10: Moving On

They ended up remaining in the valley of trees, which Aerin named Tûm Ivon in honor of Yavanna, for nearly two weeks. None of them, even Maglor, were eager to leave and all of them spent hours walking through the valley communing with the trees, singing songs of growth and well-being to them, encouraging them to respond, for they realized that these trees were sleeping, their thoughts dormant.

“As if they are waiting for a time of awakening,” Eirien commented at one point. Many nodded, understanding what she meant.

Several of the ellyn scoured the area for game and chanced upon a herd of small deer, which allowed them to replenish their supplies to some extent though the ellith mourned that they were nearly out of the millet that they had brought with them, carefully stored in waterproof containers. “And we are nearly out of salt as well,” Finduilas informed Denethor.

“We may come upon salt licks along the way,” he pointed out. “At any rate, if the lack of salt and no more flatbread is all we have to worry about, then I say we are doing well enough and can endure without them.”

Finduilas merely huffed in disgust as she walked away, leaving Denethor grinning at Maglor and Damrod who happened to be there when the elleth was giving her report.

“Those deer we found need salt,” Maglor pointed out. “There has to be a salt lick somewhere around here.”

“Unfortunately, we have neither the time nor the resources to stop and look for it,” Denethor said. “We’ve lingered here longer than we should have. Have you noticed how much colder it is getting? This valley is much warmer than it should be thanks to the hot springs that we found, but beyond here, winter encroaches and I fear it will be brutal.”

Both Damrod and Maglor nodded. “It will be hard to leave, though,” Damrod said. In the days since coming to the valley his condition had improved dramatically and his wounds, indeed the wounds of all, were healed completely. Saelmir’s leg was also mended and the ellon spent much of his time strengthening the muscles, determined not to be a burden, though no one thought of him as such.

“Yet leave we must,” Denethor said. “We do have an appointment for tea with the Belain, after all.” He gave them a sly grin and they laughed. It had become something of a running joke between them and that was often the excuse made for going on. “If you two are willing, I would have you check out the defile and the streambed and see what the conditions are like outside this valley,” Denethor continued.

Maglor raised an eyebrow. “If we are willing?” he repeated. “Denethor, you are our leader. It is for you to issue orders and for us to obey them, whether we are willing or not. Come along, Damrod. Grab your bow and let us be away. As much as I am enjoying our little reprieve, I am beginning to feel curious about what is happening in the outside world.” Maglor set off, muttering to himself and shaking his head. “If we are willing. Honestly, I sometimes wonder about you, Denethor.”

Damrod looked at Denethor, grinning at the nonplused expression on their leader’s face. Then he followed after the son of Fëanor, grabbing his bow and a quiver of arrows. Maglor never slowed, but headed toward the southeast corner of the valley where the defile leading out to the dry streambed was situated. They made quick time and soon were looking out onto a barren landscape. Damrod shivered, though not from the cold.

“I’d forgotten how bleak and uninviting it all is,” he whispered to Maglor as the two stared out upon the white-shrouded land. It was snowing and the wind was brutal enough that even they felt it. “Leaving Tûm Ivon is going to be hard.”

Maglor nodded. “I know, but there is no way we can remain here during the winter until what passes as spring around here comes. We need to move. Right now, we are at winter’s edge so it isn’t too bad, but we’ll still be many leagues shy of the Sea before winter sets in completely. I suspect we’ll need to hole up somewhere for at least a month before we continue on. I hope we reach the Ered Luin by then. They should afford us some shelter.”

“How far are they?” Damrod asked.

“From here? Hmm… I would guess close on forty leagues to the Emyn Beraid and then another fifteen leagues or so to the foot of the southern spur of the Ered Luin. It makes no sense for us to try to cross the Lhûn to reach Lindon. We are better off staying to the south and either making for East Mithlond or further down the coast to Harlond. Well, let’s see what lies ahead, shall we?”

Damrod nodded and they set off, following the streambed. For a time they were sheltered by ever lowering hills on either side of them, but about a mile or so further on the last of the hills gave way to open land that stretched before them as far as they could see. The streambed now had a thick blanket of snow covering it, though its course was still visible. Maglor pointed to where stones were tumbled about in a haphazard manner. “I think there was a village just here. Look! Some of those stones appear to have been dressed.”

A closer examination proved him correct. “It is amazing that there is even any evidence that people lived here after all this time,” Damrod commented.

“This must be the River, as the Periain called it,” Maglor said, pointing to the streambed. “It flows through the Shire until it reaches the Baranduin.”

“Well there’s no point following it beyond this point as it’s heading in the wrong direction,” Damrod said, looking west and southwest, though there was little to see with the snow falling. “Hmm… it looks as if those are downs way in the distance.”

