'Nathlo i nathal!' 1 cried a voice, breaking Feveren's silent thought. A fresh breeze blew down from the North and made the rippling waters of the river sparkle merrily in the light of the rising sun; its glittering dance had spellbound his mind in delightful reverie. Startled, he looked up and blinked his eyes to clear away the cobwebs of his daydream, and he saw standing atop a nearby stair, a tall smiling Elf with his arm upraised in welcome.
'Ni veren an le ñovaded!' 2 Feveren replied with a wave of his slender hand.
‘Come hither, if you will!’ the stranger called, beckoning the elf-lad to join him. ‘This is indeed wonderful! A young Lindel3 in Celondim! I have not seen such a thing in many a long year. What has brought you hither from your far green halls?’
Feveren swiftly followed the carven steps up to a stone terrace, where the Elf stood waiting; he was richly robed in green and gold, and his hair was sternly cropped, but his face seemed kindly. He had a wise and ancient air about him, and the deeps of his shining eyes told of their marking the slow passage of the ages of the World.
'I am but a wanderer,' said Feveren, 'and the halls of my folk are indeed roofed by the boughs of trees. But how did you guess my kindred?'
The High Elf glanced down at the youth's bare feet, begrimed with the dust of travel, then at his stained raiment of leaf-green and the slender staff of elm-wood he bore as a walking stick, and his eyes twinkled with merriment.
'But not of the Wandering Companies, I deem.' His warm smile widened. 'It was no guess! I myself have been at whiles a guest of your kin in your fair lands, though not perhaps as deep within the greenwoods as your abode. I am Mibrethil, and I am tarrying here a while, ere I depart over the Great Sea.'
'And I am Feveren Tawardil, son of Gladlin Dínalagos,' said the young Elf, touching his breast in salute. 'Your thought is keen and on the mark, for my clan indeed dwells far beneath the wooded eaves, west of the lofty mountains. Within the tall elm-woods the sweet waters of Brilthor tumble down from the vales in a high falls, and pour into a tree-shadowed mere that we name Nen Echui4 in jest! Soon it becomes a swift river, for it gathers water from many other mountain streams as it foams down to the shores of the Sea. Forty leagues it runs its merry course, and that is the range of our backwoods abode. The port of Harlond lies some fifty leagues thence, and while there are many Elves of Doriath5 who mingle with the Lindi6, and Abari even, never have we lodged a guest from the Havens in the North. At least, not in my brief span of life...'
Feveren faltered, for a thought had been growing in his mind. 'O!' he laughed, ' When you said "your lands" you spoke of Ossiriand, not Harlindon!'
Mibrethil laughed also, and a light of memory was kindled in his eyes as he looked fondly at the young Elf, still fresh from the springtime of childhood.7 Indeed, to his ancient eyes Feveren was but a mere child in years, though the elf-boy's quiet pride told that he had indeed come of age and deemed himself full-grown; yet in his heart he yearned to prove himself (to he, himself, most likely!) and the old Elf wondered where this elf-child's wandering heart would lead his elven feet. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'it is too soon, after all, to forsake this Middle-earth. For though I have long endured the waking world, still it gifts me meetings with spirits8 that lighten my heart unlooked-for!'
'Nay,' the High-elf said aloud with a smile, 'I indeed meant both!'
From his vantage on the high terrace, Feveren's keen woodland eyes took in the lively elf-haven. Though much smaller, it was yet akin to the great twin-city of Mithlond or the lesser port of Harlond, for there was much built with carven white stone; its hard lines were softened with many growing things: bright bushes and glad trees lined the pillared walkways, and ancient ivy clung onto the stone; clipped green lawns sloped down to the quay. But to the mind of the young Green-elf it could never compare with his wild woodland home, and suddenly in his heart he felt a wistful pang, for it had been long since he left the green-shadowed eaves of his forest behind.
White clouds had come up with the breeze and gleamed rosily in the light of the autumn morning; for a moment they parted, and a sunbeam shone through to warm Feveren's cheek. Coming out of his thought, he said, 'You say that this place is named Celondim, but I have never heard tell of it; what is its tale?'
'Ah! It was aforetime a harbourage whence wood for ship-building was borne downstream to Mithlond, yet now it serves as a peaceful haven for all those whom would sail into the Uttermost West,' Mibrethil replied, plainly pleased by the youngster's interest.
