Chapter Five: I Could Not Stop For Death
The battle started out well. The Doctor's booby traps, such as they were, helped to slow down the Noldor and to bottleneck them coming into the gallery where the Sindar waited. Bodies stuck with well-aimed arrows piled up before the doorways, further blocking the coming soldiers. The rusted-metal smell of blood filled the air as it pooled dark and sticky beneath the dead, and tracked across the stone (worn silky smooth by thousands of years of thousands of feet) by booted feet.
But there was no time to feel ill. Because when the tide of the battle turned, it turned sharply, with the ending of their supply of arrows. The Sindar were not accustomed to open battle – or to battle within such confined space, with nowhere to retreat or to hide. They fell back, and Sindarin blood flowed in dark rivers to mingle with Noldorin.
After what seemed like simultaneously hours and mere minutes, a pause descended on the battle, silence falling only broken by harsh breathing, as Dior Beren's son stepped forward to cross swords with Celegorm Fëanorion. Nimloth tried to push her way through the Sindarin ranks, but someone pulled her back.
The sound of two swords clashing echoed through the chamber, glinting silver and bood red-almost-black in the lamplight. Celegorm snarled at Dior in Quenya, who snapped back in the tongue of the Men of the house of Bëor – a mingling of Sindarin and the tongue Men taught themselves ere crossing the mountains into Beleriand. Celeborn tightened his grip on his sword, and scanned the room for the faces of Celegorm's brothers. The twins and Maedhros were easy to spot, their red hair spilling from beneath their helms, but Celeborn could not pick out the others.
As Dior parried a wild swing from Celegorm, Celeborn searched the faces of the Sindar for Galadriel, and found her quickly. It was she who held Nimloth back. Nimloth watched the fight tensed as though eager to spring to her husband's aide. Galadriel met Celeborn's gaze for a moment, and an unspoken understanding passed between them: if Dior fell – though it did not seem likely, for he had Celegorm on the defensive now – she would take Nimloth, get the children, and run.
The duel ended suddenly. The hall fell utterly silent as Celegorm fell to the floor. His helmet rolled from his body to rest at the feet of his brother Maedhros; a dark pool of blood blossomed beneath him, staining his fair hair as the light of Valinor and of life vanished from his eyes. Celegorm would rise no more.
Dior stood, clutching his sword, staring at the body before him. For what seemed like both seconds and hours, no one moved.
Celeborn wasn't sure anyone had really expected Dior to win.
But instead of convincing the Noldor to fall back, the loss of Fëanor's third son only increased their fervor. The battle resumed suddenly with a mighty cry, and Celeborn soon lost sight of Dior, Nimloth, and Galadriel in the melee. An elf bearing the Star of Fëanor on his breast rose up suddenly, red-faced and snarling with fury, and Celeborn cut him down before realizing the resemblance between this elf and the sons of Fëanor he had recognized.
A scream cut through the red haze of battle – a scream Celeborn knew. "Nimloth!" He fought his way to her side, as she strove against another of Feanor's sons, Dior lying at their feet, eyes wide open and staring, mouth agape as though in surprise. Celeborn pulled Nimloth from the fight just ere the Feanorion attempted a killing blow. It caught on Celeborn's blade, jarring him down to the bone. "Go!" he ordered his niece, pushing her away. "Find the children!"
He did not watch to see whether she obeyed; he could only hope. Fighting in such close quarters, to delay or become distracted was to die – and Celeborn had no intention of dying; he had orders from his king, and fully intended to see them through.
This second son of Fëanor died at Celegorm's hand, falling across the body of Dior, heavy and graceless. Celeborn rose up and shouted, "Fall back! The king is dead! Fall back!" They were already pressed against the wall, overrun by Noldor with bright eyes and heavy armor. "Fall back!"
Oropher, Malthor, and others took up the cry as well. "Pull back! Dior is fallen!"
They scattered; there was more than one secret exit from Menegroth, and Celeborn could only hope that at least a remnant of the Doriathrim would manage to escape, though whether they would find each other in the forest afterward remained to be seen.
In the labyrinth of dark hallways – the Doctor must have extinguished lamps on his way to the treasury – it was easier to lose the Noldor. Celeborn found Malthor, and pulled him into a dark corner, quiet for the moment. "Galadriel," was all he could say as he strove for breath.
"I saw her flee with Nimloth after Dior fell," Malthor said. Celeborn's knees went weak with relief. But there was no time for thanksgiving or for grieving: they needed to find Galadriel, Nimloth, and the children, and get out of there. Celeborn hoped that they were already on their way out of the caves, and that the Doctor would be of some protection, if he was truly as mighty as Dior had said.
If they were on their way out, they would go to the exit nearest the treasury. Celeborn and Malthor found a handful of others and at Celeborn's insistence, made their way in that direction, pausing often to hide in secret alcoves as Noldor passed by, arguing about which way to turn as their torches cast dancing, grotesque shadows on the walls.
Ahead, suddenly, Celeborn heard another scream, followed by strange noises, and the sound of swords. "Nimloth!" he shouted, and rushed toward the sound. But the corridors in Menegroth proved deceptive: the echoes led them in the wrong direction at first, and by the time they reached the right place, everyone was gone. Except for Nimloth. She lay in the middle of the hallway, blood pooling and starting to congeal beneath her, staining her beautiful silver hair. Her fingers still clutched her sword; nearby lay a strange device that seemed familiar – something the Doctor's companion had been carrying.
Celeborn fell to his knees and gathered his niece into his arms. Her body was still warm, the blood sticky against his cheek and his hands. He felt a hand on his back but paid it no mind. Nimloth's beautiful face, twisted in the pain and fear of her ending, blurred before his eyes.
