The Day Transcending Night by StarSpray  

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Twenty One

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Most of what was passing through the Gap at that moment, as far as Celegorm could tell, was supply trains. Their crossing of it had coincided with a break in the caravans and the patrols—a small piece of luck that had almost seen them safely to the Ents’ wood. He watched a trio of wagons pass by less than a mile from where he and Maglor hid in the hills, heading west, watched the horsemen accompanying them, and had an idea. “We need armor,” he said. “Mail, at least—helmets if we can get them.” They’d already run into a party of orcs and barely escaped; Celegorm had a new cut on his thigh and Maglor had several on his sword arm—nothing serious, but only because they’d gotten lucky. To make things worse, Celegorm had lost the trail of Eluréd’s captors for a while, and though he’d found it again they had lost precious hours. 

They would lose more than hours, though, if they got themselves killed.

“It would be nice,” Maglor said, “but how are we going to get any? Let alone any that will fit us—we can’t possibly wear orc armor.”

“There are Men guarding those caravans,” said Celegorm, pointing to the one he’d been watching.

“And there are only two of us.”

“More than half of what I did during the War of Wrath was sabotage supply chains without getting caught,” said Celegorm. “I know exactly what I’m doing. And the sooner we get mail the sooner we can go after Eluréd—and if we look like the Enemy’s servants we won’t need to hide, and we can go faster—we can make up the time it’ll take to get it, and when we do reach Eluréd we won’t have to worry as much about getting hit.”

Maglor pressed his lips together, frowning as he thought. “All right,” he said finally. “Though I don’t think a couple coats of mail will be enough to really disguise us—and I think both of us are far more out of practice at warfare than we’d like to think.”

They were also not used to working together like this—not since they were children, and what they were doing now was very different from conspiring to sneak outside to escape their tutors in favor of raiding the strawberry patch in their grandmother’s garden, or creeping into the kitchens to steal pastries. Maglor was no longer used to working with anyone at all, and Celegorm had grown to rely on the twins or Daeron instead. But this should be a straightforward affair, unless there was some ugly surprise hiding in the wagons. “I need you to stay on my left, if it comes to a fight,” he said. “I can’t see on that side.”

“Of course.”

“But if all goes well, there won’t be a fight.”

“Unless you think they have piles of mail in those wagons, we’re probably going to have to kill someone,” Maglor said. 

“We can pick off sentries late at night, and then I’ll set fire to the wagons.”

“I see why Daeron was so worried about you doing something reckless.”

Celegorm glared at him. “I don’t see you coming up with any ideas.”

“Because I have none—I’ll follow wherever you lead, Tyelko, I just want to acknowledge how bad of an idea this is.” Then he paused, and reached for Celegorm’s arm. “Wait—we won’t have to kill anyone if I sing them all to sleep.”

Celegorm thought about it, looking back at the wagons as they circled around in preparation to camp for the night. “There aren’t really any good options,” he said finally, “but that’s much better than what I was thinking. I’m still setting it on fire before we go.”

“Yes, obviously. Let’s go.” 

They slipped soundlessly through the tall grass, able to move unseen on foot as they had not on horseback. By the time they reached the caravan it was dark, and they crouched in the shadows to watch the sentries take their watches, and the other soldiers build their cooking fires and prepare to bed down for the night. Celegorm made a circuit of the camp to make sure there were no surprises in the growing dark, and when he returned to Maglor’s side he touched his shoulder lightly.

Maglor took a few deep breaths, and then as the stars came out he began to sing, very quietly at first and only gradually growing louder. The sentries noticed quickly, but his song wrapped around them and around all the other soldiers in the camp with swift and ruthless gentleness, until one by one they fell to the ground, deeply asleep. Celegorm found himself yawning, and pinched himself a few times to stay awake until the song was done. Maglor sang it again, just to be sure, and then breathed a sigh. He swayed when he got to his feet. “I forgot how much that takes out of you,” he said, “but they won’t wake until the morning, or until someone comes to try very hard to rouse them.”

