The Day Transcending Night by StarSpray  

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Twenty

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Elurín was always aware of Eluréd, of whether he was nearby, whether he was all right—what he was feeling, if it was something strong enough. Now all he could tell was that he was in pain and he was terrified, and he didn’t even know if Eluréd could reach for him in return, if he knew that Elurín was following after him. 

As Rhawhul followed Mithrenvos down the hill toward the Angren, Elurín thought of Celegorm and Maglor, making their way north—much faster than the three of them would go. This was even worse than when the orcs had taken Daeron, long ago—but only, Elurín thought, because he understood better now what was happening to Eluréd and what awaited him when he was brought before Sauron. He had not known, as a child, what Daeron had endured, or what would have become of him if Celegorm had failed to get him back. He hadn’t even really understood the risks Celegorm had taken to rescue him. 

Now he did understand—he understood all too well. Rhawhul sensed his distress and shook his head. Elurín loosened his grip on the reins and patted his neck, trying to breathe the way Daeron had taught him to calm down, deep and slow. It didn’t really work. Celebrimbor’s arm around him helped a little more, warm and solid and grounding. They didn't dare speak much, though Elurín would have liked to—anything to distract him from all the imagined horrors crowding everything else out of his mind. 

How could Daeron stay so calm? 

They went slowly, stopping often once they left the valley at the end of the mountains, and made their way west. Elurín spotted signs of Celegorm and Maglor’s passage, moving swiftly, also keeping to the foothills and out of sight of the orcs, though they disappeared after a short time and he couldn’t tell where they’d gone next. It mostly seemed to be supply trains that were passing through the Gap now, between Tharbad and whatever strongholds Sauron had in the east. Part of Elurín wanted to stop and cause some mischief, but the far larger part wanted to press on, to go faster. 

Their course took them around the hills and then straight north. After some days they came to the lands south of Eregion. Celebrimbor breathed out a soft, pained sound at the first sight of the burned out woods, of farmsteads and villages destroyed, the fields trampled, in some places the wreckage still smoking. Daeron kept them in the hills, and so they did not see the ruin of Ost-in-Edhil, even at a distance.

When they stopped to camp Elurín’s dreams were terrible, memories of the War of Wrath blending with whatever Eluréd was enduring, and he kept waking unable to breathe. Always either Celebrimbor or Daeron were there to whisper words of comfort that they all knew were empty, but which Elurín clung to anyway. None of them slept much when the wind carried the howling of wolves on it, though. Or the smell of distant smoke. All of Eregion was burning, and there was nothing they could do. 

Near the mountains there was less devastation. They could forage as they went, though there was little to hunt. Elurín carried Celegorm’s bow and once or twice he had to kill some orcs that were either lost or seeking for people like them trying to escape north or south. 

One night they sheltered in a shallow cave, just big enough for them and the horses. Daeron fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as he laid down, having nearly reached the limits of his endurance. Elurín and Celebrimbor stayed up, sharing a cloak since they hadn’t dared to light a fire, and the nights were unseasonably cold, and Celebrimbor still felt the chill more strongly than Elurín or Daeron did. “How did you escape Nargothrond?” Elurín asked after a while, when the silence became unbearable. 

“I fought in the Battle of Tumhalad. Some of us who survived escaped the field, but by the time we made it back to Nargothrond it was all over—everyone was dead or gone, and we didn’t dare get too close lest Glaurung take notice. We had no choice but to make our way down Sirion to the Havens, and then to Balar. It was long before I learned what had happened to those who had remained behind in the city. I suppose if I had known I wouldn’t be here now, I would have perished trying to go after them—after Finduilas, at least. She was a very dear friend to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Elurín said softly. 

“She did not deserve that fate. Nor did Orodreth. They were both very kind to me when they didn’t have to be. He would have been well within his rights to send me and my people away as soon as my father was gone.”

“So—you were already at Sirion when Doriath fell.”

“I was on Balar. And—no, I did not know your sister well. She came seldom to Balar, and I went seldom to Sirion after the Iathrim arrived. Even though I had broken with my father, I did not think anyone would be very comfortable with Curufin’s son coming among them. I do know she was much beloved—by everyone in the Havens, not only her own people.”

