Elfique: this one is longer than the last I hope, I am trying to return to a more intimate storyline, so bear with me.

Well the journey continues, a bit centralized on Celebrin this one, but he is the main character.

A cool western breeze moved the curtains in the room of Celebrin Uialion, son of Elorn and Tathiril, as he gazed out into the gardens below him, where children played with makeshift swords of wood, or with dolls made of cloth and down. Their play seemed so undisturbed by what was happening that day, little did they know that they too would be separated, some would remain in Imladris, others would follow their parents to the East and the unknown. He marveled at how simple life was to them, the borders of long hardship did not dampen their spirits, nor did immediate separation, all they knew was that there was daylight in the sky, and time enough to play before that evening.

Celebrin looked around at the room he had stayed in for only a fraction of his life, its carved walls and vaulted ceiling flowed in such rhythm as the very river just beneath its balcony. His fingers ran down the contours of the wood-work, made by his own hands, the bed by the virtue of the skill he learned at the hands of the Nandor, the door carved out of oak, and ash. The linens, now secured away for another to use, with their fine embroidered lines winding in an immortal pattern that never seemed to end, lay upon the mattress next to his travel bag. The brown satchel had traveled with him all the years of his life, from the destruction of Doriath, through the adventures he took in Eriador with his friend at his side, now to the east it traveled with him filled with what articles he had left to him that were most precious. Within lay the flute he made by his own hands, of shell and opal, part by the hands of his father, broken in the downfall of Doriath and repaired in Avernien; there also lay clothes he was given when he first arrived at the house of Cirdan, the memory of that day passed into his mind as his hand ran over its delicate embroidery.

"How many?"

A voice woke him in the din of the confusion, he was no longer surrounded by the

woods, the shadows of the refugees were now revealed as true beings he had come to know in all the years of his life, though now they were marred by burns or scars, most had the lost look of terror in their eyes. His head hurt, and the memory of what he saw pained his heart, he knew only sorrow then, and tears flew down his heart as water from a spring. Again a voice entered his hearing, this one more familiar to his memory, one he always knew to be sure and strong of will, yet now the tremor of fear had entered it, though strong it was still,

"There are four other groups coming, one headed by Oropher, another by Amdir, and the last by my wife."

"By the depth of the ocean! So many, yet only a fraction of what I had expected when the news came to my ears..."

Darkness took him again, and the sounds of blurred visions of people shifted away into sleep, though a dreamless one, filled with memory of arrows and parents slain. A nudge awoke him from uncomfortable rest, and a soft, musical voice permeated his mind, in longing and despair he called out in the darkness,

"Nana? I cannot see you...Where are you?"

"Awaken Dithenon, you need to eat..."

Before him sat a fair maiden crowned in golden-white hair, dressed in a blue gown stained with blood, dirt and grass. A light seemed to glow about her, as a vision from the world of mist, and her face was wroth with sincerity and pain, heartache and care. For any other her vision would have appeared welcoming, and an ease from their pain, indeed the broth she held in her hands would have seemed as precious as silver, yet not to he who she addressed rather than welcome her, he turned his eyes from the vision,

"Leave me..."

"But you must eat, or you will not be strong enough..."

"I said go!"

"Is this he?"

An ancient and hale voice entered his ears, one of gentility and strength, beauty and power, in the accent of his father's sea-faring people. The woman replied to him,

"Yes my lord it is he...I will leave you in private"

"Stay, I will have need of you...Face me young one, allow me to see your face."

The figure sat upon the bed and turned the child's reluctant face to him, showing the child a figure whose eyes reminded him of Elu Thingol, though this Eldar's were a blue-gray, much like his father, and his white flawless hair was pinned back so that it would be removed from his face. The Eldar looked surprised to see the child's face, to which he said,

"So very much like him...I did not believe it at first, but you are he...the son of Uial."

"Who are you?"

"I am the last of your family child, the kin of your father...Now you must eat."

