Trust



In the morning Gundor felt himself more equal to the task ahead, but not yet ready. He had sent one of the townsmen riding to Athrad Lumren, even as he grudged one more set of hands lost to the harvest. They were a free town, but no small settlement in these lands could count only on themselves. So they kept still to the old loyalties, and were ready to lend aid or receive it from those who were now but distant kin. It was many generations that this alliance had held, a network of settlements in the south, who all sent news to the river town Athrad Lumren where the chief, Baragund, sent news yet further North. And since there was need for vigilance, Baragund would hear of the stranger's arrival within a few days, and Gundor's messager would return within a few more.

The problem of the stranger was much on his mind the next two days, in between harvest work and caring for beasts and family. In the morning and evening he found a few minutes to tap at Hathil's door and hear a brief report; and also to hear from Ithwen how her charge fared. And although he would step into the cottage for a few moments and ask Ithwen to walk outside with him, he spoke little more than a swift greeting to the Elf each time.

He had told himself he waited to give the stranger time to recover. In truth, it was time for himself to recover. If this was an Elf, how did the Northern Men dare to treat with them? His thoughts on the matter as he walked from the horse's enclosure the next morning were interrupted by Ithwen.

Gundor's concern fueled his temper. "What are you doing, leaving him alone? What if he took it into his head to leave while we talk? We would never learn more of this!"

She looked at him calmly as if he were an overexcited child. "This need not worry you - Hathil sits with Glorfindel, along with half the children in the village who have been to visit in the past days. But I thought you would want to know, Glorfindel speaks of leaving."

"You must decide soon, Gundor. At first he took my advice knowing it was what he needed. Then he took it out of courtesy, perhaps thinking that I knew little of how rapidly his kind heal. Now he takes it, but there is that in his eye and voice that says he knows I do not believe it myself. Soon he will stop taking my advice; he will be right to do so, for he is clearly in no need of a healer, now. And I would prefer not to tell him falsehoods."

His face tightened. "Do you think we can persuade him otherwise? At least until I hear from Baragund?"

Gently, she said, "Why not simply ask him to stay until then? I believe he feels he owes us a debt for his life. I think he would do this for the asking. And I will be glad not to have to find excuses to keep him under my eye."

"I have already sent a message, but I do not expect an answer for some days."

Ithwen shrugged. "Ask him. I will await you."

She returned home, finding what she expected: Glorfindel looking well, and the cottage bubbling with talk and laughter around his seated figure. When she entered, her guest gave her an ironic look. No, he would not long remain resting on her advice. Soon he would have to leave just to find respite from the children who were drawn to the cottage by the novelty, and stayed for the tales.

She had been unsurprised yesterday when Hadad came shyly to the door, and asked if he might visit the patient. Peering around his leg was his brother Halmir, barely 6 years old, hair but little darker than Glorfindel's own, and wide eyed at the sight of a creature out of bedtime stories. Ithwen gave Hadad a 'you're not fooling me' look, but allowed him to bring the child in to see the Elf. More surprised than the boy at the meeting was Glorfindel, who took much time to get the child to speak. He seemed unsure how to proceed but reluctant to have the child depart. His eyes were drawn to the small figure repeatedly, and a wistful quality was mingled with joy in his countenance.

Halmir stared at him. The child emerged from his shyness, and began to question. He smiled, delighted with the answers, and relaxing, drifted closer. As the musical voice charmed him, he became bolder and reached out to touch, first the golden hair, then the luminous face.

"Are you from a story?"

"We are all from some story of Arda. What story would you think I am from?"

"I don't know many. Tell me one."

And so it had begun. Tales that she had heard, tales that she knew must exist from hearing other tales, and tales beyond her knowledge; she suspected them beyond any living man's knowledge. She had commented, later, on his fascination with the children who wanted to see him out of curiosity, legend made flesh among them.

"Children are a great gift, and rare to my people, rarer still to those left in Middle-earth these past many years. Our children are much treasured, and many of us receive no such gift. This is a blessing that the second born have in great measure, and I fear take for commonplace; a god-gift to the Secondborn." His words were calm, but the eyes held depths of sorrow. She had no living child, hers had not survived infancy, making her determined to learn as much as possible about keeping others alive. But she had the town's children, hers even if in small part.

