On the bonnie banks of Ivrin by

On the bonnie banks of Ivrin

Read On the bonnie banks of Ivrin

A very long time ago, Aule folded and raised the mountain range that was afterwards called Ered Wethrin, pushing it skywards. At its foot, Ulmo fractured the crust of the earth and from the cracks welled up the springs of the river Narog and flowed south, while all about Yavanna scattered seeds of growth. But soon darkness fell on the region, Yavanna’s plants fell into an uneasy doze, and for some time little was heard but the unstoppable sound of running water. Gradually, over time, the flow of the waters washed away topsoil and carved pools out of the softer limestone and, encountering a harder barrier, created a waterfall. The first gleam on the pools of Ivrin was of the light of Varda’s stars.

But the history of Beleriand had not yet truly begun: there were no Children of Eru yet to see.

At Ivrin, bright the waters flow;

at Ivrin bright, the Ainur go,

at Ivrin.

The first to come to this place, after Ulmo, was perhaps Melian, from the West, before she continued on to Dorthonion or Nan Elmoth. She did not hallow the pools of Ivrin, not as fully as she later hallowed the sacred waters of Tarn Aeluin, but she paused, saw the nightingales flitting about her head and shoulders mirrored in the water and, smiling, lifted her voice in song. And that was blessing enough, maybe.

At Ivrin, bright the waters flow;

at Ivrin bright, the Children go,

at Ivrin.

The first Teler to come to Beleriand was Elwe, almost certainly. But he was in company with Orome and, with Orome, the three elves passed quickly back and forth without delay. Afterwards Elu was so full of the wonders of Valinor that he barely remembered any places they had passed through during the journey.

The first Teler to visit Ivrin was Beleg, scouting in advance before the rest, for he believed it was not sufficient only to rely on those who had arrived before them, although he had indeed spoken with Finwe and a few others of his people before setting out to get an idea of the lie of the land for himself. Beleg waded across the young Narog below the waterfall. He scooped up a handful of the water and drank and found it sweet and good to drink. Then he sat down cross-legged among the moss and ferns on the bank and listened to the cheerful song of the waters of Ivrin for a while.

Finwe was so eager to get where they were going, he thought, that he saw the land only in terms of space to be crossed. He was aware of possible dangers and advantages Beleriand offered to travellers, right enough, but was he truly stopping to look? However wonderful Valinor might be, at the end of the road, surely they could spend some attention appreciating what they found on the way? This now, this Ivrin, was a good place, a welcoming one. He would tell his kin about it, when he returned to them, and he would rest here a little longer before he went on.

Beleg did not know yet, of course, that Elu would be lost and that so many of his followers would spend the rest of their lives in Beleriand, but he did tell his people about the wellspring of Narog with its pools and falls and about other beautiful and kind places he had found. As the Forsaken settled in, waiting for Elu’s return and then gradually recognizing that they were in Beleriand to stay, Ivrin became a familiar stopping-point in the network of their journeys, of the paths they took as they went to and fro, exploring the land that had become their home.

Young Annael passed by Ivrin when he first climbed the path up the slopes of Amon Darthir, discovering a way into Hithlum through the mountain range, and afterwards he and others who settled with him at Mithrim came this way often. Although the Sindar made no permanent settlement at Ivrin, life went on there. Lovers walked on its banks, now and then, and perhaps Gwindor was not the first to compare his beloved to the gleam on the pools of Ivrin, even though still neither the Sun nor the Moon had risen yet.

At Ivrin, bright the waters flow;

at Ivrin bright, the Sindar go,

things happened there we do not know,

at Ivrin.

Long years passed, by no means without incident, but in the pressure of later events much of the history of those times and places was forgotten by many, for suddenly Morgoth returned to the North and things started happening very quickly. The Noldor arrived and the Moon and the Sun followed on their heels. And although none knew fully yet what was to come, from then on the days and seasons of Beleriand and its beloved places were counted. But at Ivrin, as elsewhere, growth quickened with the rising of the Sun. Plants all around grew abundantly, showing a lighter, more vibrant green, and for the first time the gleam of light on the pools of Ivrin was that of sunlight and moonlight.

