[Eriador. Early Summer]
[Selas POV]
The scouts had better news.
These lands, Eriador, held more of our kin. Teleri who'd migrated west from Rhovanion decades ago, spreading slowly through the forests and hills. More Nandor.
We made contact. Established relations. Recruited guides who knew the terrain.
The pattern was familiar by now. Exchange knowledge, share maps, answer endless questions about where we'd come from and where we were going.
But there was something new this time.
I was walking the perimeter with one of our Nandor guides, a quiet Lindar named Beleg who'd agreed to lead us through the hill country, when he stopped dead and stared into a stand of ancient oaks.
"Onodrim," he whispered.
"What?"
"The Tree-folk. Shepherds of the forest." He took a step back, not quite fear but something close. "They walk these woods sometimes. You hear them before you see them. Or you don't hear them at all, and that's worse."
I followed his gaze. Saw nothing but old trees, gnarled and vast, bark dark with age.
Then one of the trees moved.
Not the branches. Not from wind. The trunk itself shifted, a slow groaning rotation that took several seconds to complete. What I'd taken for a knot in the bark resolved into something that might have been an eye.
It looked at us.
{ image : The Tree-folk }

Looked at us the way a mountain looks at an ant. Not hostile. Not curious. Just… aware, in a way that had nothing to do with the kind of awareness I understood.
Then the eye closed. The trunk settled. It was a tree again.
Beleg exhaled. "They don't trouble us. But they remember everything. Every axe. Every fire. Best to leave their woods alone."
Ents.
Walking, talking trees. Ancient beyond measure, slow to anger but terrible when roused.
The Nandor spoke of them with a mixture of awe and unease. They'd seen them rarely, glimpses in deep woods, voices that might have been wind or might have been speech.
I found the encounter unsettling.
Not because Ents were dangerous. They weren't, not to us. But they were a reminder that this world held powers I couldn't predict or control. Beings that answered to no one, that had their own purposes and their own timescales.
And yet, my mind did what it always does. It turned the unsettling into the practical.
If the Ents remembered every axe and every fire, then they also remembered who left their forests in peace. Respect could be a currency here. Care for the land, reverence for the old woods, those weren't just good principles. They were an investment.
The Onodrim would make terrifying enemies. But they might also make extraordinary allies. An enemy army marching through a forest protected by Ents wouldn't be marching for long.
Every root a snare, every branch a fist, every ancient trunk a sentinel that no scout could distinguish from the woodland around it until it was far too late. No general could plan for terrain that was actively hostile and intelligent.
I filed the thought away. Not a plan. Not yet. Just a seed, planted alongside all the others.
We weren't alone here. We never were. But perhaps that didn't have to be a disadvantage.
The thought stayed with me as we prepared to move on.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Eriador. Weeks later]
The Eriador Nandor were more primitive than their Rhovanion cousins. Less organized, more scattered, their technology simpler and their numbers smaller.
But they knew the land. Knew its rivers and hills, its hidden paths and dangerous places. And they were curious about us in a way that felt almost hungry.
Our passage through their territory caused the same kind of stir we'd seen in Rhovanion. Crowds gathering to watch the column pass. Young hunters asking questions about our weapons and formations. Elders studying our faces with expressions I couldn't quite read.
Word spread ahead of us. By the time we reached each new settlement, they already knew we were coming.

{ image: Nandor settlement in Eriador }
"They're talking about us," Celestia reported one evening. "Not just here. Back in Rhovanion too. The Nandor on both sides of the mountains have reconnected because of our crossing."
"Good for them," I said, only half listening. My attention was on the maps spread before me, tracing the route we'd need to take.
"Some of them want to follow us."
That got my attention.
"How many?"
"Hard to say. Dozens, at least. Maybe more." She hesitated. "And there are other complications."
"Such as?"
"Young people." She chose her words with care. "Ours and theirs. They've been… noticing each other."
Ah.
I should have expected this. Put thousands of young Avari in proximity to thousands of young Nandor, and nature would take its course. It had happened in Rhovanion too. I'd just been too focused on other things to pay attention.
"How serious?"
"Serious enough that we need to decide what to do about it."
Ah, the glamorous life of a Chief.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Eriador. Several weeks later]
The column moved through Eriador faster than it had through Rhovanion. The terrain was gentler here, fewer dense forests, more open ground. Rivers were plentiful but manageable, our people now experienced with crossings.
Still, the journey felt different. More routine. Almost boring.
The epic saga of the Avari, I thought dryly. Chapter forty-seven: In which nothing happens. Again. Our hero bravely puts one foot in front of the other. The crowd goes mild.
The Blue Mountains appeared on the horizon two months after we'd entered Eriador. Another wall of stone, though smaller than the Misty Mountains. Beyond them lay Beleriand.
Our destination.
We made camp in the foothills and began preparing for the final crossing.
