*IMPORTANT NOTICE* This is not a new story but a repost from under a different pen name. Don't ask me what possessed me to want to start a new account, but I got sick of dealing with two and wanted to put this fic back in it's rightful place under my original pen name. Nothing has been changed in the story's content and the other two chapters that have already been written will be reposted in several days after I have gone over some needed proofreading.

Now back to the original draft…

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The idea for this story came to me late last night and I decided to write it on a whim. I must have been on some kind of kick because I wrote the whole first chapter out in less than a couple hours. It was seriously a new record for me.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are not mine and I am using them without permission from whoever actually holds the rights to Tolkein's work.

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It was a calm, cloudless night. Stars twinkled brightly in the dark twilight firmament, out-shined only by the pale moon hanging low in the dark twilight sky. Bathed in the clear light of the summer's waning moon, the still waters of the Gulf of Lune shimmered and sparkled like a sea of diamonds.

Housed on the far south-eastern shore of the harbored inland gulf, the elven shipyard of the Grey Havens lay in a peaceful slumber. Its vast docks and quays were silent and still from all the hammering and sawing that had filled the air during the day as countless mariners and shipbuilders labored to construct an endless supply of majestic silver boats. The ships built there were meant to ferry weary Elves of Middle-earth over the sea towards the Undying Lands in the west. Perhaps there under the shade of original Lothlorien's green trees they would find peace and live the rest of their immortal days under the light of the divine Valar.

Standing alone and basking in the gentle lull of the waves crashing against the harbor's shores, the elven Shipwright Cirdan stood on the edge of the Grey Haven's tallest lookout tower, staring out over the quiet waters of the illuminated sea. The elf's stature was that of all the Firstborn; tall and lean, powerful in mind, body, and spirit. His dark brown hair was braided away from his face, cascading down the shipwright's taunt and muscular back in a flowing curtain of silky tresses to the top of his waist. The ship-lord was clothed in a simple arrangement: soft navy leggings and a loose white tunic. Though he had once been an elf of high importance, Cirdan chose not to wear garments of class or distinction but preferred rather the common garments of a mariner, such being his job and occupation. Though ageless in face and appearance, a mournful burden shined from out of the shipwright's ancient grey eyes. The masked pain in his profoundly deep eyes was the weight of his long and lonesome mission of providing passage into the west to any Elf that came to him.

Leaning against the rampart of the stone tower, Cirdan stared sadly into the distant west, thinking of the many burdens his people had suffered in the mortal world. In his heart, the elf desperately longed to join his people in their final passage to the Undying Lands. It was undeniably painful for Cirdan to see the last glimmer of his silver ships disappear into the setting sun and know that he was left behind. He knew what peace and bliss lay ahead at the end of his passengers' journey. And though he faithfully manned his position of Shipwright, the elf knew he could not forsake Middle-earth; at least not yet. Countless centuries ago after the Valar had lifted their ban on the Elves from finding and reentering Valinor, Cirdan had promised he would remain in Middle-earth until the very last of the Firstborn grew weary of the mortal world of Men and came to him to sail across the sea.

~I wonder for how many more years Elves will linger here in Middle-earth... ~ Cirdan wondered grimly as he looked out towards the endless sea of dancing waves before him. A lingering sense of regret stirred in Cirdan's heart at the thought of his kind slowly dwindling and fading from the forests and valleys of Middle-earth, though he wished himself to forsake the dying shores of his home and diminish like those before him into the west. ~The might and splendor of the Eldar diminish faster everyday. It is only a matter of time before we leave this land completely...~

Over the last few centuries, he had seen the numbers of those wishing to leave Middle-earth steadily growing. They had come to him wishing to escape from under the growing shadow of darkness that was slowly seeping over the land of Men, even unto the edges of the last elven havens of Lothlorien and Rivendell. And for a time after the destruction of the One Ring of Power and the diminishing of the three elven rings (one of which Cirdan himself had possessed and guarded before entrusting to Gandalf the Grey), the masses of fleeing elves had slackened as a tense peace returned to Middle-earth.

But there was something new stirring in the air, something Cirdan could not taste, touch, or feel. It was like foreknowledge of an approaching summer storm when a cloudless blue sky still hung innocently overhead. It was like a faint darkness was hovering just on the edge of his vision, gnawing at the back of his mind like a rat on one of his ship's mooring ropes. It was an unplaceable darkness Cirdan knew haunted not only him but all Elves wary enough to feel it.

