The Willow-Land

Gildor's POV

Nan Tathren, autumn FA 511

We came down from the mountains as a long line of ragged, stinking and half-dead fugitives. The heat, the flame and the shadow of the fire-demon had vanished, and yet I had ended up on Faire's back. I did not belong here. I should have remained up there, too, beside the cairn. On the pass. But here I was, somewhere at the end of the line, keeping it moving, downward and downward, away from the smoking ruin that was Gondolin.

Night had passed again, and a pale, misty morning came, here between the mountains. Down below was a sea of green and of water, hidden most of the time under thick, white fumes. Downward was the only way to go.

We had lost many horses crossing the unguarded plain towards the mountains. Even in the fog and reek arrows had found us, picking the horses out, preventing us from sending at least a few of us ahead on horseback, to the comparative safety of the mountains. Then, almost all the remaining ones had foundered in the narrow, secret pathway, or afterwards climbing up to the Cirith Thoronath. Still Faire was here, carrying me, herding people, horses and donkeys. Those had fared better in the rocky lands. How Faire had managed, I didn't know either. She had climbed alone, picking her way between the rocks and the crags. Her legs were all bloody now. On the downward march she had gone to her knees several times, almost throwing me over her head, but still she walked.

We were not followed. It was almost absurd. With the demon's fall, any pursuers seemed indeed to have lost heart for a while. Or they were sure of their victory. What did we know what lurked here, further down, or in the valley? But it was the only way to go.

Faire carried me there, and those they had placed on her back sometime earlier. There were two mute, frightened children in front of me, and another clung behind me. We were nearing the green-blue sea at the bottom, in the valley, slowly. Why am I riding, I wondered when my brain engaged itself again after a while. There were enough wounded who should have been riding. Though the children were small, four people were a heavy load for Faire. The train halted, and I picked up the call automatically, calling for a brief halt before descending the last few miles. Someone came and took the children. I got off, too, and then I knew why I had been riding. Stones had fallen on our line, sometime during our flight along the narrow pass. Some had struck me, and my left leg was swollen and caked with blood. It stubbornly refused to carry me. I sat on the ground beside Faire because I could not stand and presently crawled around her to check her hooves and legs. There was no water and nothing to eat, but a lot of coughing. All our throats were raw from the smoke and the fumes we had breathed. Otherwise there was silence. Even the children no longer cried. After a while we went on. It was slow business, distributing baggage, remounting, trying to carry who could not walk, stringing out into a line again to descend further. It was broad day, and I realized what I had taken for fumes had been thick mist – it thinned and vanished slowly, until when we reached the flats we could see the land before and around us under bright sunshine. But the light and the distance betrayed us. It was miles and miles to go, and several days passed until we left the mountains, found a way out of the last straggling foothills and on to evener ground. Even, but barren, hard and rocky, with only thin soil. Scraggly mountain-trees grew here, and the land was pathless still, except for wide swashes were avalanches had gone downward and flattened everything. It was always hard and dangerous to cross those deadfalls. Loose rock, dead trees, caverns that opened suddenly underfoot and trapped the walker. Still, here was no shortage of wood, and we did not freeze. But we lived miserable, scavenging and gathering, and always hungry. Whenever I stared at the sky, there were no eagles. They seemed to have been a dream of the pass. My memory fails me mercilessly of those days and nights. It was all a mire of cold despite summer, hunger and pain.

