The Journey Westwards
Disclaimer: All characters, place names and situations are the work of JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended. The name Nimrandin is mine, though the character is not. Sirros is mine too, the name Annael is courtesy of Tolkien (he was a grey elf of Mithrim) but I liked the name, and besides, Tolkien himself used the same names for completely different people, throughout the ages. (Think Finduilas, being the daughter of Orodreth (First Age) and also the wife of Denethor II, mother of Boromir of the nine walkers. Incidentally Denethor was also a Nandorin elf) I will shut up now and end the disclaimer.
Part III
And so young Nimrandin set off on his long awaited journey. With him were two companions, who were ordered to look after and defend the young elf in any way they could. They were called Sirros and Annael.
Together they crossed the river Gelion. Nimrandin looked back over his shoulder at the only home he knew. A wistful look past over his face fleetingly but Sirros was quick to notice this.
'Are you regretting your decision already, Nimrandin? Tis not late enough to turn back if you would wish.'
The elf sighed. ' I know you mean well, but my mind is made up. To the Mouths of Sirion I go, with or without companions.'
'Very well. Then we must accompany you, however perilous be the journey.'
Nimrandin nodded his ascent and turned away. 'On we go. The road is long.'
The three companions started the long walk westwards. Already, Amon Ereb was in sight, and they planned to make it their first stop. But they did not know what troubles, if any would hinder them. After all, the Laiquendi never went into open war and kept much to themselves, relying on stealth and secrecy, these two things that Nimrandin particularly abhorred, having abided by those rules for many years. And so, tidings from far West were long to reach their ears, however keen they may be for news of their kin.
The first night, they made an encampment in a small cave, on the western side of Amon Ereb. They started a small, weak fire. They did not sleep, but sat, each caught up in dreams of other places, other times maybe, when the three Elf Kingdoms were still alive and prosperous. Only Nimrandin seemed to be thinking of the future, he whose memory only stretched back a few years. The flames danced a curious sensuous ballad, of red and golden hues, contrasting with the brute naked walls of the cave. Annael was first to come out of this seeming torpor. He looked up, and saw little sparks dancing in Nimrandin's eyes, reflections of the fire, or a revelation of his feelings? From his pocket, he extracted a leaf of lembas, and passed it around. They each took only a few nibbles, conscious of how precious this food was. The sound of munching broke the heavy silence, and Annael ventured a question.
'What do you hope to find at the Mouths of Sirion?'
The question was quite simply and directly put, and it unbalanced Nimrandin.
'You embarrass me Annael, for I have no complete answer. When the name Elwing was first mentioned, my heart warmed and was moved like never before. I do not feel whole, nor do I remember my past. There are secrets and many things I would like to know.'
'You think Elwing holds the key?'
'Yet again, I cannot answer. I would like to think yes, and I must, to keep hope from dying utterly. But I cannot tell. I am certain someone, somewhere must know something, and the remnants of the great Elf Kingdoms harbour at the Mouths of Sirion-
'With Elwing.'
'Indeed. That is why I must go.'
Annael looked at Nimrandin in a different light. No longer did he seem the little orphan elf, or the weakling, the misfit. He sensed the determination, yet desperation in Nimrandin's voice. He admired him much for that. Had he not been his companion, he would most likely have remained in Ossiriand for ages to come.
Silence came once again between the three, but this time it was companiable. The flames flickered, and died down. The long, tireless dance had come to an end.
Early morning came, and the elves left their shelter. Neither of the three, outwardly anyway, wished to pass through Taur-Im-Duinath, so though a longer route, they decided to pass South of Ramdal and Andram, then skirt southwards, down to the Mouth of Sirion, and thus avoiding the forest between rivers.
Of the second and third day of the journey, not much need be recalled. Their course was not hindered, and the three were quietly confident they were making good progress.
However, on the fourth day, Sirros started to feel uneasy. They had left behind the shelter of the Andram and were now walking in open spaces.