That's when the trouble started.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Foothills of the Ered Luin. Council tent]
"These are good lands." Thoron's voice was careful, measured, the way it got when he was about to say something he knew I wouldn't like. "Rich forests. Friendly kin. Why push further into the unknown?"
I'd expected this. Some part of me had been waiting for it since we left Cuiviénen.
"The unknown has a name," I said. "Beleriand. And it's where we're going."
"Another mountain crossing." Maethor's voice was flat. "Haven't we suffered enough in the Hithaeglir?"
"We learned from the Hithaeglir. This crossing will be easier."
"You don't know that."
"I know that staying here would be a mistake."
The tent went quiet. I looked around at the faces. Tired, uncertain, some openly hostile.
Thoron leaned forward. "Selas, listen. The Nandor here have offered us land. Good land, along the river valleys. We could settle tomorrow. Stop marching. Start building."
"And in a century, when orcs pour south from Angband through the gap between the mountains and the northern wastes, what then?"
"You're assuming—"
"I'm not assuming. I'm looking at a map." I stabbed a finger at the parchment spread between us. "Eriador is open. The northern approaches have nothing to stop an army. Flat plains and frozen wastes stretching all the way to the enemy's doorstep. If we settle here, we'll spend centuries building defenses. And the orcs won't wait for us to finish."
"The Nandor have lived here for generations," Mithlen pointed out from the far end of the table. "They seem safe enough."
"The Nandor hide. They scatter when danger comes, regroup when it passes." I kept my voice level, but the edge crept in regardless. "Is that what you want for us? To spend eternity running and hiding?"
Silence.
"We didn't refuse the Valar's call just to live like prey." I stood, letting the full weight of twenty years fall behind the words. "We didn't survive two decades of marching just to stop one mountain range short of safety. Beleriand has natural defenses. Mountains to the north and east, sea to the west. Room to grow. Room to build something that lasts."
I met their eyes, one by one.
"This is our last push. One more crossing, and we're home."
Maethor held my gaze for a long moment. Then looked away—Remind me why we still let him into these meetings.
Thoron didn't.
"You're certain," he said quietly. Not a question.
"As certain as I've ever been about anything."
He nodded once. Slowly. The kind of nod that meant he disagreed but would follow anyway. He'd been doing that since the Sundering.
And I'll do everything in my power to make sure that home doesn't sink beneath the waves with us still in it.
But that was a problem for another century.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Same evening. Outside the camp]
[Selas POV]
The debate ran for two more days before the vote. Not unanimous. Not even close. But enough.
To prevent further dissent, I kept everyone busy. Preparation teams worked around the clock, applying every lesson from the Misty Mountains crossing. Better clothing. Better rationing. Better organization for the children and the elders.
In what little spare time remained, I gathered the Executive Council around a campfire outside the main camp.
"We need to talk about the Nandor situation," I said.
Vertalas snorted. "Which part? The ones who want to join us, or the ones who want to marry our young people?"
"Both."
The fire crackled between us. Above, the stars were thick and brilliant, the same stars that had watched every step of our journey.
"They're still Eldar," Temeryl said. His voice carried the particular flatness he reserved for topics he felt strongly about. "The ones who left. The ones who forgot us."
"They're also our kin," Mireth countered. "Same blood, same origin. The young ones weren't even born when the Sundering happened."
"Doesn't matter. Their parents made the choice."
"So we punish children for their ancestors' decisions?"
"We protect ourselves from dilution." Vertalas's voice was harder than Temeryl's, and colder. "Every Avari who marries a Nandor, every family that accepts outsiders, that's our culture weakening. Twenty years of building something distinct, and we just… open the gates?"
"Or strengthening," I said quietly.
They all looked at me.
"New blood. New ideas. New perspectives." I poked at the fire with a stick, watching sparks rise into the dark. "We've been isolated for twenty years. That made us strong, yes. But it also made us narrow. The Nandor know things we don't. They've lived in these lands for decades."
"And their ignorance could cost them," Celestia shot back. "They don't know how to fight. Don't know discipline or formation or anything beyond hunting and hiding."
"So we teach them."
A long silence.
"You're talking about making them into Avari," Eol said slowly.
"I'm talking about giving them the chance to become Avari. If they want it. If they earn it."
Somewhere in the darkness beyond the firelight, a wolf howled. One of ours, by the sound.
"Our traditions already allow wives to join their husbands' families," I continued. "That's not new. What we need is something else. A way for outsiders to join us as equals. Not just through marriage, but through choice. A deliberate act."
"A ceremony," Dirmal said. He'd been quiet until now, taking mental notes as he always did. "A ritual of becoming."
"Exactly. Something formal. Something that marks the transition from outsider to Avari. Tests they need to pass. Knowledge they need to learn. Oaths they need to swear. Not because we want to make it hard, but because becoming one of us should mean something."
"Like the warrior initiation," Vertalas said slowly.
