War of Wrath
Ered Luin (the Blue Mountains), First Age 545
Uinen's beautiful features were distorted with agony in Aerneth's water bowl. "I soon cannot help you any longer; evil is everywhere," she whispered. "The enemy knows the resistance is gone and has opened his gates to let everything out. Orcs as countless as grains of sand in a river bed; and…" She shivered.
"Dragons?" Aerneth was afraid to hear the answer.
"Nay, but nearly bad enough. Balrogs. They terrify me. And the misdeeds of the orcs, too… They have chased the humans out of Brethil and whenever they catch one they… play with them. Torture them until they die. Women, children… no one is safe."
"We have seen it too. Survivors come here every day. Their wounds are… sickening."
"They throw the mutilated corpses into my rivers. I cannot stand it." Uninen shivered again, taking off her coral circlet and twirling it in her hands. "I have withdrawn my presence from Beleriand. From the tainted waters… I can only give you tidings from the coast now."
"What about the Gelion? Have they reached it yet?"
"They had not when I left it just now. But I will not stay to see them ruin that last river also. I just cannot."
Aerneth slowly exhaled, feeling slightly less tense. "I understand. Thank you for this, at least. Any sight of Eärendil's ship?"
"I am afraid not."
"He will return. I trust what I saw in Galadriel's mirror."
When she left her house, Aerneth's eyes were drawn to the road where another group of refugees slowly made their way up to the colony. She stopped, observing them breathlessly until they were close enough that she could pick out individual faces.
Women. Children. Bearded men.
No elves.
Aerneth could not stop watching the road; waiting, hoping to see familiar faces as Oropher's people finally rejoined them. Every day the past seven years she had looked. Every day she became hopeful only to be disappointed when there were only humans.
Pushing down the usual tangled web of guilt and worry over leaving her husband behind, she continued to the High King with her tidings. What was the point in wondering where Thranduil was and why he had not come? She had no way of knowing why. All she could do was continue waiting.
Gil-galad lived in the largest house of the colony, a timber palace with a grass roof, woven of corn straw. On the way there, Aerneth passed a field where rows of green sprouts were poking up.
They grew corn on both sides of the mountain with good help from their human allies. Despite the altitude, the mountains had turned out to be fertile. The climate was dry on the western slopes and rainy on the eastern ones, but they had diverted a part of the Ascar river to irrigate the western fields and thus both plantations yielded bountiful harvests that Galadriel turned into stacks of finest lembas.
The council was gathered in the palace's main room; Celebrimbor, Círdan, Celeborn and Galadriel, waiting for Uinen's tidings. Aerneth briefly filled them in, though there was not much they could do with the information. At least the enemy was still keeping to western and central Beleriand. They were still safe here.
"I hate to just sit idle." Galadriel curled her hand into a fist. "Who knows how much longer it will take for Eärendil to return? We ought to strike back."
"I agree," said Celebrimbor. "If only we were not lacking metals… I wish I could have forged more weapons and armour."
"We would still be too few," said Gil-galad firmly. "Be patient."
"What shall we do when the enemy comes this far?" Círdan cut in. "Our colony is not hard to spot. We are an easy target. I think we ought to continue east, to Eriador, the lands of my youth."
"And be flooded there instead?" Gil-galad retorted.
The room grew silent as they pondered their situation for probably the hundredth time. If they had a way to know that only the lands to the west would be flooded, moving east would perhaps be the safest option, but they did not. The visions in Galadriel's mirror had never shown the fate of the rest of Middle-earth.
"Maybe we could fortify ourselves," said Celeborn after a long while. "The cliff behind the colony has many cracks and hollows. We could widen them and dig tunnels to hide in."
"Too dangerous," Galadriel disagreed. "If enemies decide to block the tunnels we would starve."
"Not if we make several exits and hide them. I think it could work. Tunnels are easier to defend than open land."
"I second your idea," said Gil-galad. "Take what workers you need and start on a small scale. Once you know whether the rock is safe to excavate, you can expand. Hopefully we will not need the precaution but better safe than sorry."
oOo
The little girl wailed in her mother's arms when Aerneth unwrapped the blood soaked bandage, revealing the stump that was all that remained of the baby's arm. Someone had wound it tightly to stop the bleeding.