“Did you know Eärendil?”

“Yes, better than Elwing. He spent a great deal of time on Balar, learning shipbuilding and sailing from Círdan, both with his father and after Tuor and Idril sailed.” Celebrimbor paused, and then sighed. “Idril was also my cousin, and I was very fond of her—in spite of the animosity between our houses even when we were young. It had grieved me not to see her again after our people left Mithrim, since I did not go to the Mereth Aderthad, and there was no other opportunity to meet before Turgon took them all away to Gondolin. I was so glad to see her again when she came to the Havens. I was also fond of Eärendil. He was—he was so very hopeful, even as a child, even after Gondolin fell. Hopeful in a sort of…determined kind of way, like he was hanging onto it with all he had and just refused to let go no matter what happened, the same way Elrond is. I always envied him that, a little. He loved your sister, though, and he adored Elrond and Elros. I know they were happy, but for the fact that he was so often away from home.” 

That was reassuring. Almost everyone else who had told Elurín of his sister and her husband had spoken of them in glowing, heroic, almost mythic terms. Well, everyone but Elrond and Elros, but theirs were children’s memories, hazy and colored by loss and longing, like Elurín’s memories of his own parents. He was glad to know from someone who had been there, who still thought of them as real people, that they had been happy. That they really did love one another. He hoped they were still happy, in spite of everything. 

After a while Elurín asked, “Were you offered a chance to return to the west after the war?”

“Yes. I didn't want to. I had already lived more of my life here than I had in Tirion. It would not have been a homecoming.”

“Do you not have other kin there?”

“My mother is there, and her family—for all I know I have dozens of cousins now, who were born after I left—and my grandmother Nerdanel. It is also said that Finrod returned from the Halls sometime during the War of Wrath, though I did not hear about that until long afterward, when sailors from Númenor first returned here bearing tales of him.”

“You did not want to return to your mother?”

“You chose to stay, too.”

“Yes, but I was born here. And the way has always been open for me. Is it not closed to you now?”

“It is. But…” Celebrimbor shook his head, once. “I never really cared, before. I wanted to build a city like Ost-in-Edhil. I wanted to make something of my own, to attach my name to something better than what the rest of my family had done. I would not have been able to do that in Tirion. I did write to my mother—Finarfin agreed to carry my letter back to her—but I don’t know anymore whether I regret staying or not.”

Elurín hesitated without really knowing why, and then said quietly, “I’m glad you’re here.” Celebrimbor’s arm around his waist tightened a little, and he leaned over to rest his head on Elurín’s shoulder, breathing a soft sigh. Somewhere in the distance wolves howled, but it was soon drowned out by the wind that wailed across the cave’s mouth. Elurín glanced at Daeron, who shifted in his sleep, murmuring something. He wondered where Eluréd was. Where Celegorm and Maglor were—whether they had found shelter. Whether Eluréd knew that they were coming for him. Elurín hoped he did, he hoped the Music had given him some hint of hope. He kept listening to the streams they passed, kept bending his ears to the wind, straining to hear anything that might tell him what lay ahead—but all he heard was rushing water and moving air. 

“We are close to the Sirannon,” Celebrimbor said after a while, “and the road that leads to Moria—and then a little farther north is the road that leads to the Redhorn Pass. I still fear that both will be watched.”

“I think we have a better chance of passing unseen through the woods than we did crossing the Gap,” said Elurín.

“I can’t help but wonder if they were lying in wait for us.”

“I suppose it’s possible. We may have left some sign when we fled south.” Elurín had done his best to hide their passage, but they had all been more worried about making sure Celebrimbor survived the journey. It didn’t matter now, really, he supposed. They would just have to do better as they went north.

“My uncles are going to be furious when they find out we’ve followed them.”

“Lossë will probably threaten to tie us up and never let us outside again,” Elurín agreed.

“I thought that must be where Daeron got it from.”

“After I fought the dragon he said the next one of us who wanted to do something like that would get tied up and tossed into the deepest cave the dwarves would let him into. Did he ever say such things to you?”

“No, but there was no occasion for it until after the Bragollach, and after that—he didn’t do much teasing, then. I’m glad he remembered how.”