"Similar. Different purpose, same principle." I looked around the circle. "We're going to need this eventually. Better to figure it out now, while we have time to think, than scramble for answers when a hundred Nandor show up at our gates asking to belong."
The discussion continued long into the night. Language requirements. Cultural knowledge. A probationary period. Physical and martial standards. The rough outline of something entirely new, a tradition that didn't exist yet, waiting to be born.
Immigration policy, I thought as I walked back to camp. I'm inventing immigration policy for elves.
The absurdity of it almost made me laugh.
But a policy without precedent was just theory. Sooner or later, we'd need a first case.
Someone willing to walk the path so everyone else could see where it led.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[The Ered Luin. The crossing]
The Blue Mountains were kinder than the Misty Mountains had been.
Not easy. But the lessons of the first crossing paid off. We lost fewer animals. The children stayed warm and accounted for. The wagons made it through without disaster, though Eol swore he aged a century watching his forge equipment bounce over rock ledges.
When we emerged on the western side, the world changed.
We made camp beside a river, the Gelion according to our maps. It flowed south toward the sea, wide enough for boats, calm enough for easy crossing.
On the far bank, a great hill rose from the plain. Amon Ereb, the Lonely Hill, the Nandor called it.

{ image: The Gelion and Amon Ereb }
Beyond it, stretching to the horizon and beyond, lay a forest so vast it made everything we'd seen before look like a garden.
Taur-im-Duinath. The Forest Between the Rivers.
I stood at the water's edge and looked south. Ancient trees, dense undergrowth, a canopy so thick that twilight seemed to live beneath it permanently. The forest filled the southern horizon like a dark green sea, unbroken and unknowable.
Twenty years of walking. Twenty years of dust and blood and cold and loss and stubborn, grinding, relentless forward motion.
And there it was.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Same evening. Both Councils in session]
"This is it," I said, standing before the assembled Elders and the Executive Council together.
Every face turned toward me. Firelight caught silver hair and eyes that had seen too much road.
"According to the Nandor, no one lives in that forest. No one even goes there. They say it's haunted. Too dark, too deep, too old. The kind of place where wise people don't venture."
I smiled.
"Which means it's perfect for us."
A few uncertain laughs. The Elders exchanged glances. Some worried, some excited. All of them exhausted beyond words.
"We've crossed steppes that tried to freeze us. Mountains that tried to break us. Rivers that tried to drown us." I let that settle. "A forest that's too dark and too quiet? I think we'll manage."
"Haunted," Temeryl repeated flatly. "They said haunted."
"The Nandor think thunder is Oromë's hunting horn," Celestia said. "I'll take their ghost stories with a grain of salt."
That got a real laugh. Even Temeryl's mouth twitched.
"The March is almost over," I said, quieter now. "One more river crossing. Then we stop being nomads. We build our own home. A place that's ours, not just the next campsite on an endless road."
Nobody spoke for a long moment. I watched the weight of those words land differently on every face. For some it was relief. For others, something closer to disbelief. They'd been walking so long that stopping had become the harder thing to imagine.
"So I'm asking," I said. "Are you with me for this last stretch?"
Vertalas stood first. No hesitation. Just a warrior rising to his feet because the answer was obvious and he saw no reason to waste time sitting down while giving it.
"Was that ever a question?" he said.
Celestia followed. Then Mireth, and Eol, and Thoron.
One by one they rose, until every member of both Councils was standing. Even Maethor, who for once didn't look like he was swallowing something bitter.
The next morning, we began the final crossing.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—

{ image: Taur-im-Duinath }
[End of Chapter 9]
⸻
GLOSSARY
For those who wish to delve deeper. This glossary covers new terms introduced in this chapter.
PLACES
Hithaeglir — "The Misty Mountains." The great mountain range dividing Rhovanion from Eriador. The Nandor originally refused to cross these mountains during the Great Journey, earning the name "Turned Back."
Eriador — The vast region of Middle-earth west of the Misty Mountains and east of the Blue Mountains. Sparsely populated by scattered Nandor settlements.
Ered Luin — "The Blue Mountains." The mountain range separating Eriador from Beleriand. Smaller and less treacherous than the Misty Mountains.
Amon Ereb — "The Lonely Hill." A prominent hill on the western bank of the Gelion, serving as a landmark at the edge of Taur-im-Duinath.
Gelion — The great river of eastern Beleriand, flowing south from the Blue Mountains toward the sea. The Avari's final major water crossing before reaching their new homeland.
Taur-im-Duinath — "The Forest Between the Rivers." A vast, ancient forest in southern Beleriand, avoided by other Eldar. Chosen by the Avari as the site of their new homeland.
PEOPLES AND CONCEPTS
Onodrim — "The Tree-folk." The Elvish name for Ents, the ancient tree-shepherds of the forests. Encountered by the Avari during their passage through Eriador. Beings of immense age and power who guard the forests and remember everything.