The Day Transcending Night by StarSpray  

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Nineteen

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Daeron sank to his knees as Celegorm and Maglor disappeared through the trees. “Elurín,” he said. 

“We can’t just stay here,” Elurín said without looking at him, still staring after Celegorm and Maglor. “We have to go too—”

“We aren’t doing anything yet. You’re hurt. Let me look properly—and then we’ll decide what to do.” What Celegorm and Maglor would expect them to do—would want them to do—was continue on to Lórinand, but Daeron wasn’t sure he could make himself do that any more than Elurín could. “Actually—first let’s move farther into the wood. I do not like being so near the edge.” None of the trees seemed to Daeron particularly pleased with their intrusion, but he did not think they would harm Elves; they were only watchful. Orcs were another matter, and the more trees they put between themselves and anything that might come after them the better. 

Celebrimbor helped Elurín to his feet, and Daeron took Rhawhul and Mithrenvos’ reins. They went slowly and carefully; it was dark and gloomy under the thick branches; the ground was covered in a thick carpet of leaves that hid trailing vines and roots that threatened to trip them up. As they came to another small clearing that Daeron deemed suitable, they all paused at the sound of a distant noise. It sounded like a horn, or a trumpet. “The Ents are moving,” Daeron said after a moment.

“What does that mean?” Celebrimbor asked. 

“I don’t know—but they won’t harm us, so we need not fear.” Daeron tended to the horses, checking Mithrenvos over carefully. He examined the cut on his rear leg, but it was shallow and had already stopped bleeding. Daeron washed and bandaged it, humming a quiet song as he did. “You’ll be all right, won’t you?” he murmured, stroking his neck. Mithrenvos nosed at him. “Rest now.”

They set up camp, Celebrimbor insisting on helping even though he was clearly also in pain. Daeron allowed it because he did not have the energy to argue with both Elurín and Celebrimbor, and then he sat both of them down to look them over more thoroughly, while they shared what exactly had happened to leave them both bruised and scratched, but Elurín with cracked ribs and a lump on the back of his head. “A wolf knocked me out of the saddle, that’s all,” said Elurín, wincing as he lifted his arms to remove his tunic. 

“That’s all? You’re as bad as Lossë,” Daeron said without thinking, before remembering that Elurín might not appreciate that comparison right then. Elurín didn’t snap at him, though—he didn’t say anything. “Well,” he said as he examined all the cuts and scrapes and felt for other broken bones besides his ribs, and then got out bandages to wind around his chest to keep them secure, “it could be worse. I’m going to get a fire going—there’s plenty of dead wood, thankfully, for we should not cut any living wood here—and then I’ll brew some willow bark and sing you to rest.”

“I can’t rest,” Elurín said. Celebrimbor had gotten out a clean shirt and now helped him put it on. “Not when Eluréd—”

“You have to rest, birdie. You won’t do Eluréd any good like this.”

“Are we going to follow after them, then?”

“I don’t know yet.” If Daeron tried to think past what he needed to do at that exact moment, he thought he would start to panic, and none of them could afford that. “Celebrimbor, I’m making enough willow bark for you too.”

“It’s me they really want,” Celebrimbor said. “If I were to—”

“No,” Elurín and Daeron said at once. Elurín reached out to grab Celebrimbor’s wrist, as though afraid he would try to get up and leave then and there. “Whatever we do,” Daeron said, “we will go very carefully, and we will not reveal ourselves to the Enemy if we can help it. We are certainly not going to use you as some kind of bait. The wisest—”

“I am not going on to Lórinand,” snapped Elurín. “I’m going after Lossë and Maglor as soon as—”

“You aren’t doing anything right now,” Daeron said. He got to his feet. “Just—lie down, Elurín. Whatever we do, we do it together, and we are not doing it today.” 

It was a relief, in a way, that Elurín was able to get angry about it. Daeron gathered up fallen branches and bits of tinder, listening hard to the silence of the wood as well as to the quiet but heated discussion Celebrimbor and Elurín were having. If Elurín did not have the energy to get this upset, Daeron would have been far more worried about him. As it was, all of his worry could safely be concentrated on Eluréd. Out of sight of Celebrimbor and Elurín, Daeron stopped and leaned against a tree, letting his head fall back against the rough bark and allowing himself just a minute to be overcome. Eluréd, his Eluréd with his sweet smiles and musical laughter, who feared little except being left alone, who was not made for war, but for laughter and music under the summer stars—Eluréd, taken by orcs, dragged away to who knew where, perhaps even to the feet of Sauron himself. And there wasn’t anything he could do. Nothing except trust in Celegorm and Maglor to get him back. 