“After he forgot everything else. Maglor thinks it’s the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“I think Maglor’s right,” Celebrimbor said softly. 

“But it only came about because my father laid a curse on him. I do not think my father intended to help him.” What Elurín could not figure out was what Dior had intended. If Celegorm remembered his exact words, he hadn’t shared them, and Elurín was afraid to ask. What if it wasn’t over? What if they would all still be caught up in whatever Dior had done to him, the way everyone in Beleriand had been caught up in the Doom of the Noldor—what if it was already happening, and that was how Eluréd had been taken?

If that was so, Elurín did not think he would ever forgive Dior for it. 

“If he wanted to hurt him, he has succeeded,” said Celebrimbor. “But that does not mean the ripple effects need all be terrible—I still believe what I said about it before. Even Morgoth’s curse upon Húrin and his family, for all the harm it did, though it cost Finduilas her life, led to the slaying of Glaurung in the end. It would still have been better if it had never happened, but—I’m not sure I can say the same of whatever it was your father did.”

“Maybe.”

The next morning they went on, going on foot and leading the horses. Elurín ventured ahead, keeping his bow out and an arrow ready. Before long he came to the Sirannon as it tumbled over its stony bed, and he saw steps carved into the stones leading up toward the mountains. That was the path to Moria, but he neither saw nor heard nor sensed anyone watching. When he looked up he saw no birds—no crows, not the ravens that were the friends of dwarves, or even an eagle circling high above. But the clouds were very low, and a chill wind blew down off of the mountains. “Anything?” Daeron asked when Elurín returned to them.

“Nothing, but we need to be quick. I don’t like the stillness.”

“Nor do I.” Daeron glanced around. They were high enough that they could see for some distance into the west where there was a break in the trees, where distant movement was visible. Daeron’s gaze lingered there for some time before he sighed and gently tugged Mithrenvos forward. “Nothing for it. Let’s go.”

They passed by the road to Moria and over the Sirannon without being seen. If Sauron had ordered a watch kept, the watchers were shirking their duties. Elurín still couldn’t breathe properly until they were miles away, hidden in the trees and far from even the sound of the river. Celebrimbor stumbled over a tree root, and Daeron caught him. “Let’s rest,” he said. “Then I think we can return to the saddle. How far north do you think Elrond would have gone?”

“It’s near a river,” Elurín murmured, and then frowned, unsure how he knew that. Had Eluréd mentioned it? 

Celebrimbor sat down heavily and frowned thoughtfully. “The Sirannon flows down into the Gwathló,” he said slowly, “and the Gwathló flows out of the joining of the Mitheithel and the Bruinen—the Bruinen flows southwest, from the Misty Mountains. The East road crosses over it, and then leads to the High Pass.”

“Did we cross the High Pass when we went east the first time?” Elurín asked Daeron. 

“I think so. We followed the Road, anyway, and I remember fording the Bruinen. At least we have a place to make for.”

“But we still don’t know where—anyone is,” Elurín said, gesturing westward.

“North,” Daeron said quietly. “I feel we must go north. Whether that is where the Enemy is, seeking Elrond, or whether Lossë and Maglor will make for Elrond’s hidden valley once they’ve rescued Eluréd, I can’t say. But to Elrond is at least where we must go.”

“And if they don’t go east, when—when they’ve got him? If they go west?”

“One leg of the journey at a time, birdie. When we find Elrond and can find out what’s really happening—then we’ll decide what to do next.”

“Right. Sorry.” Elurín looked west, though he couldn’t see anything through the trees. He could still feel that Eluréd was alive—still knew that he was scared and hurt. Celegorm hadn’t yet found him. Or if he had, Eluréd didn’t know what was happening. 

Daeron stepped up beside him, putting a hand on his arm. “Don’t despair, Elurín,” he said softly.

“I need Eluréd for that,” he whispered. He just needed Eluréd. He was only half himself without his brother and if the worst happened—he didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t think he would survive it, wasn’t sure an eternity in the Halls of Mandos would be enough to heal him. 

“Elurín…”

“I’m sorry. I’m trying, Ada, I just…”

“I know. I’m scared too.”

“You don’t seem that scared.”