And as of late, Cirdan had seen the numbers of Elves crossing over in the Grey Havens swell at an alarming rate. The housings he had set aside to house those waiting to set sail across the sea were now filled to capacity. Many elves were encamped along the shores of the Gulf in makeshift tents, waiting anxiously for the next ship to depart. There was a certain sense of subdued panic in the air Cirdan had never felt before. The ancient shipwright had even seen amongst the latest disembarkment of Elves a female elf from the distant realm of Eryn Lasgalen with a tiny infants cradled in her arms. What dark, unknown fear was spreading over Middle-earth that a mother would be willing to risk the life of her child on such a treacherous journey across the sea?

Cirdan shuddered at the ominous thought. Some new darkness was growing in Middle-earth, he could feel it like a cold chill on the back of his neck. He just didn't know what it was. He knew that the Dark Lord Sauron's power had been utterly destroyed in the War of the Ring several years prior, but it felt as though a residue of his evil darkness still lingered over the land. Patches of land seemed free of this hovering gloom, like in distant Gondor where the shadow of Sauron's power had been the darkest. The shipwright had heard rumors from passing elves as the boarded his ships that Aragorn, the mortal foster-son of Lord Elrond, now ruled the great country of Gondor as King Elessar, the Elfstone. He had even heard inklings of a fair elven settlement being established somewhere near the city of Minas Tirith where the labor of the elves brought beauty and light back into the country that had seen so much darkness and destruction.

But while the news of such peace and prosperity brought Cirdan some small hope for the endurance of Middle-earth, he could not dispel the insistent tickling in the pit of his stomach that warned him of something about to happen. It was that ominous twinge that had refused the elf sleep and had drug him in his restlessness up onto the ramparts of his watchtower, seeking solace in the faint light of the stars and waves of the sea.

As Cirdan stared out over the tranquil sea mulling over the state of the world, he suddenly became aware of a small black shape on the distant horizon. The elf stood straight, tuning all of his attention onto the mysterious figure gliding on the sea. To a mere mortal's eyes, the shape was a tiny pinprick on the horizon and would have probably at first gone unnoticed, but to Cirdan and his enhanced elven seeing it looked to be the faint outline of a ship. He could make out a single mast rising up over the larger bulk of the boat, but he could make out little more in the pale moonlight. It was still too far out to sea to see how large of a vessel it was or in what design it had been constructed. But it was a ship without a doubt...

~Odd... What ship would be sailing towards the Grey Havens? And from so far in the west no less...~

Cirdan stood transfixed atop his watchtower, studying the ship with an air of perplexion and apprehension. The ship was moving with unnatural speed. Since spying it, it had already transversed several dozen knots. As the boat shot across the still ocean like a loosed arrow, Cirdan squinted to see the white foam breaking around its hull and skirting around its sides. It had to be traveling twice the normal speed of any shipping vessel the elven ship-lord had ever seen.

Stirred by an immediate fear of this unnatural ship, Cirdan watched in transfixed awe as the boat sped closer into clear sight. It was coming in a direct path for the quiet harbor that still lay a dozen or more miles away where the elf stood. Moonlight danced across the sea and lit the hull and deck of the speeding vessel in an unearthly silver glow. Half a dozen miles away from the shores of the Grey Havens, Cirdan was finally able to estimate the full size of the silver ship.

It had to be over three hundred feet long with a mast at least two-thirds that spance. Cirdan stared in disbelief, thinking he must be in some strange dream. Though narrow in width, no ship that size could possible sail at the speeds he saw this one going. It was just impossible! But no. Cirdan knew this was no dream. What he saw was real, no matter how unbelievable it was.

The ships towering mast was hung with a huge billowing white sail. High above the Crowsnest a long triangular flag snapped in the salty nighttime breeze. As a masthead for the silver vessel, the carved wooden figure of a white swan with outstretched wings flew in front of the boat's path, cleaving a path for the ship over the foaming water below. As the Shipwright raked his elven eyes over the deck of the beautifully crafted ship, he could detect no movement of crew aboard. It was sailing on its own power from all that he could see.

The elf's stomach twisted. The immense boat was already steering into the harbor mouth, and there was no mistaking where it was heading. ~It is sailing straight for the docks...~ Swiveling swiftly on his heels, Cirdan turned and raced for the stairs that would lead him to the ground. Something deep within in him told him he needed to be there to meet the mysterious silver ship when it docked. No seafaring vessel had sailed out of the west in the past three ages! Cirdan did not know what this mysterious ship's sudden appearance could possibly mean.

Cirdan flew through the silent streets of the small sea-side settlement towards the docks of his shipyard. His soft elven footfalls landed almost silently on the paved roads leading down towards the harbor's shores.

He was now on the docks, running in a full sprint over the noisy wooden boards towards the last pier on the far end. He could see the massive ship's sparkling white sail gliding nearer through the forest of masts sitting between him and the unannounced boat. The mysterious ship was now slowing as it neared an empty mooring dock.