If they did not die in the attempt. And Celegorm consigned to the Everlasting Darkness for his failure. When this was over, Daeron thought—clinging to when and not if—when this was over, he was going to strangle Celegorm for swearing such a thing so thoughtlessly. 

When he mastered himself, Daeron returned to Celebrimbor and Elurín, and found that they had prepared a small fire pit, clear of leaves and debris, and Celebrimbor had gotten out the willow bark and had wrapped Elurín up in his blankets. Elurín curled up against Celebrimbor’s side as Daeron got the fire going. “Ada, are you hurt?” he asked after a minute. 

“No, birdie, I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not hurt.” He got the fire going and then realized they had no water but what was in their water skins. So he got up and went in search of that next, shaking his head when Celebrimbor tentatively asked if he needed help. At least this was familiar—taking care of someone wounded, in the woods, far away from everything, with orcs too close for comfort and no one to call for help. 

At least Elurín was not as badly hurt as Celegorm had been. At least it was summertime—at least they would not be there long.

He had to go farther than he would have wished to find a small swift stream flowing along a stony bed that wound through the tree roots. He filled his little pot and returned to finally set it over the flames to heat, and then he went to sit by Elurín. “Ready for me to sing?” he asked.

“I’m not sure you should,” Elurín said. “You’re—”

“I’m tired, but not so tired that I can’t at least ease your headache and let you rest. And you, Celebrimbor—I know you are also hurting.”

“Is it safe for all of us to rest, here, or should we take watches?” Celebrimbor asked instead of agreeing or disagreeing that he was in pain. 

“I don’t think we have much of a choice but to all try to rest. We’re all too weary. This forest—Ents have been here for a very long time, and the trees are more awake than they are elsewhere. I do not think they would take kindly to any orcs that dared to trespass beneath them.” Daeron didn’t think he would be able to get much sleep, but he intended to make sure both Celebrimbor and Elurín did. He could tell that Elurín knew it, too, judging by the way he was glaring. “Don’t look at me like that, Elurín. You need rest, and you know it. Now let me sing my songs, and let them do their work.”

After the water heated and he brewed the willow bark, Daeron made both Celebrimbor and Elurín drink some, and eat as much as they each could stomach. Then he sang more songs of healing and of rest until they both succumbed to sleep, Celebrimbor curled around Elurín almost protectively. Daeron covered them both with an extra blanket, and then wrapped himself in his cloak and leaned back against some large roots that jutted out of the ground, watching the flames of their small fire dance until he, too, dozed off as exhaustion overtook the fear. 

It was late in the afternoon when he fell asleep, and he woke as evening fell, the shadows deepening around them. Something had woken him, but he couldn’t tell what. The horses shifted restlessly, and Daeron got up to try to calm them, listening hard as he looked around. Then he heard it—creaking as of tree branches, and the rustling of leaves, as though a tree had gotten up to stroll the forest. He relaxed, just slightly. An Ent. 

For a few minutes he thought the Ent would simply pass them by, but instead he came to the edge of the little clearing and peered down at Daeron, his deep green eyes curious and wary. He was not Finglas, nor Fladrif, the Ents who had brought Celegorm and then Eluréd and Elurín to Ossiriand out of Doriath, but Daeron still recognized him. He stepped forward and bowed. “Well met, Fangorn.”

“You know me,” said Fangorn, his gaze shifting briefly to Celebrimbor and Elurín, who still slept, “but I do not know you, young Elf.”

“We have met before, long ago in the beech woods of Neldoreth, where I played my flute beside the Esgalduin. I am Daeron. I hope you will forgive our trespass—I cut no living wood for our fire.”

“Ahh, young Master Daeron. I remember you now. It has been a very long time. I heard the howling of wolves this morning. Did they drive you into my wood?”

“Yes. Wolves and orcs. We meant to pass through your wood on our way north, escaping the wars to the south and west of the mountains—but we were parted from our companions, and I do not know yet whether we will go back or continue forward.”