It would be very easy to make sure none of them woke at all, but Celegorm didn’t think he could do that—he wouldn’t have hesitated, back in Beleriand, but that was a very long time ago—and it would also take precious minutes they didn’t have. He and Maglor found the two biggest Men among the soldiers—they didn’t have to bother with the sentries, with everyone there fast asleep—and stripped them of their mail. Once they had put it on themselves, Celegorm went to break axles and wheels and look through the supply wagons. They were mostly full of food, and he took enough to keep him and Maglor going for many days, and then stole a few blankets and and cloaks, thinking more of disguises, and also what Eluréd might need when they found him. 

While Celegorm worked, Maglor cut the horses free and sent them racing off into the night. “Ready?” Maglor asked. 

“Nearly.” Celegorm handed over one of the cloaks, donned the other, and then picked up a torch. He lit it in one of the campfires, and then tossed it into the nearest wagon. “Now I’m ready,” he said as the flames caught. He and Maglor fled. The mail on his shoulders was heavier than Celegorm remembered armor being, and didn’t fit quite right, but at least it would turn a blade. He glanced over his shoulder to see torchlight moving a few miles away. It wasn’t only supply wagons moving through the Gap, but soldiers too, and he and Maglor only just made it back to the shelter of the hills without being discovered. 

“Now what?” Maglor asked as he caught his breath. 

“We wait for the morning, and then we go,” Celegorm said reluctantly. He wanted to move on immediately, but they couldn’t push the horses that far, and he would be able to track their quarry better in daylight. They couldn’t help Eluréd if they were ready to collapse from exhaustion by the time they caught up. He had to believe that the orcs wanted him alive—the same way they’d wanted Daeron alive. Otherwise they would have just found his body by the river. It wasn’t as comforting a thought as it should have been.

“Tyelko?”

“He’s going to be so scared,” Celegorm whispered. “He’s—”

“We’ll find him,” Maglor said.

“I know, but he—” His voice broke. “If he’s—”

“If they were going to kill him, they would have done it immediately,” Maglor said. 

“But you know that that’s not—that it’s often worse—” He closed his eyes and saw Celebrimbor, soaked in blood, and then white-faced and weak with fear. He saw Daeron, battered and bruised and shaking as he held the twins close after his own ordeal. He saw Maedhros lying in a bed as still as death, grey-faced, hair cut almost to his scalp to get rid of the matted and damaged snarls, skeletal, his right arm swathed in bandages down to his missing hand. And now Eluréd…

“Only if they get where they’re going before we can catch up,” Maglor said. “And we will catch up, Tyelko. There’s nothing that can hide from you, and I have not spent so many years by the shore without learning something of music from the Sea. And both of us have kept our blades sharp, even if we are out of practice in using them. They will be careful of him until they bring him to Sauron himself—and if they get that far, we’ll make sure Sauron won’t have time to do anything worse.”

“And if—if he catches you out the way he caught Fin—” He choked on Finrod’s name. 

“Then I’ll give him a show the same way Eluréd did in Ost-in-Edhil, to give you a chance like he gave Elurín to get Celebrimbor,” said Maglor. “And before you point out that he is unlikely to fall for the same trick twice, consider that he will not expect such a trick of me. And I’ll get away afterward because I won’t be fighting to win, not like he will be.”

That was true. Maglor had, long ago, not been suited to subtlety or to trickery—long ago he would probably have scoffed at the tricks they had used that night, let alone come up with the idea himself. His voice was loud and powerful and he had trained it to ring out across battlefields and the wide plains of Lothlann and Ard-galen. He had always been at the forefront of his cavalry’s charge. He would probably never do such a thing again, Celegorm thought, but Sauron might not think of that. Sauron might just be too surprised to find Maglor there at all to consider how he might have changed since the battles of the First Age. 

Celegorm turned and let his head fall onto Maglor’s shoulder, wishing—again—for their other brothers. There was still reason to hope, but it was so hard, in the dark with wolves in the distance and such recent evidence of what Sauron was capable of still fresh in his mind. But at least Celebrimbor and Elurín were safe—at least Daeron would get them through the Ents’ wood and up the river to Lórinand. All he had to focus on now was Eluréd. The oath he had sworn to Elurín had settled over him like a mantle, and he almost found the weight of it comforting, a familiar thing to guide his steps, pulling him forward—and this oath was not one he would ever regret swearing. If he failed he would deserve the Everlasting Darkness. Eluréd was worth so much more than the Silmarils had ever been. “I should have seen what happened to him,” he whispered.

“You know as well as I do that it’s impossible to see everything in a fight like that,” said Maglor.

