The charcoal sky let loose its torrents of heavy rain, causing the great valley of Gorgorath to fill with soiled water, and the great monstrous mountain of Orordruin slept an uneasy slumber. The forces of Gondor and Eriador had gone, none were left save the last remaining forces of elves, without word or council they were left to cleanse the land that become so defiled, the Alliance had ended, with the Ring of Power upon the neck of King Elendil's son, Isildur, an "heirloom" of his deceased father. Towards the location of the Former Morannon, was erected a large tent of canvas and sails, in which lay a field of beds, lined from make-shift wall to make-shift wall. Drapes separated the minimally wounded to the critical and severe; within healers worked tirelessly to treat the wounds of war, some had not done so in many an age. Celebrin looked at the recently made carts, filled with the bodies of the slain, wrapped in cloaks and prepared for a journey, he looked so intently at them, each were separated as to their destinations: some for Mithlond and Forlindon, others for Greenwood, and for Lorinand, each were marked with the banners of their former kings, though only that set for Greenwood still had a king. In another wagon were laid the swords and armor of those who had fallen before that day, and deep in its recesses lay the armor and spear of Gil-galad, in a place of reverence for all to mourn as it passed in the coming procession to the western shores of Middle-earth.

And Celebrin moved his eyes from this to that, inspecting each movement; so still he sat he seemed as a carving of stone made to ward off any orc that tried to return to the black land, and yet if one looked into his deep eyes they could see wandered the realms of memory and questioned the purposes of life, for they had not the gaze of one watching around him but in the realm of sleep and thought. Silently a foot moved breathlessly across the black brittle rock, shaking free small stones from their loose foundations, the small clatter awakened Celebrin from this dream-like state, forcing him to turn and see a Noldorin healer standing anxiously before him. His earthen hair was tied behind his head yet here and there stray strands stuck out from their braids, his face seemed so worn from long ages without air and wind; he breathed heavily an air different from that which was filled with the smell of blood and bitter herbs, and he smiled though his eyes spoke more words than anything he could have said. Celebrin stood looking first toward the tent then to the eyes of the healer before him, sternly he asked,

"What news do you bring?"

"We have done all we could..."

"But?"

"But I am afraid, he will not last the night, the wounds are to severe..."

In a fit of unlooked for anger and surprising strength, with watery eyes and heaving breath, Celebrin reached for the weary healer and held him by the forearms, and in a rushed voice spoke,

"Then you have not done all you could! I was told you were the greatest among the healers and new exclusively of healing dark wounds! YOU HAVE NOT DONE ENOUGH!!"

A firm hand pulled Celebrin from the healer and turned him around, holding his fierce hands and empassioned strength in check; Celebrin's fiery gaze was met with stern gray, and dark hair almost as raven as his own flowed in the oncoming wind. The face uttered two unmoving and emotionless words,

"Leave us."

As steps of retreat were heard, Celebrin forced himself free of the dirt-clad hands, saying with harsh yet sorrowful words upon the very edge of tears,

"Unhand me Noldo..."

"Calm yourself Lieutenant! What action is this that an officer such as yourself, shows to his men? Anger and passion? Despair and sorrow? These are actions unbefitting of one such as you..."

"And you, my lord, what action is this that you mourn not for one whom you loved as father, friend, and king, though you know his passing to be certain? Do not judge me when you deny the urgings of your heart to weep and show some compassion for one you loved dearly!"

"That is enough!"

Elrond's voice was harsh and hollow, even his hand raised a little intended to strike at the insolent remark, yet for appearance and dignity he lowered it to the hilt of his sword that hung below it. His hesitation was apparent in the eyes of the Sinda before him; with a gesture that told the other that he took no pride in this conquest, Celebrin calmed what nerves he could and spoke softly though with a tone of earthly wisdom and a touch of deepening sorrow,

"It is Sindar to mourn openly the ones we love, when the battle is over...even if it is in anger, you Noldor do not know this...so we may seem rash and wild to you. But it is how we have survived the loss of so many dear ones in our life and not become overwhelmed with despair...excuse me."

