He was walking now, this much he was certain of that she would be angry with him; her voice shrill and demanding echoed through his ears,

"If you go within the walls of a city you shall die."

He knew she was lying, an idle threat mingled with veiled prophecy, she did not want to lose him, not to the others, the city-dwellers, yet he had to come back. He had to find a way back to him; how long had it been, months? Years? Decades? He could not know nor did he ever think he would; the mists parted before him as the bells of the evening tide tolled deep and sonorous. So close now he could smell the tart pang of the fish in the harbor and the salty brine of the churning water; Mithlond had never before looked so foreign to him. The tall buildings and homes, built like steps each level having an unobstructed view of the sea; terraces and step pyramids in the heavy mist. The cobble stone felt alien under his unshod feet, after so long of walking on forest ground he forgot how to walk upon paved roads. Yet it was not the road he was following, his goal lay ahead of him, the prow of a great stone ship peeking out from the sea of dense gray clouds. A blue flame burned brightly upon its prow…the Tower of Cirdan, Shipwright of Mithlond. Would I even be welcomed back?, he wondered, so uncouth and wild he was now; brambles filled his raven hair and his dark star-lit eyes pierced the shadows. He felt naked without the trees, so lost and vulnerable, as a new born foal staggers moments out of his mother's womb. His feet nearly tripped on themselves and he fell, worn and tired upon the gray stone steps between the silver lamps, which had been carved by the Noldorin long ago. Flameless their eerie amber light called his attention up the stepped path. The cypresses that now grew upon the sides of the path had grown some and now provided covering from the light drizzle, a covered walkway would need to be constructed, there was far too much rain in this land to not have one.

He raised his hand to the door's bronze knocker and lifted it preparing to knock and then he hesitated,

I am a lonesome, wild thing, I do not belong in halls as grand as this. The woods are my hall, the river beds my bath, the earth and grass my bed and dinner table. So far have I fallen from the courtier, I am the wanderer, the vagabond, the worn and fearsome traveler that maidens, both man and elf, hide their purses from. I do not belong here.

He turned on his foot and looked back to the east…She will not take me back, sighing he thought to himself, so it has been done. The creaking of the great oak doors surprised him and he spun on his heel and saw the vision before him; the goal of his long sojourn stood before him now, wreathed in golden light and warmth of hearth and smell of food. He wore a brilliant green robe, tassels upon his sleeve caught the light and glistened as though they had been sprinkled with dew, as the leaves of a willow. His golden brown hair was braided tightly and caught with silver clasps and he wore a coronet upon his brow, in the shape of a swan, of course. The elf at the door gasped and smiled, his green eyes lightening up and shining brightly through the misty veil, mouthing a name the traveler had not heard in what felt like millennia…Celebrin. They needed no words, the simple act of recognition was enough; tears welled upon Celebrin's cheeks as he fell into Alphindil's arms, exhausted he felt as though at long last he was home once more.

The intensity of the memory woke Celebrin so quickly he almost kicked wildly in his shudder of pain; now that his senses had returned to him he felt a great pain in his shoulders, as though they were pinned behind him and held a great weight. The world was still dark and he knew not whether he stood or lay upon the ground; his head was heavy and hard to maneuver on his dangling neck. He felt the tug of gravity upon his belly button and soon surmised that he was being carried like a hunted deer, his hands and feet tied to a thick branch of some kind. His captors did not speak, nor could he see them for a rag was tied around his eyes and a gag had been placed on his mouth; the rag smelled of sweat and tasted bitter, as though it had been dipped in herbs. The blindfold was taught across his face, his eyelashes curled and poked their gentle spines on the lids of his eyes and the blood in his head struggled and pulsed against the taught knot behind his skull. His senses reoriented but he could not tell how long they had been traveling or in what direction they were going, all the elf knew was that the air felt cooler where he was, as though he had ascended a high mountain and felt the bitter chill of night time.

"Ko'lowe que, nosto hwiru?"

, said a voice to his left, it was calm and smooth, not rough and uncouth. The tongue was alien and yet, somehow familiar; another voice came, this one was softer, almost feminine,

"Ti'ahine lele quent'a me"

Hushed whispers followed and soon he felt himself being carried again gravity pulling intermittently at his navel. The rush of blood forced his eyelids to close once more and weariness took him again. He tried not to lull back into sleep but the pain in his thigh and the blood in his head forced him to do otherwise.

He now was sitting in a grand hall, a warm wool blanket had been pulled around his shoulders and a warm plate of bread and cheese had been placed before him. The mead in his goblet shimmered as gold and the tang of alcohol swam in his head; it had been nearly 30 years since his last drink, it was not wise to take it but there was no fresh spring water in this season by the sea. Alphindil knelt in front of him, resting his arms upon his companion's knees, wondering, hoping in his eyes that the crude vision before him was not a dream or a shade. Celebrin's hair had been combed and his skin bathed with warm oils and water, he smelled like sage and rosemary; an ancient elf paced before him, deep in thought, he turned to his foster son and asked,

"So she was alive? Liniel and all her people?"