It was Finrod, maybe, who brought Ivrin to Fingolfin’s attention. Finrod travelled much in that region in the early days, between newly established family, newly made friends and new building sites, between Sirion and Narog and the Falas, between Nevrast and Doriath. He had stopped to water his horses at Ivrin and he told Fingolfin of its plentiful supply of clean water and wide spaces, enough to host a great feast there and invite all the people of good will of Beleriand.

Then, for a short time, Ivrin became the busiest it had ever been, in all the time of its history, and a city of tents rose by the pools. Arrangements needed to be made to accommodate the needs of so many people, of course. Often, the Noldor built their famed works to last and withstand the onslaught of time and all enemies, but they also did know well how to build so that things would only serve for their allotted time and no more, if that was their intention. At Ivrin, Fingolfin took counsel with Sindarin allies and heeded their preferences and so, when Mereth Aderthad was over, all the arrangements made were as easily dismantled and taken away or crumbled quickly, precisely as planned. Even a year later, Ivrin was left as before, hardly changed at all, with few traces of all the joyful reunions and first meetings that had taken place by its pools.

At Ivrin, bright the waters flow;

at Ivrin bright, the Noldor go;

if Namo says I told you so,

I will reply I loved it, though,

at Ivrin.

When some years later, the last of Turgon’s people left Nevrast, following him to Gondolin, they passed not far from Ivrin, in the shadow of the mountain range. Aredhel was with them and, as Turgon was not, having gone on ahead, she half commanded, half persuaded the others to let her go among the scouts that were sent out in advance and to the right and the left of the column to ensure safe and unseen passage, unaccompanied by any escort. In this, she partly wished to serve her people with her own skills as best she could, helping to ensure their secrecy unhampered by Turgon’s notions of propriety and dignity, but she also wished to say her farewells to places she would not see again, once she was confined among Gondolin’s mountain walls, without any witnesses to observe her.

Thus, on a sunny day, Aredhel arrived at Ivrin all by herself and, concealed among bushes and undergrowth, surveyed the spot where not so long ago her father had hosted her family and so many guests from all corners of Beleriand.  All lay quiet before her—impossible to guess now, looking at this lonely scene, how this space had been filled to bursting with the colours and noise of celebrating people and their varied daily activities, the last time she saw it. It would have been equally impossible to guess for anybody else watching from the shadows how many of Nevrast’s remaining population were just then about to pass discreetly along the wooded slopes a short distance towards the north of her hiding-place.

The pools glittered in the noonday light. She circled them, keeping well under cover, constantly on the look-out, but could spot no recent footprints, no traces of any but those most common visitors, deer, hares and other inhabitants of the woodland round about. Those would tell no tales.

Finally, she stepped out into the open—one of the elves of Light, carrying a share of darkness within her, not so unlike others, perhaps. Ivrin spoke to her in sunlight and silence—all the tiny sounds of the ordinary, of ongoing life weaving themselves about her, she felt, into a tapestry of calm. The air moving above the surface of the waters came to her, as she stood immobile for a long moment, and lightly lifted her garments, a shawl flapping, a pale hem floating upwards. There was a fresh feeling on her bare skin, as if of fine moisture.

Aredhel picked up her waterskins. She walked forward slowly on the strip of greensward between the upper and lower pool and knelt to fill them to the brim. She would take Ivrin's water back to her people to share on their march forward. Then she left, before she could be tempted to linger and indulge too long in memories of those she was leaving behind. She would not return to Ivrin before she died and in the stories she told her son the light above the pools became a memory that could not be quite put into words.

At Ivrin, bright the waters flow;

at Ivrin bright, the Children go,

Sindar and Noldor, row on row;

their faces in the water show;

if Namo says I told you so,

I will reply I loved it, though,

at Ivrin.

---

Chapter End Notes

The allusions to the lyrics of the song "The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond" in the title and summary are probably clear?
(Some influence from the poem "In Flanders Fields" seems also to have crept in here, somehow, but I think that is mostly the fault of its compelling metre; I certainly was not planning to imply all of the poem's sentiments in this ficlet.)

The descriptions of Eithel Ivrin in the Legendarium seem not to be completely consistent, although the general idea is clear enough; I think there is some latitude for interpretation and perhaps Ivrin also may have changed a little?

The original plan was for this to go all the way to Gwindor and Turin and even the Drowning of Beleriand, but that turned out to be more than I could do.