A Secret Search

Fire was crackling in the middle of the clearing, bright flames danced at their own accord, illuminating the trees and warming up the evening air.

Near the centre of the clearing, a lone elf sat facing the fire accompanied only by a horse of silver/grey mane that feasted happily on the abundant grass.

The elf's eyes were closed, the flickering light shed golden hues on his pale features. Half of his dark hair was tied back with a leather string, but the breeze still managed to loosen some strands that waved in front of his face.

The ellon's lips were parted and his hands held a silver flute, decorated with blue strings that bore minuscule white diamonds.

Quick, cheerful notes were emitted by the elegant instrument. The tune was one of joy and pleasure, the tones were lifted up high, as if the melody intended to expand and reach the heavens above. The tune evoked the flowing of rivers, the chattering of birds, the green leaves and the flowers in spring.

But quite suddenly, the notes changed. They went down, below their former lightness, ringing with sombre sorrow. Major tones turned to minor and the music that once soared high, was now gathered up in melancholy. Bitter sweetly, the song recalled cold, empty lands. Endless snow, pristine and sharp. The tune was cheerless, but it held a strange beauty that could only be mustered by an experienced musician.

The horse stopped grazing and whinied in protest. Upset by the sad tune that was ruining his mood at dinner time.

The dark haired elf put down the flute, chuckling slightly to himself,

"Do you not enjoy my playing Lintál?" he asked in the language of his people.

The beautiful steed merely snorted and stomped on the ground, softly, but loud enough to communicate his annoyance.

The ellon waved his hand dismissively and laid down, with his back on the grass, watching the twinkling stars. He pondered over his journey from his home land to Beleriand. He had been resolute about his decision to follow Fingolfin and his people through the horrors of the Hëlcaraxe. He had lost many friends in those cold, forsaken plains. His heart ached with loss, but his mind was set. He would not succumb to grief. He would find the beauty in his sorrow, and he would use his love for those he lost to crush the evil that they had set out to destroy.

His lord and friend, Turgon, had also lost a part of himself in the cold waters, a part that could never be replaced. But they all still had people to care for. People to protect, and that was why he was now here, in the middle of the wilderness, on a mission that his lord had given him

The dark haired elf could still remember the meeting that had sent him and his friends on a search, along with Turgon himself.

"Ever since our arrival, we have done little harm to the darkness that oppresses this land," Turgon said, as he studied a copy of the map of Beleriand (that the feanorians had created) "we stand in disadvantage before Morgoth"

Turgon had summoned them to a meeting, late at night. When most of the elves in Nevrast slept in peaceful dreams.

"Are you saying that the Enemy shall overcome us m'lord?" asked Glorfindel as he leaned over the table to examine the map. His finger tracing along the meticulous drawings of mountains and plains that the parchment bore.

"I am not stating anything at the moment Glorfindel," Turgon raised his eyes and fixed them on the faces of his friends, "Valar forbid that such evil come to pass. But there is evil brewing in Angband. We cannot trust that the darkness will diminish only because it is being kept at bay"

There was silence in the room. The heaviness of Turgon's words, setting root on the hearts of those that were present.

"What do you have in mind my lord?" Egalmoth said, stepping forward with expectation on his face "Whatever you command us, we shall do"

Everyone in the room agreed quietly with Egalmoth, they would do anything for Turgon, even duel Morgoth single handedly if necessary.

"I am not commanding this of you," said Turgon holding his hand up "I am asking for your voluntary help. And if you accept, you must speak of it to no one. Not even amongst yourselves. The matter must remain a secret"

"You have our word," Penlod spoke up, his voice grave and his eyes determined "we shall do everything you ask of us"

All those present nodded their heads expressing their agreement with Penlod's words.

Turgon smiled fondly, touched by his friends' loyalty.

"If we wish to defeat Morgoth," he said straightening himself "we must find a place where we can strengthen ourselves without fear of being attacked at any minute"

The room was silent and Turgon went on, his shoulders squared and his face set,

"I shall make it my mission to find such a place," he said "and when I find it, I shall build a city, a hidden refuge for our people. Where we can better plan and organise our attacks on the Enemy"

That day, several lords of the Noldor had taken it upon themselves to make sure that it would be as Turgon had said. And soon they all departed to different locations in Beleriand, in search for this hidden place where they would construct a safe haven.

Ecthelion had been chosen to follow the course of the river Sirion, towards Talath Dirmen. If he found nothing in the North-East of the land, he would search among the borders of Doriath.

This night, Ecthelion had decided to set camp at the fens of Sirion. In search for that hidden land where his people could settle and prosper. The plains of Talath Dirmen held no cover for any settlement the Noldor might wish to build. So he had decided to go on a bit further towards the Meres of Twilight (Aelin Uial) and after searching the lands surrounding the maze of marshes and lakes, he would report back to Turgon in Nevrast, in what he had seen and found.

The elven lord sighed when his mind began to slowly drag him towards the realms of sleep. He had been taking little rest along his journey, so fixed he was on his quest. Before he allowed himself to enter a light, shallow sleep he made a simple prayer to any of the Valar that would heed and attend. Asking that his people may find shelter in these strange lands.

"Rest well Lin" he murmured to his stallion, who only twitched his grey ears in acknowledgement of his master's words.

Author's note:

Just to clarify, Lintál is Ecthelion's horse. His name means swift foot.

I hope I didn't confuse you with the flashback. The text in italics is something that Ecthelion is recalling in his memory.

I'm so sorry if its confusing :/