Lord Celebrimbor, greatest of the Elven-smiths, is the most pitiful character in The Rings of Power. Genius of mind, a fountain of creativity, and ever ambitious in his next great pursuit—yet he gets played like a fiddle from the minute he first appears on-screen.
Try hard as they might to save Middle Earth, Celebrimbor and his allies’ efforts can’t help but whither—for the very evil they hope to defeat is standing with them in the room. Three rings they forge for Elven kings, seven for dwarf lords beneath the mountains, and nine for mankind, the most fragile of species. Lured by the promises of darkness personified—a disguised Sauron—Celebrimbor happily hammers on until the very end.
As a result, the seven are tainted by the dark lord’s blood, and that is to say nothing of the nine’s capacity to corrupt. Only by chance does the first batch escape Sauron’s evil touch, but with his counsel contributing to Celebrimbor’s breakthrough in making them, how could anyone ever fully trust their power? By the time the illusion falls apart, it is too late—for the rings, for the craftsmen-city of Eregion, and yes, even for Celebrimbor himself.
Alas, redemption is for everyone, especially those still drawing breath, and with some of his last, Celebrimbor gets the nine into the hands of someone who may yet carry them out of Sauron’s reach. Then, he returns to the lion’s den one last time.
It is not a happy ending Celebrimbor faces, not even a heroic one. Weak and defeated, pierced by arrows and spears, it is only in his last moments that he realizes the full extent of his folly. With so little to now contribute, he does what he can: keep his mouth shut and let Sauron rage on about the loss of his glimmering weapons.
Ironically, it is in that very rage that Celebrimbor finds his final comfort. If even evil incarnate is prone to helplessness, perhaps the weak might yet prevail? And so it goes that the most striking words of Celebrimbor, greatest of the Elven-smiths, were neither his last nor heard by a large audience, yet so filled with sparks of hope that they’d forever be remembered:
“It is not strength that overcomes darkness—but light. Armies may rise, hearts may fail, yet still, light endures, and is mightier than strength. For in its presence, all darkness must flee.”
And though witness it he would not, in ages long past Celebrimbor’s passing, the light would shine indeed—brighter still than even the most imaginative Elven mind might have pictured, for in the end, it not only drove out the darkness but vanquished it altogether.
And so it is neither sword nor muscle, not even the cunning of our mind that defines us. Armies may rise. Hearts may fail. But so long we choose the flame in our soul, our collective glow will not perish. Light endures—and is mightier than strength.