The Day Transcending Night by StarSpray  

---

Twenty Two

---

Eventually, they had to leave the foothills of the mountains—it was too treacherous, and even Daeron agreed that they needed to move faster. East of the Bruinen there were bands of roving orcs, but no organized companies, and they were easy to evade—or to kill, Elurín making quick work of them, as unerring as Celegorm with his bow—and when the lands opened up away from the mountains the horses were eager to race through the grasses and over the hills. So many days in the saddle with little rest, though, left Celebrimbor aching all over, and it got harder and harder to hide—not that he’d really fooled either Elurín or Daeron in the first place. 

“I can rest when we find Elrond,” he told Daeron. They had stopped to rest the horses, hidden in a thick stand of fir trees. Elurín had slipped away to scout ahead. The river was just visible in the distance, glimmering faintly whenever the sun broke through the clouds, which was rare. The land seemed mostly untouched here, at least by fire. Were it not for the unnatural silence, Celebrimbor might have been fooled into thinking nothing was wrong. 

“I’m just afraid we’ve made it worse,” Daeron said as he examined Celebrimbor’s wrists. The skin was tender; he’d been dreaming of Eregion again, waking with the taste of blood in his mouth and Sauron-Annatar’s voice in his head, demanding either the Three or something else—sometimes Elurín, sometimes his uncles, sometimes entirely nonsensical things. “You should not be in this much pain. It’s been months.”

“You said I would be slow to heal.”

“Not this slow.” Daeron sighed and sat back on his heels. “You should be in Lórinand, now, in the care of real healers.”

“I don’t want to be in Lórinand, not with all the rest of you here,” said Celebrimbor. 

“We should all be in Lórinand. Have my songs been helping? Please tell me the truth.”

“Yes, they help, truly. And—we should be nearly there, shouldn’t we?”

“We are,” said Elurín as he returned. “We should reach the ford by tomorrow—and then Lindir said to turn east and go carefully.”

“And hope that Elrond and Celeborn are sending out patrols, so they can find us instead.” Daeron sighed again. He looked as tired as Celebrimbor felt. “And hope that they know something of what is happening on the other side of the river.”

Elurín nodded. Celebrimbor watched him and thought that he would not be content to stay in hiding. He would try to leave again. The thought filled Celebrimbor with dread—as bad as the knowledge that both of his uncles were chasing after Sauron himself, and that Eluréd was already in his clutches. Daeron took the first watch, and Celebrimbor lay down, huddled under his blanket and his cloak, hating the silence. Elurín curled up beside him, and without thinking Celebrimbor reached for his hand. “My uncles will find him,” he whispered.

“I know,” Elurín whispered back. “That’s not what frightens me.”

“Please don’t do anything reckless.”

Elurín squeezed his hand. “I can’t make that promise. I am only half myself without my brother. Where he goes, I go.”

“Elurín—”

“You’ll be all right. I’ll make sure you get to Elrond before I go after Eluréd.”

“That’s not—”

“Shh. Rest, now.” There was power in Elurín’s words, and Celebrimbor found himself sinking into sleep before he could even try to resist it. He did not wake until the morning, when Elurín roused him. They ate a little, and then continued on, following the river, slowly closing the distance. The hills were covered in sweet-smelling heather, purple and white, interspersed occasionally with bright yellow patches of gorse. They were lovely, and the mountains rising up behind them were beautiful too, in a wilder, dangerous sort of way. 

But Celebrimbor couldn’t appreciate any of it. He sat behind Elurín in the saddle, dread growing in him. He didn’t know what it was until very late in the afternoon when they saw the Road in the distance, and the place where the Bruinen widened a little, shallow enough to ford. “He’s close,” Celebrimbor said, realizing abruptly that the dread was not only coming from inside himself. “The Enemy. He’s close.”

“He is yet on the other side of the river,” said Daeron. 

“Yes, but…”

They came to the ford at last, late in the afternoon, and then turned east to head into the hills. “We’ll find somewhere to rest for the night, somewhere hidden,” Daeron said as they passed out of sight of the Bruinen, “and then come morning—” A thunderous voice erupted behind them, and they all twisted in the saddle. “Is that—”

“Maglor,” Celebrimbor breathed.