'We should rest in the eaves of Taur-Im-Duinath.'
Annael and Nimrandin stared at him. The wilds of the forest were frequented by nobody, not even orcs. It had been known that occasionally a few Dark Elves had wandered among its trees, but the tangled forest appealed to none. Now Sirros was known to be courageous, but this often, as the case now was, bordered on swaggering, high risk taking behaviour.
'That is a hostile unfriendly country my friend.' Said Anneal coldly. 'It is frequented by none.'
'Exactly. If no elf nor orc roams in these lands, where else would we be safer?' There was a dangerous, steely edge to his voice, which Nimrandin disliked.
'Have you not thought, that perhaps there is a reason for that?'
'Do not try to overcome me, Nimrandin. We all know you are not one of us. You have relied on my people's friendship and goodwill many years now. It is time you repaid us. Are you not of like mind, Annael?' Sirros turned, and smiled threateningly at the elf who had been silent.
'I do not have to choose.' he said quietly. 'You are being unjust, Sirros. You know full well that Nimrandin is accepted and liked among the Laiquendi, and surpasses you in stealth and secrecy. This is not a reason to grate him down. Now, you are here as a companion of Nimrandin, who is going to the Mouths of Sirion. You chose to accompany him, of your own freewill. Do not let there be any more unpleasantness between us.'
Annael's cool voice managed to simmer down Sirros' temper temporarily, but not completely. They walked awkwardly at first, Sirros repentant of his harsh words, but too proud to admit to it. He led the party, rather than be trailing behind. No more words on Taur-Im-Duinath were exchanged.
When all three elves were getting weary, they settled in the most covered spot they could find, and took turns to watch. When Sirros' turn came, his slender figure melted into the night. Or rather the night swallowed him up. Indeed when he came not back after several hours, Nimrandin and Annael grew worried. What silent danger had assailed their friend? Should one go and search for him, or should they wait for morning? As they were sitting debating the issue, Sirros suddenly reappeared.
'Where have you been? Your watch was over long ago!' Nimrandin looked sharply at his companion.
But Sirros remained calm; a serenity unknown to his usual self had taken over him.
'I was on watch. I heard a noise. I went to investigate. I got lost. I found my way back.' And he would say no more.
Nimrandin and Annael exchanged nervous glances. Someone, or something had obviously touched their friend. There was no companiable, or contemplative silence. Instead, the air hung heavy again, not with awkwardness but a nervous tension. Sirros seemed blissfully unaware, or he chose not to notice. He stared fixedly at the ground. His face seemed paler than usual, his features tight, gaunt, mask-like. The elf that Nimrandin and Annael had known had gone, and been replaced by a stiff, somewhat prim, stranger.
The dawn could not come early enough, and Nimrandin and Annael seemed eager to set off. Sirros was reticent, and found excuses to delay their departure. Eventually they did leave, and Nimrandin's sprits rose: The eaves of Nan-Tathren were visible. Just a little way further would be the River Sirion. They walked at a quicker pace, sensing their journey to be drawing to a close. At a pause, Sirros decided to speak, which came only to readily for the other two.
'Do you know any information about Elwing?'
This startled Nimrandin. 'No. Not more than any of us. She escaped the ruin of Doriath, with a few of her people.'
'Did she not wed Earendil?'
'Yes, that is accurate. But why these questions? You know the answers as well as I.'
'Do you know that Elwing bears a Silmaril? The fair jewel, indeed won from Morgoth's crown by Beren, and Luthien the beloved. But both are dead, and though none dared claim it while Luthien wore it, it now rightfully should be restored to the sons of Feanor.'
'Where do you get your knowledge from? One would think you were a Noldo. The tale of Beren and Luthien is known throughout Beleriand. But is not Elwing now heir to it? She is the daughter of Dior, son of Luthien and Beren. One would think the Silmaril belonged to her,' cut in Annael.
Sirros frowned. 'Do you know not of the oath of Feanor? The jewels were made by him. By right they belong now to his sons.'