Aerneth's stomach churned with powerless rage. She had become used to seeing nasty orc bites in various states of inflammation, but this was such a small, innocent child. The one who did this was a sick monster.
Swallowing down the anger, assuming a serene mask on her features that she had learned would calm her patients, she began to gently wash the stump with an antiseptic herbal tea, made of Athelas and yarrow. The baby's wails turned into a tired moan; she was so weak from blood loss she had not even the energy left to cry.
Lately, Aerneth had become chief healer of the colony. Though most elves knew a bit of healing, only Galadriel and Aerneth had trained under Melian the Maia, and in that, at least, Aerneth did better than her friend. Galadriel had fought in several battles and taking lives made healing harder. Instead she baked lembas and guarded the premises with her husband and other warriors.
Aerneth had killed people too – though not as many – and her training had been centuries ago in Doriath, so she was certainly no healer expert. But it was better than nothing. She knew the basic cures and potions, and a spell to close wounds.
At first it had been nearly too much. The sheer evil of the orcs' deeds had overwhelmed her, and empathy with the patients' suffering made it hard to do what she had to – for, many cures briefly increased the pain. But somehow she managed, doggedly continuing until at last she became used to it. She found a way to disconnect her feelings and just do it.
Nowadays she often found that despite having to see gruesome wounds on a daily basis she actually enjoyed the task. It made her feel needed and important, and took away part of her loneliness. When she was busy in the healing hut there was no time to endlessly worry about her former husband.
It was time to seal the baby's wound. Aerneth spoke in a soothing voice while she worked, telling the woman what she was doing and why. "I am now using a salve to stop the festering and take away some of the pain. Next I shall sing a few words, it is a healing spell created by Estë the Vala. It will close the injury before I remove the bonds. It was well thought of you to bind your daughter's arm like that but it is dangerous to leave it on much longer."
The mother had not said anything the whole time and did not open her mouth now either. The look in her eyes was dull and her face closed off in a way that reminded Aerneth of Thranduil. It was the face of one who had witnessed such horrors she had to repress her emotions or she might lose her mind.
Aerneth had seen many such faces lately. Sometimes in her own mirror, too.
She sang the spell, watching the uneven mess of muscle and severed tissue slowly grow over with a thin layer of new skin, red and fragile. When it was covered completely she unwound the severed arm. No bleeding, thankfully. It had worked. Humans were less resilient and harder to heal than elves and sometimes the spells had little or no effect on them, but not this time. The baby would be scarred and marked for life, but at least she would have a life.
There was a gentle nudge in Aerneth's mind; someone reaching out to her. Her heart skipped a beat in the vain hope it was Thranduil, though it did not feel like him. It was unlikely he would want to contact her after everything anyway, even if he was still alive, but hope had a tendency to linger.
She left the baby to be bandaged by a woman working alongside her in the healing hut, who had been her village's midwife before she fled. She could not do spells but was capable at nearly everything else which was a blessing. Aerneth was only one person, after all, and there were often several patients needing treatment at once.
It was not Thranduil who called, of course. Instead Uinen's beautiful face appeared in the bowl, smiling triumphantly.
"They are here!"
Aerneth's heart jumped again, but with excitement now. "Eärendil returned?"
"Not him, but the ones he went to fetch. The Host of the Valar has come and Morgoth's spawn flees before them! At last!"
"The Valar themselves? That is wonderful news!"
"Aye, Oromë and Tulkas, and countless elves. The Maia Eönwë is leading the host."
"It sounds amazing. I wish I could have been there to see it."
"There is a spell I can use to borrow the eyes of a seagull. I can show you everything it sees. Do you want me to?"
"Of course! But wait… I should tell the High King. I am sure he wants to see that too."
Aerneth hurried over to the palace with the news and soon the council was gathered. Because they were so many, Galadriel suggested they use her new mirror instead of the small bowl. The mirror was a round, stone paved pool she had dug beside a creek and walled in the surrounding area to create a rocky garden. She used it often, trying to catch more glimpses of the future, but so far it had only shown the same visions as before.
Now Aerneth used it to summon Uinen again.
"Greetings, Lady Uinen." Gil-galad bowed deep, visibly stunned at the sight of her. Not many elves of Beleriand had seen a Maia face to face.
She returned the greeting, then her face disappeared and they heard her sing a complicated spell. With each verse a picture materialised, hazy first, but gradually more clear.