“Elurín, wait!” Daeron reached over, but Elurín was already out of the saddle and racing back toward the river on foot, bow in hand. “Stay here!” Daeron ordered Celebrimbor before turning to go after him. Celebrimbor hesitated, and then grabbed Rhawhul’s reins to follow after Daeron. There was nothing he could do, but he at least wanted to see what was happening. He left Rhawhul hidden behind some heather and then climbed a low hill, crouching in the grass just so he could see the river. 

A horse came racing out of the hills where the road disappeared into shadows, dark hair flying in the wind. Maglor—and he had someone on the saddle in front of him. A moment later Celegorm followed, but he stopped to empty his quiver, arrow after arrow. Not far from Celebrimbor, Daeron had caught up to Elurín and they were arguing fiercely. 

Then Sauron emerged from between the hills, orcs spilling out behind him—though fewer than Celebrimbor would have expected, and they did not seem eager for a fight. Celegorm’s last arrow should have found its mark, but it seemed to vanish before it struck. He drew his sword instead, and turned to follow after Maglor. 

Maglor and Eluréd reached the river, hardly slowing before they hit the water with a splash. Elurín broke away from Daeron and ran for the water’s edge, reaching it just as they made the eastern bank. Celebrimbor heard Maglor cry out in surprise, but he kept his gaze on Celegorm, who had slowed and turned back again. He shouted something, but Celebrimbor didn’t catch the words. 

Sauron caught up. For a few seconds it almost seemed that Celegorm would hold his own, but then terrible blow knocked him from the saddle, and he landed hard on his left shoulder. He’d gotten chain mail from somewhere, and now it broke under the force of Sauron’s blade, rings scattering across the road. Celebrimbor lurched to his feet as Celegorm rolled over, grabbing his sword as he got to his feet. Sauron dismounted and brought his sword down, but Celegorm dodged out of the way and went on the offensive, though blood flowed down his chest, until Sauron was driven back, step by step. Some of the orcs skirted around the fight to head for the river, but when they reached the banks Elurín shot them. 

Then Sauron kicked out at Celegorm, catching him in his chest and sending him flying several feet before he hit the ground hard. His sword flew out of his hand, and he fumbled for his bow, raising it just as Sauron brought his sword down in a great arc that would have sliced both bow and body in two, were the bow not Elurín’s, made of dragon horn, far stronger than any wood. Near the river someone cried out. The bow held up, but Celegorm’s left arm quivered and then gave out, and the tip of Sauron’s sword pierced the ground by his head, and part of the blade sliced deep into his shoulder. Sauron leaned over and seemed to say something, but Celebrimbor couldn’t tell if Celegorm answered. 

Then Sauron looked up, straight at Celebrimbor. It was as though the distance between them shrank and all he could see were Sauron’s eyes, burning like flames, the color of molten gold. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink. “Annatar,” he whispered. “Please.”

Time seemed to slow down as several things happened at once. Behind Celebrimbor someone sounded a horn. In front of him Sauron raised his sword, ready to plunge it into Celegorm’s chest as he lay in the grass. As he did so, four voices rang out, screaming denials, and maybe other words that Celebrimbor couldn’t hear past his own desperate, “No!” The force of Daeron, Maglor, Eluréd, and Elurín’s voices seemed to hit Sauron like a physical blow, and he stumbled back a step—but Celegorm didn’t move. 

And at the same time a pale grey shape came bounding up the river, and slammed into Sauron just as he began to catch himself. As he fell, Celebrimbor’s knees also gave out and he gasped, suddenly able to take a breath as he hit the ground. Elurín grabbed Mithrenvos’ reins and raced back across the river, Maglor at his heels, but Celebrimbor couldn’t bear to watch what happened next. Daeron remained with Eluréd, kneeling on the riverbank; Eluréd did not look like he would be able to stand. Celebrimbor slid back down the hill and led Rhawhul around it. Lhimmir had crossed the river, but he was in no state to take a rider. “Go, go,” Celebrimbor said to Rhawhul, who broke into a trot toward Daeron and Eluréd. 

