CHAPTER VII: In the Land of the Sidhe
Freed from the pitiless grip of the cruel mercenaries, the grateful survivors of the caravan offered unto the Dark Elves their entire herd of horses in repayment for saving their lives, but MorThoiriol would accept only a tithing as just compensation for his kin's efforts; whereon he chose thirty magnificent stallions from among the herd, and then he said to the men: "Great shall be the suffering of the widows and the children of the dead, yet thine own toil and pain on this long journey northward was equally trying; therefore, keep the balance of this herd and take what portion of the profit thou deemest fair, and divide the remaining shares among the families of those who shall not be returning home. For those who gave their lives for this doomed enterprise deserve no less than those that survived."
The members of the caravan, hearing the wisdom and charity of the Sidhe Lord's words, promised to fulfill his wishes upon their return home (and so they did, quite faithfully!). With preparations finally completed, the caravan and its great herd wound its way south towards the Trade Route with tearful cries of farewell and thanks as they passed us. As for me, I stood alongside Findegal, watching the long train of wagons amble across the plains. As the last wain drifted past, I saw, yoked and shackled with irons, Marfach-Suil and his haggard mercenaries straggling behind in a dispirited line. The former caravan-master glared angrily at me and spat, and then roared in his guttural tongue that he would kill me if ever we met again. I merely smiled and thumbed my nose at him, which caused Marfach to explode into a long tirade of curses that continued until the caravan at last faded to a distant speck along the horizon.
With the caravan out of sight, the Dark Elves, too, made ready for their journey north. I remember little of that great riding, as the Dark Elves effortlessly guided their herd northward; for it was a strange phenomenon among the Elves that time itself seemed to blur, and the Elves and their magnificent beasts seemingly never tired or required rest. I do recall the great plains giving ground to woodlands, first in scattered stands of trees, then eventually surrendering to forest altogether; but how many nights it took us to reach this place, I cannot tell.. A few of the Dark Elves left the group then to guide the herd on a separate path to guarded pastures beyond the great woods, for we had come at last to the shadowy realm of the Sidhe.
A forest primeval, vast as Rhovanion, but older still, stretched before us as far as the eye could see. Great stands of trees bristled nearly to the hoary head of the Orocarni Mountains in the west, cascading in profusion downwards in spiny ridges to mask treacherous chasms and hidden vales pocking the mountain's feet below, and then marching in seemingly endless procession for endless leagues to the east. I felt honored that the Sidhe had not seen fit to blindfold me, for they were ever secretive of their land; but it mattered little, for the path they led me on was bewildering and the air was thick with their enchantments.
We passed through dark glades lined with blackthorn, juniper, hemlock and towering fir, with the sun barely winking from above; along the edges of deep crevasses and gulleys where tormented, near-leafless trees stretched their wizened limbs upward from the abyss, grasping desperately for a share of elusive sunlight; over misty moors carpeted with gorse, ivy and foxglove; and plunged into sudden valleys where the trees were strange and black and whispered malevolently, and I rode in great fear. If it were not for the Orocarnis looming ever to my left, I would be utterly lost; as it was I had no idea how far north we had traveled, or how many days we journeyed. But for all its twists and turns, the trail led ever upward and the air grew thinner and the mountains grew ominously closer.
Ever and anon, we were greeted by Elvish sentries at strategic points along the trail. So cleverly were they concealed that I am sure the saying 'coming out of the woodwork' was coined in their honor. Passing the last of these guards, our path led eventually to a great bluff where stood a copse of ancient mountain oak, trees hallowed by the Sidhe. Venerable were their massive boles, hoary and burled and moss-covered, and their great heavy limbs seemed to carry the weight of the burning blue sky that hung above them. As if in reverence, we dismounted and passed through their midst on foot, leading our horses behind us. At the far end of the sacred grove, we were greeted by a sheer drop-off and a wide glen below. Lush and deep was this mountain valley, yet shrouded around its circumference by a canopy of trees so dense, that it was virtually invisible to the eye, unless one were right on top of it (or had nearly fallen in, as I did).
"I bid thee welcome to the Vale of the House of the Great Eagle of the East," Findegal said to me in a near whisper, "the longhome of the kin of Mor-Thoir-Iolar."Many glens and dales such as this lay hidden along the mountainside, each belonging to a different House of the Sidhe."
I nodded absent-mindedly to Findegal's greeting, for at the moment I was more concerned for my own well-being; specifically, how could I, or my horse for that matter, possibly climb down such a steep incline? To my surprise, the Dark Elves mounted their steeds, and without hesitation took the plunge off the cliff. Gasping, I gazed over the lip of the cliff, and to my bedevilment saw that they were riding along a stone ledge that wound downwards along edge of the canyon. So cunningly was this road devised, that it blended completely with the rock face of the chasm, and only at just the right angle could one see that it was there at all! I don't know whether this was merely a trick of the eye, or some spell conjured by the Sidhe, but this illusion made my head swoon with dizziness, and I made the descent with my eyes closed, praying my horse had more sense than I (which, fortunately, he did).