With a pang of longing, Aerneth recognised the Falas unfolding below her, and the sad ruins of the once beautiful cities of Eglarest and Brithombar. Her homeland. The bird whose eyes they used was languidly circling the hill where she had grown lembas corn.
The mouth of the Nenning river was crowded with ships, large ones, much bigger than Círdan's, and both onboard them and on the shore were elves, tiny like ants from a bird point of view. It appeared they were rebuilding the lookout tower in Eglarest.
Further inland she noticed more elves, walking in wide, ordered rows along the old road to Nargothrond. Their armour reflected the sun and made them sparkle like a myriad of crystals.
There was no sight of orcs. The host must have either scared or driven them away.
Círdan indicated the banners on the ships. "Are these Teleri? It is hard to see details at this height."
"They are," Uinen replied. "I talked to them when they arrived. They plan to fortify the Falas and wait there, for they refuse to fight together with the Noldor after what they did in Alqualondë. The only reason they are here is because the others needed the use of their ships."
She was referring to the First Kinslaying, when Fëanor and his sons – and their followers – had killed Teleri elves for ships to sail from Aman to Beleriand. That had been shortly after Morgoth stole the three Silmarils.
Aerneth regarded her Teleri relatives, feeling a certain connection despite having never met them. She had survived a kinslaying of her own now and could easily understand why they still resented the Noldor even after so long. Elves fighting elves was despicable.
"Can you get us nearer to the host?" asked Galadriel eagerly. She was leaning so close to the surface she almost fell in. She probably wondered if anyone she knew was there; she had friends and family in Aman and had been parted from them for over five centuries.
The bird obediently flew closer, circling the walking elves, gradually coming lower.
The army was huge. Spreading out in all directions, with far more elves than was possible to count. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands had come.
"I have never seen so many warriors," breathed Gil-galad, staring wide-eyed at the amazing sight. "I had no idea Aman was so populated."
"Well, most who were killed on this continent must have been reborn there, and add to that all those who never left," said Celeborn. "It appears Eärendil must have made an impression to summon so many; I would not be surprised if nearly everyone has come."
"Even ellith," Aerneth pointed out, having noticed several among the ellyn.
"I see Noldor and Vanyar banners – and there is even the King of the Valar's," said Cirdan in an awed voice. "Is he here?"
"Nay, Eönwë the Maia holds that banner," said Uinen. "He carries Manwë's own sword and leads the host in his stead."
Two impressive figures went in the front troop with Eönwë, twice as tall as him, their faces vaguely elven but bursting with power. One rode a white horse with a pack of long-legged hounds in tow and the other ran effortlessly at his side.
Gil-galad drew in a sharp breath. "Are that–"
"Oromë and Tulkas," said Galadriel. "And his horse is Nahar. I met them in my youth."
"I did too," said Círdan.
"I see Adar," Galadriel suddenly exclaimed, and now she really did fall into the pool in her eagerness.
"Finarfin leads the Noldor and Ingwion the Vanyar," Uinen confirmed.
Galadriel distractedly wrung out water from the hem of her dress. "We should go there. Join them in battle."
Celebrimbor agreed. "There is no honour in hiding."
"We cannot," said Gil-galad. "Scores of orcs and balrogs are between us and them; we are much too few and too weak to fight our way through. And even if we did… just look at them. They do not need us. A handful of poor, wing clipped refugees with neither proper armour, nor weapons."
"That is not true." But he sounded like deep down he knew it was.
"They seem to be using the Nargothrond road," said Celeborn thoughtfully. "That will lead them over the Talath Dirnen heathlands, via the Crossing of Teiglin to the Pass of Sirion. On their way they are sure to be either killing the orcs that fester the plains and Doriath or drive them back to their holes in Angband in the north. If we monitor the progress of the host we will know when the lands are safe enough for us to join them."
Galadriel brightened. "That is an excellent idea, husband."
"I cannot help you watch them," said Uinen. "This spell is hard to uphold for long, and I will not go with the host. The waters are tainted."
"Then we use scouts," said Galadriel firmly. "And our eyes. We will not sit idle and let others fight our war."
Aerneth was silent. She was no warrior, and even if she wanted to join a battle again, she did not want to leave this place. She had told Thranduil she would wait for him and the others in the mountains and she would keep that promise. Even if she had to do it alone.
oOo
Oropher shut the door to his study and locked it carefully, putting the key on its chain over his head. "Good news, son."
