The call to arms came unexpectedly with no skirmishes on the borders for years and no preamble to war. History at least had told that part of the tale correctly. Without warning, Morgoth did indeed unleash his armies of well-trained orcs on the folk of Beleriand.

“King Denethor Lenwion sent word that they march south, having come down between the rivers Aros and Gelion,” Thranduil, acting as messenger, reported to the crowd amassed in the great hall of Gladhol Gelaidh. “Denethor said he will lead armed ellyn to meet us on the plains at or near Amon Ereb, which is south and east of here.”

“We know those lands,” Haldir commented from his position standing to the left of Chieftain Damrod while Brethil stood to the Chieftain’s right beside the great chair. “My warriors of Celos Galen and I mapped them many ennin ago, though we do not know for certain how far it is to Amon Ereb from here.”

“King Thingol’s scouts report it takes 10 turns of the stars to walk there from the southeastern edge of the forest of Region. Denethor’s people are closer and will be there sooner, hence the need for haste in gathering our folk to depart,” Thranduil replied.

“Will Denethor not wait for our arrival before engaging the enemy?” Brethil asked. “Surely it would be wiser for him to delay his attack until we are there to assist him.”

“It would be wiser,” Haldir agreed, “but Morgoth is fierce beyond all belief and will not wait for us to arrive and join our forces with Denethor’s. He will attack as soon as he has Denethor in his sight and he will slaughter those folk if we are not there when he gets there. He also will turn his attack on Doriath when he is finished destroying the Laegrim.” The Galadhrim nodded amongst themselves at his words. He hated to be so grim, but he knew how history would play out in this, the First Battle of Beleriand. Thingol’s forces would arrive just too late and few of the Laegrim would survive. Still though he could not let anyone go into this battle disheartened or the losses from Doriath would be even greater than he already knew they would be.

 “Our folk know all too well what it is to have help a few turns of the stars away when an attack comes and to be caught alone before the enemy,” Damrod acknowledged, meeting the eyes of different folk around the room. “We remember how it is we came to be in Doriath. I believe I speak for all of us that we would not wish those hardships of loss of homes and kin and forced resettlement in distant lands to be known by our brothers of other clans if we can help it. And we certainly do not want the orcs in our forest again.”

There were many more nods of agreement all around and Thranduil looked very relieved.

“Haldir, muster the warriors and any others of the few remaining ellyn of the Galadhrim who are not warriors who may wish to march. Depart as soon as you may so that you can meet Thingol at the appointed place and arrive before he does.  Prove to them all once again the greatness of the warriors of the Galadhrim and come home to us victorious!”

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Amidst the packing of provisions and stowing gear, there was very little time for proper farewells. Haldir did his best with so many daughters and grandchildren to hug and kiss goodbye before he marched away to this first of many battles to be fought in Beleriand in the war against Morgoth. He did not allow any of his grandsons to march even though they had been training to be warriors for a few decades. They were still too young and he wanted someone there to defend Gladhol Gelaidh should it prove necessary. Recorded history had been wrong about enough other details that he had no desire to take chances with the lives of his family. He named his youngest son along with Taurion’s son honorary captains (with Chieftain Damrod’s fond approval) and put them in charge of defending Gladhol Gelaidh should the need arise. His daughters and granddaughters offered their assistance as well.

“Daeradar, I know of all of the good hiding places high up in the trees and will run many practices escaping to hide to make sure all of the little ones are confident that they can safely make it to them in a hurry,” Nellas promised him. “My beloved and I will help look after all of the children as well while their edair are away. He is good with a bow, but is not allowed to go either.”

“My sweet little maid of the trees,” Haldir smiled as he hugged her proudly. “I love you so very much. Do not tell your adar until we return, but I give you my blessing to marry young Linarion. He is a good match for you, and I suspect that if you two do well in helping to care for those who remain behind while we are away, your parents will give you their blessing as well.” Pulling back a bit, he was rewarded with one of her spectacular blushing smiles.

“I love you, too, Daerada,” she said hugging him again tightly “Hurry back soon so I can get married.” Laughing, they broke apart and he stepped away to finish his goodbyes.

“I know you will not be gone as long as you usually are when you have to go to Menegroth to work with the king, but I still do not like it that you have to go away. You have been training other people to do this for many ennin,” Gilwen complained with a little pout.