“You are welcome here, Master Daeron, you and your companions,” said Fangorn. “I remember you and your music, and the care you had for the trees of Neldoreth.” His eyes were deep wells of green, shining gently with a light of their own. Daeron felt suddenly very seen, in a way he was not sure he liked much. “You carry heavy sorrows, now.”

“Do not we all?” Daeron said softly. 

Fangorn sighed, a sound like the wind passing through the boughs. “So we do. If you choose to pass through my wood, go carefully—and if you have need, only call for me. I will hear. Fear no orcs—they will not enter into my wood, not while I am watching.”

“Thank you, Fangorn.” Daeron bowed again; Fangorn inclined his head, and then he strode away, heading west and south toward the forest’s eaves. Daeron breathed a sigh and sank back onto the ground beside Elurín. He added a few sticks to the fire, and drew his knees up to rest his chin on them, watching the flames, feeling very small and, after speaking to Fangorn, younger than he had felt in a very long time. 

He slept off and on throughout the night, exhaustion still warring with fear, and by morning he felt just as tired as he had the day before. Celebrimbor and Elurín stirred, and then Elurín sat up with a sharp gasp. “Ada—”

“I’m here.” Daeron reached for him, and Elurín grasped his hand. “Nothing happened yesterday or last night, except that Fangorn himself passed by. He’s given us leave to continue north, if that is what we choose to do.”

“I’m still not going to Lórinand,” said Elurín. He looked and sounded a little better than the day before, but there was a wildness to him that Daeron didn’t like. “I’m going after Eluréd. They’re—they’re taking him north. I think the Enemy is seeking Elrond. If the orcs reach him with Eluréd—”

“Lossë and Maglor are already following,” Daeron said as Celebrimbor rolled over with a grunt.

“They are only two, and Lossë can’t even fight the way he might need to!”

“He knows his limits,” said Daeron, “and he’s clever. And Maglor’s songs are much better suited to battle than mine. If it comes to it, they’ll take Eluréd to Elrond—I’m sure that they’ll be able to find wherever he is hidden, or that his people will find them.”

“I don’t care,” said Elurín. “I can’t—if we go to Lórinand, even if they do find Eluréd we won’t be able to cross over into Eriador to join them for years, maybe, and I can’t—”

“We don’t know, though, where the Enemy is,” said Celebrimbor. “He could be anywhere in Eriador—chasing down Gil-galad, rather than Elrond.”

“I don’t think so,” said Elurín. 

“Well, Gil-galad will be hunting him,” said Celebrimbor. “We can’t know where exactly they are taking Eluréd—but Celegorm can track anything. They’ll find him.”

“If you were dreaming of Elrond,” Daeron said slowly, trying to think carefully, trying desperately not to let his own feelings cloud his judgment and fearing that he was failing, “then perhaps that is where we should try to go. He is in a valley somewhere, Eluréd said—there are many such places in the easternmost reaches of Eriador. We might be able to pass north unseen if we stay very close to the mountains. I don’t know what kind of help is to be found there, but at least we will know better what is happening.” It was exactly the opposite of what he had wanted to do, but that had been before. Now they had to throw all their plans out, and replace them with far more dangerous ones. He hated this, but he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t stand the thought of sitting uselessly in Lórinand, either.

“Yes,” Elurín breathed. “We can find out what’s happening and then I can—”

“Make no further plans, Elurín. We do not know what we will find.” Daeron squeezed his hand. “And we cannot move quickly. We must take secrecy over speed. We will do Eluréd no good at all if we are killed or taken ourselves. Wait.” He pulled on Elurín’s arm when he started to get up. “Let me look at you, Elurín. You were injured yesterday, and I need to—”

“I’m fine—”

“I will not lose you too!” Daeron snapped. “If you are not going to listen to me, then Celebrimbor and I will tie you up and drag you to Lórinand instead, do you hear me?”

Elurín immediately sat back down. “Sorry, Ada,” he whispered. 

“If we take this course we will do it my way. Carefully. And if I do not think you should leave this place today, then we will wait and you will rest.”

Elurín opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again, blinking rapidly. Into the silence Celebrimbor said, “Daeron—where was it you found the stream yesterday?”

“That way,” Daeron said, pointing. “It’s not too far, but be careful. It is easy to get turned around. Call for me if you get lost. I’ll hear.”

“I will.” Celebrimbor picked up the water skins and disappeared into the trees. 