But secretly Feveren wondered whence all that wood came, and how many glad trees had been hewn over those long years; yet he did not speak aloud his thought.9 But the words spoken by Mibrethil came suddenly to his mind.
'"Was", you said?' he asked, and the old Elf swiftly read the thought behind the youngster's question.
'Thrice has the elven-realm of Lindon come to open warfare against the Enemy,' he explained. 'First, in the War of the Elves and Sauron amid the Second Age, long ago. With Eriador all but overrun, the last line was defended here along these very riverbanks of the Lhûn, against the hordes of the Dark Lord of Mordor.10 The Men of Westerness, the Elf-friends of old, had long prepared for war along our shores;11 making arms and armaments, and gathering supplies. And ever they needed timber to furnish their great ships!' He sighed and said, 'Alas, the forests in the mountains suffered great hurt to build the fleet that routed the evil Enemy.'
'Alas indeed!' lamented Feveren. 'Your tidings burn my heart, for I deemed it was but for the many grey ships of Mithlond in the Days of Flight.12 But back into my mind has come the memory wherefore the Firstborn fled the Westlands in the first place! It is an old tale of the Dark Years that I had forgotten, for never have I loved the dark stories of dominion and ruin, and I have no mind to keep them skulking in my memory.' He gave a small shudder.
'Dark Years they were, indeed!' Mibrethil nodded grimly, 'And more there were to come. And once again, much harvested wood came downstream from the northern forests when Ereinion Gil-galad armed his host for the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, which brought defeat to Sauron Gorthaur at the very doors of his Dark Tower, and also brought an end to the age.'
The elf-lad made to speak again, but the elder Elf knew his mind and held up his long pale hand. 'Hearken, young Feveren, and your questions will be answered forthwith.'
Feveren frowned slightly but gave a curt nod, and Mibrethil spoke on. 'Alas! The overthrow of the Dark Lord was not the end of strife in the West, for many of his minions yet endured. A thousand years ago, Lindon girded for war one last time; Círdan, Master of the Grey Havens, summoned all who would fight from the people of Lindon, and many of your kindred were amongst their number. The Host of the West marched forth to remove the Witch-king of Angmar from his seat in Fornost; but, alas, he fled ere he was vanquished, and he yet endures. Victory can be a fleeting thing, and even now dark rumours come to us from the Men of Gondor in the South, and ill tidings of Sauron's return to Mordor. But the Elves can not join in this war; our time in Middle-earth wanes.'
At this news Feveren's eyes widened, and Mibrethil said gravely, 'Indeed! He openly declared himself wellnigh sixty years ago; afore you were born, I deem!' The young Elf only nodded, his mind heavy with thought.
* * *
It had not yet even been one whole season since he had been deemed full-grown7 by the clan-elders, a feat his kin had celebrated in a merry rite of passage, with joyful feasting under the glittering stars. On that day of mirth he had been untouched by the affairs of the wide world beyond the mountains, but now he had stepped willingly into that world, and its affairs would most likely touch him now!
The old Elf gave Feveren a long, sad look. 'Alas! War brings much ruin, and not on the battlefield alone. Yet by the sacrifice of many, evil was averted; the Elves rebuilt and the forests are now regrown.' Then suddenly he clapped his hands together and laughed aloud. 'But enough unhappy history on a merry morning!' he said. 'Now, you are far from your home in the greenwoods, young one, whither do you wander?'
But the eyes and mind of Feveren were gazing down across the river. The rising sun was peeking through its mantle of pink cloud, casting a dim shadow over the cliff-face of a high hill, which dropped sharply down into the cool shaded waters below; and he wondered how it had been when these same fair hills teemed with the black hosts of the Enemy. He pictured in his mind the fell creatures and foul beasts told of in the songs and tales, and a shadow fell upon his heart. For in his lifetime, no evil word or deed came to trouble the peace of his elven home within the greenwood; and his heart remained as unstained as it was in the springtime of his childhood, and he was unaware of evil save for in the tales of old.
Hope thus waned in his pure heart, for he had known not of the return of the Dark Lord nor his assault upon the far-off lands of the South-kingdom of Men (which, he marked, was named Gondor on his map.) The shadow on his heart grew darker.
