Daeron and Nènlossë rode side by side in the midst of the elven-guard on horses lent to them by Beorn. They were returning to the forest of Mirkwood from Rivendell for they had been delivering messages to Lord Elrond from King Thranduil. Elrond had sent a guard back with them to ensure their safe arrival in Mirkwood for the answers he had for Thranduil were of some importance.
Nènlossë was eager to get back to her home. To see her daughter, take a real bath, walk in the forest she so missed. It had been a while since she had been able to do any of this.
While these things filled the thoughts of Nènlossë, her husband Daeron’s mind was concerned with other matters entirely. He thought only of what he carried and what his possession of it could mean. He had it safely secured in a box with a lock only he and one other could undo.
Nènlossë. His precious Nènlossë. He loved her more than life itself, yet she could not counsel him about his possesion, for she knew not what lay in the box. He had told her not to open it.
Daeron felt like the worst thief, for what he had rightfully belonged to the Lord Elrond, and if Elrond so pleased, his sons and daughter. He knew he should turn around and ride back to Rivendell and give it to him, but he could not bear to part with it. After all, he rationalized, I found it in the wild by my art and vision with no one to claim it. Its former owners were nowhere to be found. It was right that I took it.
Daeron snapped back to reality with the realization that they were beginning the most dangerous part of their journey. Within sight of Mirkwood, yet far awar from its protection, they were visible for a mile around. The whole situation alerted orcs to the fact that here was a chance to satisfy, for a moment, their perpetual lust for elven-blood.
The guards looked around nervously. Their home was in Rivendell, and they did not want to be here, vulnerable to orc raiding parties. They wondered if they would make it back safely.
Nènlossë, appearing unafraid, loosened her long knives in their sheathes. She would be ready for danger, if and when it came, able to defend herself, not dependent on Daeron and the other men for protection.
They rode in silence for an hour, finally nearing the eves of Mirkwood without a sign of danger. They were about to breathe a sigh of relief when it came.
Orcs! What they had all feared and watched for came. From behind rocks and trees, surrounding the elves, outnumbering them impossibly.
Their horses reared and threw them, for they had not faced orcs before and were unprepared for the terror of being closed in by such vile creatures. They bolted through the circle of orcs and ran in the direction of their home.
The orcs began closing in, grinning maliciously as they brandished their crooked, evil swords and shields. There was no mistaking their intent to kill every one of the elves’ company.
“Nènlossë,” Daeron said as he gave her the box quickly. “Hirë Galadriel mi Lothlòrien. Lenème anarya. N’ indonya!”
So saying, he and the other elves turned and engaged the orcs, giving Nènlossë an avenue of escape. Nènlossë took one last look at her husband, fighting desperately, and then fled back away from Mirkwood.
Daeron’s last words to her sent her running in the direction of Lòrien. Her husband had laid down his life so she could have the best chance of getting to Galadriel with the box, and she was determined she would get there. She ran with all speed and did not stop or look back.
Quenya translation: (Daeron spoke above the understanding of their companions) “Nènlossë, take it to Galadriel in Lòrien. Give it to her. I love you!”
This was the closest translation I could make. If my grammar is slightly incorrect with my Elvish, my apologies. I am still learning it.