“I didn't need to see everything. I needed to see my son.”

Maglor sighed. “I know. But this isn’t your fault, Tyelko—you would not be blaming Daeron if he were here, would you?”

“No, but…” That was different, but Celegorm didn’t think he would win the ensuing argument if he tried to explain why. 

They rested until dawn crept over the world, pale and grey. Then they went on, finding the trail of the orcs and riding hard to try to catch up, risking open travel in favor of speed. With their hoods up and wearing the same mail and cloaks that the other soldiers out of the east did, no one stopped them. They crossed over the Angren, where the trail mixed with others and became hard to see—and then near Tharbad, Celegorm spotted something by the side of the road, stepped on and pressed into the mud but just visible. He dropped out of the saddle to pick it up, and his heart sank.

“What is it?” Maglor asked. Celegorm held it out. It was a carved oak leaf on a broken leather thong, matching the aspen that Maglor now wore and the birch that Celegorm still had around his own neck. Maglor looked at it, expression grim. Then he said, “We’re on the right track. Maybe he dropped it on purpose.”

“Maybe.” 

They reached Tharbad, and Maglor cast a glamor over them similar to what Elurín had done for Celegorm long ago after the War of Wrath, so they could pass through without receiving undue notice. They were in luck: Sauron himself was not there, and his most powerful servants seemed to be either with him or back in the east. The ruined city was mostly empty, with companies of orcs or Men just passing through either east or west, with a small garrison to watch the bridge. All manner of languages were being spoken, only some of which Celegorm knew—a few dialects out of the east. He listened hard when he and Maglor crossed over the bridge, and finally heard what he wanted—a prisoner had been brought through and turned northwest, heading up the Road. No one seemed to know who he was, only that he was someone that Sauron would want to deal with personally, and that whoever had him was moving fast; orcs had brought him on foot, but Men had taken over, and seemed likely to run their horses nearly to the ground before they could find fresh mounts.

Through those same snatches over overheard conversation they also learned where Sauron was—or where he would be. He had been pursuing Gil-galad nearly as far as the River Lhûn, but would soon be heading east along the Road to set up a command post between the Mitheithel and the Bruinen, so as to lay siege to Elrond somehow, though still no one knew where he had vanished to in the mountains. It seemed he thought Gil-galad beaten back and no longer a threat, at least for the moment. Celegorm and Maglor exchanged a glance, and slipped out of the city as soon as they could, dodging patrols and avoiding the North Road. “Eluréd will be taken along the roads,” Maglor said once they were well away from Tharbad, “and they’re moving too quickly for us to catch up that way—even as fast as we’ve been going and as tireless as Lhimmir and Limral are, they have two days’ head start at least—and they do not have to pace ourselves as we do, for they can just get fresh horses whenever they need them. What if we follow the river instead, and make for the bridge? We may cut them off there.”

“Or we may miss them,” said Celegorm. “We’ll be going in a straight line, but they’ll have the roads while we’ll be picking our way through the wild.”

“And that will take them so far west that we may very well end up reaching the bridge at nearly the same time, even as fast as they’re going. No one will stop us if we follow the river—what reason would they have to be there? The only way to cross the Mitheithel is the bridge in the north, and the only good crossing of the Gwathló north of Lond Daer is Tharbad. We won’t catch up to them, Tyelko, not on the road—we won’t have a choice but to leave it and hide more often than we would wish, and that will slow us down. Stolen mail and simple glamors won’t save us if someone grows suspicious of two swift riders wearing no badges that stop for no one.”

He was right. Celegorm still hated it. There were still no good options, and whatever they did would leave Eluréd in the enemy’s hands much longer than anyone wished. He looked back toward the road, and then nodded. “We need to move fast.”

“Limral and Lhimmir can do it, and I have songs that will lend them and us strength if we need it.”

Celegorm leaned forward to rub Lhimmir’s neck. “I hate this,” he said. “Leaving him in their hands…”

“So do I, but I don’t think there’s a better or faster way we can reach him. We’ll have a greater advantage lying in wait than coming up from behind.”

“No, you’re right.” Celegorm took a deep breath. Just hang on, Eluréd. I’m coming, I swear, I’m coming. “Let’s go, then. No time to waste.”

