A short ways away from the flowing water, Haldir watched his brother smile and shake his head. Rúmil’s shoulders shook violently as he covered his mouth and coughed, choking on his mirth. The warriors sitting with Rúmil looked at him curiously, awaiting an explanation of what Galadin had said incorrectly that set Rúmil off.

Once Rúmil calmed himself enough to explain, Haldir chuckled quietly as the others laughed out loud much to Galadin’s chagrin. Teaching Sindarin to those who did not speak it or who did not speak it well was Angaril’s idea to prepare everyone for life in Doriath where few or none would speak the tongue of the Galadhrim.

A gentle breeze snuggled and nestled among the many willows of Nan Tathren. Haldir had to admit that it was an incredibly beautiful place. It was no wonder that the survivors of Gondolin stopped here – would stop here – on their way to the Havens at Sirion. He and his brethren had been most amused at the disappointment of the rest of their fellow Galadhrim upon discovering that this enchanting valley of willows was not in fact Doriath. Not a few asked why they could not just settle there where the River Narog met the River Sirion, but Haldir made his warriors tell them the strategic defensive reasons for this land to be only a stopping place and not a permanent home.

Still though, Haldir could not blame them for wanting to stay. Time and again, he had to resist the urge to take out his harp and play an accompaniment to the merging of the two rivers and the soft rustle of the willows in the wind. The demands on his fae just from his family made the draw of the trees and water all the more potent. But there were things to be done while they rested, plans to be made, defenses to oversee…

Just as he turned to walk away and begin the next task on his list, his wife thrust his newly tuned harp into his hand and led him over to what she referred to mysteriously as the “place of harmony”.

“Why?” he demanded as he offered token resistance to her maneuvering him about and then forcing him to sit down across from her.

“Because you have not played for me since our last excursion to the falls before-”

Haldir nodded grimly. “Before…”

She nodded. Taking a moment to gather herself, she added, “Beloved, you owe me a tune about this place. I would dearly love to hear how this land speaks to you.”

“Will you sing me your song of it as well? I know you have made one already. I can feel it within you.”

Gilwen laughed merrily, a sound which made his soul sing. “Of course I will.” Drawing his hand to her, she kissed it and nuzzled it. “And I will tell you this, too,” she said smiling coyly, “If I did not already carry a gift within from our last long dalliance by the falls, I would most definitely see to it that you gifted me with such here.”

Haldir glanced around, realizing that the spot was secluded from everyone else. “When we finish making our music, we could…” he leaned forward and kissed her lips seductively “gather firewood.”

She replied with a kiss of her own to match his. “I would be delighted to gather firewood with you here.”

A long while later, they gathered themselves to share the tune and the song.

As she helped him straighten and belt his tunic again, he commented, “Have you noticed that we never seem to do this in the order in which we say we will?”

“Yes,” she nodded matter-of-factly while he pulled a few leaves out of her hair. “I have noticed. But this has been happening for how many ennin now?”

Haldir looked thoughtful for a moment. “Probably too long to bother with changing it.”  Fleetingly the thought occurred to him that when the refugees arrived in Doriath there might be even more children born there than the survivors previously anticipated. But with such persuasive ellith about in such a lovely place as this, it could not be helped. 

Gilwen laughed and lay down on her side, resting her head on his left thigh. He waited until she was settled, then proceeded to re-tune his harp.  Leaning back against a large willow, he closed his eyes and let the music of the rushing waters – each river contributing a different song – flow over him. The willow leaves rustled, adding their own accompaniment, caressing his fae in their own delicate way.  The tune came to his hands, a few light notes at first, teasing the rivers and the trees around him, then he sat up straighter, opening his eyes yet seeing nothing but the song being played about him, and joined his harp with it.

When he could no longer keep up with the rising wind and the restless playful waters, he stilled his hands, letting the last few notes diminish into the world around him.

“That was exquisite,” Gilwen whispered, sitting up and stretching. Slowly she arose and took his place leaning against the tree and helping him settle with his head on her lap.

“I see why you called it the ‘place of harmony’,” he said wistfully. “That was an utterly breathtaking, amazing experience. I believe I could settle here and be happy.” And he meant it, too.