His fingers brushed her neck, maybe searching for a pulse even though he knew it was useless. Where were her pearls? Galadhon and Galathil had traveled once to the Falas, acting as messengers for Thingol to Círdan. They had come back with chests filled with pearls; one lovely strand had been a gift from Galathil to his daughter, and Celeborn had never seen her without them after.
He knew he had seen them when the battle began, glowing almost orange in the torchlight. But where were they now? Had the Noldor taken them, their greed for the Silmaril not enough?
"Who goes there?" Oropher called out suddenly, voice rough, from shouting through the battle or from the tightness of grief, Celeborn didn't know. He looked up to see shapes moving in the shadows of an alcove not far from there.
"Uncle Celeborn!" Little Elwing emerged. Celeborn laid Nimloth gently back to the ground and caught Elwing in his arms, holding her tightly as she clung to him, weeping. "Uncle Celeborn, where did they take them?"
"Take who, Elwing?"
"My brothers, and Lady Galadriel, and Lady River. We ran but they did not come behind us."
The Doctor stepped out of the shadows as well, his strange screwdriver in his hand. His jaw was set, eyes dark. "Dior?" he asked. Celeborn shook his head. The Doctor lowered his head, almost as though it was just what he had expected.
"What?" Elwing asked, pulling back to look at Celeborn. Her eyes – Lúthien's eyes, and Dior's – were wide and dark in the torchlight. "Where is Ada? What happened to him?"
Celeborn rose, still holding Elwing, and looked around for her things. The Doctor gestured to his shoulder. "I've got her bag," he said. "But I need to go after River."
"We need to get out of here," Oropher said. "Now, while there is still a chance."
"Oropher is right," Malthor said. "They have the boys, but Lady Galadriel is with them. She is Noldor, they will listen to her."
Perhaps. At least they were alive: if the Noldor had wanted to kill them they would not have hesitated; Nimloth lay at their feet as proof. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. There would be time later to grief, if not to give proper honor to the dead. "Doctor, you will come with us," he heard himself say before opening his eyes. "You are unarmed," he continued before the Doctor could protest, "and you cannot expect them to show you mercy."
The Doctor's eyes blazed. "I've taken on worse," he said. "I've fought in far worse battles than this one, Celeborn, and come out of them alive. I'm not leaving here without River."
"She is with my wife, and Malthor is right. Galadriel is known to them, kin to the sons of Fëanor, and if she – "
"That's all well and good, and maybe it will save her life, and maybe the lives of Nimloth's sons, but you cannot tell me that the Feanorions will give River the same consideration. I know for a fact that Celegorm and Curufin have no reason to love the race of Men – "
"Celegorm and Curufin are dead," Oropher said. "Celegorm fell to Dior's sword, and Curufin to Celeborn's. The battle is over; we must trust that perhaps their madness has subsided as well, and that Lady Galadriel will convince Maedhros to let them go. For our part, we must flee with what we have, to protect Princess Elwing."
"No!" Elwing said loudly. "We cannot leave without Eluréd and Elurín and Ada! Where is he? What has happened to my Adar?"
"Hush, Elwing." Celeborn glanced over his shoulder, hearing shouting. "Malthor, take the rear. If that is our people behind us, tell them to follow. Doctor, you will come with me."
"Celeborn – "
"I am Prince of the Doriathrim and in Dior's absence you will obey my orders!"
The Doctor did not protest, and fell into step behind Celeborn, who still carried Elwing. Oropher carried Nimloth's body to the alcove and there laid her gently, placing her sword upon her chest and closing her eyes, murmuring words of apology and farewell. Celeborn found himself wishing that Daeron had never vanished, for who else would write a lay fit to honor all who had fallen this night?
The only noise as they traveled was the tread of the Doctor's shoes on the stone, and Elwing's quiet weeping. She clung to Celeborn heedless of the blood all over him. They were joined by a dozen more soldiers, and half a dozen more women, some with children of their own wrapped in blankets. They whispered news to each other – questions and answers; who was dead? Who yet lived? Where would they go from here?
The Doctor had suggested earlier they travel South, following the River Sirion. Celeborn had thought him joking, then, but now it did not seem like such a farfetched idea. "Where will this exit bring us?" asked the Doctor.
"To the north side of the hill," Celeborn replied. "We will find a way to cross the Esgalduin, and follow it to where it joins the River Sirion in Brethil."
"I need to find the TARDIS."
"It is on that side of the river. We will pass it, skirting the Noldorin camp, though it may be that they have found and claimed it."
The Doctor snorted. "They wouldn't be the first. Fat lot of good it will do them, without this." He pulled a key from his pocket, small and flat and plainer than any key Celeborn had ever seen. "If we all got to the TARDIS, I could take everyone all the way to the mouths of Sirion, by the sea."
"Doctor, you speak madness," said Oropher behind them.
"Yes, well, I get that a lot…"
At last, they found the secret door; it was almost invisible from the outside, for it was of Dwarven craft. The Doctor and Oropher pushed it open easily; it swung on silent hinges out into the snow in a blast of frigid air. Celeborn stood back with Elwing as his followers filed out, and then stepped into the snow behind Malthor. Elwing shivered in his arms. "Your brothers will be well, little one," Celeborn murmured into her hair. "They are with Galadriel. She will see them safe." Even the Kinslayers would not murder defenseless children.
Once outside, Celeborn nodded to Oropher and Malthor, giving them the lead. The women with children, and those who were unarmed (including, to his chagrin, the Doctor) were grouped together, and those still armed surrounded them, several fanning out as scouts. Oropher took the lead; Malthor remained the rearguard.
Celeborn walked just within the perimeter guard, for he would not allow anyone else to carry Elwing. All around them the forest was utterly silent; the stars were starting to fade with the coming of dawn, red in the east, like blood.