I'm sorry I lied, there are more than two chapters ahead, possibly three more including this one, but it will come to an end mark my words...until the sequel, anyway, enjoy.

As they approached the outer borders of the land, naught but a few steps beyond the tree line a shout of acclamation was heard from above and an elf-maiden dressed in a light mail shirt and holding a light bow slid down a small rope and ran into the entering host immediately embracing one of the soldiers who dragged his weary body into the forest; crying and laughing of joy the two fell to the ground in a tight and warm embrace. Soon a great horn call came from above and figures appeared from trees and from behind ferns and hills; women, children, maidens and sons too young to march with fathers and elder brothers appeared from the very shadows of the woods. Laughing and joyous reunions were abound, horses were dismounted, and standards dropped in rejoicing and renewed love and embrace. Yet still Celebrin rode forth, behind him the wagon of the wounded, smiling a small wiry smile upon his lips, happy to know he no longer need to use his eyes or ears in fear of attack, yet worry dotted his mind and a frown covered his face as the wounded were brought to the main House of the Healers, where stood elves with white tunics and green leggings, all of whom ready to accept whoever came with illness or wound.

The great hall stood at the base of a great mallorn, its curved, tent-like roof blending to the slope of the trunk as if it sprung naturally from the very tree it was built around, and from the roof of the building rose a spiraling staircase to the very canopy of the mallorn, that clung to the side of the silver tree and was lit by lamps of white imperishable light. Such a warm and welcoming place had never before been seen by the likes of any, even among the elves of the elder days when the great halls of Gondolin and Doriath were true in form as in legend. As Celebrin dismounted he heard a voice in jubilation call to him from behind him, and as he turned he saw a maiden dressed in a brilliant white gown, whose hues reflected the very lamps of the stars; she ran over the roots of trees and through the mass of elves and clung to him as if she had not seen him in an age or more, into his ear she whispered,

"Welcome home, Celebrin, my brother in friendship."

"Thank you, Celebrian, my little gwathel..."

"My eyes rejoice to see you again, mother will be glad to know you are well. Tell me, where is Alphindil, I mean to show him how much Thingalad has grown since..."

Her face became filled with worry as she mirrored the expression shown by her friend, the look of worry and doubt, one of sorrow and sadness, with clenched mouth and eyes of sorrow; she then, fearing the worst, breathed deeply a breath of deep air, mouthing in despair words broken by grief,

"What happened...where is he?"

Looking at her imploring face, he wished to tell her he had died... wished to ease this uncertainty with certainty...in this way it seemed easiest, so that she need not be as he was: questioning the future so often that he dreaded each rest he would take; fearing there would be nothing in the morning, seeing a loved one so dear wreathed in fever and pain, knowing any medicine ushered by his hands was in utter vain. So much he wished he could spare this one he came to know as sister such pain he had felt, yet her eyes, her cool gray eyes beckoned him to speak and to her face he could not lie and spare pain. In a voice broken by age and sorrow he spoke trying to regain a semblance of dignity amid all who stood there,

"He lies among the wounded, near the doors of life and death, his eyes have not seen the day from his pain-filled sleep...I...I know not what to do."

Into her arms she took him, her compassion overruling her wish to weep, knowing how strong he had to become, for the entire length of the journey, showing no remorse for friend or dear one who lay slain in battle, remaining civil so that others could mourn and worry little of where they stepped. And he wept freely regardless of who saw, and mourned the passing of innocence he thought he had regained, and he mourned the passing of joy and laughter. Behind a tree she embraced him as he wept and regained his composure, their mutual tears drying as they wept for joy and sorrow. He told her all that came to pass from the moment they bid her farewell, to the very hour they came before the borders of Loriannd. In her arms he drew strength from some hidden corner of his being. In silence she listened until he came to a closure, then rising to her feet she bid him,

"Show me where he is..."

From behind the tree they went forth towards the Hall of Healing, and in the masses of elves they found the small bed of Alphindil, who by this time had been washed and clothed in new linens; though he looked healthier in form and hue of skin, his face was wrought in pain and beads of sweat clung to his forehead, where wounds began to heal, slower than anticipated. His breath was irregular and he turned in sleep as if in a nightmare, and in a sudden fit of terror and dream he sat up in his bed and began to fight invisible foes, crying out curses and screaming as one fey without hope of life; he tore at his tunic and at his hair, pulling gentle golden brown tresses and throwing them vainly to the floor. Yet he soon returned to near peaceful sleep and now breathed regularly in heavy gasping breaths. Celebrian covered her mouth at this grisly sight, yet her eyes remained fixed on him until the fit ended and Celebrin returned to her side, and who began ushering her toward the door,

"You should not have seen this..."