At one point, we came to a great river. We had passed along it, rested beside it, drunk from it for a while until I realized what was different. This was the Sirion. We made camp in the dark nights beside the roaring river. We slept despite the sound, and we were not attacked. Though we set guards, it was the river we trusted in now as we followed it on and on towards the sea. But we were endless miles yet from the coast. We passed through dense, dark green forests, never letting the river out of our sight. Sometimes, it was impossible to follow the bank, and marshes, steep rocks or lesser rivers flowing into the great across our path forced us to swerve away from the Sirion. Those were always frightening miles. Unguarded on both sides, we could only hasten on and forge a way back to the river as soon as the land allowed. And then we came to the falls. We had heard a great roaring the whole day, but had only been able to guess the distance. The land dropped away suddenly, and the river plunged into the deep. Southwards, we saw the lower lands under thin haze, green and the Sirion flowing on broad and swift. Once more, we scrambled miserably to find a way down the endless line of rocks that formed the Andram. But then the rocky slopes flattened out entirely and we stood on even ground, and the wall rose behind us. It seemed like a screen before the past. The weary miles of climbing and trudging disappeared behind that screen. Together with the river we plunged right into willows, it seemed. There were days of walking through grass and increasingly higher reeds, but these, too, faded quickly into the willow-land. The trees were all sizes and shapes, lining the uncounted small and broader streams and pools. The ground became squashy, grasses and reeds grew waist-high, and there were no paths. The great river was all around us then, spreading into fingered pools, lakes and brooks. Without command we halted and stood silent, staring across the green, watery country. Willows. Their smell, their voices, their colour were everywhere. There had been no willows in Gondolin. There was multitude of sounds, here, after the hissing wind of the mountains and the silence of the late summer forests. Insects and birds were all around us, and birds that remained invisible. Frogs.

There had been frogs in the great pool in the court, right under the two trees, much to the irritation of the wardens. A vain war, trying to catch the small, high-voiced frogs. We had laughed then, whenever we were quietly asked to please try and get rid of the frogs againBut these here were large and dark green or brown, fat frogs. They drifted about lazily, looking at us patiently and unimpressed.

Faire had walked into the pool with me on her back. The water stung the wounded leg. I could not get off her here, and so I waited, looking into the water. Big frogs. I had been good catching the small ones. We had never killed them. Of course not. Frog-duty we had called the assignment, grinning. It included marching down into the plain at day's end and emptying a bucket full of frogs into the streams in the meadows. They always came back to the fountain in the court. Without thinking I reached down, making a grab for one of the big frogs here. I need not have bothered for quickness. I could scoop it up, large, cold and squashy, bulging its sacks out in half-hearted irritation. I glanced behind me, and met Tyelca's gaze. Frog-duty. He, too, remembered, and he did not laugh. I wanted to, thinking how silly I must look, on a horse half immersed in water, holding a fat, dangling frog in one hand. I set it down into the water and it dived, then drifted to the surface again, the eyes sticking out of the water. Faire had drunk her fill and carried me back to the bank where I literally dropped off her back. I stumbled to the water to drink as well, and felt her standing guard behind me, like a white impassable wall. Long, long ago I had been here already. But I could not remember really now. Gradually, there was some talk, but it passed me by with as much significance as the frogs' talk had for me. One thing, one name was here, in this strange feeling of uselessness. The realization drifted to the surface of my mind as the frog had done a moment ago, in the pond. Thinking of frogs. I felt dizzy. There was only one thing I could do, one place I could go – where I wanted to be. One direction that opened out of this mindless chaos, one last hope. Not the sea, the west, as some began to say.

Bearclaw. The rhevain. I clutched the pendant at my throat, and thanked Ulmo, then Orome that I had developed the habit to never take it off. Together with my knives and my sword this was the only thing I had brought out of Gondolin. Bearclaw. If he still lived. I had felt like a hawk bound to return to the fist after the Nirnaeth, but now, there was no fist anymore. No one to whom I was bound, by my honour, my loyalty or my love. I had deserted Finrod. I would not have had deserted Turgon but for his command. Now, if there was one place worth going, it was to find Bearclaw.

What would he have said, thinking of frogs?

Probably that you could eat them.

I would have gone right now had I been able to walk more than four steps.

That, a look at Faire, and obligation held me back. We had to find a place, a safe place, we had to find shelter and food. I was still a guard of the city. And what remained of it. When I had done all that I could here, I was free to go. So when Tyelca came over to me, I asked him to find a few who could ride and walk and have a look at this land. I had to ask him, too, to help me up on Faire's back again.

There was a place in the middle of what had looked like trackless swamp. There were paths, deer-paths, and we used them. The streams were shallow, and the deeper ones had fords. Deer-fords, too, but fords all the same. This was a country of birds and small beasts. We found no track of bear or wolf or mountain-cat, and neither a sign of orcs. There were crows, though and ravens, and they flew black and croaking, circling us as we passed their sleeping-places and startled them into flight. We looked up, seeing them black against the sky, hearing the harsh calls. Carrion-eaters. It was not a good sight.