What would it be like to live in a town with few or no children? Elves were said to be grave of mien in the tales, though Glorfindel surely was not, and if there were no children to spark laughter, perhaps that explained the solemnity.

She stopped her musing when Hathil brought in the gleanings from the Elven craft, and Glorfindel reached for the harp - eyes alight. His long tapered hands called forth piercingly sweet music, near painful in its intensity.

They listened, awed.

"I am but an indifferent harpist. In Gondolin, my friend Ecthelion - he was a harpist of renown." Seeing their faces, he realized his foolishness. "Come, sing one of the songs you love, and I will try to accompany you."

Hesitantly, Hadad sang a sea song. As he sang, the notes of the harp sounded softly, gaining confidence as the song continued, infusing depth into the simple, cheerful song. By the second verse, they were all singing, and the harp elaborated the tune around their voices.



That evening, feeling he could delay no longer, Gundor went back to the healer's cottage. The stranger looked rested and well. He had changed the simple village clothing Ithwen had given him, and wore unfamiliar but beautiful garments. Gundor knew himself even more out of his depth with the lordly appearing being. He felt as if transplanted to a strange sea, where he did not know the shapes of the coast or the direction from which the wind blew or the currents of the water, so that he could not navigate; as if the stars had reshaped themselves into new patterns, so that he could not read where to steer. He had felt this way every time he walked into the cottage. Now he braved that unease to sit, and speak. "How fare you now?"

"I am well. I thank you, but I need no more rest nor special care, grateful as I am for what you have done." The tone was polite, but firm.

Gundor's mouth was dry. "Ithwen has told me you wish to leave."

"She speaks truly. I know you wish me to stay. You have not told me why."

"Yet you stay, despite your desire to leave," Gundor said cautiously.

"I would not go while my hosts are so solicitous and concerned that it is not yet the time for me to depart."

Gundor squirmed a bit and frowned at that. The two men stationed in the healer's garden at night should not have been noticed from inside. He would have had more, but the village could not spare so many from the day work - indeed could not spare the ones they did use, during the harvest time.

"If you leave, where will you go?"

The green eyes seemed to pierce his soul. "I travel to Lindon."

Gundor hesitated and then forced out the question, "Why?"

To his surprise, the Elf appeared to take no offense. "I dwelt in Middle-earth long ago, and I grew to love the trees and mountains, the land itself. My heart says I owe much, to the land and to the Elven High King, Gil-galad."

He marked the name in his mind, to relay to others. "I expect the arrival of our kin from the North. They will wish to speak with you and hear whatever news you can tell. Will you stay some days until they arrive? They will travel north again, and you could join their company, for it is dangerous to travel alone."

"You desire this."

Holding that green gaze became ever more difficult. "I do."

"Then I will stay to meet your northern kin. I owe your folk much and will be pleased to repay in any way I can. You need no one to watch that I do not leave unexpectedly."

Before he could stop himself it came out. "I'm sorry."

Glorfindel dismissed it easily. "I wish to walk again in the sun and see starlight. And if I could, I would make repayment for your hospitality."

Gundor had not expected this, and stared a moment. "What would you do? We would not ask you to work in the fields."

There was a soft laugh. "I have not done so, but were the need great, I would learn. I have been a warrior, long years past, but thank the Valar you do not need one. I have also some skill with horses or other animals. Although I am no healer, for many years I cared for battle wounds, and so have some knowledge of that lore which I can teach Ithwen. But I had thought, as your people do much upon the sea, also to teach the making and use of a boat such as I sailed."

Gundor could appreciate this. The Elven craft was beautiful, and any sailor would want to try its way upon the water; but even more intriguing was the combination of two sails. This had been a subject of some discussion among the sea-going townsfolk: would they change the way the boat rode before the wind, or the speed at which she sailed? He feared that only the lack of knowledge of use of the two sails had kept the more impetuous from simply taking the boat to find out.

In the following days, when the sun waned and the breezes blew, Glorfindel would be at the shore, explaining the intricacies of the making of the Gwilwileth e-Gaearon. The sails were a marvel - they would catch the wind at many angles , and permit a boat to beat against the wind easily. It was more difficult to work, as the sails had more possibilities, not just raising and lowering as the strength of wind dictated; but actual moving of where the sail pointed. It was as if Glorfindel had just made the town a gift of those quarters of the wind that had never served them well before.