And now for the first time it came into his mind to give heed to the perils that might yet await him upon his carefree road; for his thought had ever been upon exploring the world in joy and mirth before his kin departed forever over the Sea, and in his merry heart he had deemed it could no more perilous than life within his forest home. But now the lands that lay before him seemed to lie in fearful shadow. 'Wither do I wander?' he thought, 'To uncertain doom, for sure!'
But suddenly a hot wrath blazed up in his heart! He was a scion of the Green-elves of Ossiriand, the host of Denethor who, with fierce valour assailed the horde of Angband on the fields of Beleriand, undaunted even though they were but light-armed and no match for the iron-clad Orcs. Though beset by doubt he would remain steadfast, and he swore by the courage of their spilled blood to not lose heart nor to forsake his quest! 'For their valiant blood flows also in my veins!' he thought.
Hiding these troubled thoughts with a broad grin, he turned back at last to Mibrethil and with feigned nonchalance replied, 'My purpose is to follow the blue river as far northwards as I might.'
'Have a care,' smiled the elder Elf. 'For the Lhûn has its beginning in the Northern Waste, a freezing land of ice and snow beyond the range of Emyn Uial, not well suited to the tender feet of an unshod Green-elf! Yet I deem there is more behind your words and your bold grin, but I shall not pry into your secret thought for I well know the wariness of your kin.'
'Indeed, we are wary of strangers whose hearts we know not,' the youth admitted, 'but it is my hope that I perhaps might reckon you a friend; one who would give wise counsel to another who is unaccustomed to the ways of the wide world beyond the Ered Lindon... Ered Luin, I mean! For I am told that the livelihood of folk here depends chiefly on coinage of copper and silver and gold, which is strange to me who dwells in bliss beneath the beech and oak and elm.'
Mibrethil raised his brow, and nodded for him to go on; thus emboldened, Feveren continued:
'And I hear also that these trinkets can be earned by labour or by skill, but I know not what skills I possess that may be bought or sold, nor what labour I could maybe do. Therefore in my heart I hoped that I might learn some craft-lore here in Celondim.'
'Verily,' said Mibrethil, 'there dwell many here that could teach their arts to you, young Feveren, if you have both the skill and the patience. Go up the hill yonder to the north-east into the city and follow the path to the left as it winds up the hillside. Atop the stairs, follow the path southward to the terrace, and there speak with Gwaloth, my friend; she will be pleased to help you learn how to begin your journey as a craftsman. But ere you do, speak first with Laenin the Glade Watcher who stands there upon the dockside, for he is a warden of the glade of Nen Hilith and may have need of your Green-elven woodcraft.'
Feeling his heart moved with a sudden joy at these good tidings, Feveren bowed again and thanked Mibrethil for his kindness; and he imagined in his mind the elder Elf dwelling in mirth within the merry greenwoods of the northern tribes in Harlindon aforetime, and deemed that here was a true and noble clan-friend of his kindred.
'Él síla lúmena vomentienguo!' 13 he said in the woodland tongue, and Mibrethi laughed with delight.
'Harthon a threvaded and!' 14 the High Elf replied in kind. 'Long has it been since I last heard the fair Danian tongue. I give thanks to you15 for bringing this memory back into my mind.'
* * *
Feveren took his leave and padded back down the stone stairs and towards the quay. The sun had risen above the clouds while he had tarried with Mibrethil, and there beside the rippling waters, he found an Elf garbed in dulled mail beneath a well-worn cuirass of leather that bore an unknown emblem on its breast. His gear was worn but well-kept, but he bore no weapon; and the elf-lad wondered at this, for he had learned that elven-cities had laws and rules aplenty, most of which he did not know, and of those he had learned (mostly the hard way!), there were many he could not fathom; but arms seemed to be a favourite subject for lawmakers, and he glanced warily at his slender staff of elm-wood.
'Mae Govannen!' the warden hailed, and marking the shabbiness of the young Elf's attire, he added, 'I am Laenin, and I will engage in trade if that is what you wish, but I will not accept coin; such things are not the way of the Elven folk and I will hold to our traditions.'
'My heart is glad indeed to learn your mind, for I have none!' Feveren grinned gratefully, 'Nor do I have anything to barter; truly, Mibrethil sent me to perhaps aid you with my woodcraft. Are you in need of such aid as I can offer?'