And still, what I thought of was the morning in the summer-heat, long ago, pledging a forbidden troth with a black feather. They knew now, since he had run shouting towards the demon and driven it to the edge. Since we had had taken leave of each other as lovers. They knew now what we had been, and said nothing, and it did not bother me.

This was as good as place as any. And the croaking calls were of something alive at least. But no one wanted to stay, and we moved on, plodding like water-oxen until we came to a large dry place, hemmed in by deeper streams, circled all about by willows. Enormous willows, yellowing in the late summer, with high reeds below them. Here there were no crows, only the little piping birds that stayed always hidden. We were starved, and I wondered if we would eat those tiny feather-balls or grill frogs. We were like cage-birds suddenly expected to hunt. Some, I realized, did not even know this land, did not know its name. Gondolin had been all, all their world. I had cherished the maps that there were, maps that showed the world beyond the walls. Even had I not, I had passed through here, on another time. A mission of hope. This was called Nan Tathren, the land of the willows. It had been aptly named. And here we were, and I cut strips of willow in the hope to build a trap, to catch some deer. I ran away, trying to get away from the others, their soft talk, their small fires, and stumbled through the swamps and the streams, setting traps and looking for dead wood fit for lighting a fire.

I found some, and at evening looked at my traps with Tyelca. I hated trapping. It was a mean, dirty way of getting food. I despised myself for it, and once they were roasted, I did not touch the geese and the other beast that we took out of the traps. No one would have eaten that animal, that huge rat-like beast with its webbed feet, but they were starved, and it was eaten. So were all the animals we caught in the days that followed, until summer waned and the nights grew colder. Winter would be miserable season in this land of marsh and water. They wanted to leave soon, go further south, go to the coast. I knew I would not go with them. I just waited for the right time.

Then they gathered. Fires, and food, and songs. After all these weeks, it was time to put something into words, to break that silence among the willows that had held us all in thrall. I went trapping again. I gathered wood. And I extricated myself in silence when they gathered. I went to what had become called the border-stream. A waist-deep, sluggish river under willows, with deep green water. It had been my place until now, my sleeping place, and my place to guard. The borders we fondly imagined were still guarded by us usefully. We had nothing yet, except roughly tanned hides. Brain and piss. I had kept the skin of a dark, almost black deer we had caught once. Because no one else wanted to claim it. Black birds, black deer, it was all spooky. The children had got the rat-beast furs. These were thick and dense and warm. Once the hairs had dried. When I had taken the first animals out of my trap, it had been limp and sodden, and had looked miserable. Dried and tanned, the fur was marvellous, and looked it. My respect for the water-rats had risen quite a lot since I had first seen one alive. I had been hunting, but not shot this one. It was trailed by two young. So I had watched them for a while. They lived here. It was their land. We could have used some of their wisdom to live better here, too.

These had been strange weeks. Half the time I was caught in the past, the other half I lived in the future. Aside from that, I functioned as hunter, as guard. I kept away from the others during my free time. Unspeakable regret oozed over into a wild desire to get away from everyone here. Disgusted, I picked the sodden rats out of the traps, and then thought how disgusting they would have thought pale, naked skin. I had, I thought, better decide which side I was on. But I couldn't.

I pushed the hanging willow-branches out of my way "Faire, can we go?"

She was almost invisible where she stood. She replied nothing, only gave a soft snort. I had lost armour and her gear and generally everything in the sack of the city. So now I rolled up the black deer-skin, and swung it over my shoulder with a string of rawhide as handle. In some eyes, and partly in mine also, I did everything wrong. No mourning, no gratefulness for having been spared. I did not even pay the due respects to my lover's requiem. Instead, I sneaked off on the eve of the great feast.

Maybe some thought that, maybe others knew better – I knew better.