Glorfindel, seeing Hathil's love of the sea and intense interest in his lessons, began to take him out into the protected waters of the small bay during daytime so that the Man might practice with the Elven craft. Glorfindel knew himself merely proficient as a sailor, but as was common with one partly of the Noldor, the skill of objects had come to his hand rapidly. Hathil sailed as one touched by Ulmo, understanding instinctively what he was taught, and by the end of a few days, surpassing his teacher at some tasks. If he had not Elven grace and strength, the Man understood the tides and currents, the lie of the coast and path of its winds. This, Glorfindel thought, must be the way of things for the Teleri.

During the long, mild days of tacking and sailing, they answered questions for each other. Hathil learned of the Gwilwileth and the western sea, and Glorfindel learned more of Ethir Varanduin and its founding, and its way of survival.

There were a few other settlements close to the town, with odd names and different folk, who were both shorter and broader in appearance. These spoke a different tongue, and clustered in small, temporary settlements, seeming to prefer a wandering, woodland life. They were reserved, and armed, but not warlike unless at need. On occasion some of that kin would appear at the edge of town, waiting to be noticed. They would carry game and skins, and would trade these for the products of the more settled existence: meal, beans, bread. The bargaining was done with pointing and finger signs, until eight winters ago when one of the band had brought his daughters with him, and at her word had left the eldest behind for a generous bride-price. Dorleth was short and more sturdily built than the other women of the town, but she had learned their language well enough to speak to her husband, and had already borne three children. That was enough to ensure acceptance, and the town had slowly made her welcome.

The Wildmen were not looked at the same way. These were enemies.

The people of the town counted themselves as higher Men than those about them. The legends said their ancestors had come from the north, and eventually settled here, sending for kin in time. Most would not come, because they feared that the seas would again rise and cover vast tracts of land as in ancient days. But the fishing was plentiful, and the land gave them a good life; the sun shone here, not like the deep dark forests. And they were not severed from their kin, for almost every year some came down the river from the northern lands, bearing objects of metal to trade, and taking salt, dried fruit, fish, herbs, and horses in payment. It was this group that was expected shortly.

Word of the party came when the messenger returned and sought Gundor. "The traders had arrived in Athrad Lumren before me. They were to set out a few days after I left. Dairuin is with them, and Baragund trusts that he can advise us." Gundor felt the news loose the knots that fear had tied. Dairuin was a great traveler, and had seen and heard much, carrying messages between the races. He had made this trip frequently, bringing trade goods, but also tidings from other parts of Eriador. Baragund trusted him, and so, he had heard, did those who dwelt in the far North where many of the goods came from; near Lake Evendim.

Gundor took the news to Hathil when his boat returned to shore; he would keep his word despite the heaviness in his heart. "The traders will be here within the week. I will speak to Dairuin about your traveling with him, if you are still minded to leave."

Hathil surprised him. "There is no need. I am staying."

Gundor probed hesitantly, "What changed your mind? I thought with the Elf traveling north, you would wish to go all the more."

"Glorfindel has said he will leave me his craft, the Gwilwileth. My place is here, and I would miss the sea."

"Did he ask no return?"

"Aye, indeed he did, but little enough return for such a gift. He asked for tales of Men, of their deeds now and in times past, and of their knowledge of the Powers of the West and the Elves."

Gundor had promised his sister he would look out for Hathil should anything happen to her. He had also promised to look out for her child, and he had lost Gilwen and child both, the same day, leaving little chance to keep his word. So now he felt his responsibility to her husband doubly, both from vow and his own affection, and he feared for Hathil on the journey north. It was unchancy to travel the wilds, and many years the parties came back smaller than they had set out. He knew Dairuin would have done his best for Hathil, but that was not always enough, and the weight of the promise had pressed on him. It was well that Hathil would stay in Ethir Varanduin, under his eye for the time.

Gundor knew he owed the Elf a debt, and one he could repay in the coin of Glorfindel's choosing.


"This is the knife, it has been passed down many generations of our family." Gundor unwrapped it with great reverence and pulled it from the cracking leather sheath.

"From its look, it was crafted in the Age now past."

