6: The Journey North

They returned to the camp with their report. Denethor sighed. “Well, we can only hope that Damrod brings us better news,” he said after Maglor had finished. “If we do end up following the Baranduin north, how far is Lake Nenuial?”

Maglor shrugged. “I think about forty leagues, maybe closer to forty-five, and that’s as the craban flies. If we cut straight across going northwest we can save some time before we have to follow the river to its source.”

There were more sighs and looks of dismay from the listeners.

“It may not be as bad as that,” Maglor insisted. “The Baranduin is not as wide or as deep further north. We may be able to cross it before we ever reach the lake.”

“That is assuming, of course, that in the intervening ages, the river has not changed overmuch,” Denethor pointed out. “Your island, for instance, is now a series of rapids. Who knows what we will find along the way? Well, we will wait to hear what Damrod has to say.”

“I’m sorry,” Maglor said, almost sounding contrite. “I wish I could have brought better news.”

Denethor gave him a surprised look. “I am not blaming you, Maglor. It will be what it will be.”

Maglor nodded but he still felt as if he had failed them in some manner and his mood remained dark for the rest of the day. The others wisely left him to himself.

Damrod, Voronwë and Neldorion returned with the sun the next morning. “We decided we could sleep when we got back,” Damrod said with a grin when he explained how they had walked through the night.

“So what did you find?” Denethor asked as he handed Damrod a mug of tea, which the ellon gratefully accepted.

Damrod took a couple of sips of the hot liquid and sighed in contentment before answering. “We looked for the signs that Maglor told us about, but I think the geography has changed dramatically since he was last here. If anything, the river simply got deeper and wider the further south we went and we never found any shallows. What about the island you told us about?” This last was directed at Maglor who scowled.

“It has disappeared and there is nothing but rapids. We went a bit further north but the river is still too deep and wide to cross, and now you say Sarn Ford no longer exists. We will have to go further north then and hope that the river shallows out the closer we get to Lake Nenuial, which is its source.”

“And how far will that take us out of our way?” Voronwë asked. “This journey seems to be getting longer by the minute.”

“And unlike our ancestors who crossed Ennorath from Echuinen, we don’t have a Balan urging us on,” an elleth named Gwilwileth said with a huff of discontent.

“No, we simply have ourselves,” Denethor said. “No one said this journey would be easy, but we will prevail, whatever the obstacles, for are we not the Harthadrim?" He gave them a bright smile and several people nodded in agreement. “Then we will go north, as Maglor suggested. We may be able to cross the river at some point along the way or we may have to go around the lake itself before we can continue our journey west, but either way, we will continue and we will do so with a good will and high spirits.”

Maglor cast an amused look at Damrod. “Is he always this dictatorial?”

“Only when he hasn’t had breakfast,” the ellon quipped and the others laughed while Denethor actually blushed and tried to apologize.

Maglor waved a hand in dismissal. “No, my friend, do not apologize. You have the right of it. By my counsel, though, let us remain here for a few days more than we had planned and replenish all our supplies. The game is plentiful here but that may not be the case further north.”

Denethor nodded. “We will remain here for a week or so, then, but I would not linger long, for summer, such as it is, is waning and the days are getting shorter and colder. I do not wish to be here in the midst of winter.”

To that, everyone agreed and so they remained by the lake where once Bree Hill had stood for another ten days before moving on.

****

They took a diagonal route to the northwest with the river in the middle distance as their goal. “Just north of what had been the bounds of the Shire, the river was not so wide or so deep,” Maglor said to Denethor as they led the group. “I’m hoping it is still that way and perhaps there is more ice on the river further north and we can cross in relative safety.”

“Frankly, I wouldn’t mind going all the way to the lake and having to go around it myself,” Denethor replied.

Maglor gave him a surprised look. “Whyever for? The lake is or was nestled within the Emyn Uial. Assuming they still exist we will have to make our way through them.”

Denethor glanced briefly behind him and Maglor did as well. Damrod and Eirien were walking together and he could see Ragnor’s second son, Duilinn, walking with Gwilwileth, one of the younger ellith. He saw Duilinn shyly take the elleth’s hand and she did not reject his advance. Others were also walking in pairs, many of them animatedly conversing with one another and even those without partners were striding with lively steps. Voronwë , one of only two Noldor among them other than Maglor, was walking together with Gilgaran, the two of them quietly singing a song Maglor recognized as one that had been popular among the Exiles when Beleriand had still existed. Denethor gave Maglor a significant look as they both turned back to face the front.

“As we have been traveling, friendships have been formed where before we were merely acquaintances,” Denethor said quietly.

“I’m not sure I understand you,” Maglor rejoined. “Did you not all live together in community, else how did you know them to ask them to join you in this venture?”

“It is true that we lived together, but in some ways we did not. We shared a physical space, a range of mountains where we lived in caves overlooking the river valley where the Mortals were congregated, but many of us went our own way, coming together only when there was a need to hunt and that was rarely.” He gave Maglor a wry look. “I, for instance, preferred sitting in a cedar tree watching the world go by to interacting with my fellow Elves.”