'Since when do you side with the Noldor on this matter?'
'I do not always air my views.'
Throughout the exchange, Nimrandin meekly stood nearby. Deep within him he knew this issue concerned him greatly, but did not know why. The names rang distantly in his mind, but when he tried to grasp at them, they disappeared, and shrank into nothingness like fragile cobwebs.
'We will travel south now, my friends,' announced Sirros to his two companions, 'the way will be shorter and we shall not have to pass by the marshes.'
'What know you of the exact location of the marshes? If indeed you do not have a map.'
'I have no map.' Yet again, Sirros seemed to be hiding something from them, but they followed his steps nonetheless.
The River Sirion was before them, and a mighty sight it was indeed. 'Not as beautiful as the sea, I am sure,' thought Nimrandin. As the company progressed southwards, it became apparent that not long before someone had walked upon that very trail. The ground had been roughly trod on, blades of grass battered into a greenish pulp, as if by feet in too much of a hurry to care.
'What urgency has caused this?' asked Anneal, as much to himself as to the others. He was very much at one with nature, and loathed that it should be brutalised in such a way. It would take a long time to heal.
Sirros examined the marks closely, as if looking for clues, or indications as to who had passed through before them. He looked up darkly.
'We must hurry.'
Nimrandin did not question him. He too was anxious to get to the sea, and did not notice how solemn his friend had become. Annael on his part, grew suspicious. What did he know that they didn't? Only that morning he had been so reticent to leave, and now he could not move fast enough. He decided to keep a close eye on Sirros, until they got to the Mouths of Sirion anyway.
The air was deathly quiet. No bird, no animal made a sound. A strange fog hung around the three elves, clinging lovingly to them, though the feeling was not returned. 'This is strangely familiar', thought Nimrandin, touching at the fog tentatively. Gradually though, it dissipated, and suddenly there they were: the Mouths of Sirion, the sea, and the remnant of the Eldar, who maybe could tell Nimrandin of his past.
*TBC*
Disclaimer: All characters, place names and situations are the work of JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended. The name Nimrandin is mine, though the character is not. Sirros is mine too, the name Annael is courtesy of Tolkien (he was a grey elf of Mithrim) but I liked the name, and besides, Tolkien himself used the same names for completely different people, throughout the ages. (Think Finduilas, being the daughter of Orodreth (First Age) and also the wife of Denethor II, mother of Boromir of the nine walkers. Incidentally Denethor was also a Nandorin elf) I will shut up now and end the disclaimer.
Part III
And so young Nimrandin set off on his long awaited journey. With him were two companions, who were ordered to look after and defend the young elf in any way they could. They were called Sirros and Annael.
Together they crossed the river Gelion. Nimrandin looked back over his shoulder at the only home he knew. A wistful look past over his face fleetingly but Sirros was quick to notice this.
'Are you regretting your decision already, Nimrandin? Tis not late enough to turn back if you would wish.'
The elf sighed. ' I know you mean well, but my mind is made up. To the Mouths of Sirion I go, with or without companions.'
'Very well. Then we must accompany you, however perilous be the journey.'
Nimrandin nodded his ascent and turned away. 'On we go. The road is long.'
The three companions started the long walk westwards. Already, Amon Ereb was in sight, and they planned to make it their first stop. But they did not know what troubles, if any would hinder them. After all, the Laiquendi never went into open war and kept much to themselves, relying on stealth and secrecy, these two things that Nimrandin particularly abhorred, having abided by those rules for many years. And so, tidings from far West were long to reach their ears, however keen they may be for news of their kin.