Maglor’s voice echoed over the river, though Celebrimbor couldn’t hear the words past the ringing in his own ears. He covered his face with his hands, but lowered them again when he heard voices and horses coming up behind him. When he turned he saw a company emerging out of the hills, having appeared as though out of thin air, carrying Elrond’s banner—Eärendil’s star gleaming on a dark field bounded by niphredil blossoms—with Elrond himself at the head. “Elrond!” he cried. 

Elrond held up a hand to stop his people as he drew to a halt, eyes going wide. “Celebrimbor? What—”

“Daeron and Eluréd—they’re by the river, they need help—and—” He faltered, realizing he didn’t know what was happening on the other side of the river. Whether Celegorm was even alive. He couldn’t make himself turn around to see.

Elrond called out to his soldiers, and as most of them rode on toward the river, he dismounted and caught Celebrimbor when he swayed on his feet. “I won’t ask what happened yet, for it’s clearly a long tale—but are you hurt?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said, because it was never any use trying to lie to Elrond, “but not—I’m all right for now. It’s Eluréd who’s hurt. And—Loss—Lossenol. And—Elrond, I don’t know if you heard him, but—”

“I heard him,” Elrond said softly. “I nearly didn’t believe it. He’s really here with you?”

“Yes. As you said, it’s a long tale.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.” Elrond embraced him, briefly and carefully. “We thought you were dead, Celebrimbor. I’m so, so glad that we were wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Celebrimbor whispered. “I’m—”

“It can wait. I know who else is on the other side of the river—we need to go, and quickly.” 

Horses returned around the hill, Elrond’s folk surrounding their own party: Daeron with Eluréd in the saddle with him, and Elurín coming up behind them, soaked and cradling Celegorm in his arms. Celegorm was pale and covered in blood, his eyes closed, unmoving. Celebrimbor couldn’t tell if he was breathing. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Elrond,” Elurín said, unsmiling but still clearly relieved, in spite of the way his eyes seemed to be burning with a light brighter than any Treelight that shone in the eyes of the Calaquendi. “I’m very glad to see you.”

“And you, Uncle,” said Elrond, but his gaze was already straying past Elurín to Maglor, who brought up the rear. Neither of them said anything, though—there was no time. “We need to hurry. The valley is not far—can you all make it?”

“We’ve made it this far, we can make it a little farther,” said Daeron. “You needn’t worry about anyone crossing the river. Elurín and Maglor called a flood down out of the mountains—it will be uncrossable for days.”

“My Lord Celebrimbor.” Someone brought an extra horse, and Elrond helped Celebrimbor drag himself into the saddle. 

As he took up the reins something cold and wet hit the back of his leg. He looked down and found Huan looking back up at him, blood staining his muzzle but his dark eyes knowing and soft and familiar. Celebrimbor’s throat went tight, and he leaned down to run his fingers through Huan’s wet fur. “I’m very glad to see you,” he murmured. 

“Tyelpë?” Maglor fell in beside him as the company headed out. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to go to Lórinand.”

“Elurín wouldn’t go, and Daeron and I weren’t going to let him come this way alone,” said Celebrimbor. “We were careful. And we met a messenger from Elrond on our way, so word will reach Galadriel of me, anyway—though not yet of you.” He looked ahead toward the twins and Daeron and Celegorm. “Is—is he—”

“He’s alive. I don’t know more than that.” Maglor reached out to lightly touch Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “He’s in good hands, though. He and Eluréd.” Celebrimbor nodded. And they were safe—the river was blocked for the time being, and by the time anyone got past it they would be secure in Elrond’s hidden valley. 

They rode through the rest of the afternoon into the evening, moving quickly until Elrond halted them suddenly, and then at the head of the company Celebrimbor saw riders just start vanishing downward behind the heather. When it came to his turn he found a narrow switch-backing path going down a slope so steep it was nearly sheer; looking straight down made him feel dizzy for a moment, before he lifted his gaze again. Beyond the path opened up a valley, filled with water—a river and many streams, and waterfalls tumbling down the mountainsides that loomed up just beyond it. There were many trees there, and in the center a very large encampment, as well as a large building. It was not yet fully dark, so Celebrimbor could see that the building was a sprawling thing, still under construction, but finished enough that people were already living in it. There was a wooden bridge over the river, and lights were on in the windows. He could faintly smell woodsmoke. 