"Our tales, handed down through many years, say it was a gift. That it was given by brother to sister, when she left to marry one of a different kindred. It is told that the brother went along with others among our distant kin, to fight the shadow alongside the Gods, but none that went ever came back among us. Some legends say that all Men in Beleriand perished at the hands of the shadow in the war; others say that all drowned in the sea when the Gods flooded the land, careless of their allies. And some few legends say that our kin were taken by the Gods to dwell with them as a reward for their valor."

"The last story is closest to the truth. Your kin were rewarded for their valor, but do not dwell in the land of the Gods, for no mortal is permitted in the Undying Lands. The Valar raised from the sea Andor, the Land of the Gift, within sight of the Blessed Isle, and there your kin dwell even now. It is their language that I speak, so close to yours.

"Your folk were of the Edain, one of the three houses of men that were faithful against Morgoth's evil. From your looks you would be of the House of Hador."

Gundor's eyes widened. "Yes," he breathed, "that is what our legends say; we are of Hador. My sire told me tales of Hador's deeds as a child, and said that I was named for his son. Many died during the War of the Gods, and those that returned were few; it was told that many went East or North."



The traders arrived finally, poling down the river on their crude vessels. There were eight of them on two flatboats, and they looked weary, poling slowly and waving at the folk who came from their tasks in the village to watch the end of the journey. The simple boats were built near Lake Evendim and were little more than rafts with raised edges. The traders set out from there with furs from the north. Near where the Great Dwarf Road came across the river, one could trade for metal work: fishing hooks, knives, bits and harness buckles, the larger objects stamped with the symbols of dwarven make. They carried also fabrics, well-wrapped to keep out moisture, most the simple textiles of the area around Evendim, but a few beautiful things from the Elves of Lindon. Wine and salt came from the south, grain and flax from the north.

Ethir Varanduin was small and poor, and were it not for its location at the mouth of the river, had little to recommend it as a destination to such a group. It had become a good place to trade the lumber of the boats for other goods, and here the traders could get a most important item: horses for the return trip. So the loop went, down the river once every year or so, trading along the way, until journey's end. Then rest and start the journey back with horses that would be sold in the north. It was a lifeline to the outside world for the coastal town. Anything that the town itself did not need would still be used for trade with those that sailed along the coast and brought other goods from the southern coasts and Lond Daer. The traders from the seacoast were not kin, and looked at askance, unlike those who came down the river. But both formed part of the fragile trade network, with Ethir Varanduin the linchpin.

Although the villagers were eager for the novelty, trade would wait for tomorrow. Today the travelers would unload the boats and rest, honored guests after a tiring journey.

When the day waned Gundor sent Galan from the stone house to tend the beasts, and as Magor and Dairuin sat at ease, the news passed between the two experienced traders and the townsman. Gundor listened, concerned, to what they could tell him of the Men of the West.

"They bring wondrous devices, and teach the building of ships," said Dairuin, "but they cut the forests, also. And we have heard that they are building a permanent settlement up the coast from the Gwathlo, where once was only a camp for their stay, before they sailed back to their home."

"Surely it is no bad thing to have a settlement? And any that seek their teachings may know where to find them."

"Yes, that is so, but some fear also where there is one settlement there one day may be many."

Magor added, "They have brought in soldiers with spear and sword. Who can say where these will be sent next? And lands that were ruled by none, and used by many perhaps will be claimed by these men from oversea."

"We do not know what they intend," Dairuin continued. "At times it seems they do not know it themselves. They too speak with some fear of the power in the east. But what of your stranger? You believe him to be an Elf, has he spoken of these things?"

"And if he is of them, or living in the West has heard more than we, it is information we should discover," Magor said firmly.

"He has told us little, but that he was traveling to Lindon; to see the King of the Elves, he said."

"Then it is time I solved the riddle I was sent to answer," said Dairuin, rising to his feet. "Has Ithwen still her skill with herbs for the pot as well as with those for healing?"

Gundor replied, with a small smile and a pointed look, "You will have to judge for yourself. But her tongue is still as sharp as the taste of her potions."

Dairuin was not disappointed with the smells from the pot on Ithwen's hearth. She greeted him bluntly as ever when she saw him sniffing appreciatively. "Have you come to beg treats like a snuffling puppy?"

"Yes," he said with enjoyment for the game. "But as always, I will more than repay you with tales from the North."