The first night, they made an encampment in a small cave, on the western side of Amon Ereb. They started a small, weak fire. They did not sleep, but sat, each caught up in dreams of other places, other times maybe, when the three Elf Kingdoms were still alive and prosperous. Only Nimrandin seemed to be thinking of the future, he whose memory only stretched back a few years. The flames danced a curious sensuous ballad, of red and golden hues, contrasting with the brute naked walls of the cave. Annael was first to come out of this seeming torpor. He looked up, and saw little sparks dancing in Nimrandin's eyes, reflections of the fire, or a revelation of his feelings? From his pocket, he extracted a leaf of lembas, and passed it around. They each took only a few nibbles, conscious of how precious this food was. The sound of munching broke the heavy silence, and Annael ventured a question.
'What do you hope to find at the Mouths of Sirion?'
The question was quite simply and directly put, and it unbalanced Nimrandin.
'You embarrass me Annael, for I have no complete answer. When the name Elwing was first mentioned, my heart warmed and was moved like never before. I do not feel whole, nor do I remember my past. There are secrets and many things I would like to know.'
'You think Elwing holds the key?'
'Yet again, I cannot answer. I would like to think yes, and I must, to keep hope from dying utterly. But I cannot tell. I am certain someone, somewhere must know something, and the remnants of the great Elf Kingdoms harbour at the Mouths of Sirion-
'With Elwing.'
'Indeed. That is why I must go.'
Annael looked at Nimrandin in a different light. No longer did he seem the little orphan elf, or the weakling, the misfit. He sensed the determination, yet desperation in Nimrandin's voice. He admired him much for that. Had he not been his companion, he would most likely have remained in Ossiriand for ages to come.
Silence came once again between the three, but this time it was companiable. The flames flickered, and died down. The long, tireless dance had come to an end.
Early morning came, and the elves left their shelter. Neither of the three, outwardly anyway, wished to pass through Taur-Im-Duinath, so though a longer route, they decided to pass South of Ramdal and Andram, then skirt southwards, down to the Mouth of Sirion, and thus avoiding the forest between rivers.
Of the second and third day of the journey, not much need be recalled. Their course was not hindered, and the three were quietly confident they were making good progress.
However, on the fourth day, Sirros started to feel uneasy. They had left behind the shelter of the Andram and were now walking in open spaces.
'We should rest in the eaves of Taur-Im-Duinath.'
Annael and Nimrandin stared at him. The wilds of the forest were frequented by nobody, not even orcs. It had been known that occasionally a few Dark Elves had wandered among its trees, but the tangled forest appealed to none. Now Sirros was known to be courageous, but this often, as the case now was, bordered on swaggering, high risk taking behaviour.
'That is a hostile unfriendly country my friend.' Said Anneal coldly. 'It is frequented by none.'
'Exactly. If no elf nor orc roams in these lands, where else would we be safer?' There was a dangerous, steely edge to his voice, which Nimrandin disliked.
'Have you not thought, that perhaps there is a reason for that?'
'Do not try to overcome me, Nimrandin. We all know you are not one of us. You have relied on my people's friendship and goodwill many years now. It is time you repaid us. Are you not of like mind, Annael?' Sirros turned, and smiled threateningly at the elf who had been silent.
'I do not have to choose.' he said quietly. 'You are being unjust, Sirros. You know full well that Nimrandin is accepted and liked among the Laiquendi, and surpasses you in stealth and secrecy. This is not a reason to grate him down. Now, you are here as a companion of Nimrandin, who is going to the Mouths of Sirion. You chose to accompany him, of your own freewill. Do not let there be any more unpleasantness between us.'
Annael's cool voice managed to simmer down Sirros' temper temporarily, but not completely. They walked awkwardly at first, Sirros repentant of his harsh words, but too proud to admit to it. He led the party, rather than be trailing behind. No more words on Taur-Im-Duinath were exchanged.
When all three elves were getting weary, they settled in the most covered spot they could find, and took turns to watch. When Sirros' turn came, his slender figure melted into the night. Or rather the night swallowed him up. Indeed when he came not back after several hours, Nimrandin and Annael grew worried. What silent danger had assailed their friend? Should one go and search for him, or should they wait for morning? As they were sitting debating the issue, Sirros suddenly reappeared.
'Where have you been? Your watch was over long ago!' Nimrandin looked sharply at his companion.