“Alone in a crowd,” Maglor muttered.

Denethor nodded. “I see you understand.”

“Better than you know,” Maglor replied. He glanced back in time to see Voronwë laughing at something Gilgaran had said, putting his arm around the ellon’s shoulders as the two walked together. He gave Denethor a shrewd look. “You wish for the journey to take a little longer than necessary so that certain bonds will form, bonds that will not lessen once we reach Dor Rodyn.”

“It is my hope,” Denethor said with a nod. “At the moment, these bonds are still too new, too fragile. A venture shared will only strengthen them. Perhaps there may even be a wedding or two along the way.” He flashed a knowing smile at Maglor who returned it.

“To that, I would have no objections,” he said.

****

They came to the river the next day when Anor was halfway up the eastern sky.

“We should be only about thirty leagues or so from the lake,” Maglor said to them. The river here was still fairly wide though perhaps not as deep as it was further south.

“Well, standing here won’t get us where we’re going,” Denethor said. “Let us see how far we can get today.”

The others nodded and they set off after a brief rest, following the riverbank. Maglor paid little attention to their route, being more interested in the land about them. To the east he could see a series of ridges that ran northeast to southwest marking what had been the North Downs, though they did not seem quite as high as he remembered them. Somewhere in the downlands lay what had once been Fornost. Looking straight north all he saw was a wide, flat land with little to commend itself. There had never been any substantial settlements north of Fornost, for the land was not very arable and the growing season was short. The Ice Bay of Forochel lay only about seventy-five leagues northwest of Fornost and even now he felt a brumal wind sweeping down from the far north.

As the Baranduin curved to the northwest, Maglor could see on the horizon a line of dark blue that marked the Emyn Uial and hoped that they would not have to travel through them. As he recalled from the one and only time he had visited Annúminas, the hills surrounded the lake on three sides, leaving the eastern shore open so one could look directly across to the distant land of Angmar, where once the Witch-King had ruled. The hills were steep and on the north side came right down to the lake, leaving little in the way of shoreline. They would have to climb the hills or make their way through whatever valleys they might find. If they could cross the river before they reached the lake then they would be able to skirt the hills. He had a vague thought of seeking out where Annúminas had once stood, but decided it was not worth it. If even Minas Anor had not survived — and that great city lay much further south — why would he think Annúminas would?

The wind picked up as they continued traveling and, even though they were Elves and did not feel the weather as Mortals would, most of them, Maglor included, huddled in their cloaks a bit more.

“This land leaves little in the way of shelter,” Denethor observed. “Our camps will be uncomfortable.”

Maglor shrugged. “The northern bounds of Beleriand where we held the Leaguer against Angband were colder than this. My brother’s fortress at Himring wasn’t named so because he liked the sound of it.” He chuckled as if at a memory and Denethor gave him a wan smile.

So they continued on through the shortening day, stopping several hours before the sun would set to camp where the land narrowed between the river on the west and the western edge of the downs some thirty miles or so to the east. It was not very sheltered for the wind funneled down from the north but around sunset it died down completely and they were all grateful for that.

It took them another two days to reach the vicinity of the lake. All the while, Maglor kept an eye on the river, and while it did indeed narrow and shallow out somewhat, the swiftness of the current gave them pause and no one really wanted to try it. Indeed, Gilgaran, remembering the last river he had tried to cross, looked ill at the thought and Maglor sympathized. So, they continued on, the lake becoming visible to them as a darker smudge of blue against that of the Emyn Uial.

Maglor and Damrod ranged ahead of the others to find a suitable camp, coming upon a sheltered cove not far from where the river flowed out of the lake and were glad of it, for the wind was more brutal as it swept around the hills. Here, there was an actual shoreline. Across the river were the southern reaches of the Emyn Uial, not as high nor as steep as those to the north or west.

“If we can cross here, we could follow the shoreline to Annúminas,” Maglor told the other Elf as they examined the land around them, “or where it once stood,” he amended, “and then take the cut that leads down into the Shire — there once was a road that led from Annúminas to Long Cleeve — or we could skirt the hills altogether to the south. The shore route might be the better option, in my opinion, because it will be more sheltered and we can fish along the way.”

“Assuming any fish live in these frigid waters,” Damrod retorted.

“Ah, they may be frigid to us, but I doubt the fish know or care,” Maglor responded with a grin.

“So how did anyone reach Annúminas from Fornost?” Damrod asked. “Was there a bridge here spanning the river?” He gave Maglor a doubtful look.

“There once was a road from Fornost to this very cove, I think,” Maglor answered. “I only visited Annúminas once. It was during the war with Angmar when King Arvedui was lost and his son, Aranarth took the title of Chieftain of the Dúnedain. Anyway, I had come from Lindon, joining with some of Círdan’s people who went in aid of the Dúnedain. We came to Annúminas to find that Arvedui was already in the field with his sons further north, attempting to meet Angmar’s army before it came to Fornost.

“But to answer your question, there used to be a ferry here that brought people over and then the road simply continued along the shoreline to the citadel. It overlooked the lake about halfway along.”