When he glared at her, she sighed, “I realize that you need to go to lead them and show them how it is done, but I still will miss you with all of my heart. You are the mighty Captain Haldir and they are not capable of stringing a bow without you breathing down their necks to be sure they do it properly, but I do look forward to a time when you will not have to be the one to go. I know I am being selfish, but that is because I love you so much.” She paused, kissing him passionately and very much reminding him of why he married her. “I will look after the children and the families of your brethren so you need not worry. Now hurry off so you can come home the sooner.”

He smiled his gratitude and kissed her in return just as passionately. “I love you, too, Gilwen. I will return home soon.”

As the warriors marched away, Rúmil commented to no one in particular, “I hate the goodbyes, but those kisses are very, very nice.”

“Some of us do not have to be leaving our wives in order to get kissed like that,” Galadin commented cheekily.

Rúmil scowled while many laughed and Galadin raised his voice in a song in praise of the trees of home. Everyone joined in with the warriors singing the song many times until they could no longer hear the distant voices of those left behind singing along. Orophin started a marching song and thus they passed the time, travelling through the woods to meet up with the rest of the Thingol’s army.

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The decision to scatter trained warriors among the companies of soldiers was Thingol’s and he used it to good effect. He understood full well the prowess of trained warriors and knowing that if some served alongside a lesser-skilled ellon in the ranks, then that would do much to bolster courage and determination in the fight. Fortunately, Haldir was granted his brethren from Lórien to be in his company though his sons and theirs fought elsewhere. Also present in the company were Prince Celeborn and a few of the warriors from Doriath scattered among the farmers and fishermen who proudly marched with them as well. Handir marched with the company of Prince Galadhon, the king’s nephew, while Taurion marched beside Mablung in the company of the King.

The army of Doriath made good time, judging by the passing landmarks, and it looked as if they would arrive at Amon Ereb at least one turn of the stars ahead of schedule.

“Perhaps history was wrong,” Ferevellon commented, speaking Quenya so no eavesdroppers would understand. “Unless Denethor arrives there earlier than planned as well, we just might make it there in time to engage the enemy as a combined force rather than two. Perhaps with our folk merged with the Laiquendi, they will have a better chance of surviving. We are better trained and better armed.”

“It seems an awfully big thing to be incorrect about,” Fereveldir replied, “but then again considering all of the things that tales had grossly exaggerated or plainly had gotten wrong so far, perhaps we will get there in time.”

“And then what?” Rúmil asked. “The Laiquendi get slaughtered anyway and we get blamed for it for being there when it happens instead of being blamed for it for not being there when it happens?”

“They are too lightly armed for this sort of assault and that is why they died or will die. It will not matter if they engage the enemy on the same front as we do or on a different one as the tales say they did,” Angaril clarified.

“Well, perhaps there is some hope for them,” Haldir added. “The tales also speak of Beleg Cúthalion fighting as a leader in this battle and none of us have even heard tell of him here. No one as gifted as he could possibly saunter up and join the fighting without our having heard at least a small hint about someone like him before hand.”

The others nodded. “Good point, brother,” Orophin said.

“And thank you so much for the disheartening news,” Rúmil said sarcastically. “With no Beleg Cúthalion to protect us, why are we even bothering to go on?” He threw up his hands in disappointment and dismissal. “They should just call off the battle. We can send a message to Morgoth and advise him that we will have to engage him at a later time. How can we possibly have a First Battle of Beleriand with no Beleg Cúthalion?”

The six laughed loudly and long at that, earning them many curious stares.

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When they were one turn of the stars from their planned meeting with Denethor and his folk, the delay of whose consequences history spoke finally occurred.

“Orcs!  A whole army of them, coming out of the west from the edge of the Andram,” the scout called breathlessly.

Immediately, the army took up positions with Haldir’s company taking the brunt of the initial assault. Once the orcs came too close for bows, Haldir called for the drawing of other weapons for not all had swords. The fight quickly turned unexpectedly fierce for these orcs were much better trained than any the Galadhrim had encountered before. The engagement felt disturbingly more like fighting in the Last Alliance. During his brief verbal interactions with his brethren from Lórien as fate allowed, he could tell that they were feeling the difference as well. Before long they were swept deeper into the turmoil about them, fighting as if they were in the Second or Third Ages and not in the darkness before the First. Always they kept close to Prince Celeborn, knowing that he must survive above all others.