They moved quickly and carefully. Near the river there was less devastation; some woods had escaped the fires, though not by much, and if they strayed too far from the riverbank they came upon pockets that were still smoldering. Everywhere, the air smelled of smoke, and every footfall sent ashes swirling. It was also silent. Even the river seemed muted. There were no birds. No animals. Precious little to forage even if they could spare the time. The sky remained heavy with clouds, flat and colorless, but it never rained. They cut away from the Gwathló when it veered farther east, and headed directly northwest until they came to the Mitheithel with its steep and rocky embankments, and saw no orcs, no soldiers—heard nothing but the wind and the very distant howling of wolves. Every day that passed brought them closer to their goal, but it felt as though they only took them farther and farther away from Eluréd.

“Is this better or worse than your flight across Eriador with Daeron?” Celegorm asked once, when they stopped to rest. 

“Better in that we aren’t being pursued,” Maglor said. “Worse in that we are headed into danger rather than away from it. Better in that I know Tyelpë is all right, and on his way somewhere safe. Worse in that I know Eluréd isn’t, and that Elurín will be out of his mind with worry.”

“Did Elrond and Elros ever get separated like this?”

“No, not like this—not for so long. Or at least not while they were with me. And when they were parted at the last—it was their own choice, if the tales are true.”

“They are.”

“I’m glad you got to meet Elros, though,” Maglor said softly. “Even if neither of you knew who you were.”

Celegorm reached for his hand. “I’m sorry you never got to say goodbye,” he whispered.

“I did say goodbye—I knew when we parted that I would never see them again.”

“You’ll see Elrond.”

“Maybe.” Maglor squeezed his hand once and let go. “We should keep going.”

Finally, they saw the bridge in the distance, and the line of the Road stretching east and west on either side of the Mitheithel. To the east, woods yet untouched by Sauron’s devastation loomed over the northern side of the road. Celegorm was glad to see it—hoped that they would provide shelter, a place to hide. He saw movement near the bridge, which he had expected, and as they drew closer he saw more some miles to the west, which he had not. “Oh no,” Maglor murmured.

“What?”

“That is Sauron himself, I think—marching east.”

Celegorm closed his eyes, breathing a few curses. “He has Eluréd already, then.” There was no way those carrying Eluréd up the road would not have met with Sauron if he had been that far west. They’d been counting on him having already crossed the Mitheithel, on having to deal only with those who had taken Eluréd.

“I think we can cross the bridge before they reach it,” said Maglor, “if we hurry. They’re miles away still, and not moving fast. I don’t think they’ll reach the bridge until tomorrow.”

“The bridge is held—”

“I’ll sing the guards to sleep again—that way no one will mark our passage, and we can hide in the trees and wait for our chance. And then when we’ve got him we’ll make for the Bruinen and hope Lhimmir and Limral are faster than any horses the Enemy has.”

At their best, Celegorm had no doubt that Lhimmir and Limral could outrun anyone Sauron sent after them. But they’d been pushing both the horses and themselves hard, and if they made it across the Bruinen without being caught it would be a miracle. He was going to have to do something very stupid, he thought. He looked east, and swallowed a little bit of hysterical laughter—all that worrying about what Galadriel would say when she learned the truth of him, and it wouldn’t matter, because he wouldn’t be there to hear it.

Daeron was never going to forgive him.

“The bridge is held on both sides of the river,” he said. “Let’s just make a run for it—they’ll look for us, but probably not that hard, since we’re only two and no one will know who we are, and they might not think it matters much if we make it across the Bruinen ahead of them.”

“If they get a look at us they will. Especially you—if Sauron hears of a silver-haired Elf with scars on his face, he’ll know that someone is coming for Eluréd.”

“Then just sing up a glamor like you did in Tharbad. Anyone who looks close enough at my face to see through it will end up dead, anyway.”

Maglor was looking at him with a frown. “Celegorm, what are you planning?”

“Nothing. I can’t plan anything yet—we don’t know what he’s going to do. But I swore I would get Eluréd back, and I’m going to do it. Let’s just go. The sooner we get across the bridge the sooner we can find a good place to hide and wait.”

They were in luck. Those guarding the bridge did not expect a pair of riders to come bursting out of the brush by the side of the road. Maglor’s sword flashed, and Celegorm followed after him. The orcs mostly chose to throw themselves out of the way rather than be ridden down, and those on the other side were not much braver. Maglor led the way until they were out of sight of the bridge before turning into the trees and slowing. “Now we’ll go back a little ways,” he said, “and I’ll hide us.”