Damrod nodded. “Too bad there’s no ferry now,” he said with a wry grin.

Maglor grunted in agreement. “Still, we might be able to cross here. See, it’s not as wide and it looks fairly shallow nor is the current all that swift here. We’ll have to wait for the others and decide. In the meantime, why don’t you go back and bring them here and I’ll start making a fire,” he suggested, “and maybe I can even catch a fish or two.”

“Only one or two fish?” Damrod couldn’t help asking with a grin.

“Hey! If you want fish, get your own,” Maglor retorted with a sniff.

Damrod laughed as he set off, leaving Maglor to himself. As he began making the fire pit, pulling out bits of dried dung from the sack used for that purpose, he mentally reviewed his list of those whom he had yet to ask for forgiveness, figuring he had at least an hour of privacy to enact his litany. His speaking of Arvedui and Aranarth had reminded him that there were many more people to get to.

As he sat tending the fire, he began: “Arvedui, forgive me….”

When the others arrived it was nearly sunset and they were all pleasantly surprised to see several fish baking on heated stones. Damrod gave his friend a wry look, which Maglor patently ignored.

“The fish are jumping,” was all he said, and it was true. While there was little in the way of life in the tundra that was not to say there wasn’t any. Small insects still survived in the short summer season and it was on these the fish dined. Several of the Elves quickly grabbed spears and headed for the shore.

While there was still some light, Maglor, Denethor and Damrod examined the area where the river ran out of the lake to determine if it was safe to cross. Denethor nodded in satisfaction. “I think it is doable,” he finally said. “It looks fairly shallow, certainly shallower than the Mitheithel. We’ll take a closer look tomorrow.”

Maglor and Damrod agreed and the three returned to the camp where dinner awaited them.

****

The next morning, they congregated at the river. Maglor volunteered to go first to determine how deep it was and how swift the current might be and if there were any hidden obstacles. As he was the tallest of the Elves, that only made sense. He stripped down to his small clothes and waded in, giving a grimace.

“What’s the matter?” Denethor called out in worry at the ellon’s expression.

“Nothing,” Maglor replied. “The river bottom is… mucky.” He gave them a look of distaste and they all laughed. “The current doesn’t seem too swift,” he continued as he reached the center of the river which came to about his waist, “and the bottom appears to be mostly mud with no rocks.” He came back to the shore rather than crossing all the way knowing he would need to help ferry supplies over.

Denethor nodded as he gave Maglor a hand, pulling him out of the river. “We’ll go in pairs,” he said, “with ellyn paired with ellith where possible.”

Everyone nodded and the ellyn began stripping down to small clothes while the ellith simply doffed their cloaks and boots, for they had not bothered to dress in other than their shifts that morning. Soon, everything was packed and people paired off. Maglor noticed Gilgaran was the last to strip, and he held back from the others, eyeing the river with trepidation. He went over and gave the ellon a hug.

“Denethor and I will cross with you,” he said softly. “We’ll go last.”

Gilgaran started to protest but Maglor shook his head. “I know what you are feeling, friend, and there is no shame in that. You had a frightening experience and it is still raw in your memory. Come, we will stand over here and watch the ellith cross with their shifts floating about them like sails.” He gave Gilgaran a suggestive look and the ellon snorted in good humor.

It took them half an hour to get everyone across. As promised, Maglor and Denethor crossed with Gilgaran between them. Gilgaran looked white as he allowed himself to be led into the water and Maglor kept up a running monologue of nonsense describing an imaginary meeting between himself and the Lord of Waters in which Maglor had challenged Lord Ulmo to a swimming contest that had everyone, including Gilgaran, laughing. Once on the other side, everyone quickly dressed with the ellyn facing one direction and the ellith facing the other.

“So which way should we go?” Voronwë asked, once they were all dressed and their supplies sorted out.

“The shoreline is more protected and we can fish along the way,” Maglor pointed out. “If we go south around these hills we won’t have any ready water source until we reach the moors that border the northwest of the Shire, hard against these hills. When we reach where Annúminas once stood, we can follow the cut that leads from there into the Shire and then we’ll only be about twenty-five or so leagues from the Lhûn.”

“Yet another river to cross,” someone said with a sigh.

Maglor shook his head. “We can follow the river south to Mithlond or even to Harlond. That will bring us to the Sea without having to cross any river.”

“Then, let us take the shore road,” Denethor said. “I find I rather like the fish here.”

Everyone chuckled at that and they set off with Maglor and Denethor in the lead as usual. Maglor casually put an arm around Gilgaran’s shoulders, bringing him along while everyone else followed. Young Duilinn and his brother, Haldir, began singing a fishing song and soon everyone was joining in.

****

Craban: A type of crow; the plural is crebain.

Echuinen: Water of Awakening, the Sindarin equivalent of Cuiviénen.

Balan: Vala.

Emyn Uial: The Hills of Evendim or the Twilight Hills. Nenuial means ‘Lake Evendim’.

Himring: ‘Ever-cold’, the Hill of Himring was the site of Maedhros’citadel.

Note: The war with Angmar began in Second Age 1974, 1045 years before the Ring War, and lasted two years.