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With no sun to show the obvious passage of time, there was no way to gauge how long they fought. When Haldir finally did have the opportunity to notice the movement of the stars, he found he no longer cared.

“Over here!” someone yelled.

Haldir tried to turn to see who it was, but found that he could not. “Be still,” Celeborn quietly said. Someone squeezed Haldir’s right hand and he squeezed back briefly. “I am here. I do not know where the others are, but I am here.”

“What-” Haldir gasped, “Wh-why do I hurt so?”

“Be silent, my friend, and I will tell you what I know,” Celeborn replied, in a tired voice. “We were cut off from the rest of the host and surrounded. Finally the king’s company arrived and the orcs turned to fight them. Your back is injured as is your left arm. I tied part of my cloak around your arm to staunch the bleeding. I can do nothing for your back. I have not the strength just now to try to help you further.”

“You are wounded?” Haldir asked, “We tried to keep you safe.”

Celeborn shifted, grunting as he did so. “I know you did. I am wounded, but I do not think my injuries are severe. They hurt…Eru, they hurt! But I do not think they are as bad as when that warg got a hold of me. I have you and your brothers and friends to thank for my life for many times you took or blocked blows meant for me.”

“You are worth it,” Haldir replied simply, “even if you do not always appreciate your own value right now.”

“You honor me, Haldir. Thank you.” Celeborn was silent for time, but he continued to hold Haldir’s hand.

Many cries of anguish rang out in the distance, but Haldir could not look around to see who was mourning whom. His own pain was bearable so long as he did not try to move.

“I see Mablung and I think your son is approaching,” Celeborn finally said.

“Adar!” Taurion soon cried, falling to his knees and taking Haldir in his arms. “Oh, Adar! When I saw your brothers and your gwedyr, I feared the worst for you as well.”

Haldir struggled to look over at his son and replied weakly, “Taurion, my son. You live!”

“Hush, Adar, do not speak. Save your strength. I could do nothing for the others, they were already dead. Their sons live though and are with them now. I have not found my brother yet, but I feel in my heart that he yet lives. Let me lend you strength and heal you.” But Taurion’s expression turned from relieved to sad and desperate as he examined him.

“I know they are dead. I remember now watching them die. It was like Helm’s Deep all over again, but somehow I do not think we will be given a second chance at life like we were then. This is too different.” Haldir reached up, brushing his right hand along his son’s face. As he drew it back, he looked at the blood on his fingers. “You are hurt.”

Taurion gave him a small smile. “It is nothing. I am fine. Please be still, Adar, I am going to heal you. Naneth will not forgive me if I do not bring you home safely.”

Haldir chuckled then coughed wetly, tasting blood. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to fear her wrath.”

His son smiled weakly back at him but a tear escaped down his cheek.

Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, Haldir said, “Tell your naneth that I love her. Give my love to your brothers and sisters and all of my beloved grandchildren as well. Tell-” He coughed again and reached out for his son who took his right hand in his.

“Adar. Please…”

“Please, Taurion, please… I need for you to listen to me. This is very important,” he panted.  “When the time comes that travel is possible, I want you to gather the family and take them to Lórien to wait for me. You need to take the families of my brothers and comrades of Lórien with you as well and wait for us there.”

Taurion’s expression turned to one of worry and dismay. “You wish for me to take all of them back across the mountains to Lórien from whence you came long ago? Adar, it simply is not safe to do so! You have no one left there. Why do you want me to do this?”

“No.” Haldir said quietly. “You misunderstand me. There are two Lóriens. The one by the Anduin where I lived for so long and served as captain of the march wardens and the one in Valinor. I want them to go to the Lórien across the sea.”

“But that is impossible!” his son protested.

“Right now it is, but it will be possible later. The Noldor are going to come to the aid of the folk of Beleriand, and-,” he paused trying to catch his breath.

“Who or what are the Noldor?” Taurion asked confused. “Adar, you are not making any sense.”

“That is sometimes to be expected in the gravely injured,” Mablung said gently from his place beside Celeborn where he treated the prince’s wounds.

“I…I am not babbling. I am quite lucid,” Haldir said irritably. “Do not interrupt me! I do not know how much time I have left to say this.”  He took a few ragged breaths then continued.