At the bottom they rode through the valley and across the bridge, and there Elrond gave orders for Celegorm—still called Lossenol—and Eluréd to be taken inside to the infirmary. Celebrimbor then found himself ushered along to the same wing. He protested, and was simply told that there were enough beds to go around, and that Daeron and Elurín had told Elrond all about his injuries on the ride there. “I—wait, where’s—” He turned and found Maglor following after. The healers looked mistrustful, but when Celebrimbor grasped his hand and didn’t let go, they didn’t try to argue about it. They were led to a small room with a window that opened out to a view of the river, open to let in the fresh breeze. A washbasin had been filled and soap and clean clothes set out. It smelled faintly of herbs. The healers left them alone with instructions that Celebrimbor wash and change and try to rest, since he was not in immediate danger—and Elrond, or someone, would come see him in the morning.

“What about Eluréd? And Lossenol?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Elrond is with them,” he was told, “and our other most skilled healers.”

“But are they going to—”

“I don’t know, my lord. I’m sorry. But someone will come with news as soon as it is known.”

“I’ll slip out and see in a little while,” Maglor said when they were alone. “Here, let me help you, Tyelpë.”

“What about you? Are you—”

“I strained my voice a little,” said Maglor, smiling slightly. He had been speaking very quietly, and sounded hoarse, as Celebrimbor had heard him before after battles, long ago. “As long as I don’t have to shout at anyone, I’ll be fine—so I’d best avoid speaking to Tyelko for a few days.”

“Why would you…”

“Did you see—by the river?”

“Yes.”

“He shouldn’t have stayed behind. I don’t know why he did—we could have all made it and then sung down the flood, even if Daeron and Elurín had not been there. I’ll be furious with him as soon as I’m done being terrified. I think Daeron feels the same.”

“Did—I didn’t see what happened at the last, after Huan arrived.”

“Do you remember the tales of Thorondor marring Morgoth so his face was forever scarred?”

“Yes?”

“I think Sauron will have a few similar scars—this is the second time he has lost to Huan, though, and he will not forget it. And I think Huan was only able to get the upper hand because his arrival was such a surprise. It bought us time, though, to get back across the river and get Tyelko. How badly he’s hurt, I can’t say.”

There had been so much blood. “His left arm…”

“He’s weak on that side in general,” Maglor said, sighing. By then Celebrimbor was as clean as he had the patience to get, so they set the washcloths aside and Maglor helped him into the clean clothes. They were soft and smelled faintly of pine. “He and I have spoken a little of how you remind us of Maedhros, you know.”

“Me?” Celebrimbor sat down hard on the bed and then winced as every single part of his body seemed to protest. 

“In Mithrim. After Thangorodrim.” Maglor sat next to him, taking his hands. “In some ways, anyway. But there are some ways that Celegorm also reminds me of Maedhros—not Maedhros at Mithrim, but Maedhros…nearer the end of his life. Weighed down and—liable to disregard his own safety.”

“Is…is there anything we can…”

“He’s got more reasons not to throw his life away than Maedhros did,” Maglor said, “but at the same time—more reasons to consider that kind of sacrifice worth it. He swore to get Eluréd out of the Enemy’s clutches, and I think he was prepared to do whatever he had to to keep that oath.” He rose and went to the pitcher that had been set beside the basin. “Here. Drink some water and lie down. I can tell you’re in pain. Isn’t it getting any better?”

“No, but I’ve been in the saddle for weeks.” He didn’t say that he didn’t know what he would do if Elrond couldn’t help. If there wasn’t a way to stop hurting, at least, even if he never got his full strength back. He could live with weakness, he thought, as long as he could still use his hands. He wasn’t sure he could live with the constant ebb and flow of pain. 