I had said my farewells to those who needed or wanted to hear them. I had asked Tuor's leave formally, to release me from duty. I was not chickening out. Faire squelched after me as I made as straight a line towards the mountains as I could. No way I was going to the coast. I hoped to get somewhere travelling along the mountains' feet, maybe finding another pass across, maybe finding dark elves before I walked into traps that had developed while we had hidden. Traps, I was very conscious, I would walk into as the rats had done into mine, open-eyed and completely unaware. I did not leave bitter thoughts but probably lots of misunderstandings behind me. And that only drove me faster.

Once I had left the willows, the land fell barren. It was so sudden a sensation that I stopped. I looked around, at the forest, the scraggly trees, the fallen leaves, the dark brownness of everything under the starless sky. After the constant chirping of birds and insects day and night this constant silence was deep and forbidding. This was wilderness. Without paths, without fields, without buildings. This was no longer guarded by the great river and its ancient power. I felt caught in the fear, the silence. Faire came up beside me and snorted, a short, loud sound in the strange quiet. I looked at her, startled, angry. She glared back.

'Forget. You forget. This is not wrong'

It took me a while to realize what she meant. Gondolin had been tamed. There had been sound, life, colour – as we wanted it. This was perfectly normal forest. Scraggly, maybe, because the soil was thin, the weather harsh, but it was otherwise unblighted. I closed my eyes and leaned against her warm, solid shoulder for a while. There were tiny sounds here. Under the leaves, in the crowns of the trees, the rustle of wind in the bare branches. No golden cage anymore. A weight seemed to fall off me. I could be attacked here, right away, but I was free. I was free. The trees and beasts and streams here ran their own way. There were no walls for protection but no walls to make a cage any longer either. I was free.

It was a terrible freedom. My king, my city and my lover were gone. There was nothing more.

"Yes" I said "I forgot. I forgot a lot, it seems"

We walked for three days, sleeping little. We climbed the long wall again. That was strange. The endless forbidding line of hills was a border, a screen. Was I right to cross it again, back into something I had thought was the past? But if Bearclaw was where he should be, I had to go this way. Determined, I set off, and Faire followed. Alone, it was not hard finding a way up and across. I found the Sirion again. I followed it upstream, retracing part of our march. My leg still hurt sometimes, and I was forced to ride. Only when I saw pockmarked mud where deer had come to drink at a pool I realized that this was a wiser course than walking. There were wild horses, after all. Faire's tracks alone might not stick out so much as mine. We skirted the marshes of Sirion to the west, crossed the Guarded Plain one night in great haste, and hid in the forested heath around Amon Rudh for another day. We came to the forest of Brethil, and then I realized I was in trouble. I had no map with me, and I had come back dangerously near to Gondolin. So far, the supplies I had taken with me had lasted and I had not needed to stop and hunt. Inside the forest, we were careful, but we did not hasten now, and Faire foraged while walking and when I rested. She had lived well in the willow-land, full of dark grass and tender sprouts. The plain had put her to it harder, but for now she added bark, the ends of twigs, and a last few green leaves to her diet. When we came upon islands of grass within the trees we stopped and she shaved them short. Then, as we followed the Teiglin westwards, my supplies ran out. I had a rough bow of willow-wood, and a few arrows, the best I had managed with the help of Cúarna the fletcher. The aim went slightly off to the left, and the arrows did not steer true either. I lost two in my first attempt to kill a small deer, luckily those without a steel-tip. There was a colony of rabbits. I spent a miserable night in waiting, and dawn saw me with two rabbits spitted and roasting over a small blaze. I was so grateful having made some catch with my miserable equipment that I thanked Orome for this luck, then doubted my words, and then glanced at Faire. She, who had been born in his stables, was here with me, and I doubted the righteousness of my thanks? It was all too weird. But I still feared my fire was going to bring trouble. I had lit it under a huge pine with overhanging branches. As a result, I could only afford a tiny blaze or I would have singed the lowest ones.

After that meal, I doused the fire and sat in darkness, fingering Bearclaw's pendant. I had to get into those lands where it was valid, where the directions it gave could be applied. Hithlum, Mithrim, somewhere there. Dark, empty lands. Sindar should be there. That was our latest news. It was near three-hundred years old. If they were still there, I would have to ask for help. But we had to cross these mountains, and I dreaded it. Crossing meant passes, and the last pass I remembered haunted my nightmares. And the real danger was orcs, and the nameless dangers that this land held now, after years and years I had not been here. Middle-earth could have been an utterly foreign place and I would not have had more disadvantages, I thought glumly. A city-elf indeed.

