NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4: Paths Diverged
Ten years had passed since we left the shores of Cuiviénen. The land that had been our home for uncounted years was now a distant memory, replaced by forests, hills, and rivers none of us had seen before. The journey west had been long and arduous, marked by moments of wonder and stretches of exhaustion. Every step carried us further into the unknown, guided only by the faint hope that the path we walked would lead us to safety—or something close to it.
When we first saw the Great River, it felt as though the earth itself was welcoming us. Its wide waters shimmered under the stars, flowing with a steady, eternal rhythm. I had never seen a river so vast, so alive, and the sight of it filled me with both awe and caution. The river spoke of power and depth, of forces greater than any Elf could tame.
"Do you think it stretches all the way to the sea?" asked Lárathir, one of our younger hunters.
I shrugged, watching the current. "Perhaps," I said. "Or perhaps it simply flows, unending, like the stars themselves."
We camped by its banks, our people grateful for the chance to rest. The Great River's waters were cool and fresh, and the forest around it was thick with life. For the first time in many years, I saw smiles among our company—hesitant, fleeting, but real.
And yet, there was an unease in the air, a feeling that we were not alone. The land here was unfamiliar, and though it seemed untouched by the darkness that had driven us from Cuiviénen, it bore the weight of something unseen. My scouts had gone ahead to survey the area, but they had returned with little more than whispers of movement in the trees.
It wasn't until the third day that the strangers revealed themselves.
They came at dusk, moving silently through the woods like shadows. At first, we thought they might be another threat—a band of Orcs or worse—but as they drew closer, their forms became clear. They were Elves, tall and strong, though their appearance was unlike any I had seen before. Their hair was long and wild, their clothing woven from the fibers of the forest, and their eyes glinted with a sharp, wary light.
The leader stepped forward, his hand resting on the bow at his side. He was younger than I had expected, though his bearing spoke of authority. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with caution.
"We are the Avari," I replied, standing tall. "We left Cuiviénen ten years ago to seek a new home."
The leader's expression softened slightly at the name. "Avari," he murmured. "The Unwilling."
It was the first time I had heard the word spoken aloud, and it struck me like an arrow to the heart. That name was not our own, yet it clung to us like a shadow.
"And you?" I asked, keeping my tone measured.
"We are the Nandor," he said. "Those who turned back from the journey long ago. My name is Lenwë."
The Nandor. I had heard faint whispers of them, but I had never imagined I would meet them. They had once been Teleri, part of the great host that followed Oromë west, but they had stopped here, unwilling or unable to cross the mountains.
Our people spent the next several days among the Nandor, exchanging stories and learning of their ways. They called the Great River Anduin and spoke of it with reverence, as though it were a living thing. To them, the forests and waters of this land were home, a place they had claimed after abandoning the Great Journey.
Many of the Avari began to see this place as a haven. The Anduin's forests were rich and alive, and the Nandor, while cautious, welcomed us with guarded hospitality. For those weary of the endless march west, the idea of staying here was tempting.
One night, as I stood at the edge of the river, Lárathir approached me. "Emlithor," she said, her voice tentative, "do you think we've found what we're looking for?"
I didn't answer right away. The river's song was soft and unceasing, a reminder of the journey we had undertaken. "I think this place is good," I said finally. "But it may not be enough for everyone. Some of us still feel the pull to keep moving, to see what lies beyond."
She nodded, though I could see the longing in her eyes.
When the time came to decide, it was clear that not all of us would continue. About ten percent of our company chose to remain with the Nandor, their hearts drawn to the peace and beauty of the Anduin's forests. Lenwë welcomed them cautiously, and I spoke with each one to ensure they understood the choice they were making.
"You will always be Avari," I told them, my voice steady. "No matter where you go, you are our kin. May the Great River guide you, and may you find peace here."
Lenwë placed a hand over his heart in a gesture of respect. "They will be cared for," he said. "This land is their home now, as it is ours."
With that, we parted ways. The Anduin's waters glimmered behind us as we resumed our march westward, the stars lighting our path. For those who stayed, the journey had ended. For the rest of us, the road stretched ever onward, shrouded in uncertainty.
The Great River was behind us, but the storm within me had not abated. There was more to come—of that, I was certain.