"I could tell you a tale or two after the last few days, and Glorfindel, he could best any tale-teller among your Men of the north. But you have come to meet him, have you not?"

Sharp indeed, Dairuin thought as she continued, "He is at the shore with Hathil, but when the sun sets, he finds his way home." She speaks of him as if he too was a wayward puppy. "There!" she gestured to the path leading to her open door.

Dairuin saw the stranger, and knew him for what he was, a Lord among the Elves. The Wood Elves were overwhelming enough, dazzling to mortal eyes, merry or quick-tempered by turns. Some of the others were stern or wise or fierce. This one was far more than that, with something of the West, and a light in his eyes not known to mortals. Was he one of those even the Firstborn called High? No wonder Gundor felt out of his depth.

"Suilad," Dairuin said, praying that his speech would not shame him.

"Mae Govannen," answered the shining one before him.

"Have you come from Lindon before you sailed here, Lord?" he asked respectfully.

"No. I have journeyed over the Sundering Sea, from the Undying Lands."

"From the Undying Lands! Those that sail that Sea now travel from Middle-earth to the West. You are the first I have heard of to come east since the tales of an earlier Age."

Itwen interrupted with bowls of steaming stew and fresh bread, and the talk slowed. When it resumed, it was the sea journey that Ithwen and Glorfindel spoke of, and Dairuin took his leave more politely than he ever had from that cottage.

Dairuin returned to the stone house to find Magor and Gundor sitting outside with cups and flask beside them. Gundor poured the thin local beer into a clay cup for his returning guest. "Is he as we thought, an Elf? As others you have seen?"

Dairuin took it and sat with relief. "Well do I know why he made you feel adrift in a strange sea, my friend. Yes, he is an Elf. But no, not like the others." Dairuin's voice was touched with wonder. "There is joy in his face that those from Lindon do not have; I think him far greater than those I have known of his kind. His arms bear strange devices, and are richer and more beautiful than those of the Elder kindred that visit our lands.

"The Elves I have seen, it is as if they are a candle in a dark night, and the glow gives hope to the eyes. He is as a hearthfire, blazing with more than hope, lending warmth to all within sight of the flames. I have never seen their King, nor some of the great ones around him, but surely this is one such."

The small lines that netted the skin around Gundor's eyes and forehead eased and softened. "I had feared we harbored some evil. He did not seem so, but after the dark tales we have heard, I feared nonetheless."

"You need fear no longer; clearly he is a high one of the Eldar. What his purposes are I do not understand, but he is worthy of all honor, and we will convey him to his kin in Lindon."

"Why did such a one cross the sea? He looks to be twenty summers or so, not even so old as you, barely older than Galan."

"I think him older than his looks suggest. He is of Elvenkind, do not forget."

"You believe those legends? Immortality?" He looked incredulous.

"I do not believe anything lives forever. But longer lived than Men, yes, I believe that."



It was with true friendliness that Dairuin approached Glorfindel five days later to speak of the forthcoming journey. "We will go north to Athrad Lumren, and then on to Lake Evendim. Before we reach the Lake we will cross the Great Road, and there you may turn west to find your kin if none be found on the road. We will be bringing many horses north, and there will be a mount for you if you are pleased to ride with us."

"I will be pleased to have your company."

As the day drew closer the traders began once again to be busy as arrangements were completed and goods to go north packed up. Dairuin set the time of departure for two days hence.


To Hathil and Ithilwen Glorfindel said special farewells. He left the harp in the hand of the healer to play or give to another as she saw fit. She grumbled, but her eyes were bright. "What good is the harp with no golden hand to play it?"

"Then those of this town must learn, even as I had to learn." He looked slightly mischievous, "even Elves are not born knowing how to harp." He continued, "I will also set down what we have talked of regarding the care of wounds, so that you may keep it on a scroll and remember when I am gone."

"Now what would I do with a scroll, Golden One?" she asked tartly. At his look she continued, exasperated, "Where do you think any in this town would learn such a skill as reading? Can we fish with it, tend gardens with it, bake with it?"

His face was briefly serious. "Forgive me Híril, I had not thought."

She smirked, but did not make the comment Hathil would have expected to hear had Gundor or Dairuin given the healer such a chance.



"Híril" - Lady