"On the contrary Tathirilion had she not, I would not have seen it."

From the door came a voice filled with age and deep sea-like beauty, a voice that came from a golden-crowned figure who stood as a warrior-queen, poised for battle: her sleeves rolled up behind her elbows, her hair tied behind her head, and her face...her face that none could forget in all their years of life upon the earth, ready as it seemed to walk the cold of the north and find the very edge of the world. Celebrin in instinct bowed low before her saying only,

"My Lady..."

Before he spoke any other word she came before him, taking his hands and looking into is eyes she spoke with a kind voice filled with compassion,

"You must rest...the journey was long...he is in other hands now."

"I cannot...I cannot find rest while he cannot."

"Then find strength, for the new king knows not the fate of his former, and must hear it from friendly voice."

And with that Celebrin took one last longing look at Alphindil and the two who stood around him studying the wounds beneath the tattered bandages, and, turning on his heel reluctantly, walked out of the House.

And on he walked going first to a satchel he kept on Mithgaer, removing from it a small artifact wrapped in a brown cloak; and he walked on until he came to the mound of Amdir, the great hall of the king in life, yet no life did he find in that place, nothing but an empty dark hall, where a hearth was kept by a lonely she-elf who looked at him in reverent silence. Taking a moment of thought he turned instead to the hill of Niphredil and Elanor and before a great and mighty tree he saw a small table surrounded by elves in white and gray robes, looking at scrolls of paper and every so often gazing and pointing to the canopy above and toward the direction of the King's hill. One among them looked up at the weary traveler who by some "magical" hidden strength stood straight and almost-lordly despite his soiled armor; the one who looked up wore a silver circlet around his head, adorned with a small green gem and a long gray cloak embroidered with the crest of Celeborn and Galadriel, and bordered with deep blue regalia with markings of the silvan folk. Looking at Celebrin he smiled, and bidding his group of advisors away he ran to him and embraced him,

"My brother"

He began to say, yet Celebrin stopped him and spoke in kind yet solemn words,

"Though my heart rejoices to see you again Amroth, I fear...I fear I am the bringer of sorrow, yet was chosen so by one so loved by you..."

A look of worry covered Amroth's smiling face, looking into the eyes of Celebrin trying to discern any foreknowledge of what he was about to say,

"In sorrow I bring this to you my brother, and news of the death of the Lord Amdir, King of Lorinand..."

From his hands he procured the crown of Amdir, its silver gleam lost by the stains of blood, yet its heraldry was accentuated by the loss of life and light from its ancient form. Taking the crown in his hand Amroth looked intently upon it and, kneeling on the hill, holding it close to his breast that hid his shattered heart, he cried out to the darkening skies and wept bitter tears, his body shaking in the consoling arms of his friend, who at that time knelt beside him and took his grieving heart into his own. As Amroth wept bitterly, Celebrin found strength to not reduce to tears and unending sorrow, instead he found words coming from his mouth as if from time and memory of one long ago,

"'Let none come between you and life, though we immortals have it for all the ages of the world it is so brief and lovely a thing...mourn not my life for it was well lived, rejoice in your days when love will find you, and live life, my son, live life', these were the last words of Amdir Malgalad, King of Lorinand, as he lay in my arms and breathed his last."

With tears streaming down his face Amroth looked in wonder at his friend at his side, his face turning from sorrow to bittersweet joy, in a whisper he said simply,

"Hannon le."

And life seldom returned to normal in many parts of the Golden Wood, homes were emptier, children suddenly fatherless, or with out siblings, wives without husbands and lovers holding lifeless pillows and mourning the loss of love. In the dark a soldier who had returned would cry out into the dark as nightmarish dreams woke them from uneasy sleep, yet whoever lay beside them would brings them to rest again, and would sing songs of peace, until their thoughts of evil melted into memories before the war. Guards watched the valley around, and the forest within, not truly trusting the report of the defeat of Sauron, and the retreat of the shadow riders.