“Then try to rest. I’m going to see if I can find Daeron and find out what’s going on. I’ll be back soon.”

“Will you stay, after?”

“Of course, Tyelpë.”

Celebrimbor drank the water, poured himself a second cup, and then sank down onto the pillows. That helped his aching muscles, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew for sure whether Celegorm would survive the night. Eluréd would, he was sure—he’d been awake and alert on the ride to the valley, though he’d been silent and seemed to have shrunk into himself, often hiding his face in Daeron’s shoulder as Daeron murmured in his ear. Elurín, on the other hand, had seemed to have grown in stature, luminous in his fury that had not abated by the time they got to the valley. He’d been similarly quiet, but Celebrimbor also had not been close enough to try to speak to him.

After so many days on the move, living out of each other’s pockets, it felt strange to not have Elurín within arm’s reach. He didn’t think he liked it. 

When the door opened again, though, it was Elurín who stepped through. Celebrimbor sat up. “Maglor’s staying with Daeron,” Elurín said. “I was sent away so the healers could actually do their jobs.” He grimaced as he spoke, apparently quoting someone. He had also cleaned up and changed into new clothes; his hair was loose, tumbling shadow-dark over his shoulders. His eyes had lost that strange shine that Celebrimbor had seen before, and he looked like himself again—no longer furious, just exhausted, afraid, and close to tears. “I’m supposed to be resting but I don’t want to—I can’t be alone. So Maglor sent me here.”

“I don’t want to be alone either.” Celebrimbor opened his arms, and Elurín all but fell into them, still not weeping but trembling. “How are they?”

“Eluréd—he’ll be all right, I think. They hurt him but it was—they were careful, before they could bring him to—the Enemy. His legs are broken but I think that’s the worst of it. And then he—” Elurín his his face in Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “I don’t know what exactly he had planned, but he didn’t get to do it. Or much of it. But no one would tell me anything of Lossë.”

“Does anyone yet know who he is?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I don’t think so. It’s only a matter of time, especially if Huan keeps sticking close to him—I can’t believe I just said that out loud—”

“I know,” Celebrimbor said, and found himself laughing a little—the kind of hysterical laughter that came when one was trying very hard not to cry. “Huan is here. I don’t—I don’t understand how.”

“A boat, probably,” Elurín said without lifting his head. “Númenor has dealings with Eressëa, don’t they?”

“That’s true, I suppose he could’ve just…snuck onto a ship? Two ships—one from Avallónë and another from Rómenna?”

“There must be some very confused dockworkers in Lond Daer or Mithlond. And perhaps some even more confused sailors.”

“You think he just hid himself in the hold, and they were all left to wonder where the food was going?”

Both of them dissolved into helpless laughter at that thought, of Huan hidden away among boxes and crates throughout the voyage and the sailors none the wiser. Celebrimbor fell back onto the pillows, and Elurín curled up next to him. Laughing was better than crying, he supposed, but there was only so long they could distract themselves like that. Elurín shifted a little so his head was pillowed on Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “Is this all right?” he asked.

“It’s fine.”

“You’re still in pain, though.”

“It’s not too bad right now.” Celebrimbor turned his head and found Elurín’s face closer than he’d thought—close enough to touch noses. “Someone will come poke and prod at me in the morning,” he said, hoping Elurín wouldn’t notice the sudden and unaccountable racing of his heart. 

“Good,” Elurín whispered. “I don’t want to fear for you, too. I don’t think I have room inside me for all this fear.”

“You don’t have to fear for me. I’m not going to fade, or anything,” Celebrimbor said, remembering Maglor’s words from earlier. He didn’t know if that was really what Maglor feared—Maedhros hadn’t faded, either—but he was not going to turn into his uncle, either. He wouldn’t allow himself to. “Do I need to fear for you?”

Elurín didn’t answer immediately, which was worrisome in itself. Then he said, “I don’t think so. I do not feel as though I am in danger—as long as nothing else happens to Eluréd. But if Atya—if he doesn’t—I don’t know what that will do to Eluréd. Or—any of us. He tried to consign himself to the Everlasting—”

“Only if he failed to rescue Eluréd—but he did. That oath is fulfilled.”

