Beleriand

The journey from the Great River to the lands we now call Beleriand stretched beyond what even I had imagined. The land changed slowly as we moved westward—forests gave way to plains, and the gentle hills rose into jagged cliffs and valleys. By the time we saw the distant outline of mountains against the starlit sky, many among us were wearied beyond words.

It was the forest that called to us. A vast, untamed expanse of trees stretching endlessly toward the horizon, dense and dark, shrouded in a mystery that seemed to defy time itself. Taur-im-Duinath, as it would later come to be known—the forest between the rivers.

We did not name it immediately, for at first, it was simply the forest, a place where the canopy stretched high above us, blotting out all but the faintest glimmers of starlight. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Even Cuiviénen, with its starlit shores, had not felt so alive. The forest pulsed with the sound of countless lives—birds calling from the treetops, unseen creatures rustling in the underbrush, and the ceaseless whisper of the wind through the leaves.

"We should go no farther," said Lárathir, her voice hushed as though she feared the trees might overhear. "This place... it feels like it could be a home."

I did not answer immediately. She was not alone in her sentiment. Many among the Avari had begun to look at the forest with something more than curiosity—with hope, even. We had traveled for decades, leaving behind everything we had ever known. This place, with its boundless trees and the murmuring rivers that ran through its heart, felt like the end of a journey.

But my heart was not so easily settled.

"This forest is vast," I said at last, my voice quiet. "Its shadow could hide much we do not yet know."

Lárathir nodded, but her gaze lingered on the trees. "Even so, Emlithor, we cannot wander forever."

She was right, of course. Our people were tired, and the forest offered both shelter and sustenance. It was time to stop running, at least for a while.

We entered the forest cautiously, moving as though we were intruders in some great, silent hall. The trees loomed tall and ancient, their roots twisting through the earth like the veins of some great, slumbering beast. Despite their shadowed canopy, there was life here—berries that grew in the underbrush, deer that darted through the glades, and streams of clear water that sang softly as they flowed.

I gathered the leaders of the various families that made up our people and spoke to them beneath the boughs of an ancient oak.

"We have come far," I began, my voice steady though my mind still raced. "Farther than any of us could have imagined when we left Cuiviénen. This forest offers us shelter, food, and water. It could be a home, if we choose to make it so."

A murmur of agreement spread through the group, though there were still those who hesitated.

"And what of the dangers?" asked Arahil, a hunter who had proven himself a keen observer during our travels. "We know nothing of what lies in the heart of this forest—or who else might call it home."

"We will learn," I said firmly. "If we stay, we will know every tree, every stream, every shadow. This forest will be ours, not just a place we pass through."

That seemed to settle the matter. Over the next days, we began the work of building a home. We fashioned shelters from the fallen branches and wove canopies of leaves to shield us from the rain. Our hunters learned the patterns of the forest, mapping its glades and streams, while the gatherers discovered which plants could sustain us.

Despite the challenges, there was a sense of peace here that I had not felt since Cuiviénen. The forest, for all its vastness and mystery, did not feel hostile. It felt as though it had been waiting for us.

One evening, as I stood alone at the edge of a stream, I thought of Finwë. It had been so long since I had seen him, so long since I had even spoken his name aloud. Did he and the others find what they were seeking in Valinor? Were their lands as beautiful as the songs claimed?

I shook the thoughts away. Finwë was gone, and whatever his fate, it was not mine. My path had led here, to this shadowed forest at the edge of the world.

Weeks turned into months, and the forest began to feel less like a mystery and more like a home. We named it Taur-im-Duinath, the Forest Between Rivers, though in truth, it was so vast that no river could hope to contain it.

But even as we settled, I could not shake the feeling that we were being watched. The forest was too quiet at times, its shadows too deep. I took to walking its edges at night, Raumo in hand, listening for any sound that might betray the presence of another.

On one such night, I heard it—a rustling in the underbrush, too heavy to be an animal. I drew Raumo, its string thrumming softly like the first distant roll of thunder.

"Who goes there?" I called, my voice sharp.

There was no answer, only the sound of footsteps retreating into the trees.

I did not follow. Whatever it was, it was gone, and chasing shadows would not serve my people. But the encounter left me uneasy. The forest was vast, yes, but it was not empty. We were not alone here.

Still, Taur-im-Duinath was our home now, and I would not let fear drive us from it. Whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, as we always had. The Avari had come far, and for the first time in many years, we had a place to call our own.

For now, that was enough.