Laenin glanced askance at the slender youth, appraising his promise; for too young he seemed to take on the burdens of the glade-wardens and he thought to tell the elf-boy to begone and return when he was full-grown. But Feveren guessed the warden's mind and swiftly said, 'Do not be misled! Of tender years I may seem to your eyes, but trust me when I say that I am of age; and judge me not by my strength or stature, for I am a Green-elf of Harlindon and I am woodcrafty!'
'Indeed? That is no idle boast here in the Havens, for the skill of your kin is here renowned16 and we glade-wardens especially esteem their cunning art; some have even fought beside them aforetime,' Laenin said proudly. 'Yet oft it is said that looks can be deceiving, and if that be so, your coming may yet prove to be a boon. For the glade-wardens are presently beset with reports of many foul creatures that have appeared unlooked-for here in Falathlorn. You will find Ovorlas to the south-west, in the area we call Nen Hilith. Go thither and speak with him and assist him however you may. And in return you have my leave to lodge at the wardens' camp there, for so long as you may need.'
'I give thanks to you, Laenin,' said Feveren, 'For this greatly eases my mind! And I shall give thought to your kind offer, too, should I yearn for the company of others in the wilds. I have but one question more: what, or where, is "Falathlorn"?'
'It is a fair land, and fairer yet in Spring; alas that it is Autumn and the blossoms in the glades are fading! Here you stand within its southernmost borders, while the River Lhûn runs along its eastern front; yonder to the north lies Duillond, an elven-town that sits high above the Eastway, the road which leads to a great carven dwarf gateway that marks the eastern march.'
Feveren bowed gratefully, and with an earnest promise to seek out Orovrlas in Nen Hilith, he turned his eyes back to the clean lapping waters of the river. Then a sudden thought flashed into his mind: there was but one more thing he needs must do ere setting out to explore the ancient elf-city of Celondim...
* * *
3. "of the Lindi" T. Linda; S. Lindel - “Nando”; Lindi - NAN. (collective name) - "Nandor"
4. Nen Echui is the Sindarin rendering of Cuiviénen, "Water of Awakening", where the First Elves awoke.
5. Iathrim, "People of the Fence" (Sindarin)
6. "This name they at first applied to the Nandor that came into Eastern Beleriand [Ossiriand]; but this people still called themselves by the old clan-name *Lindai, which had at that time taken the form Lindi in their tongue."
- The War of the Jewels, "Part Four. Quendi and Eldar: C. The Clan-names [...]"
7. "Not until the fiftieth year did the Eldar attain the stature and shape in which their lives would afterwards endure, and for some a hundred years would pass before they were full-grown."
- Morgoth's Ring, 'The Laws and Customs Among the Eldar'
8. Q. fëa/fëar S. fae/faer - "soul, indwelling spirit of an incarnate being."
9. "And these folk are hewers of trees and hunters of beasts; therefore we are their unfriends [...]"
- - The War of the Jewels, "Part Two. The Later Silmarillion, Of the Coming of Men into the West..."
10. "Now Sauron’s immediate purpose was to take Lindon, where he believed that he had most chance of seizing one, or more, of the Three Rings [...] By that time Sauron had mastered all Eriador, save only besieged Imladris, and had reached the line of the River Lhûn."
- Unfinished Tales, "The History of Galadriel and Celeborn", "Concerning Galadriel and Celeborn"
11. "... and on the shores of Lindon the Númenóreans began to build up a force and supplies for war."
- ibid
12. "Thus the Black Years began, which the Elves call the Days of Flight. In that time many of the Elves of Middle-earth fled to Lindon and thence over the seas never to return; and many were destroyed by Sauron and his servants."
- The Silmarillion, "Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age"
13. 'A star shines upon the hour of the meeting of our ways!'
14. 'I hope for a long journey [for you]!'
Actually, [13] is Telerin and [14] is Silvan, but J.R.R.T never developed Nandorin beyond a few words, so I'm improvising.
15." Annon allen!" How to Thank in Sindarin
16. "In Ossiriand dwelt the Green-elves, in the protection of their rivers; for after Sirion Ulmo loved Gelion above all the waters of the western world. The woodcraft of the Elves of Ossiriand was such that a stranger might pass through their land from end to end and see none of them.
- The Silmarillion, "Quenta Silmarillion: Of Beleriand and its Realms"
* Some of the NPC dialogue is taken verbatim from the game, via the LotRO Wiki, with slight embellishment. *
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