“The Noldor, the Tatyai from across the sea, will come and Celeborn will marry Princess Galadriel. During the War of Wrath, the Belain will send forces from Valinor to destroy Morgoth, and all of Beleriand will sink beneath the waves in the destruction. However, the way will be made open for travel to Valinor in great ships. Lord Círdan and his folk will build these ships. Make sure the families take ship to Valinor and go to Lórien. When the dead are reborn, they first return to life in the gardens of Lórien.  When I and those who we lost in this battle are returned to life, you will find us there.”

“Is this the foresight of the dying with which you speak, Haldir?” Celeborn asked, hissing and choking as Mablung broke off the arrow in his side.

Haldir chuckled and coughed, tasting more blood than before. “My Prince, it is not foresight when one has lived to see these things for oneself. And when a time comes and you are asked to send warriors to aid in the battle at Helm’s Deep, please let them go, let us go.”

“Helm’s Deep?” Celeborn grunted through gritted teeth. “Haldir, I do not understand what you are talking about.”

“Just remember it, Celeborn,” Haldir gasped painfully, then begged, “Taurion, help me sit up, please.”

Struggling with all of his strength, Haldir moved his right arm into as much of a salute as he could manage. “Prince Celeborn, it has been an honor to serve as your captain twice.”

“Twice? What are you talking about?” Celeborn asked confused. “Your words make no sense.”

Taurion shook his head at the prince, silencing him, then adjusted his hold on Haldir as he whispered, his voice breaking, “Many of our warriors from Gladhol Gelaidh were lost.”

Tears slipped down Haldir’s cheeks as he replied, “I know, but my prince survives because of us.”

“Because of you, my friend,” Celeborn said. “We held our position as best we could, then Mablung and the king’s forces arrived and finished off the enemy.”

“You have Beleg Cúthalion to thank for our getting to you in time to save the prince and try to save you,” Mablung said. “We have never seen an ellon fight the way he did. He has no equal among any of us.”

His strength spent, Haldir closed his eyes, resting completely against his son for a time. “Beleg Cúthalion?” he suddenly gasped, perking up a bit as he opened his eyes again. “Where…” More blood pooled in his mouth and some dribbled down his chin. “I grew up listening to tales and songs about him. I studied his strategies and…and battle tactics. All my life I wanted nothing more than to be a captain of march wardens just like him... He was all I aspired to be. I…” he struggled to catch his breath, but the air was slow in coming even though his pain was starting to ebb away.

“Please, Taurion, let me see Beleg Cúthalion just once before I die. I chided my brethren for wanting to go to Nargothrond and meet Finrod Felagund. Then they died before he ever even arrived here. But please…please let me meet my hero. Let me lay eyes on him and thank him for all that I became because of him.”

Taurion shifted a bit so Haldir could better see his beloved face marred by unceasing tears flowing through blood. “Adar,” he said uncertainly, “I am Beleg Cúthalion. I was given that name for my accomplishments in the battle. I fought like a proud son of the forest just like you taught me. Everything I am, everything I know, everything I can do, I learned from you.”

“Dear Eru!” Haldir cried in awe. “He is my son! Beleg Cúthalion is my son!”

The pain completely left him and everything around him faded except for the face of his eldest child. “Taurion, I love you so very much. I am so very proud of you…my son.”

“I love you, Adar,” Beleg Cúthalion wept as the last breath escaped Haldir’s lips.

There was a great tug on Haldir’s spirit and a heartbreakingly beautiful voice, indeed a Presence surrounded him, filling him with peace.

“Come with me, Child. Your rest is well-earned.”

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Author’s Notes: It’s a good thing they didn’t call off the battle or Beleg might not have received his name. The six from Lórien did accomplish enough to earn a good long rest and be spared the many griefs which lay ahead of the elves of Doriath, let alone all of Beleriand. Stay tuned for the epilogue! In the meantime, go back and reread the prologue and you will have a much greater understanding of Celeborn’s reaction to everyone marching off to Helm’s Deep.

Taurion means “son of the forest”

Beleg, who was said to be unrivaled in stalking, tracking, and hunting, describes himself thus in one of the HoME books: “I am the hunter Beleg - of the hidden people; the forest is my father - and the fells my home”

Nellas was the elf maid who looked after the mortal Turin when he was a child in Doriath. She used to sit in a tree and watch over him while he wandered and played. Because of her vigilance, she was able to speak in his defense before the king when Turin was accused of murdering the annoying elf Saeros.  It is my invention that Nellas was the cousin of Beleg.   

Laegrim/Laiquendi – the folk of Denethor of Ossiriand

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