Maglor nodded. “Yes. The Far Downs I think they called them. They represented the westernmost border of the Shire until the Emyn Beraid were seded to it.”

Damrod gave him a considering look. “You seem to know quite a bit about the Periain for all that it was said that you wandered up and down the coasts of Ennorath.”

Maglor just shrugged. “I often came this way whenever I desired to look upon Imladris. Gildor Inglorion and his people had a hall within the woods in the southeast corner of the Shire and I would sometimes stop there. If Gildor was there, we traded what news we had between us and he told me much about the comings and goings of the Periain. We’d best get back to the others.”

With that, he turned back and headed up the streambed. Damrod hesitated for a second or two, before following. Once back at the camp, they apprised everyone of what they had found. “Winter is already upon us, I fear,” Maglor concluded, “for it was snowing rather heavily, but it might only be a minor squall. I would not linger here much longer. We still have almost sixty leagues to cover before we reach the Ered Luin.”

“Mithlond would be closer,” Saelmir pointed out.

“It is unlikely that anything of Mithlond still stands,” Damrod said before Maglor could comment.

“Still, it is where the grey ships sailed to Dor Rodyn,” Gilgaran said. “It seems logical that our journey to the Straight Road would begin there.”

“But not when winter is upon us,” Maglor countered. “By my counsel, we should head southwest to the Emyn Beraid. From there we can send scouts to where Mithlond once stood to see what, if anything, still remains while another group continues to the Ered Luin to see if there are caves or a valley where we may take shelter.”

“That does make sense, Denethor,” Voronwë said. “We have no idea what lies ahead of us. There may be more of the creatures like the ones inhabiting Annúminas out there. Some parts of the Ered Luin were infested with orcs. There may be remnants of them skulking the mountains as well.”

Many nodded, a few of the ellith looking concerned. Denethor glanced at Maglor who simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say ‘Why are you looking at me? You’re the leader’. Resisting a sigh, he nodded. “We make for the Emyn Beraid,” he said. “We will remain here one more day to give the storm that is brewing beyond this valley time to move on.”

With that, everyone set about packing their meager supplies. Conversations centered around what they might encounter on this leg of their journey. “Do you think the Sea is frozen as it is said to have been way to the north?” Rían asked at one point.

“Who can say?” Haldir replied with a shrug. “It seems unlikely.”

“How then will we reach Dor Rodyn?” the elleth insisted.

But neither Haldir nor anyone else had a ready answer except ‘We’ll have to wait and see’, which had become the stock answer to that particular question. Maglor kept his own counsel and did not contribute to the speculations which the others made concerning the question of how they would reach the Blessed Realm with no ship (apparently). He was more familiar with the Belain than any of the others, knew well their powers and had no doubt that a way would be found.

And knowing the Powers as he did, he reflected with sour humor, their solution would probably prove… inventive.

There was a discussion about harvesting some of the wood and taking it with them. The stumps that had been left behind by the creatures when they had cut down some of the trees for their own use were not so thick or deeply rooted that they could not be removed and after some rather heated discussion everyone agreed to it. Most of the stumps were chopped up into faggots and carefully bundled together. Maglor claimed one slender stump for himself with the intention of carving a harp from it. He had saved the strings of his old harp. If they ended up waiting out the winter, carving the wood would occupy his time well enough.

Finally dawn came and they moved out, all of them taking the time as they headed for the defile to stop and speak to the trees on the way, wishing them well. Maglor took it upon himself to be the last to leave the valley, making sure that none lingered. As the others made their way single-file out of the valley he turned, taking one last long look upon the trees, then bowed low before following the others, never looking back.

The storm of the day before had petered out and the sky was clear of clouds. Not a few of the Elves shivered though as they left the warmth of Tûm Ivon behind and they gathered their warm cloaks, which they had not worn while in the valley, around them. Maglor wended his way to the front where Denethor was holding counsel with Damrod, Ragnor and a few others.

“This was moor land once,” Maglor said without preamble. “We need to take care crossing it. Luckily, we can skirt most of it by following the line of hills westward, but at some point we need to head directly southwest to reach the Emyn Beraid.”

“Those Downs are not far away,” Ragnor said, nodding southwestward. “Once we reach them I suspect the going will be easier.”

“We could even follow them southward until we are closer to the Emyn Beraid,” Damrod suggested.

Maglor nodded. “The Emyn Beraid are directly west of the Shire. The Great East Road cut through the Downs at Greenholm, if I remember correctly, and from there it was but fifty miles to Undertowers and the Elostirion. Of course, I doubt the road exists but there should be some evidence of the cut.”