When they were alone, Elurín burst into tears, falling into Daeron’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just—he’s so afraid, and they’re hurting him and I can’t help him like this and—”

“I know.” Daeron held him close. “I know, Elurín. I hate this too. Please, please do as I say. Do not be reckless.”

“I will. I promise, I will.” Elurín hid his face in Daeron’s arm, shaking all over as he wept. Daeron rubbed his back, and hummed a quiet song, trying to imbue more healing into it. “My head aches,” Elurín said after a while, after the tears had mostly passed. By then Celebrimbor had returned, and had started to dig out rations for breakfast.

“Eat something and rest a little more. If it still hurts by this afternoon, we’ll stay another night. If you’re feeling better, we’ll start making our way west. Celebrimbor—”

“I’m sore, but nothing worse than it has been,” said Celebrimbor. When Daeron glared, he held up his hands, palms out. “Truly.”

His wounds were healed enough that they should not ache so constantly, Daeron thought. But there was nothing he could do about it, especially then and there. It would be something to tell Elrond when they finally found him. 

When. Not if. 

They stayed the rest of that day. Elurín needed the rest, and so did the horses. Elurín slept all day and only woke when Daeron roused him to eat in the evening, before falling back asleep. “What do you want to do?” Daeron asked Celebrimbor afterward, both of them tired but unable to go to sleep themselves. 

Celebrimbor grimaced. “To be able to do more than just skulk in the shadows at the edges of this war,” he said. “But I do not think I could go to Lórinand and just—sit and wonder what is happening across the mountains. Not now.”

“I don’t think I could, either.”

“I also—I would like to delay having to speak to Galadriel, even if it is cowardly. She did warn me, and I did not listen. I just—even she did not ever suspect that Annatar was Sauron, but she still saw him more clearly than I did.”

“An interesting name he chose for himself. Annatar,” Daeron murmured. 

“It fit, at least in the beginning. There were many things we all learned from him that…well, outside of ring-craft I cannot think of anything that might be taken and twisted now to his own ends. That was why I came to trust him.” Celebrimbor turned a leaf over in his hands. “But of course I do not know what else he was doing in the city, what other seeds he was planting.”

“Try not to dwell on it,” said Daeron. “It won’t do any good.”

“I’ll have to dwell on it eventually—to try to figure out what he did and what he might do next.”

“But it can wait. When we reach Elrond, or when we finally come to safety in Lindon—”

“Is Lindon safe?”

“I hope it is,” said Daeron. He was not accustomed to playing this role—usually he was the one who doubted. Trying to convince someone else to hope felt a little like when Celegorm shoved his staff into his hands and made him drill with it for an hour. “Try to get some sleep. I think we’ll be leaving early tomorrow.”

The next morning Elurín claimed that his head didn’t hurt at all, which Daeron didn’t believe, but he did not seem unsteady on his feet or otherwise in pain, so he didn’t argue; they quietly packed up their small camp, and made their way back the way they’d come, reaching the edge of the forest as pale sunlight spilled over the valley at the feet of Methedras. The Angren and its tributaries glimmered gently silver in the early morning, but there were clear signs even at a distance of the orcs that had been there. Bodies still lay in the grass and on the stony banks of the river; Daeron could see the movement of carrion birds. “We’ll pass south around those last few hills,” he said after a moment, “and then go around them to head directly north. I do not know those lands, however.”

“I do—or at least I know the lands well in Eregion,” said Celebrimbor. “We’ll pass very close to the entrance to Khazad-dûm, but if those doors are not closed I will be very surprised.”

“Do you think they will be watched?”

“I don’t know, but we should assume so.”

Daeron took a deep breath. “All right. Well, first we must pass around the mountains without being seen. I can hide us well enough, I think, and hopefully they will not expect us to come back this way having escaped once. Will you ride together as you did before, or will one of you ride with me?”

“We can ride together,” Elurín said, glancing at Celebrimbor, who nodded. “I’m all right now, I think.”

“Remember, Elurín, we stay together. And we should go slowly, at least at first—pushing the horses too hard will only hurt all of us in the long run.”

“I know.” Elurín turned north and west, gaze doing distant. “I can’t see anything,” he whispered. “It’s all shrouded in darkness.” Daeron reached for his hand, but Elurín only squeezed it once before letting go and turning to mount Rhawhul. 

Mithrenvos pawed the ground as Daeron turned to him, and snorted. “I know,” he murmured, stroking his neck. “We’ll find him.”