I was saved from doubts the night we came to the old road and the crossings, sneaked across and scuttled like rats into the trees again. We walked on to put distance between us and the forsaken road, but then I saw signs of elves. Avari, as far as I could judge, but that was just as well. If they balked, I thought pridelessly, I would beg for their company. I had nothing to trade except that, but I still used the call Bearclaw had taught me long ago. That way I at least announced my presence, and an intention that was not enmity, I hoped. In the dark, I found myself hesitant, as if half-blind in the unfamiliar forest. They came on me sooner than I had expected, and I never knew from where until I was challenged. In an Avarin dialect I could not begin to understand, so I just stood there and held my hands up to show they were empty. Faire had an advantage by her nose, and said 'Left', so I turned that way. They were clad in dark brown and black and came like shadows out of the night under the trees.

"I wish to trade" I said for lack of anything else to say, in the only Avarin words I knew. They glanced at me, at Faire, then at each other. To my relief they lowered their bows, but I could not understand what they said to each other. One of them took a step forward then, deftly keeping in shadow so I could not see his face. When he spoke, his voice was a soft, hoarse hiss, but he used Sindarin. He sounded amused "You have nothing to trade, except your horse, and I doubt that is a bargain we would dare. Start the deal with your name and business"

The universal challenge in unusual words. I was annoyed by their shadow-playing.

"My name is Gildor, I come from the land of willows in the valleys further southeast, and I am looking for a way across the mountains into the lands beyond which I know. I am a stranger here and intend no trespassing. I saw the signs that this is your land"

"Then you know how to read them?"

"I know what I was taught – a little. I know your folk trade with the rhevain – I look for one of their chiefs who is my friend, Bearclaw. If he still lives"

The other gave a soft hiss which I did not know was either irritation or understanding. He spoke to the others, maybe translating.

The hissing one retreated and the others, two, I realized, only two, left their shadows.

"I am Anawi and this is Gilyaga" one of them said in Sindarin, haltingly "There is smoke, and fighting, to the east. There was. A great burning. Did you know that?" Trade-Sindarin, I thought. It showed. I did not give a damn. They knew more Sindarin than I did rhevain and avarin put together.

He knew more than he said. I looked into his face, trying to read the guarded features "It was on midsummer. I came from there" I said "Gondolin. The city was betrayed, and sacked. We fled to Nan Tathren. Now I seek Bearclaw. Do you know him? Does he live?"

My tongue was running away with me – I was suddenly desperate to hear of the rhevain. Despite the hedging they had started out with giving me their names in return. I did not have to fear immediate enmity, so far I was informed.

"Mato" the speaker said, making a gesture that might have indicated scars on his cheeks "'Bear' I understand. We speak rhevain – that is his name, then. The one with the scars. Hawk clan. Him? He lives"

I had used the Sindarin translation of Bearclaw. Of course, I had not thought of that, that he had given me that. His group had always spoken Sindarin with me – but their names among themselves might have been rhevain.

"Hawk clan" I finally thought of his pendant and held it out to the Avar who had named himself Anawi. He looked at it, but did not take it.

"He gave you?"

I nodded. Anawi registered the meaning. Such a pendant was the closest the rhevain could give away to account for something like 'clan-mate'.

"Come with us then now, you and your horse. We can tell you the way. Or you come with us all the way – but we go different way. But quick now"

There was something furtive in the way they moved. I glanced around. The hissing one had vanished.

"Siskano is scout. It is not safe, here. You are brave, alone. Or foolish" Gilyaga glanced at me.