Celebrin heard the words his perada had said and yet it sounded like a foreign tongue to him; the language of the city-dwellers, the ones who had forsaken the old ways, was strange and never spoken among the travelers. In days long past, when Thingol was king, the green-elves had once spoken Sindarin proudly, yet when ruin came and Luthien was lost it became a cursed tongue. And so, those laiquendi who still followed the "old ways" spoke only the words of the woodland realm and the tongues of beasts and trees, forsaking the tongues of their kin, for fear it would bring ruin to them also. Cirdan looked intently in Celebrin's eyes, expecting an answer; clearing his throat the young ellon said,

"Yes…They are hidden, but they are there."

"Gil-galad should be told…as should Galadriel and Celeborn. We feared them lost."

"No Perada! They want only to be left alone!"

Cirdan looked at his foster-son with a look that gleaned discontent; his once pale skin was now dark and brazen and he bore the scars of hard living upon his face.

"The world has become darker and darker perion. The laiquendi must be all brought into the safety of our realms; they must be counted among the people! If they will not assent to be ruled by Gilgalad, then another elven king perhaps? Oropher in Greenwood or Celeborn, perhaps?"

Celebrin felt his wild heart begin to pace and speed; he came to rejoin his family not bring ruin to his mother's kin.

"No! They want to be left alone!"

The sudden rise in his voice startled him as he stood, the wool blanket fell from his shoulders and his toned muscled form stood before the Shipwright. Alphindil scooped up the blanket and enshrouded his friend, turning to Cirdan he said in a disapproving tone,

"Is it not enough my lord that your son has returned to you unharmed? That he has come back to us after we feared him lost or worse? Let these matters rest until the light of day, when food and liquor have done their work and rest has made us all more amiable."

Getting Celebrin to stand, Alphindil took him to the young elf's abandoned house, which stood to the south of the prow of Cirdan's hall. The house had been locked since Celebrin had departed yet it remained unchanged, a cabin really made of deep dark wood with a sloping moss covered roof. The bedroom was located in the back on the side that opened to the shore while the main door faced eastward. A bed had been made there, thick quilts and soft clothing had been laid out moments before and a bright hearth glowed warmly in the corner. Shutting the shipwright and the rest of the world outside, Alphindil led Celebrin to the bed and let him dress. Celebrin had lost weight since he had last been to this house and his night garments hung loosely upon his waist and shoulders. Alphindil stoked the fire and added another log to burn till day break. Celebrin meanwhile went under the covers, relishing in the warmth the bedding offered him; Alphindil bustled about the room like a chambermaid, talking mostly to himself,

"I should have gotten a new straw mattress but there will not be any for another few weeks; and your sheets should be washed, they are dusty and who knows what has lived in them since you left."

Celebrin grabbed his friend's wrist and looked up into his hazel green eyes,

"I'm cold…Alphindil…"

Alphindil moved to grab another quilt but his friend held him firmly,

"Lie with me…"

, he said, his gaze never moving from their intense stare at Alphindil; Celebrin's dark deep pools of obsidian night met Alphindil's amber-hued honey. Alphindil went red in the face,

"We have not done so since we were youths…it is not proper."

Celebrin said more determined this time,

"I have spent so long away from home and I fear that when I sleep the night will take me once more and I shall never again return…I need another living breathing beating heart beside me and I want it to be you, please Alphindil I beg of you, lie with me tonight!"

His voice becoming desperate, cracking and breaking as though by a great sorrow; Alphindil sighed, looking to the door. In the reddish glow of the hearth Celebrin's bronze skin shimmer darkly like polished teak wood, dark beside Alphindil's alabaster forearm. Seeing the fear in his friend's eyes he felt the same pangs of love and affection that he had when they were youths, bonding over the loss of their parents and homelands. Alphindil let his robe fall to the ground and for that night and many nights after he shared a bed with Celebrin, his arm reassuringly wrapped around Celebrin, lending him warmth and assurance that if he did indeed disappear into the night, he would not again be alone.

When Celebrin awoke again he was no longer hanging from a stick, he was now kneeling upon the floor, a large hearth fire burned behind him and the silence of the woods was no longer present. His face was wet and the gag that had been placed on him was removed, coughing Celebrin sat up spitting water onto the sandy floor. Many hundreds of hushed voices surrounded him, seemingly melting into the darkness and returning once more; a footstep came to his right and the cold sharpness of a stone-cut blade grazed his cheek. He gulped down a knot in his throat, preparing to be slaughtered then and there; yet the blade did not cut his throat, with a deft movement it cut the blindfold letting the amber glow of the fire light pierce his vision. At first he could not see anything, blurred figures dotted in and out of his line of vision; voices became louder and less coherent. A hollow banging sound reverberated in his ears and the voices came to a sudden hushed silence; blinking Celebrin allowed his tears to wash away the staleness caused by the blindfold and the blurred figures came now into focus. They were many and they were all shrouded and hidden, their faces showing only their lips, their hoods clasped tightly by dark thin fingers; Celebrin looked about him and saw that he was surrounded by hundreds of these people and they encircled him in a wide clearing. He no longer stood in woodland but atop a high rocky hill, dotted with think gnarled ancient trees, they looked as though they may be olives yet their fruit was long and pod-like and their leaves thin spears of gray and green. Gourds and what appeared to be drums stood before him, the source of the hollow thumping that brought all to silence. Behind them sat a trio of shrouded figures; these, because they were eye level with Celebrin, he could see their eyes. They were calm and yet anger burned beneath their depths, passive they looked upon him as one who was to die; these drummers stood before a strange and alien sight.