With that Celebrin strode quickly away and entered the tent where the sick and dying lay, coming to the bed where a pale figure, upon the very edge of death, whose ivory face was framed with brilliant golden-brown hair, and he sat by the bedside, unnoticed by the one who slept in a death-like sleep. Now overcome with sorrow and hidden by linen drapes, he wept, and from below his heart he utters moans of sorrow in a voice so low, many who slept then dreamt of caverns beneath the mountains where the springs of rivers were born. And uneasy sleep took him as he sat by the bedside of his companion, whose eyes would not open, and in the dream world the veil of reality was broken and he saw:

A sky ablaze with silver stars upon a sable ground, and amid them flew falling stars each with their aim to the west where the sun began to set, beneath him was the ever moving ocean where no land could be seen from either view, and he stood as a spectre upon the waves of the sea. And above him he saw so many lights moving and flying here and there, each flying by him on their winding journeys toward the falling of the sun. One among the brightest fell from the sky in red unbridled flame and into the depths of the ocean, where after he saw a large sea creature carry it back into the sky upon its back and as it flew high upon the stream of water spewed by the mighty beast, by its own power, it flew in a blaze of red, gold and bronze into the western sky. And before him he saw a figure kneeling upon the floor of the moving ocean waves, weeping holding a star that feel from the night sky, his golden-brown hair flowing in the astral wind, and his knowledge of anything around him secondary to what he now held in his cupped hands. And Celebrin knelt beside the Fear of his companion, whose tears ceased as he saw a familiar face, and in joy he tried to embrace him, yet one being only mind the other soul and mind no contact could be made and they passed through one another as one passed through mist that enters the valley on a cold winter morning. The voice of the Fear spoke as if speaking into an echoing canyon or the base of a hollow well,

"My life is spent, I cannot live life now so marred by fate, nor can I embrace you farewell.."

"Nay my friend, your life is not spent, for you have not made the last journey to the land west of where we now stand...you remain with me, as you promised."

"I cannot remember life, it is fading fast, I am called to the shores of white sand and clear blue water..."

"Do not heed the song! Remain here with me...Do not leave me alone as a new age begins..."

"YOUR TIME IS TEMPORARY, IT IS NOT YET TIME TO BE PARTED BY DEATH!!"

A great booming voice came from the depths of the sea and a great wind from the high heavens blew a large crest of water upon the scene and the dream was washed away even as the moon rose over the horizon, leaving...

Celebrin breathing heavily gasping air from the shock of the dream, thinking himself doused in water he took a towel and wiped his face only to find the small drops of dew. Seeing the morning sun peer through the white linen around and the large fabric of the tent, he remembered the words of the healer and ran to the bed-side of his friend. No movement came from the bed, his color pale as the night before, yet now his hair lost its gleam, and no mist of breath came from his mouth. Celebrin whispered to himself, with a voices rising to desperation,

"It was not time...You cannot have left...not like this!"

He wept again that morning, grabbing hold of the hands of the pale form and kissing them, caressing the cold face as it clung to life, and in a final act of love and friendship he kissed the mouth of the companion he knew for an age first as a child, then as brother, then beyond the bonds of kinship and friend, and whom he held dear for much of that past age, only to feel a small breath of warmth return to his mouth, a breath that was not his own...or was it his false hope, his last hope in a time when all had changed and was unmade in the world? He lay his ear close to his companion's breast, and heard nothing, in this his heart was broken, not by fact but by the breaking of his last and final hope... yet in the air he smelled a crisp sweet smell, a smell he smelled once for a brief time in Mithlond long ago, a smell known as athelas called so by the men across the sea, a smell that he long kept in forgotten memory. Its sweet caress only embittered that morning as he sat in desolation, holding the cold hand of the pale form upon the bed and as in a final desperation whispering,

"Come back..."

Then he felt a pulse of blood beneath the surface of the palm, and a small almost inaudible sound was heard from the figure before him, and beads of sweat dotted its brow, paleness retreated some and his once unmoving breast began to heave as if being drawn back from a nightmare into the world of the daylight. And in a sudden burst of life the pale figure sat up in his bed and cried to the heavens as his first breath filled his lungs, yet his cry was of anguish and unending pain; his body convulsed and twisted in pain, as his companion and whatever healers were present held the seizing body to the bed. The fit did not end until a few moments hence and the figure once again lay dormant as a stone yet now breathing easier, though pain was present upon the sleeper's face. The cry awoke many in the early morning light, even the Lord Elrond who entered the tent ready as it seemed for battle, only finding puzzled healers and awakened wounded. He strode to the place where Alphindil slept, and began inspecting the new signs of life, the sweat upon his forehead, the renewed breathing of hollow air, and the unintelligent mumblings of one lost in a dream world, looking up from his inspection he saw first the Sindar worried at these new signs, smiling gently he said,

"His fever has broken, it is a sign he fights for life now...What happened?"