“Then we will do as Damrod suggested and walk along the Downs,” Denethor said and without another word, he climbed out of the streambed and began walking, skirting the lower slopes of the hills that bordered the moors where the ground was firmer. The others followed, everyone gazing about with interest.

“I had heard of the Shire,” Neldorion said to Maglor as they walked side-by-side, “and I had always wished to visit, but I never did, though the sons of Elrond often traveled this way, especially after the Ring War.”

In the weeks of traveling with these people, Maglor had not bothered to ask any of them about their former lives, for he feared he would be obligated to reciprocate, but his curiosity got the better of him and he was interested in hearing what Neldorion had to say. “Did you reside in Imladris, then?”

“Yes,” the ellon said. “I was part of the army Lord Elrond led against Sauron when Ost-in-Edhil was destroyed. I was a scout, actually, along with Lord Erestor. We were the ones who found the hidden valley that eventually became Imladris.” There was a note of pride in the ellon’s voice.

“I am surprised that not all the Noldor Sailed once Elrond and Galadriel left,” Maglor said.

“The sons of Elrond were not ready to do so and Lord Glorfindel refused to leave without them and a few of us were willing to remain for a while longer. In my case, as with Voronwë, we simply had no reason to return to the West. I’m not even sure why I agreed to follow Denethor, but I’ve come to realize over the last several months since we began our journey that I, and I suspect everyone else, was slowly fading. We were not living so much as we were just existing. I’d forgotten what it was like to actually feel alive, to feel curious about what might lie over the next hill, to feel the blood rushing in the excitement of a battle.” He paused and shook his head, looking somewhat rueful. “Sorry, I sound like a wet-behind-the ears elfling on his first outing.”

Maglor laughed. “Don’t worry. I think we all feel the same way. So, you were one of my foster son’s scouts, were you? I assume you were part of the Last Alliance?”

Neldorion grimaced. “Unfortunately. A sorry affair and in the end it proved fruitless.”

“Not entirely,” Maglor countered. “It gave the West time to recover and when the Ring was found once again and passed into the hands of an unassuming Perian, it gave us the one hope we had of finally seeing It and Its Master destroyed. Isildur could not do it and none of the Elves would touch it.”

“Were you there?” Saelmir asked. He was walking behind them and had overheard their conversation.

Maglor turned to look at the ellon, shaking his head. “No. It was too dangerous for me.”

Saelmir and Neldorion were not the only ones to give him looks of surprise, for most of the others had been listening to their conversation as well, and he shrugged. “Or so I thought at the time. Too many Elves who knew who I was and I was not ready to meet with any of them. No, like a coward, I haunted the hills above Imladris, keeping watch over the valley and its inhabitants while its lord was away.”

“Seven years,” Neldorion said. “You stayed in the vicinity of Imladris for seven years?”

“Longer,” Maglor replied. “Don’t forget, Elrond did not return immediately. As Gil-galad’s unofficial heir, he and Círdan met with Celeborn and Thranduil in council in Lothlórien to discuss the ramifications of Isildur keeping the Ring. That is where Elrond met Celebrían and their courtship began.”

“A courtship that lasted over a hundred years,” Neldorion said with a wicked grin. “We were all taking bets after the first fifty as to when our beloved lord would find the courage to ask for the fair elleth’s hand. I think Lord Erestor came the closest in guessing correctly but none of us expected it to last as long as it did.”

There was laughter all around and the conversation drifted to other topics of interest.

They reached the northern edge of the Downs sometime around noon, climbing the steep slope until they were atop the ridge and were able to look across the flat lands that ran westward, though a few of them looked east and south into what had once been the Shire. Maglor stared out upon a land he had not visited in millennia, mentally cataloguing the changes he noticed from what he remembered.

North was the escarpment that had blocked their way and he could see that the southern face was nearly sheer and they would have found it almost impossible to climb down it. Directly west the land was flat, as was expected, but he could see where glaciers, as they advanced and receded over the long ages, had apparently gouged out the land in places, leaving behind deep holes that had filled with melt water now beginning to freeze over with the coming winter, forming small lakes. There were two that he could see in the middle distance. To the southwest the land was also flat and he knew they were too far away to spy the Emyn Beraid, which lay behind the horizon.

Turning eastward, he saw what had been moorland a long time ago, dotted here or there with clumps of lichen clinging precariously to rocks, but little else. After a moment, he examined the ridge on which they stood. It was flat and wider than he was expecting, allowing them to stand two abreast without fear of tumbling down one side or the other. The western slope was gentler, which made sense since it would bear the brunt of the weather coming from the west. Here, the wind, which had been minimal in the valley below, was more evident and he did not like the look of the sky to the northwest. Clouds were gathering on the horizon and he thought perhaps they would see another storm before nightfall.