Pursuers came down the road after some time, but did not stop to look toward the forest. Celegorm stood and watched the road, stroking Lhimmir’s neck and praying that Eluréd was all right. That whatever Sauron might be planning had not yet happened. Just let him be all right, please let him be all right.

They had to wait another day before Sauron’s armies passed by, carrying his banners with that terrible red eye. Sauron himself was not quite at the head of the first companies; he came a little after, and he was much more watchful than Celegorm had hoped, his gaze lingering on the trees. Maglor had taken Daeron’s teachings and adapted them to his own skills and cloaked them in shadows that even Sauron could not pierce—but that was only, Celegorm realized with a sinking feeling, because he was not really looking. Not for them, specifically; he was wary but not quite suspicious. If he wanted to find them, he would. He could also see the glint of gold on Sauron’s finger, and felt faintly sick to his stomach.

Then Maglor grabbed his arm, grip tight enough to bruise, and Celegorm realized a second later why. Just behind Sauron was Eluréd, bound tight with ropes, though Celegorm didn’t think they were needed. Bruises bloomed across what skin was visible through his torn and bloodied clothes, and over his face. A cut across his cheekbone bled sluggishly. His hair had been cut short, falling in uneven tangles over his eyes and around his shoulders as though someone had just taken his long braid and sliced through it with a sword. He rode in a cart like a piece of baggage, though there was nothing else in it—nothing to cushion him from the jolts and shakes whenever the wheels hit a rut in the road. It looked like there was something wrong with his legs. Tears had left pale tracks through the blood and dirt on his cheeks.

Only Maglor’s grip and the knowledge that it wouldn’t do any good kept Celegorm from charging out then and there—just grabbing Eluréd and racing away. There were too many orcs, too many archers—he probably wouldn’t even reach the cart. “When they stop for the night,” Maglor breathed in his ear. “We’ll get him then, while they’re still setting up camp—I’ll distract him, and you grab Eluréd, and then we’ll make for the ford.”

“I’ll get him out but you need to take him afterward,” Celegorm whispered back. “You’re the faster rider and I’m the better shot—I’ll cover you.” As the cart drew even with them Eluréd stirred, opening his eyes. He sat facing the trees, and when he looked up his eyes met Celegorm’s, and went wide. Of course he could see straight through even Maglor’s enchantments—they weren’t meant for him. Celegorm immediately put a finger to his lips. Eluréd’s gaze flicked toward Sauron and then back to him, and he shook his head ever so slightly. 

And then he was past them. His gaze lingered on the trees before he let himself slump sideways, lowering his head until his face could not be seen; his shoulders shook like he was struggling not to cry, and Celegorm wanted to break something. He wanted to break Sauron. 

“Tyelko,” Maglor said in his ear. “Come on.”

Even picking their way through the pathless woods they were faster than the army, and had to backtrack a little late in the afternoon when Sauron indicated he wished to stop—earlier than they’d expected. As activity erupted, the army preparing to bed down for the evening, Celegorm turned to press his face against Lhimmir’s neck. Then he pulled out Elurín’s bow and hoisted himself into the saddle. His left shoulder twinged, and exhaustion pulled at him, but he ignored it. 

“Wait for me to distract him,” Maglor said from Limral’s saddle.

“How will I know when—”

“I don’t intend to be subtle. You’ll know. Once I have his attention I intend to kill as many orcs as I can before I catch up to you. I’m sure you’ll recognize the songs.” Maglor reached over to grasp the back of Celegorm’s neck, pressing their foreheads together for a moment. “Love you,” he said softly.

“Love you too,” Celegorm whispered.