Thranduil did not return his smile. He hated the object behind that door.
"An army has arrived from Valinor," Oropher continued. "Thousands of elves led by Valar and Maiar. Did I not tell you it would be so? And you wanted to run to the mountains and beg Gil-galad to let us in with the tail behind our legs. Tsk tsk. You need to learn to trust your adar."
His words caught Thranduil's interest despite the questionable source of his information. "The Valar came?"
"Aye, aye, they did! Do pay attention. The host is walking towards Morgoth's realm and wipes out every orc and balrog in its path. And talking of wiping out orcs; the ones that came south are all gone now. I did not see this myself but Maedhros tells me the arrival of the Aman army lured away the balrogs, and then the ents stepped forward and killed the remaining orcs and wargs. The tree-herders fear only fire."
Thranduil thought of Doriath that had been cut down and burned to a wasteland. There had sadly been no ents there to protect it.
Not that it mattered; the lands would drown.
"Was Eärendil and Elwing on the ships?" he asked.
"How should I know? I told you many times I cannot see details in my visions."
"How is the colony, then? Are they safe?" He braced himself for the expected reaction.
Oropher's cheerful features immediately clouded over. "Will you ever cease nagging me about the colony? Who cares about a bunch of mutineers and thieves?"
"I do."
"Well, stop it."
"Are they safe?" he insisted.
"Aye, they are safe. Now be quiet and let me think. What should we do with this information? You must tell the people, of course; it will cheer them up. But should we expand to the west now that the Mouths of Sirion is freed? We could replenish our sea salt stores and bring back fish. I have not had a decent meal of fish for years; the freshwater ones are not nearly as tasty."
Thranduil did not reply. How could Oropher think about food now? If the promised host had arrived from Valinor, then the other prophecies may be close to fulfilment. The lands would sink and the people's worldly goods with them.
They had to leave.
But there was no use telling his father that; he had already tried to persuade him countless times. It would only lead to a quarrel, or even a beating if Oropher was in a bad mood.
Originally, when Oropher discovered the Haven refugees had left, he had meant to follow them with all the speed they could muster, sending warriors ahead on horseback to overtake them and demand they return the stolen goods. But first he must send a speedy messenger north to ascertain free passage through the Fëanorians' realm.
The messenger returned with a missive that was only for the king's ears, after which Oropher suddenly became firmly convinced Ossiriand was perfectly safe and they need not hurry anywhere.
When Thranduil confusedly asked how he was so sure about that, his reply was a bit vague. "Maedhros and Maglor have ways to know the orcs remain near the coast and show no sign of turning hither. Our realm is not threatened in any way. Let the traitors huddle in the mountains in poverty; we will stay here and continue our lives in comfort and abundance for as long as possible."
After that, Oropher often disappeared into his study and stayed increasingly longer. He also got a lock installed. Each time he emerged, he shared news about what happened in the world, information he could not possibly know. He claimed he received letters from the Fëanorians – but how? There were no birds arriving, no riders.
Thranduil had a bad feeling about his father's new, strange knowledge, and when he was finally let in on the secret his misgivings increased. That had been perhaps half a year afterwards, when unrest stirred in the realm; Amroth in particular was not happy with the decision to stay behind.
"I need you to stifle this firmly and efficiently," Oropher had said. "Convince your friend I know what I am doing and this is for the best."
"How can I convince him when I am not convinced myself?"
Oropher's eyes narrowed. "Do not test me. You promised me loyalty."
Thranduil changed tactics. "I am loyal. I just meant it is easier to persuade someone when you believe what you say, and in this case I don't know enough. You say the orcs linger near the coast and that Maedhros somehow 'saw' this. How? How did he see it, and how did he tell you?"
Oropher was silent for a few moments, forehead creasing. Then he suddenly smiled. "I might as well show you. Come!" He unlocked the door and led Thranduil to his desk, where a silk cloth covered a round object. "Remember how that elleth you are married to can communicate through water? Fëanor once invented a similar way to talk over long distances." He pulled off the cloth, revealing a dark globe with a swirling mist within. "This is a seeing-stone – a palantír. It tells me everything I need to know."