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“Handir is looking well,” Orophin commented as he sat down, joining the other five warriors from Lórien in a secluded place away from the others.

Haldir smiled, giving a very relieved sigh. “Yes, he is. I feared greatly for him. I believe it is even more difficult for me seeing one of my children injured than it is seeing one of you injured, and that is saying a lot considering how much it pains me when something happens to one of you two.”

Rúmil and Orophin both smiled knowingly at their brother and Rúmil clapped him on the back.

“The other wounded are well now, too,” Angaril added. “I have noticed that Damrod is starting to assert himself more as chieftain. Did he agree that we should depart tomorrow?”

“Yes, he did. He is giving me a lot authority in determining our course on this journey and asks my counsel often. I know he feels overwhelmed with so many looking to him for guidance, but he does listen carefully to what I say and I appreciate that.  ”

“So do we, Haldir,” Angaril heartily agreed, “So do we.”

Orophin spread the map of Doriath on the ground before them.

“Our route seems straight forward enough,” Ferevellon said, tracing the river north with his finger, “Until we reach here of course.” He pointed to the Gates of Sirion where the river ran underground and then to the land surrounding that area. “Did Ulmo give any guidance as to what we do here? The Wall of Andram is called a wall for a reason, if I remember the stories correctly. It will look like sloping hills approaching from this direction, but it is made of rock mostly. Do we climb it or do we try following the river underground?”

“I do not suppose any of the refugees have ever travelled to the wall before, have they?” Fereveldir asked.

Haldir shook his head, pursing his lips. “Unfortunately, no one has. This map we have created tells us more than any of them know. The damn wall is too wide to go around, too. Look how far east and west it stretches.”  He pointed to the long line of hills slicing neatly through Beleriand.

“Well, we have some time journeying before this will become an issue, but it would be nice to have this resolved before we ever reach this point,” Rúmil observed.

“I remember reading that the River Sirion runs underground for three leagues before it reaches the Falls of Sirion here,” Orophin added pointing to the map.

Angaril studied the map for a few moments rubbing his chin, and then commented, “I do not like the idea of travelling through the fens up here. After dealing with the stinking marshes in Mordor, I cannot stomach the idea of leading warriors through swamp lands, let alone ellith and children. What if we stay east of the Sirion, picking our way through the valleys of Andram between the hills at this point,” he traced a route on the map, “And then we can skirt the fens and cross the river into Doriath here?”

Haldir cocked his head to the side considering the suggested route. “I agree with you on wanting to avoid the fens as well and for similar reasons. However, I think we should wait until we reach the Gates of Sirion and then send out scouts to determine the most viable route. Besides, Ulmo may have some guidance for us at that point and help us through this. I will not tell Damrod of this obstacle in our road because he still does not know we possess this map.”

“We certainly will not tell him,” Ferevellon said and the others nodded in agreement.

“I do not suppose you would allow us to explore Nargothrond on a side journey while you decide the best course for us to follow once we get to the Gates?” Fereveldir asked hopefully.

Sighing, Haldir glared at him. “I sincerely hope you are not serious about that request. You do realize that it is just a bunch of mountains and caves right now, do you not? Finrod Felagund has not yet arrived to create the realm. Perhaps after he arrives and begins work on it, you can join him and even help him construct it. Until that time, you will explore only the areas I tell you to.”

“Yes, Captain,” Fereveldir replied dejectedly, nodding his acceptance along with the other four.

Haldir gave them all a hard look, then rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “I cannot believe the lot of you! Is it not enough that we are responsible for the safety of approximately 300 people and trying to get them to Doriath without you five nipping off to explore places that are not yet of historical significance?”  He swore, picking up a small stone and hurling it at a nearby tree.

“But Finrod Felagund is going to rule there,” Angaril added unexpectedly with a bit of a pout. “Are you not the least bit curious to see it? We will be so close – just a few days journey…”

A count to ten with closed eyes turned into a count to thirty, followed by a deep breath. Haldir opened his eyes and with a voice full of strained patience asked, “What happened the last time we left these people and went some place far away as a group?”