He crept toward the edge of the woods as Maglor disappeared, heading back east. He took the carvings of the sparrow and the lark out of one of his saddlebags and slipped them into his pocket, rubbing his thumb briefly over the carven feathers. Then he put an arrow to the string and waited, trying to keep his breathing even. He could see the cart where Eluréd was still held, and as he watched a pair of orcs went to drag him out of it, throwing him to the ground as Sauron stepped forward. He said something in the foul language of the orcs, and whatever it was seemed to amuse all who could hear it. Eluréd kept his head bowed, until a pole was brought forward—the kind meant to carry a banner. Celegorm watched as the ropes were cut from his arms, and the orcs pulled him up again to tie him to the pole, arms outstretched. His blood ran cold. Eluréd didn’t even try to struggle. It looked like his legs had been broken—he couldn’t run even if he had the chance. Sauron stepped forward to grip Eluréd’s chin in his hand, but Celegorm couldn’t hear whatever he said. He couldn’t tell, either, whether Eluréd answered. He must have, because Sauron’s hand reared back and Celegorm could hear the strike from where he was, saw Eluréd’s head snap to the side. The cut on his cheek opened again, blood trickling down to his chin. Lhimmir tossed his head, and Celegorm urged him forward a few steps, almost to the edge of the trees. Where was Maglor? Sauron grabbed Eluréd again, this time by the hair, and pressed a knife to his cheek, under the first cut, new blood welling up along the edge of the blade.

Finally, Maglor’s voice rang out, as loud as waves crashing against a cliff side, unmistakable. “Abhorred one!” The orcs and even the Men in the encampment quailed, and Sauron turned sharply. Eluréd’s head dropped forward; he didn’t move. Celegorm could see his chest heaving as though he was struggling to breathe. From down the road Maglor called out, “Release to me Celebrimbor son of Curufin of the House of Fëanor, and maybe I will spare your life!”

Oh, that was clever. Celegorm raised his bow as Sauron turned fully away from Eluréd, stalking away toward the sound of Maglor’s voice. With Eluréd apparently not who Maglor was after and unable to try to escape himself, he didn’t bother ordering a closer guard on him. Celegorm waited, and waited, and then fired several arrows in quick succession. The orcs standing around Eluréd dropped, and Celegorm charged forward, drawing his sword as he went. He didn’t have Maglor’s power, but he hadn’t spent all those years with Daeron without learning something; the orcs fell away before him when he shouted, and he reached Eluréd before even Sauron knew what was happening—and by then Maglor had him fully engaged, his voice echoing around them, slicing through the cacophony of cries that rose from the orcs as many of them fell prone or turned and fled. The ropes fell away when Celegorm cut through them, and he caught Eluréd in his arms, pulling him up into the saddle before him. Back down the road Maglor raised his voice even louder, beginning a battle song out of the old wars—the kind of song that had cut through battalions and turned the tide of battles nearly lost; after just a few seconds Sauron’s rose in answer.

Eluréd gasped, white-faced with pain as Lhimmir wheeled to charge down the road. His hands scrabbled over the mail that Celegorm wore before catching on his cloak and gripping tight. “Atya—”

“I’ve got you.”

“But—”

“Just hang on. The Bruinen isn’t far.”

Soldiers surrounded them. Lhimmir reared back with a whinny, kicking out as Celegorm wrapped one arm around Eluréd and wielded his sword with the other. The fight was fierce, but neither Celegorm nor Lhimmir were about to give up now, so close to the end, and finally they broke free, leaping over the last quailing orcs as Maglor’s song swept down the road over them. Blood flowed from several cuts along Lhimmir’s shoulders and flanks but he seemed not to notice them as he lengthened his stride, soon out pacing all who tried to give chase. Celegorm could already feel bruises forming where the mail he’d stolen had taken blows from both arrows and blades.

Maglor’s voice behind them was thunderous, drowning out even Sauron's as he attempted to counter it. When that fight ceased abruptly, Celegorm glanced over his shoulder and saw Maglor swiftly catching up, leaving chaos in his wake. He slowed, and when Maglor finally reached them he said, “Take him, go, go!”

“Lossë!” Eluréd grabbed for Celegorm as Maglor took him onto the saddle in front of him. “No! No, Atya don’t—”

“It’ll be fine, birdie. I’ll cover you. Maglor, go.”

“Don’t be stupid, Tyelko,” Maglor said, and then he was gone. Celegorm drew his bow and looked back again. Sauron was giving chase. The first arrow he shot went wide; he shot again, and then there wasn’t time for more. He charged after Maglor. Ahead loomed some hills through which the road passed in a deep cut, all in shadow. Maglor and Eluréd vanished into it. Beyond it flowed the Bruinen. Behind them, Sauron’s voice rose like the roar of a wildfire.