, Celebrimbor toiled in solitude, crafting the greatest works of his life. Alexander could feel the intensity of his effort, the unyielding focus that drove him. Finally, the Three were complete: Nenya, the Ring of Water; Narya, the Ring of Fire; and Vilya, the Ring of Air.

"They were my greatest triumph," Celebrimbor said. "And my greatest curse."

Celebrimbor wore Narya himself, entrusting Nenya and Vilya to a hidden vault. But his victory was short-lived. Soon after, the Elves who wore the sixteen rings returned to him, their faces pale with fear.

"The rings are corrupted," one of them said. "Annatar is no messenger of the Valar. He is Sauron, and he has betrayed us all."

The memory shifted again. The air was filled with the sound of horns and the distant roar of an army. Celebrimbor stood on the battlements of Eregion, watching as the forces of Sauron approached like a dark tide. He turned to a messenger. "Take the Three Rings to safety," he commanded. "Send Nenya to my cousin Galadriel in Lothlórien, and Vilya and Narya to Lindon."

Eledwen and Taurwen stood beside him, their faces pale. "You must leave," Celebrimbor said, kissing his wife's lips and his daughter's forehead. "Go to Lothlórien. You will be safe there."

"We will not leave you," Eledwen said firmly. "Not while you stay behind."

Before he could argue, the gates of Eregion burst open, and the battle began. Celebrimbor fought with unmatched skill, his blade cutting through hordes of Orcs as his warriors rallied around him. Alexander felt the raw power of Celebrimbor's strikes, the weight of every life he took.

Blood soaked the earth, and the screams of the dying filled the air. For hours, the Elves held the line, but the enemy's numbers were overwhelming. Finally, reinforcements arrived, led by Elrond himself. But even with their aid, the Elves were outmatched.

"Take the survivors and retreat," Celebrimbor told Elrond. "Eregion is lost."

Elrond hesitated, but the look in Celebrimbor's eyes left no room for argument. Reluctantly, he led the remaining Elves away, leaving Celebrimbor to face the enemy alone.

The memory shifted one final time. Celebrimbor was in chains, his body battered and broken. Beside him were Eledwen and Taurwen, their faces streaked with blood.

"I told you to leave," Celebrimbor whispered, his voice filled with anguish.

"We would not abandon you," Eledwen replied, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes.

The doors to the hall opened, and Sauron entered, his armor gleaming like black ice. He shifted into the fair form of Annatar, a mocking smile on his face. "Where are the Three?" he asked.

Celebrimbor refused to answer, even as Sauron raised the hammer—Turann, the gift he had once given him—and brought it down on his body. The pain was unbearable, but Celebrimbor did not speak.

"You will tell me," Sauron said, turning to Eledwen and Taurwen. "Or they will die."

Eledwen met her husband's eyes. "Do not give him what he seeks. Do not doom us all."

Celebrimbor's resolve faltered, but he remained silent. With a snarl, Sauron struck Eledwen and Taurwen, their cries of pain cutting through Alexander like a blade. He tried to look away, but he couldn't. He felt Celebrimbor's grief, his rage, his helplessness as his wife and daughter were beaten to death before his eyes.

When it was over, Sauron turned back to Celebrimbor. "You have nothing left," he said coldly. "And now, neither do I need you."

The memory ended with a blinding flash of pain as Sauron killed him.

Alexander woke from the memories, his body trembling and his face streaked with tears. "I… I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Celebrimbor's spectral form stood before him, his expression hard. "Do not pity me, Alexander. My pain is my own. But my vengeance… that is ours."

Alexander wiped his face, his resolve hardening. "What do we do now?"

Celebrimbor's eyes gleamed. "We forge a ring of power. One that will make you unstoppable. One that will bring us victory."