There was a long pause before Fereveldir timidly ventured, “They were attacked by orcs and the settlement was destroyed?”

“Correct. Now tell me why it would be a bad idea for us all to wander off and go explore Nargothrond leaving these people alone in strange lands to fend for themselves.”

“Because with our current run of luck, they will be attacked again and all will be killed and it would be our fault,” Ferevellon said quietly. “And then you would most likely execute us all to assuage your own guilt and to teach us a lesson.”

Haldir nodded with tightlipped grimace, “Most likely.”

“I hear the stars in Doriath are quite shiny this time of year,” Rúmil said brightly.

“Yes, I have heard the same. Perhaps we should find out for ourselves,” Orophin added.

“Yes, perhaps we should,” Angaril agreed.

Haldir scowled as he rolled up the map and thrust it toward Orophin for safe keeping. “And no one will wander off without my leave or he shall feel my wrath. I believe you all are familiar with that particular delight.”

They all nodded vigorously and stood, saluting their captain as he imperiously rose to his feet with a venomous glare and marched away.

Just before he left earshot, he heard someone curse and someone else mutter, “Looks like the Captain we all know and love has returned. Maybe the grandkids will chase His Evilness away again.”

“Not likely,” someone else answered.

The captain struggled valiantly not to laugh out loud. He actually was rather looking forward to meeting Beleg Cúthalion in Doriath, his favorite hero from history, but he was not about to tell his comrades that.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Haldir never would have believed that travelling with such a large group of Galadhrim could be so trying on his patience. As they resumed their journey north, he found himself constantly reminding his brethren not to wander too far away and to stop dreaming aloud about what battles may have occurred nearby and what famous elves from history may have traversed the very ground they trod. Many more of the ellith were pregnant after the sojourn in Nan Tathren, which he feared would happen after succumbing to the “magic” of the place with his own wife. The children seemed to be so rejuvenated and healed of their fears that they were wandering away from their parents more frequently, causing much concern and many scoldings. On top of all of that, there was his wife convincing him to let go of his own little girl.

Gilien was his youngest daughter and he loved her dearly, doting on her more than he had the others for he believed at her birth that she would be his last child. She had her mother’s lovely eyes, beautiful voice, and enchanting presence. It was only a matter of time before some young ellon would succumb to her ways. So, as adar, Haldir made certain that he thoroughly scared her suitor Araras, drilling him hard as a warrior and holding him to a higher standard in his crafting and in all other ways before letting the young ellon take her for his wife. Haldir only gave in and let them marry so soon because his wife insisted. He could have waited at least another ennin or five before granting his permission.

Oh, he really hated willows now. Sure the land was beautiful and restful and tranquil, but it also made him more pliant to his wife’s conniving ways. Her idea of romance and beauty, which admittedly did completely enthrall him, also pushed her to convince him that Gilien should wed in such a memorable and lovely place. He only gave in – the ONLY reason he gave in was because, well…Gilwen had asked him.

That was it. He was her slave. That was his problem. He would have been fine if he were not so completely under her control.

As they passed beneath the last willow tree, heading north, Haldir withdrew his dagger and smacked a low hanging branch as hard as he could. The tree fussed at him, but he did not care. The stupid things had brought this…this joy and serenity on everyone, created such a healing balm for them all. Now HE was stuck with another son-in-law and …and worst of all his wife had just informed him that she had decided to name the daughter she carried Tathariel after the trees in this insidious valley.

Haldir resheathed his dagger, cursing under his breath in three languages as he sprinted after his eldest granddaughter who he suddenly realized was running straight for the river.

“Nellas! Stop! Nel-lasssss!” He yelled repeatedly as he ran, her parents in hot pursuit as well.

He caught up to the giggling little elleth first and grabbed her just before she jumped into the rushing flow. Holding her tightly, trying to calm himself, he was about to begin scolding her when her parents caught up and took her off his hands.

Breathing hard and choking back the shear panic he had felt, there was no doubt in his mind that the valley of willows was cursed with lovely, healing perfection, and he hoped he never laid eyes on it again.

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fae - spirit

Tathariel – maid of the willows

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