I was not sure if he had meant it as an insult or was only clumsy with the phrasing. In any case, I answered in good faith "I have lived a long time in the city. It may be both, but I have no choice if I want to find him before the winter. I saw no one, and was not seen, I think. Up to now. Are we followed? I made a fire some time ago"

Gilyaga shook his head "Not followed, no. Not yet. Fire is safe still. But things do not follow, where we go. They jump. Ambush. – We heard your call. This is fringe of our place. Not that safe, really"

In silence, we reached a non-descript clearing some time after midnight. We were deep in the forest now, going northeast. Siskano, reappeared and reported softly, in a hoarse hiss. Then he made a fire, quickly, kneeling beside the ring of stones and coaxing the small flames. Soon it burned brightly. He had his back to me. I was only half looking at him, but vaguely astonished how effortless he managed it. The other two took some bread and dried meat out of their large packs and set it out. I declined, saying I had had my remaining rabbit this morning, but Anawi shook his head.

"Trade, you said, but guest you are. Mato we know, we trade, too, with him. We hunt, tomorrow. Help then. Now eat"

We watched each other curiously as we ate. Siskano sat back from coaxing his fire and took a chunk of bread as well, pushing his hood back to eat. I caught sight of his face as he sat opposite me, and involuntarily dropped my gaze. Feeling foolish and angry, I overrode my startled embarrassment quickly and met his eyes squarely. The left side of his face was scarred, and so was his hand. Siskano raised his left arm briefly as of to shield his eyes, and I saw that his lower arm was scarred also.

"Forest-fire" he hissed "One of the trees split apart and I got buried under the half coming my way. Breathed a lot of it, too. So I speak this way"

I nodded uncomfortably, embarrassed for having stared, and relieved that I had because that was the way considered right, as Bearclaw had said. If you had objections or questions, out with it. Trading with rhevain or Avari was no ritual, and they did not enjoy polite phrases or small-talk. Neither covertness.

"Siskano means…snake?" I asked.

He laughed softly "Blaze, first of all. But snake, too. Gilyaga there thought it funny"

"You are…traders, then?" I asked "With the rhevain?"

"Rhevain, yes. But Men, mostly. You see, we make baskets. That is what we trade for mainly. If we hunt well, for that, too. Then, small things. Stones, carvings. The farmers and woodmen have no steel to trade. But furs and meat they take. The hunters also trade for arrowheads of bone or flint, often. At times, we can trade for charms. But they are costly, kind of, and few will afford it. Also, we have learned to be careful. What we call charms, many call magic, and fear it. Some call it sorcery and prosecute it"

The damaged voice obviously did not keep Siskano from talking. Also, he was giving me information I guessed I desperately needed. Gondolin had been completely self-sufficient. I had no idea who could trade with whom, when, and for what. Basically, I had no idea, I realized, of these lands I had plunged into headlong. That these Avari had come on me so sudden and unnoticed should have told me. I brought my mind back to what Siskano had said. The words magic and sorcery got my hackles up, after this midsummer.

"What do you mean? Sorcery?" I asked "How can you trade in 'charms'?"

Siskano hesitated "Things we do…they often call charms. Some healing, calming beasts they have trouble with, telling them why one field might carry crops while the beans in their garden rots – it's really only knowing. What we ourselves would call magic to them then, is sorcery in their eyes"

I nodded carefully "How do you plan to get there? Where is there? I mean, you only said you know where Bearclaw is"

Anawi looked up "We go to…how do your people call it…Dor Dinen, yes? The land between the rivers Aros and…Esgalduin? That is where we think Hawk clan will be soon. Maybe now, even. For winter, they are always there. That is where we trade with them. But we often go north and then east, to come through the fens into Dorthonion. There is a place where Aros starts, and Hawk clan usually comes there. But it is nearly winter. We cannot do that now. This time, we would go to the northern edge of this wood and then through Dimbar by an old road. I do not know its name…" He glanced at the others, at me.

"Iant Iaur" Gilyaga supplied "Part of it. We call it szetacan, though"

I did not know what szetacan was, but my mind pieced together what Anawi had said. To follow the Iant Iaur and the old road through Dimbar and on… "That will take us…through Nan Dungortheb"

Chapter notes:

Cúarna – (Q) "kingly bow"

Tyelca – (Q) "swift"

Anawi – (Av) "tree-shadow"

Gilyaga – (Av) "bright morning"

Siskano – (Av) "snake", "blaze"

Mato – (rhev) "bear"

Szetacan – (Av) "ever-dark"

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