“Because I can’t afford to be. Otherwise we’ll never make it. When we find Elrond and are somewhere safe—then we can all fall apart a little. And then we’ll put ourselves back together and do what we have to do, because we have no other choice.” Daeron sighed, and pulled Elurín down so he could kiss his forehead. “Sit down, rest a little. We’ll move on in an hour or so. We have to be careful of the horses in these hills.”

Elurín went to sit beside Celebrimbor, who reached for his hand. “All right?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Elurín said. He wasn’t sure he would ever be all right again. 

They moved on after an hour, going as quickly as they could, following the line of mountains as they marched north. Elurín kept looking up, feeling like they were being watched, but there was never anything there except the clouds and the mountain peaks that vanished into them. They went as quickly as they could, but that was not as fast as Elurín wished, for they had to be careful of sudden drops or small steep valleys that opened up before them. 

A few days after they passed the Sirannon, they passed the way that led to the Redhorn Pass—and also saw no one there. Elurín did not like it, expecting an ambush at any moment, but none ever came. A few days after that, Daeron drew to a sudden halt. “What is it?” Elurín asked.

“Movement,” Daeron said. Elurín readied his bow, and Celebrimbor’s arm around his waist tightened a little, but Daeron held up a hand. “Wait. They’re moving fast, on foot—I don’t think…” 

The figure came into view through the trees, and halted as he saw them too. It was an Elf, but Elurín knew better than to relax just because of that. For several seconds they all just stared at one another. Then the other Elf said, incredulously, “Master Daeron?”

“Lindir!” Daeron dismounted as Lindir came forward, hands extended. “What are you doing out here?”

“Carrying messages, if I can make it, to Lórinand over the Redhorn Pass,” said Lindir. He glanced toward Elurín, and then his eyes widened upon seeing Celebrimbor. “My Lord Celebrimbor! We thought you were dead!”

“It’s rather a long story,” said Celebrimbor. Elurín didn’t turn to look, but he could imagine the rueful and slightly pained expression on his face.

“We are seeking Elrond—and Gil-galad, if we can find them,” said Daeron. “Can you tell us if we are going the right way?”

“Yes, you are! Not far from the fords across the Bruinen there is a valley—we stumbled upon it almost by accident last year when fleeing Eregion, and both Elrond and Celeborn have set their own protections around it. I do not know if you will easily find it, but I am sure they will be aware of your coming when you are close. Just turn east and head into the hills when you reach the ford—going carefully, for there are many such valleys, though none nearly as large as the one we found. The Enemy has not crossed the Bruinen, and I do not know where he is, but I fear he holds the bridge over the Mitheithel. Elrond and Celeborn will be very, very glad to see you! But where are Lossenol and Eluréd?”

“We were separated,” Daeron said, glancing at Elurín, who bit his tongue. “We hope to find them in the north too.”

Lindir nodded. Elurín knew him only a little, as a merry figure who delighted in cheerful rhymes and teasing songs, a good friend of Elrond’s, and one of very few who had been born in Doriath who had never looked to either Eluréd or Elurín as their next king. He did not look either cheerful or teasing now. “May I take word of you to Lady Galadriel?” he asked, looking between the three of them. “She will be very relieved, I think, to know that you live, Lord Celebrimbor—she and Lady Celebrían.”

“Yes, please,” said Celebrimbor. “But be careful, Lindir. We got by without being seen, but I still fear the pass will be watched.”

“Alone and on foot, I think I can make it as long as Caradhras sleeps,” said Lindir. “May Elbereth guide you!”

“And you, Lindir,” said Daeron, squeezing his hand before letting go. “I hope we will meet again someday soon.”

They waited until Lindir had disappeared into the woods to the south, and then waited a little longer. When it remained quiet, Daeron returned to the saddle. “At least now we know where to go, rather than just guessing and hoping,” he said.

“Elurín already knew it was near a river,” said Celebrimbor. 

“But now we know for sure,” said Elurín. And as soon as he saw Daeron and Celebrimbor safe in that hidden valley with Elrond, if they did not find the others already there, he would ride out again to look for them, whatever Daeron said, even if it meant facing Sauron himself head-on and alone.