“We should get moving,” he said quietly as he continued to scan the skies.

Denethor, glancing at the sky as well, nodded. “Saelmir, you and Gilgaran go ahead of us and scout the area. I hope we can reach the cut before we get snow.”

“We may have to run all the way, then,” Maglor said with a twist of his lips. “We still have nearly thirty leagues to traverse by my reckoning.”

“Well, we’ll just have to walk very fast and not stop to admire the view,” Denethor retorted, lifting an eyebrow and several people, including Maglor, chuckled as they set off.

They did indeed walk fast, or as fast as they were able. The ridge sometimes narrowed and they were forced to go single-file and there were the occasional dips where the ground had subsided, forcing them to scramble down almost to the valley floor and then back up. Gilgaran acted as a go-between, occasionally coming back to let them know what the terrain was like further on.

Thus the afternoon progressed and darkness encroached. It came sooner than they had hoped, for the dark clouds to the northwest had traveled swiftly in their direction obscuring much of the sky even as the sun was setting. The wind, which had been buffeting them from the west, trying to push them off the ridge, now shifted to the south so now they were battling it, slowing them down even more. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Gilgaran came loping toward them and they all stopped to hear what the ellon had to tell them.

“There’s another subsidence about a mile further on,” he told them. “It might afford us with some shelter, though it will be very tight.”

“We won’t make the cut tonight,” Maglor commented. “By my estimate, we’ve only come about halfway and that storm is fast approaching. Look! You can already see the snow falling.”

Denethor grimaced. “Let us go on and see what shelter we can find for ourselves.”

No one argued and in a matter of minutes they had traversed the mile or so to the subsidence where Saelmir was waiting for them. Maglor looked down, trying to gauge the size of the dip in the gathering gloom of twilight where the final rays of the sun still lingered. It was somewhat larger and not as steep as some of the others they had encountered but to fit all thirty of them would be problematic. They would be better off going all the way down to the valley floor. It was possible that being on the eastern side would afford them more protection from the wind if not from the snow and snow would not bother them. He said as much and everyone agreed.

“We might be able to form a screen here and get a fire going,” Ragnor commented, pointing to the western side of the dip, which was somewhat higher than the eastern side. “I, for one, would enjoy a hot meal before we get inundated with snow.”

“We can but try,” Denethor said and in minutes they were all busy setting up a camp. Maglor helped Ragnor to pile some rocks to provide them with a screen against the wind that found its way through the dip while a couple of the others built a fire pit and soon had a good fire going, which cheered them all. Full dark was upon them before they were sipping on a hot meat broth and munching on jerky. It wasn’t much but it was enough to satisfy them.

By now full darkness was upon them and so was the snow. They took turns huddling around the fire, for only four or five could do so comfortably; the others simply stood, huddled in their cloaks. There was no singing or tale-telling as there had been in the valley of the trees; they simply stood or crouched in stoical silence, enduring the night.

Sometime in the middle watches of the night, the snow stopped and the sky began to clear so that stars shone through the rents. Maglor, whose turn it was to crouch by the fire along with Denethor, Damrod and Eirien, looked up and felt a tightness in his throat at the beauty of the stars, wishing he could sing, but he had never done so while traveling with the Harthadrim, though he was willing enough to tell them tales of his life in Valinor and later in Beleriand. The others had respected his right not to join them in song, but tonight, for some reason, he ached to sing. He felt tears coming and there was an overpowering sense of loss and even nostalgia for what he did not know.

“Are you well?” Eirien, sitting closest to him, asked in a low voice.

Maglor nodded. “Yes,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes and taking a deep breath, staring at the fire and trying to get his emotions under control. And then, he jerked, his expression one of surprise. “What was that?” he whispered and the others all looked around anxiously.

“Shh…” Denethor commanded, for several people were talking all at once. “Listen!”

Maglor strained his ears, wondering if he had simply imagined the sound, but the intense looks on the faces of his companions convinced him that that was not so.

“There it is again, and it’s closer,” Haldir exclaimed. “Can’t be the wind, though.”

“It wasn’t the wind,” Ragnor stated categorically, looking grim and reaching for his bow. “There’s something out there and it’s heading our way.”

****

Ered Luin: The Blue Mountains.

Emyn Beraid: The Tower Hills.

Elostirion: The White Towers built by Gil-galad for Elendil and where one of the palantíri, the one that looked ever to Elvenhome, was placed.

Notes:

1. According to the Atlas of Middle-earth, Mithlond straddles the River Lhûn where it opens up into the Gulf of Lune. Harlond ‘South Haven’ is a harborage lying approximately 125 miles further down the coast.

2. According to the Tale of Years, Elrond wed Celebrían in S.A. 109.