The Fairest Vessels That Ever Sailed by Lindariel

Chapter 2: The Wide Unguarded Lands

Alatáriel and Teleporno take their first road trip in Middle-Earth.  This chapter takes place in the early spring, about nine months (ten moons) after the rise of Anor.

Alatáriel shifted on Nimroch's back as the white mare's trot slowed to a walk. Seven days of more or less unbroken trotting had caught up with her, and today had been hard to tolerate. This was the longest journey by horse that she had taken in yéni, and riding had never been as enjoyable to her as running or swimming, or even walking. But it was her first real adventure in Endor, and she was determined to put up with even the few parts of it she didn't enjoy.

Círdan had suggested this trip not long after she and Teleporno had arrived at Eglarest. It was part and parcel of his detailed plan to squeeze every single drop of shipbuilding, sailmaking, and sailing lore out of the two of them. He had suggested they wait to combine it with the willow harvest for two reasons: first, the two destinations were fairly near one another; second, Círdan wanted to send out scouts first to make sure all the glamhoth and droeg had moved well out of southern Beleriand after the Great Enemy broke the siege of the Falas. 

The Falas had apparently been under siege for quite a while, back before Ithil and Anor rose. Alatáriel couldn't tell how long from the accounts she had heard; without the Two Trees to rely on, the Falathrim had had no clear objective method for the marking of time, although one was finally starting to emerge. But many non-overlapping births of elflings had occurred under the siege, which gave Alatáriel some idea of how very long it had lasted.

The entire notion of "siege" was vague to her too. Apparently it meant that the Great Enemy's barbaric footsoldiers and their fell wolves had taken up residence outside Eglarest and Brithombar, penning in the residents like sheep. Yet the foe was disorganized, never quite sure of what they were doing and not strong enough for a full-on assault of any city bristling with elven archers. While the lands immediately around the cities had been dangerous to travel, for both glamhoth and elves, the Falathrim easily found ways to slip out of and back into the besieged cities to forage for food. Especially, the foe had no way of stopping the Falathrim from taking to the sea, so they simply sailed their small craft to the unpopulated shores that were not under siege between the two cities, bringing home as much food as was needed to supplement their plentiful supplies of fish and seaweed.

There had been at least one battle, or maybe it was two, upon the arrival of the first Exiles in the north of Endor. The Great Enemy had withdrawn his besieging troops northward as reinforcements but, word was, they had been mown down like grain and everyone hoped they would not be returning. News out of the north like this was still very spotty, but Alatáriel hung on every word of it, intent on learning whatever she could about her family. Fëanor she did not mourn; in fact, she felt relief at his unbeing. Never again would he importune her for something she wasn't willing to give. But she'd been horrified to learn of the death of her cousin Arakáno. He was her baby cousin, the youngest of Nolofinwë's house. Ever prone to throw himself into exciting situations, he had followed her around on as many of her youthful adventures as she would permit.

While she would no doubt need to head north later and seek a reckoning with the Fëanorions, for now she was quite content to be here in the south, helping Teleporno educate Círdan's folk in the construction of swan-ships. Teleporno had been very busy touring the harbor and upgrading the shipyards with Círdan, learning how the Falathrim worked and advising on improvements. So far she had not had much to do beyond some architectural renovations while getting to know the city and learning to read, write, and speak the Falathrin tongue as fast as she could.

Back in Aman she had purposely stayed away from studying languages in order to keep as far as possible from her uncle Fëanor's sphere of influence. Unaccustomed therefore to that type of learning, she was struggling a bit. The writing system used in Beleriand especially seemed stark and inelegant to her eyes, but she had learned it about as quickly as she had the speech -- although her accent was still execrable and embarrassed her. This trip was going to bring her the opportunity to demonstrate one of her greatest skills, and she would not even have to speak Falathrin to do it.

Alatáriel found traveling in the light of Anor delightful, as the weather for the last several cycles of Ithil had been cooler and wetter than she preferred. (The Falathrin names for the new stars, Ithil and Anor, had become standard, much to Teleporno's annoyance. "Shiny" and "Fire"? He despaired of ever finding decent poetry in this new land.) Many of the trees in Eglarest had lost their leaves, and most of the flowers had died off or ceased to blossom. But now things were warmer again; tiny new leaves were growing on the bare trees, and some flowers were springing up afresh. She felt cheered by the warmth and the rebounding of the plants in the gardens of Eglarest, and she was keen to experience her first forest in Endor.

The first leg of their trip had taken them southeast out of Eglarest, across the long gently rolling plains of western Beleriand. They were a party of twelve, nine of whom were travelling specifically to harvest the willows, with twenty horses and four wains. The unhurried trip across deserted lands offered an endless, ever-changing vista of low greenery and occasional outcroppings of bright flowers that reminded Alatáriel of the times her instruction had taken place in the gardens of Vána.