Celebrin who stood now anxious and worried, stumbled through is words,

"I...I know not exactly...a...sweet fragrance filled the air, and with it...came this..."

Elrond's gaze moved to the pot of boiling water where incense-like steam arose filling the air with the cool fresh smell, looking at each of the healers he spotted an elf seemingly of Nandor origin, who looked from here to there, yet stood closest by the pot.

"You there...were you the maker of this broth?"

The Nandor spoke no Quenya as he was addressed in, but in a rough ancient dialect of Sindar, used seldom by the silvan folk, he responded looking at Celebrin imploringly, filled with fear in his eyes,

"My Lord Uial, please I meant no harm to your companion...I...I came...and found him cold as mountain ice...I thought he had passed...I meant no harm! I meant no harm!"

Celebrin responded going to the elf who had by this time dropped to his knees seeking mercy for an action he never intended to cause,

"Calm yourself Father of Haldir, breathe and speak plainly."

"I...I found you asleep by your friend and saw how the early morning chill left drops of dew on his face, I felt his skin...and felt no heat...I thought him dead...I thought it proper to...to...give him...a sweet fragrance as his soul left the world...that plant we have only used for such occasions, as it eases the passing of a loved one, and only recently."

Celebrin smiled and embraced the youth before him rising him to his feet, surrounded by many who could not understand the words he spoke,

"By your compassion, young one, you have saved his life. I am indebted to you to a limit you shall never know..."

Elrond looked puzzled at the conversation that took place and in common Sindarin Celebrin told all what had conspired, to which the Noldor healer exclaimed,

"Ele..."

Elrond himself looked to the healer and in Quenya said with a wiry smile,

"It seems there was more to do than even you realized, healer."

Turning to Celebrin he said,

"Bid him tell us where he found the athelas...It seems we are in need of it more than any thought we would be."

And while that day many were refreshed by the sweet smell of the herb, some remained in states of ill-sleep, and would toss and turn in their phantom like dreams. And for all the virtues the plant had, some remained beyond the care any there could provide, and so the tent of the ill became emptier and emptier, until only ten remained confined to bed and ill-sleep, of these was Alphindil, whose side was never left by Celebrin and the Nandor who brought him from beyond the darkness. Preparations were made to at long last leave the borders of that accursed land, and what crude wagons were left, were made into transports for those too wounded for journeying, pulled by oxen given by the King of Gondor as a last and parting gift to the fair folk. And from that land they rode, Elrond and his train ahead, then Thranduil and his following and at last Celebrin and what was left of the force from Lorinand and Greenwood the great; only a third of a force who left their homes seeking war with the Dark Lord. Holding the renewed banner of the King Amdir rode the Nandorin elf, whose name was lost to memory and time, at the head of the train, and Celebrin rode beside the wounded transport, playing songs on his flute and harp, trying to ease the spirits of the one who suffered from night terrors of war and death.

And at last the train came to the very borders of the Dagorlad where the great company at last parted ways as Elrond and his force crossed the Anduin, leaving the elves of the East to mourn their fallen kings. Celebrin rode beside the marked grave of Turgon, where Mithgaer, his noble steed, knelt in solemn mood beside the spot where laid his mare and mother of his son. And in silence he left the horse to mourn, and sat beside the bed of Alphindil, telling him of all that he saw as they left the lands of death and entered lands where life had returned, lands they came by not but eleven years ago, in an age that seemed centuries behind them now. The land had changed: grasses grew where rocks stood looming in despair; birds returned to nest in the marshlands that began to grow beneath their feet. Yet the sky still made the land seem somewhat solemn, a memorial to they who passed away and lay in tombs of earth.

And the journey continued from that day forth, until they crossed the Great River Anduin and entered the vast land called Calenardhon, and continued until they came within sight of Lorinand in the spring of the season, when new leaves covered the canopy and the golden of autumn fell to the ground and scattered the floor with golden light.

Yes I realize Elrond is an elf of both Sindar and Noldor lineages, but to Celebrin who holds on to such distinctions Elrond was not raised Sindar therefore he is not of them at least in mind.

I am going from the pressumption that few of the Nandor knew the virtues of athelas, only its smell, since it came from across the sea.

More interesting things coming soon as it is nearing the end, only two more chapters to go...