And in the dark a horse was unsettled and seldom slept, though the stable hands tried their best techniques to get him to; he would refuse their medicines and their trained hands, sometimes becoming wild and stomping around in anger and frustration. Until one day Celebrin came to his stable, and, seeing the eyes of his steed and friend of long years, his heart wept for him, this valiant horse Mithgaer, a mearas from the old north, an ancient proud steed broken to tears and sorrow. And Celebrin took him to the very southern borders of the land, singing a song beneath the trees, until they came to the open land of the south that led to Calenardhon. In silence he looked deep into the eyes of Mithgaer, stroking his gentle hair that had known life beyond the ages of men, who had come from the wide western seas remaining young and wild as a colt, however now he looked so aged, so old as an old man whose long life has left him without family or spouse. Crying himself Celebrin removed the reigns from the horse's noble head, and speaking to him in ancient Sindarin in a whispered and compassionate tone, he faced his horse's head to the south then to the east saying,

"Go to her, find peace where you must my old friend...Go to her..."

And the horse tossed his head into the wind, after caressing Celebrin in the way horses have done for thousands upon thousands of years, and he galloped off beyond the starlit valley toward the river Anduin and out of the eyesight of the elf he had traveled with for all his long life, and he galloped out of memory and song, into legend and myth, a white unblemished steed who had only two sires in his life: one in Lorinand, another at another time, in another place, whose far-reaching line led to glory and renown in the age to come.

Few days passed since the return of the host from the War, when in the House of the Healers surrounded by two sleeping forms and a quietly moving one crowned in golden light, that Alphindil awoke at long last from harrowing dreams, his eyes opened as he gasped for air, crying out in fear and desperation,

"Celebrin!"

The friend who slept beside him in a chair awoke hearing his name and upon seeing the risen figure of Alphindil went quickly to his side and embraced him as the other was reduced to tears and inaudible words of a dark and terrible world filled with no sign of life and darkness one could not fathom and of a laughter so vile and cruel it caused the very rocks to shy away in fear. At last his hastened and fey words made sense as he grabbed at Celebrin's tunic, holding on as if this world seemed more unreal to him than the one he saw,

"I...I could not see anything... So alone...alone...and the eye."

"Calm my friend, you are safe now."

"Then it was dream? ...So terrible and horrible a dream."

"Sleep, it is over."

The fey and terrified elf would not drift to sleep, until a tea was brought to him and calmed his shattered nerves, and a lullaby was sung by his friend as he rocked him as a fragile child, as he had when Alphindil arrived to Avernien and dreamt of fire and Balrog whips.

In the morning after, Alphindil awoke again, seeing daylight and moving figures, sitting up quickly in his bed he saw before him the figure of Celebrin watching him intently smiling as he rose to life. Whatever pain he felt was secondary to this moment, as he was embraced again only now he felt joy to be in the arms of his only remaining family; Celebrin wept tears of joy and said to him,

"I thought you were lost..."

"I thought I had lost you...I...I cannot move my arm."

He said this looking at his arm, which had been bandaged heavily so that no thing disturbed the healing beneath, this caused him to laugh a little as a joyfully clear voice spoke from behind him,

"The wounds were deep, mother put forth all her effort in restoring you to health my gwador."

Smiling Alphindil accepted the embrace of Celebrian, who by this time had washed herself having been awakened by last night's events and looked as if she had not spent the last days among the sick and wounded.

"Let me see him!"

A commanding voice came from the doorway, as a figure robed in kingly garments strode in and looked in the direction of Alphindil, laughing he ran to the seated figure and embraced him saying,

"My mother's art of healing is indeed worth its weight in mithril my friend, it is good to see you among the living."

"It is a pleasure to see your smiling face Amroth...but, your..."

"I know the fate of Amdir, and have mourned him well, I am glad yours was not a death I would have to mourn as well."

When all had left save Celebrin, Alphindil leaned upon the head board of the bed and was propped up by his friend. Despite his turn of fate he did not smile, and looked rather worn with pain, now that he was almost alone. Noticing this Celebrin sat beside him on his bed and took his friend hand saying,

"What troubles you my friend?"

"There is pain, in my shoulder, and...I cannot feel my arm, nor the hand you hold in your own."

"You are still healing, it is the herbs,"

"No...I could not feel anything, not even the embraces, and I cannot move my legs."

Tears began to move down Alphindil's face as Celebrin searched his mind for answers, Alphindil with some effort leaned into the embrace of his friend, and wept,

It must be the herbs,

He repeated in his mind these words, as he embraced his friend, looking into the window at the life outside, knowing with some semblance of forethought that could not have been true.