“I know. Just—he was very quick to reach for it, and I don’t like it.”

Celebrimbor sighed, and turned his head to stare back up at the ceiling. “I think Maglor will take him to task for it, when he’s well enough,” he said. “Daeron too, probably.”

“I hope so,” Elurín said. “I hope they get the chance.”

“They will. Were you not the one who told me that all of us were alive when by rights we shouldn’t be? If that meant something then, it means something now.”

“It’s easy to be hopeful when you’re far away from everything that’s really happening,” Elurín whispered. He turned his face to hide in Celebrimbor’s shoulder again. “You’re sure you don’t need me to move?”

“Please don’t move,” Celebrimbor whispered.

Even as tired as he was, Celebrimbor hadn’t expected to fall asleep or stay asleep, but it seemed that he closed his eyes just for a moment, and when he opened them it was to the door opening in the morning and Maglor coming in. He looked like he’d not slept at all—he hadn’t even changed out of his traveling clothes. Elurín stirred, and then sat up. “Are they—”

“Eluréd is awake and asking for you,” Maglor said. “Celegorm—isn’t. But Elrond is hopeful. He’s also going to come to see you in a little while, Tyelpë.”

“What about you?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I promised I’d get some rest after I spoke to the two of you.” Maglor came over to kiss the top of Celebrimbor’s head, and to rest a hand for a moment on Elurín’s shoulder. “They’re going to be all right, and we’re safe here—as safe as it is possible to be in Eriador these days, I think.”

“Thank you,” Elurín said. “Maglor, thank you, for—”

“You needn’t thank me, Elurín.”

“Please get some rest now,” said Celebrimbor.

Maglor smiled at him. “I am, I promise. You don’t have to join the chorus.”

“Where’s Daeron?” Elurín asked as Maglor moved back to the door.

“Either with Eluréd or—well, I should be calling him Lossenol, I suppose.”

“Then we’re going to keep that a secret?” asked Celebrimbor. “That won’t work for long.”

“Daeron is explaining it to Elrond as we speak,” said Maglor, “but it seems best to wait at least until he wakes to reveal it to anyone else.”

“You think Huan isn’t a big enough clue?” asked Elurín as he rose from the bed.

“It’s just as plausible that Huan is here for you,” said Maglor. “For the moment he isn't allowed in either room, and has planted himself in the hallway outside of them.” He smiled, a little sad and a little fond. “I do not know what miracle has brought him back to these shores, but I do not think I have ever been so happy to see that big furry menace.”

He left, and Elurín quickly ran his fingers through his hair before braiding it back out of his face. “Do you want me to stay until Elrond comes?”

“No,” said Celebrimbor. “Go to Eluréd. I’ll be fine.”

“All right.” Elurín leaned down suddenly to embrace him. “I can’t believe we all made it,” he whispered. “I’ll see you in a little while, I suppose.”

“I’ll probably come to find you after Elrond’s finished with me, if I don’t fall asleep again.”

After Eluréd left, Celebrimbor got out of bed, wincing as sore muscles protested, and went to the window. Without the trampled ground and rows of tents, the valley would be gorgeous. Even with the army encampment it was lovely. He heard birdsong, and almost couldn’t believe it after the eerie stillness and silence of the rest of Eriador. The sun on his face was warm, and when he leaned out of the window he glimpsed the walls of the Misty Mountains reaching high, high up out of sight, their distant peaks invisible through the wreaths of clouds that gave them their name. He smelled woodsmoke—but it was accompanied by the smells of roasting meat and baking bread, homey smells rather than the acrid stench of destruction. 

“Celebrimbor?” Elrond had come in while he was contemplating the sky, and Celebrimbor turned. Elrond smiled at him. He looked very tired, but then so did everyone else. “Come sit down. I’ve heard all about your ailments from Daeron.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“About your uncle, you mean? The truth—and I’m not going to tell anyone else until he wakes. Several things I used to wonder about make much more sense now, though.”