His father proudly explained how Maedhros had trusted him with one of his father's valuable stones and that they communicated through it regularly now. But that was not all the palantír could do, it was also possible to use it to see what was happening in the world, a skill Maedhros had mastered over the years and that Oropher was just beginning to learn.
Thranduil stared at the item with an ominous feeling. He did not like the globe at all. It was made by Fëanor, the one who also created the Silmarils that had led to so much disaster, and whose oath was the reason his sons had destroyed Doriath and Haven.
Then a thought struck him: "Was that how Fëanor's sons found out Elwing had a Silmaril?"
Oropher looked surprised briefly, but then he grinned widely. "Very likely! Good point."
"Can you see the mountains with this?" Thranduil was becoming cautiously curious despite himself.
"Absolutely. I can see the whole of Beleriand; the coast, the mainlands, the mountains – even Morgoth's realm. But no details. Maedhros has the master-stone which is more powerful."
"Are they well?"
"Maedhros and Maglor? Of course, why wouldn't they be?"
"I meant the people in the mountains. Gil-galad, Círdan… their followers."
Oropher frowned. "There is a small town up there now, which I assume is theirs, but that is of no moment; those traitors may live or die, I do not care."
In the years that had passed since he was first shown the palantír, Thranduil often asked about that mountain town, braving his father's anger again and again. He could not stop worrying or caring about his wife and nothing Oropher said or did would change that.
And now he did it again.
"You said the colony is safe, but can you find out what Gil-galad will do now that the Valar have come? Will he join their host?" He prayed the answer was no; he wanted Aerneth far away from battle.
"How many times must I tell you that I. Cannot. See. Details!"
"But Maedhros can. Ask him. Please."
"I will do no such thing. If Maedhros is interested in their whereabouts he will let me know."
Thranduil wanted to shake Oropher and force him to obey but of course that was impossible. His oath held him back.
He would just have to wait and see.
But unfortunately, in this matter he was for once not patient. He could not wait.
oOo
Thanks to the palantír Oropher could follow the Host of the Valar's journey from the Falas to the ruins of Nargothrond, crossing the Sirion at Teiglin, and continuing north. He described their advance to Thranduil, who in turn brought the news to the people. Calming them, easing their worries. Help had come to Beleriand at last! Morgoth would be defeated soon and then they would be free. Perhaps even able to return to Doriath and restore the forest.
When the lands sank – or if they did, for according to Oropher and Fëanor's sons the prophecies may have been worst case scenarios that would not come to pass – they would have plenty of time to withdraw to the mountains.
Thranduil did not believe the latter part but was powerless to do anything about it. Perhaps it was his fate to drown like his mother.
Everything went smoothly for the host until it reached the Pass of Sirion. Now it became evident why the orcs and balrogs had been so easy to chase away at first: it must have been a strategic retreat. Morgoth's full strength had gathered in the narrow mountain pass and along the edge of the deforested Neldoreth and Doriath, hiding behind a miles wide, tall palisade that had towers at even distances, and with a deep moat in front where they had diverted the river Sirion to their benefit. In addition, according to Maedhros who could see more details with his master-palantír, Morgoth's lieutenant Sauron had returned to the tower at Tol Sirion with his army of werewolves who now patrolled the border.
The enemy had been allowed to roam central Beleriand freely for years and had taken advantage of that to fortify themselves. Even for a host led by two Valar and a Maia, getting through such a defence could take a while.
At first Oropher watched the two armies daily, observing the attackers dig trenches and fortifications, and testing the defenders' strength with repeated skirmishes along the border, but after a while when no progress was made he grew bored of the whole thing. Even if he wanted to – which he did not – he could not have aided the host with Doriath in between, walled in and swarming with orcs and balrogs.
Hence, life in Ossiriand went on peacefully as months turned into years, and years turned into decades, and the siege became no more than background noise. An event happening far away that did not affect them.
Thranduil hated it. He could not stand the waiting, not knowing how the war would go, and it felt wrong to live so comfortably while others risked their lives to end the Dark Lord's reign. His only consolation was that his wife must be equally cut off from the battle as him; she was still safe.
To pass the time and get other things to think about, Thranduil kept himself busy. He hunted in Taur im Duinath and fished in the Gelion, helped Amroth with his pigs and Galion with his wine, he exercised and practised fencing, he ordered a new harp after the one he lost in Doriath and took up singing again to his father's delight. He joined an expedition to the ruins of Haven and brought back salt, seal meat and plenty of fish. He joined another expedition, this one south along the Gelion, and when they discovered Círdan's abandoned ship he brought a workforce down to bring it all the way to his home with felled logs as wheels in the places where the river was too shallow.