But Sirros remained calm; a serenity unknown to his usual self had taken over him.
'I was on watch. I heard a noise. I went to investigate. I got lost. I found my way back.' And he would say no more.
Nimrandin and Annael exchanged nervous glances. Someone, or something had obviously touched their friend. There was no companiable, or contemplative silence. Instead, the air hung heavy again, not with awkwardness but a nervous tension. Sirros seemed blissfully unaware, or he chose not to notice. He stared fixedly at the ground. His face seemed paler than usual, his features tight, gaunt, mask-like. The elf that Nimrandin and Annael had known had gone, and been replaced by a stiff, somewhat prim, stranger.
The dawn could not come early enough, and Nimrandin and Annael seemed eager to set off. Sirros was reticent, and found excuses to delay their departure. Eventually they did leave, and Nimrandin's sprits rose: The eaves of Nan-Tathren were visible. Just a little way further would be the River Sirion. They walked at a quicker pace, sensing their journey to be drawing to a close. At a pause, Sirros decided to speak, which came only to readily for the other two.
'Do you know any information about Elwing?'
This startled Nimrandin. 'No. Not more than any of us. She escaped the ruin of Doriath, with a few of her people.'
'Did she not wed Earendil?'
'Yes, that is accurate. But why these questions? You know the answers as well as I.'
'Do you know that Elwing bears a Silmaril? The fair jewel, indeed won from Morgoth's crown by Beren, and Luthien the beloved. But both are dead, and though none dared claim it while Luthien wore it, it now rightfully should be restored to the sons of Feanor.'
'Where do you get your knowledge from? One would think you were a Noldo. The tale of Beren and Luthien is known throughout Beleriand. But is not Elwing now heir to it? She is the daughter of Dior, son of Luthien and Beren. One would think the Silmaril belonged to her,' cut in Annael.
Sirros frowned. 'Do you know not of the oath of Feanor? The jewels were made by him. By right they belong now to his sons.'
'Since when do you side with the Noldor on this matter?'
'I do not always air my views.'
Throughout the exchange, Nimrandin meekly stood nearby. Deep within him he knew this issue concerned him greatly, but did not know why. The names rang distantly in his mind, but when he tried to grasp at them, they disappeared, and shrank into nothingness like fragile cobwebs.
'We will travel south now, my friends,' announced Sirros to his two companions, 'the way will be shorter and we shall not have to pass by the marshes.'
'What know you of the exact location of the marshes? If indeed you do not have a map.'
'I have no map.' Yet again, Sirros seemed to be hiding something from them, but they followed his steps nonetheless.
The River Sirion was before them, and a mighty sight it was indeed. 'Not as beautiful as the sea, I am sure,' thought Nimrandin. As the company progressed southwards, it became apparent that not long before someone had walked upon that very trail. The ground had been roughly trod on, blades of grass battered into a greenish pulp, as if by feet in too much of a hurry to care.
'What urgency has caused this?' asked Anneal, as much to himself as to the others. He was very much at one with nature, and loathed that it should be brutalised in such a way. It would take a long time to heal.
Sirros examined the marks closely, as if looking for clues, or indications as to who had passed through before them. He looked up darkly.
'We must hurry.'
Nimrandin did not question him. He too was anxious to get to the sea, and did not notice how solemn his friend had become. Annael on his part, grew suspicious. What did he know that they didn't? Only that morning he had been so reticent to leave, and now he could not move fast enough. He decided to keep a close eye on Sirros, until they got to the Mouths of Sirion anyway.
The air was deathly quiet. No bird, no animal made a sound. A strange fog hung around the three elves, clinging lovingly to them, though the feeling was not returned. 'This is strangely familiar', thought Nimrandin, touching at the fog tentatively. Gradually though, it dissipated, and suddenly there they were: the Mouths of Sirion, the sea, and the remnant of the Eldar, who maybe could tell Nimrandin of his past.
*TBC*