Turning sharply down onto the last dock of the shipyard, Cirdan reached the pier just as the silver boat slowed even more to gracefully glide up next to the wooden dock. The ancient Shipwright stood in agape awe looking up at the towering hull of silver wood as the ship siddled up to the mooring posts. Never had he seen such beauty in shipbuilding. He could see no seams of wooden planks on the delicately curve-shaped hull. It was like the entire vessel had been meticulously carved out of a single block of wood.

~By the Valar... Could this ship be from the harbors of the Teleri in the Undying Lands!? No where else could such a ship have been crafted. But why would one of the unforsaken Elves leave Valinor to sail to Middle-earth? There have been no ships from out of the west since Feanor and the Noldor were exiled to Middle-earth half a lifetime ago...~ The implications of where the mysterious silver ship before him could have issued from literally made Cirdan's head spin. What could have brought his un-sorrowed brethren to sail to the shores of the mortal realm?

But before the ancient Shipwright could ponder this mystery any more, the soft scuffle of wood on wood startled Cirdan out of his thoughts. It seemed the ship was manned after all, but from his angle looking upwards, he could not see any living being on its deck. As a wide gangplank made of the same silver wood as the ship itself appeared over the boat's side and slid down to rest on the wooden pier Cirdan stood on, the elf felt suddenly frozen in place, hypnotized by the strange ship and its mysterious appearance in the middle of the night.

Slowly over the railing of the ship's side, five tall cloaked forms of dark grey appeared, silhouetted by the waning moonlight in the sky behind them. Their faces were hidden from Cirdan's view by low hoods that hung halfway down over where their noses should have been. Walking in a single file, the five mysterious intruders slowly descended the gangplank, gliding like ghosts in their billowing robes. Their feet made no sound on the wooden pier as they stepped noiselessly off the silver plank and came to stand in a silent row before the now slightly frightened Shipwright.

For what felt like an eternity, Cirdan stared into the black faces of the mysterious strangers. Even though he could not see their eyes, he could feel their invisible gaze silently boring into him. Mustering his willpower to break out of his trance and formally address these uninvited guests in his harbor, the elf said, "I am Cirdan, lord of the Grey Havens. I demand to know what business you have in my domain and from where you have come." Even to the Shipwright's ears he could detect the frightened waver in his voice as he addressed the faceless strangers. Never in all his long years of his life had he ever felt so unnerved by any being's presence as with these five.

"We have come from over the sea," answered the tallest of the cloaked figures vaguely in a low but fair voice. Cirdan immediately noted the strange accent permeating the stranger's speech. "We come only seeking information..."

"Information concerning what?" the ship-lord prompted circumspectly.

"We seek information concerning the whereabouts of a particular elf here in Middle-earth who we are searching for. It is of the utmost importance that we find him..." answered another of five, this one's speech was also heavily accented, contesting without a doubt that the common tongue of Middle-earth was not their first language.

Cirdan warily eyed his unannounced guests. "What business do you have with the elf you seek?"

"A dark evil is raising up over Middle-earth and will soon spread over all of Aman," whispered yet a third of the cloaked company, "The one we seek is the only one that can prevent the end of the world..."

The ancient elf's heart clenched into a frozen mass in his chest. He had not been prepared for this answer. It was altogether overwhelmingly eery how just as his harbors were filling with elves frantically seeking passage over the sea from some unnamed darkness growing in Middle-earth that five mysterious strangers should come out of the west speaking of the end of the world. What did all of this really mean? Was it possible that his personal fears of some growing uneasiness had not been without some foundation?

"What do you mean the end of the world?" Cirdan asked in a small quavering voice, his heart racing.

"The end of all of Eru's creation... the silencing of Iluvatar's Song. Not even the Undying Lands of Valinor will escape the wave of destruction and death that will envelop the world in darkness if we do not find the One." replied the first grimly, most probably the leader of the five by the way the other four huddled at his sides.

Cirdan glanced at each of the obscure faces standing around him with masked nervousness. "Who is it you seek?" the ancient shipwright asked, his curiosity overcoming any apprehension he may have had towards the faceless strangers of the silver ship.

A suffocating pause stung Cirdan's ears as the hooded figures shifted their weight between their feet almost nervously. He could almost feel the tension rising as the tallest one took a hesitant step closer to the elven ship-lord. As the leader of the small band came to stand right over the ancient keeper of Narya, Cirdan suddenly felt small and unimportant in comparison to the commanding presence hiding only inches away beneath a hood of dark grey.

Bending down slightly so as to lean in close to whisper in the Shipwright's delicately pointed ear, as if afraid of being overheard, the mysterious sailor said, "We have come seeking Legolas Thrandullion..."

TBC

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