After several days they had struck the River Narog, whereupon they followed the stream down its shallow valley for many leagues until one late afternoon thegrassy plains gave way to low-lying wet meadows on both sides of the river. The horses slowed to a walk on a path that showed signs of having been used often, but not recently. Several neat patches of gnarled, pollarded willow trees and hardy coppiced osiers alongside the path suggested many years' worth of cultivation.The turf beneath was covered with low, glossy leaves and five-petaled flowers in shades of purple. "We call this land Nan-Tathren," Círdan told them.

"Tasarinan," Alatáriel translated thoughtfully, examining the shape of the land. "The vale of willows." Teleporno rolled his eyes. Evidently the Falathrim were no more subtle at naming things than Alatáriel herself. Her choices were always so obvious: "White Horse" for her white mare, indeed! But "Tasarinan" did sound better to his ears than "Nan-Tathren," although he would never admit it to Alatáriel or, for different reasons, to Círdan.

"Yes," agreed Círdan absently, "Willow Valley," as his eyes moved back and forth from one side of the path to the other. He moved to take the lead on the narrowing path. Teleporno smiled behind his back, thinking how even a match his kinsman was for Alatáriel when it came to the names of things.

Círdan eyed the trees narrowly as he rode. He seemed to be counting, or reading some signs on them that Alatáriel could not descry. "It looks like the rise of Anor has strengthened the willows. The growth is much swifter than I expected. I thought this patch had somehow missed its turn and been left unharvested, but no. We are definitely in the right place," Círdan eventually announced, pointing ahead at a patch on the right side of the path. "The mark is correct, and so that is the crop ready for harvesting.When Anor next rises we will start on it. As soon as the wains arrive, we can set up the full camp. For now, I would like to look around and see how things have changed here."

They rode to the designated plot and circled the horses to the south, toward the drier land. Círdan dismounted and murmured into his horse's ear. The grey horse nuzzled him and wandered away to dine on the lush green grasses. Teleporno and Alatáriel dismounted as Círdan walked off, chanting something under his breath. Their horses joined Círdan's as they hesitated, not sure what to do next.

Teleporno stretched in a fluid, rhythmic sequence that reminded Alatáriel of preparations her racing master had taught her to make before running. She had not thought much about her own past feats of strength and endurance for a long time, and she was glad to remember that she was capable of so much. Stretching was a good idea after all that riding, she thought, and so much fun to watch! When Teleporno did that, it looked like dancing. She watched him from under her eyelashes; he is such a good dancer, she remembered warmly. She worked through her own set of stretches as Teleporno stopped to watch her in open appreciation before going over to the nearest pollarded tree. He put his hands around one of its knobby polls and shut his eyes.

Left to find her own joy, Alatáriel picked her way across the squelchy turf between two stands of willows toward the river. She gazed across the water. Anor was low in the west, and golden light reflected off the slow water. The forest of wild little willow trees on the other side grew right up to the riverbank. It was almost impossible to see the purple flowers growing at their feet. The trees were taller over there, thicker and more tangled too, as if no one had ever shown them how and where to grow. Among them stood a single taller, smoother tree that was not a willow. It was nearly leafless, with only a small growth of yellow leaves at the very top. Its roots curled right down to the water, and its grey branches waved in a breeze Alatáriel couldn't feel. It looked like a miniature golden beech, short as a sapling and with only a few boughs, but wide in the trunk as a fully mature tree. For a moment Alatáriel thought she saw two green points of light beneath the leaves.

Just then Teleporno called out "the wains have caught up!" Alatáriel looked back at the path where the four wains rattled and creaked their way into the cultivated meadow. They swung toward the drier land south of the willows and began to draw up into a wide square.

Alatáriel looked across the river one last time before going to help to make camp. A flicker of movement caught her eye as tiny brown leaves stirred among the green trees. She stood transfixed as a cloud of them rose up and flew. Not all were brown; some were black delicately shading to white while others were striped in black and orange, black and yellow. Noiselessly they spread across the tops of the trees, fluttering like a blanket of feathers on a breeze. A prominent constellation had been named after these creatures, she realized, but she had never actually seen one herself. They were reported to live in the gardens of Irmo, but she had always been too energetic to seek out the restfulness of Lórien.

Alatáriel watched until the entire cloud of wilwarindi had dispersed, subsiding back into the protection of the little forest. The strange tree she had seen before was gone, if it had ever been there. She turned her face southward, away from the dazzling water and the wonders she had seen.

Chapter End Notes

glamhoth -- din-horde, orcs (S)

droeg -- wargs (S)

wilwarindi -- butterflies (Q)

The flowering plant growing beneath the willows is based on Vinca minor, a very hardy native south European ground cover with beautiful blue-purple flowers that likes to grow in wet places and under willows.

The description of butterflies is drawn from European species that eat and lay their eggs on willow trees.