Disclaimer: Both the Teleri and Middle-earth belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I only own my computer and my imagination.
The Chronicles of the Teleri
Hithaeglir
We lived for many years under the eaves of Eryn Galen within sight of the Great River, and we were happy and contented. But we never forgot our desire to travel to Valinor, and as the years passed, that desire, which had been dulled somewhat by our initial pleasure in the Greenwood, grew strong in us again, and we began to think of continuing our journey. In this we were urged by our Lord Elwë, who was anxious to return to the Blessed Realm, being the only one among us who had beheld the light of the two trees. He also felt great sorrow in his separation from Finwë, lord of the Noldor, for he had been close in friendship with him, and so much desired to meet with him again.
But in order to continue on to the West, we had to face the obstacle of the Towers of Mist. We had lived in the shadow of the Hithaeglir for many years, and although we had not truly lost our fear of them, we had grown used to living so close to them. But now, knowing they must be conquered, we looked upon them again with apprehension, and they seemed to tower over us like never before.
Crossing the Great River proved to be a much easier task than crossing the mountains would be. Although we had never set foot on its western bank, we had enjoyed a close relationship with the river, and had spent much time paddling about on it in elven boats, crafted from hewn tree trunks. However, our boats were small, and although we had many it was long ere all the Teleri stood on the opposite shore of the river.
Looking back across the water at the forest that had become our home, we felt a twinge of regret as we had when we had left Cuiviénen. But even from only the other side of the river Eryn Galen looked already hazy and indistinct to our eyes, and we knew it was a sign that we could not now turn back. And we knew it might be years again before we had another settled home.
Within a few days we were travelling through the rocky foothills of the mountains. This close the Hithaeglir seemed even more forbidding, but we resolutely put our thoughts of the climb ahead out of our minds, determined to simply conquer each obstacle as we came to it.
And there were obstacles aplenty. The difficult and unsteady terrain was the first of these, but as we climbed higher, the biting clod that numbed our bodies, and punishing winds that threatened to blow us off our narrow path became our primary concerns. And as our upward route became steeper and steeper, we began to think that the Towers of Mist towered indeed all the way to the heavens.
But there was indeed an uppermost point to our ascent, where our path cut its way along the side of a tall and jagged summit. Sheer cliffs rose above us to our right, and to our left dropped away into a deep crevasse. Our journey through that high and narrow pass would have been dangerous enough in good weather, such as it was in the mountains. But all the while we shuffled our way along, a storm raged overhead. Lightning danced among the peaks, and the crashes of thunder seemed to rend the very air, echoing among the rocks long after they had died out in the sky.
The nightmare of the Hithaeglir seemed without end, but at last there came a time when our path began to lead downwards instead of up. Our hearts lightened at this, but they were also filled with anticipation. For the Towers of Mist lived up to their name, and we walked among peaks wreathed in cloud. So it was long ere we were able to behold the country we were descending into.
But when the mists finally parted before us we perceived that below us lay a green and pleasant land, not the desolate wasteland much like the Plains of Helcar that we had been dreading. A patchwork of grasslands and woods, downs and moors stretched as far as the eye could see, and far to the west, on the very horizon, was a blue line that we knew must be the sea, the great ocean that sundered Middle-earth from Valinor, which Oromë had spoken of. And that sight made us more eager than ever to continue our journey.
But before we could reach the sea, or even the beckoning comfort of the green land below us, we had to descend the western side of the Hithaeglir, a task no less perilous than the ascent had been
It was long ere we came to warmer climes again. It has been said throughout history that elves can only die through grievous injury or great sorrow, but truly we felt that our struggle over the mountains had brought us close to death. We were sorely in need of a place to rest, for although the sight of the distant sea had renewed our vigour somewhat, we knew that we could not travel onward indefinitely without stopping.
As we came to the lowest foothills of the mountains, we perceived we were in a land of moors and fast, chattering rivers. This discouraged us greatly, for the place looked too like the Plains of Helcar, and we realised that the grass and woodlands we had seen from the mountains were still far off.
But following one of the rivers that flowed swiftly down from the foothills, we discovered a narrow valley, hidden from sight in the flat expanse of the moors, into which the river fell steeply in a series of waterfalls. We instantly realised that this was the refuge we had been searching for, and eagerly did we descend the valley's steep sides, wanting nothing more than to rest and forget the hardships of the Hithaeglir.