He took the bowl from the maiden who stood behind him, and offered it to the child before him, yet in a rage of passion, upon mention of his father the child pushed the bowl away, causing it to spill across the floor crying,

"My family is gone forever... they are not coming back!"

The child rose from the bed and wishing to leave began to run from where he was, though he knew not where to go; yet before he took more than three steps pain throbbed on the right side of his face causing him to fall to the floor, crying in pain, arms grabbed him after he fell, and darkness took him again.

When he awoke he saw a dimly lit room and the sound of rushing water permeated his hearing; upon opening his eyes he saw the figure of the maiden who cared for him sleeping peacefully upon a chair beside his bed, and before the foot of his bed he saw the same lordly figure pacing the floor slowly, deep in his own thought. The figure upon seeing him awake went to the side of his bed and sat upon it, looking at the marred face of the child.

"We feared we would loose you to despair, yet it looks to me by the color of your face that you are not lost...Find joy in that, whatever the circumstances may be...I am Cirdan, I am your kin.

The youth then looked at himself, now dressed in linens, far too large for him, made for a grown Elda, seeing that these clothes belonged to this one who addressed himself as kin he said softly, his voice laden with much sorrow,

"I am Celebrin."

Memory faded to the present of the world, touching the scar left upon his eye, he smiled a bittersweet smile and carefully packed the linen tunic into his satchel. Leaving the room he walked through the winding corridors and over the bridged river to the great hall, which by that time had come to be known as the Hall of Fire, the hearth still blazing from that night he arrived in Imladris, though now at mid-day it burned softly, and many surrounding it roasted nuts for children to eat as they waited. There seemed to be a large number of elves everywhere, some soldiers dressed in light gear as he was, but mostly women and children, whose gilded hair shimmered brightly over dark-hued clothing made for long journeying. Yet he did not remain in the Hall, for the waiting was not for him, he instead passed through nodding to the travelers, healers he had come to know, and soldiers he had served along side. Leaving the great hall he entered a small room adjacent to it, where his lord and lady stood, speaking with one another, noticing him enter they nodded a welcome to him and continued with their conversation,

"The main host must follow the path to Khazad- Dum, it is the shortest path, and the Dwarves there would give us safe passage through."

"You may take whatever path you wish, however I cannot go with you on such a journey, my path leads south."

"Then so be it, but allow the children and women to come with me, they are safer with the Dwarves than in the unprotected lands of the south."

"Very well, but leave a few days hence, they are not entirely ready for journeying."

The Silver lord took the hand of his wife and kissed her in a sign of farewell, turning to his standard bearer he spoke,

"Call the soldiers, we ride now to the lands of the south."

Celebrin bowed and turned to the great hall, all within who were geared for travel stepped forward and followed him to the stables where the horses were prepared by stable-hands. Finding Mithgear, Celebrin strapped his satchel to the side of the white steed, and began adjusting the riding blanket when a familiar voice came from behind him,

"Take this..."

Turning around Celebrin saw Alphindil dressed in rather simple clothing holding a flask made of bronze and decorated with the insignia of a hart.

"What is...?"

"It is Miruvor, for the journey."

"How did you get this?"

"I traded my best cloak for it, because I wanted to make sure your journey was comfortable, and as a gift and an apology."

"There is not need for it."

"I am not going with you...my path leads me elsewhere, but I wish to give this also to you."

And from his hand he held out a brooch, in the shape of a swan in flight, made of black shimmering stone, trimmed with mithril and silver, Celebrin's face was surprised to see the heirloom of his companion's family offered to him,

"I cannot take this..."

"But I give it to you freely...you gave me your gem when I left, now I give you mine, in hopes that you will return it when next we meet."

The white horse of Celeborn passed the stall of Celebrin and he knew then that the time had come, with a quick and strong embrace the two said farewell and Celebrin rode off to ride beside his lord with banner unfurled, and the midday sun shining brightly with a Western wind blowing towards the mountains, and up into the snow peaks above.