“Will he wake?” Celebrimbor sat on the bed, and Elrond brought a chair over so they could sit facing one another. “Please just—speak plainly, don’t try to comfort me. Is he going to live?”

“Yes,” Elrond said firmly as he leaned forward to help Celebrimbor out of his shirt. “I wasn’t sure at first—he’s lost a great deal of blood—but I stopped the bleeding, and he is resting now. He will wake. And I’m familiar with his older injuries—Elros and I tended to him after the War of Wrath—so I know the concerns about his left shoulder and arm. It has been re-injured, but I think it will heal well now that the initial danger is past, given time—if he is a cooperative patient.”

“Even though it was Sauron that did it?”

“My uncles and Daeron are powerful singers and skilled healers,” Elrond said as he examined the scars on Celebrimbor’s arm, “but they have not made as deep a study of it as I have. The healing will be slower, perhaps, than it should be, but he will heal. And so will you. I’ve seen wounds like this before.”

“To the body or the spirit?”

“Both.”

“And of those you’ve seen wounded in spirit like me,” Celebrimbor said after a moment, “how many found healing on these shores?”

“Almost all,” said Elrond. He looked up to meet Celebrimbor’s gaze. “I won’t ask yet what you endured in Ost-in-Edhil, but I might need to.”

“I don’t remember much of it. Just—he turned my own workshop into his torture chamber. He used my own tools to…”

“I’m sorry, Celebrimbor.”

“I do not know if I can ever pick up such things again,” Celebrimbor whispered. He had tried not to think about it over the course of the winter—not hard, when there were no such tools at hand and no reason to be thinking about crafting anything—and then during their flight north there had been even less opportunity for dwelling on it. But he knew what would be expected of him now that he was back among his own people—and he knew he couldn’t do it. Sauron had not managed to kill him, but he had still destroyed him. 

“We’ll see,” said Elrond. “It’s been less than a year—and no one will ask it of you here.”

“Won’t they? You’ll need craftsmen—”

“We have craftsmen. There some of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain who escaped here with us. Far too few, it is true—only a handful—but you know how skilled they are. And there are other craftsfolk with us from Lindon, and even some Dwarves. Word has spread of your arrival and they are all overjoyed with the news—but they also know that you were sorely injured and need time. You need not do anything except heal. I’ll deal with the rest.”

“I’m sorry,” Celebrimbor said after a little while, as Elrond finished his examination. His power felt like Elurín’s, which was comforting—but it also, like Elurín’s, held that echo of divinity that felt a little like Sauron, and Celebrimbor suspected that that was what kept him from responding to their healing songs as he should. Even if the feeling didn’t send him spiraling into terror anymore, he still felt himself recoil from it, and didn’t know how not to. “I’m sorry. For—I should have listened to you. In the beginning.”

“You did listen,” said Elrond. “I know you did, and I know you took us seriously—and I understand why you chose to take the risk. For a while I also believed you’d made the right choice, that perhaps we had been wrong. The news of his treachery caught us all by surprise.”

“Are—the Three, are they safe?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Tell me nothing more.”

Elrond squeezed his hand and rose. “I’m going to prepare something for you, and then I have some songs I want to try. They’ll send you to sleep for a few hours, probably, and if there is news of your uncle, I promise you’ll hear it as soon as you wake.”

Celebrimbor sighed. Sleeping the day away sounded nice, though he caught himself wishing he didn’t have to do it alone. “Thank you, Elrond.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Celebrimbor. I should be thanking you—all five of you, for finding Maglor and bringing him here.”

“I didn’t really have anything to do with that,” said Celebrimbor.

Elrond’s smile was slanted. “I think you had quite a lot to do with it. And I also need to find a way to thank my uncles for saving you. I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the door clicked shut it was like the whole of the last year came crashing down on him at once. Celebrimbor fell back onto the bed, grabbing for the pillows to hide his face and muffle the sobs that tore their way out of his throat like screams. He wept until he couldn’t breathe, and then wept some more, until someone’s hand rested on the back of his head and a gentle voice—Elrond’s, of course—murmured a quiet song that eased him into a deep and dreamless sleep.