Having safely reached the floor of the vale, I heaved a great sigh of relief, and was at last able to take stock of my surroundings. The Elvish maids I happened to pass were stunningly beautiful, so much so that I found myself blushing whenever one came near. Findegal, who acted as my guide amongst the Sidhe, found my discomfort very amusing; but with a smile, he explained that Elvish females, at least those who were without children, were expected to take their turns on sentry duty, and even join the males in battle if dire need required it. He also stated that Elvish children were taught the use of the bow and knives at an early age, for such was the sad state of the world that even children were victims of war. But for all that, I noticed that the Elves doted on their children, and I learned quickly that the extended family or clan was the single-most important aspect of Elvish life.
These large families of Dark Elves were part of greater Kindreds, or Houses, ruled by a patriarch or lord, and these Houses lived within the confines of their separate valley enclaves for most of the year. But winters in the north were cruel so hard by the mountains, and though the sorcery of the Sidhe was great, they could not control the whims of the weather; yet even so, they held, by some hidden grace, the will to maintain the green fertility of their hidden vales for seasons longer than the world outside their domain. Thus, for only a short while every year, the Sidhe must remove to the mountain fastness of the Orocarnis to take up their abode.
For the Sidhe had delved a great mansion deep in the hidden recesses of the mountains as a winter retreat, and which they maintained for use in times of grave peril as well. Unlike their Dwarvish neighbors to the south, who spent the majority of their lives underground, the Elves did so only out of necessity, not caring to spend any great length of time sundered from the sun. But Findegal said the Elves made these caverns habitable by growing such greenery that could tolerate limited sunlight, and adorning the bleak rock with colorful tapestries; and everywhere was the rich glow of polished wood to warm the drabness of their winter manse. But the Sidhe constructed no buildings of stone or wood, save perhaps for cellars to store meat and other foodstuffs, or the smithies where they forged their steel; preferring instead to dwell amongst the crowns of the tall, silvery-white birches that filled their valleys.
Thus, they built wondrous homes upon ardans or flets, wide stands mounted high up in the great boughs of the trees, inaccessible from the ground except by retractable stairs or ladders. In addition, sturdy bridges of rope and plank were slung from tree to tree, so that the Elves could traverse from one end of the valley to the other without ever once setting foot on the ground. Marvelous were the structures they wove atop these ardans -- the antechambers, living quarters, communal dining areas, and meeting halls -- more intricate than great bird's nests, interlacing the boughs, branches and leaves of the living birch into walls and ceilings that were proof against the foulest weather. For the Dark Elves would suffer neither a thriving tree to be cut down nor a leafy branch hewn; only harvesting the wood of fallen timber as an act of remembrance for dear, departed friends.
As night fell, Findegal introduced me to Baird-Riordan, the great Seanchai of the Sidhe. He was both bard and chronicler of the Dark Elves, committing to memory all the ages of history of his kindred. For the Sidhe, unlike their western cousins, had never felt the necessity to devise a written language; they had knowledge of the Cirth runes of the Dwarves, but did not feel compelled to use them; more so since they despised the Dwarves. Riordan had the same ancient depth to his gray eyes as MorThoiriol, and I discovered that he, like the Sidhe Lord, had passed from Cuifhiainan over the Orocarni Mountains in the earliest days of Middle-earth. Findegal bade me farewell then, leaving me in the good keeping of Riordan, for the Seanchai would be the one to illuminate the noble and savage tale of the Sidhe.
I spoke with Riordan long into the night, gathering valuable insights on Sidhe society. The more I listened, the more I came to understand there was a paradoxical nature within the character of the Sidhe. This was a culture of extremes: never forgetting an act of courtesy, never forgiving a slight; reverent of tree and horse, yet taking the scalps of their fallen foes; highly moral, with a hatred of injustice and treachery, yet inclined to cattle and horse thievery; fair of speech and deed, but brutal in the prosecution of war; and loving of their children, yet ever feuding with their neighbors. At first I considered this strange duality to be a symptom of their immortality, for their acuity of sight and hearing, as well as their physical prowess, was heightened far beyond the strengths of mortal Men; could it not be then that their emotions, too, were subject to extremes? That in them the flame of eternal youth burned so brightly, that it ever kindled their passions and drove them to excess?
But as Riordan related the long tale of the Sidhe, it became more apparent that great sorrow and tragedy drove the Dark Elves to such extravagant means of expression. They had been sundered from their kin, cruelly driven from the lands of their birth, and fenced in by their enemies. Ever on the defensive and ever mindful of deceit, they beheld through the slow turning of ages the ebb and flow of the Dark Lords' corruptive influence on the East, and the tides of war that ever surged against their borders. The realm of the Sidhe is like unto an ancient island, evergreen and enchanted, wherein lies the last living memory of the Elder Days in the East; but this lonely isle has been cast adrift in a turbulent sea of change, wherein short-lived empires founder and new ones rise and build their brief ramparts on the crumbling foundations of the old.