Behind them, upon a raised dais grew an assortment of brush and gnarled trees, woven through much time and effort into a throne. The high back fanned upwards and was crowned in a medley of dark green leaves, golden flowers, red trumpet blossoms upon a vine and shoots of gray reeds; the blossoms glittered as jewels with succulent moisture. Sitting upon this throne was the lone uncloaked figure; he was thickly built, as a hale warrior past his prime, his paunch resting regally on his thighs, firm and unmoving. His mighty fists held a long reed upon which was fastened a glittering gold spear head, his long white hair was tightly braided about with a diadem made of yellow-green palm, which had been painted and dyed with red pictures upon it. The thin wisps of hair that grew upon his forearms and legs were almost translucent, glistening only when they caught the light of the fire; his thick peppered beard encased a firm and stoic frown, deep in thought. The sitting figure wore a long tunic, embroidered with blue, gray and bright gold thread, wrapped with a thick jade studded leather belt; a great steel axe stood by his side and his hand clasped, firmly, a simple earthen goblet. The man gazed at Celebrin with bright gray eyes and Celebrin ascertained an ancient wisdom behind them; suddenly, a firm hand grasped him under his arm and force him to stand on his weak feet. The one who forced him to his feet had a silent authoritative expression upon his face; he wore simple garb, a loincloth and high boots, as well as a cape wrapped around his shoulders and clasped with a bamboo clasp and pin. He was lithe as Celebrin was, yet his skin was darker, like wet earth beside a river bed. He too was cloaked so that Celebrin saw nothing but his firm lips and smooth chin.

"Icha'atana b'ate?"

Celebrin heard the strange tongue spoken to him by the leader, the man upon the chair; it was the same tongue his captors used yet he did not know it. Instead he responded in Alamb-Harad,

"Idane koqitu Al-mewathi, anshe Alamb-heorad?"

"I am sorry, my host, do you speak Alamb Harad?"

The collective hissing took Celebrin aback, one from the crowd shouted,

"Morkwe! Morkwe! Tan iyircka haratuitla!"

Other shouts joined this one and they became more violent, Celebrin surmised "morkwe" was not a good word for each time someone called him that they made a cutting gesture with their hands across their throats. Others however remained seated and the man holding Celebrin's arm raised his hands calling all gathered there into silence. The leader upon the brush throne looked intently at the guard and said,

"Icha'atanwe kiquoloto quen-thik?"

The guard looked at Celebrin and forced him to his knees,

"Tanbanatant Edta!"

With sudden force the guard pulled Celebrin's hair back, revealing to all there the gentle leaf shaped point of the elf's ears. Another sound erupted amongst those gathered, they were gasps and hisses, exclamations of awe and ones of shock and even some laughter from what sounded like children. The man upon the throne for once showed a clear expression of shock and stood, causing all into silence; he looked beyond the circle to some unseen messenger and shouted,

"Kawilque El-Dinidar!"

Muffled voices again began to be uttered and the bearded man came down from the raised dais and stood before Celebrin, who by now had been forced to stand again. The bearded man asked Celebrin a question,

"Eru quenthi?"

The elf knew not how to respond but his expression clearly indicated he did not understand what was said to him. The bearded man pulled back Celebrin's hair more gently this time and let his fingers touch the point of the elf's ears and this elicited a boisterous laugh. He clapped his hands and shouted to the crowd,

"Kanwe! Kanwe, im lodotik tan banwewe ha!"

The crowd dispersed and became engrossed in busy preparations; the bearded man motioned for Celebrin to sit upon the floor before the hearth and within moments Celebrin was given a bowel of water to wash and a thick, strong wine that burned in the back of his throat. The bearded man, merely looked upon him with avid curiosity and his concentration was never broken save once.

At the approach of someone behind Celebrin the bearded man stood and smiled; Celebrin turned from where he sat and stood, ready to face whoever was brought in to assess him. His eyes fell upon a strange vision, dressed in simple garb stood a person roughly as tall as Celebrin. He had long straight black hair and a slender swan-like neck that was heavily decorated with turquoise necklaces; in his hands he held a red-dyed reed lute and his burning brown eyes looked upon Celebrin in wonder. Celebrin in turn gasped in surprise to see this person before him, it was as though he was looking upon the face of death itself. For standing before him was another like he, one who was born in the confines of Doriath, whose storied history was the stuff of legend and myth. The eyes were unmistakable, the neck and gentle musical fingers were uncannily familiar; before Celebrin stood the minstrel of Doriath, favored of Thingol himself, Daeron the Minstrel, whose voice in song none could match, not even among the Noldorin. He gazed upon Celebrin and said in wonderment,

"Elorn?"

And in turn Celebrin sighed,

"Ele…"