Together with his old friends Amroth and Medlin he mended the ship and sewed a sail to it, arguing that when the lands sank they could use it to save themselves. Oropher laughed at him but allowed 'his paranoiac whims'.
Then at last something changed, ending the standstill in the north. The Host of the Valar was aided by an unlikely ally: humans from Hithlum. They had been thralls under the The Easterlings for almost a century, ever since the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, but when they heard the Valar had sent help it must have strengthened them enough to start a rebellion. Over a period of many years they built up a resistance, until they could overthrow their masters and escape south through the mountains on secret paths.
Excited, Oropher began to use the palantír daily again. He watched as the Host of the Valar used the new passage. Guided by humans, they sneaked part of their strength into Hithlum, finishing what their new allies began and wiping the area clear, before making a long circular move through Mithrim and across the mountains to come at the enemy from behind.
Attacked on two fronts, Morgoth's massive strength began to waver at last. The balrogs were driven back, and all the orcs, wargs, and werewolves followed suit, fleeing across the brown wasteland of the Anfauglith desert.
Over forty years after they landed, the Host of the Valar arrived at Angband and fought a final battle outside Morgoth's gates. There the last foes were slain, and a defeated Sauron only just managed to retreat into Angband.
Soon the Dark Lord and his lieutenant would be no more either.
Or so the onlookers thought.
oOo
The door to Oropher's study slammed open. Face pale as ash, he bumped forcibly into Thranduil who was waiting outside.
"Dragons. He has released dragons! A new kind! With wings!" The words tumbled out of his mouth.
Tendrils of icy dread squeezed Thranduil's heart as his mind filled with memories of fire and reeking, scaly reptile skin. He would never forget Glaurung, father of dragons. Had he sired winged children before Túrin killed him?
"They are flying south. Hither! More than I could count! We must run to the mountains at once. Sound the signal!"
Thranduil shook himself out of the numbing panic, dashing away to do as told. They must flee. But not by ship, the water was too shallow. And they did not have horses for everyone.
Fuck. Why had they waited? Why had they lingered here, exposed, an easy target for a flying opponent?
Dark thoughts churned in his mind as he worked mechanically; gathering the people, readying the horses, making sure everyone was there, hurrying them over the bridge and to the road north. Oropher had already left, claiming he must alert Maedhros and hence needed the swiftest horse.
As if Fëanor's sons had not seen it themselves in their palantíri.
Thranduil saw the dragons too now. Still many leagues away, yet clearly visible in the sky. Enormous. Terrifying. Fast.
In the west, Taur im Duinath erupted in flames; the forest where he used to hunt. Had everyone left yet? He must leave too.
His belongings! The white gems and Aerneth's ring. He could not lose them.
He knew it was irrational to care about stupid keepsakes when his life was at risk, but did it anyway. Turning on the spot, he scurried back up to his house, cursing Amdír for deciding to build the city on talans.
He turned his clothes chest over. Where was it? There. He picked up an ornate box and half climbed, half fell back down the stairs.
And then he ran.
A shadow passed over the sun, blocking out all light. The smell was sickening.
"Run!" boomed a voice from the sky, deep and horrible and full of mirth. "Run, little elves! It will make avenging my father all the more enjoyable."
The monster opened a maw larger than a horse, and deep inside an amber glow grew brighter.
With searing flames filling the sky, Thranduil dove headfirst into the Gelion. Far above, the water began to boil.
A/N:
I thought I could fit the war into one chapter but there was a lot to cover… And the greatest war in the history of Middle-earth should not be rushed. To be continued next week!
About who fought in the War of Wrath: some believe Círdan and other elves of Beleriand did, but the Silmarillion says 'of the march of the Host of the Valar to the north of Middle-earth little is said in any tale; for among them went none of those Elves who had dwelt and suffered in the Hither Lands', which seems pretty clear to me they didn't, at least not together with the Host of the Valar.
That they were instead hiding in Ered Luin (the Blue Mountains) is my own invention, but I think it makes sense because later in the beginning of the Second Age they will be living in Lindon just west of these mountains.