I know, I know, I said this would be coming to a close soon, and it will, eventually...just kidding but really I promise this storyline will end and I can start posting sequals. Though It saddens me in the doing, writing this has been an experience. thank you for your input. Okay its NOT ending now. But thank you.
The day of their journey was uneventful, as were the weeks that followed, slowly and leisurely they rode north, passing the borders of Gondor in the midst of the night, braving winds and rains that flowed quickly down the feet of the mountain, their winter chill nearly freezing them where they stood. At many times during the long arduous journey Alphindil would cringe at the pain he felt in his shoulder, rubbing it from time to time, always out of sight from his companion, who rode before him, paving a way through the gathering snow. The moon was seldom seen as they slept at night, so too were the stars hidden from their gaze, for dark clouds covered the whole of the sky as it let loose thousands of flakes of white pure snow- falling in a musical pattern- twisting this way and that- until they came to rest upon the frozen floor.
The hollows of the woods would cry out in oboe-like tunes; the crooning of the Onodrim, as Celebrin called them, songs for their wives who were lost to time. In Calenardhon, in the dead of winter these sorrowful cries droned throughout the night, their soft melody causing weary hearts to mourn the emptiness of the bed they slept in. And yet one night, as the crooning continued, writhing in the course of the ever-moving wind, Celebrin sat up from a perilous dream to find Alphindil starring at the dying fire. Before he could say anything, the howls of wolves entered his ears, far from his sword, which was tied to Thingalad; he bade Alphindil sit beside him for safety. Yet Alphindil sat motionless, looking into space; he moved toward his friend and as he was about to pull him away from the dying fire, the howls of the wolves ended, their dreadful cries flying away in the wind, cries of fear and terror were heard in their harsh departure. A short distance away, a large looming shadow appeared, made a silhouette by the dying lamp, the figure appeared more dreadful than the even the terrible cries of the wolves. Yet calm was in its wake, and as a wise old being sent from beyond the stars, it did not frighten the two companions, for this figure was known to them. His snow white hair blowing in the wind, as if it was meant to dance amid the tresses of ancient hair, his eyes so worn from life, that he seemed an old spirit of the world. The two looked at this creature, and understood who kept watch over them this night and all others, a friend from another age, who ran amid the fields of Calenardhon, crying out in rebellion against the wind, his white ancient form streaking across the plains of the great horse-land.
At long last their journey that season came to an end in Lorinand, where they were greeted with warm embraces, and a place beside the joyful king who during the winter months took his place of residence in the hall beneath the roots of the trees, where a blazing fire danced to the music of minstrels and troupes of players and dancers, telling stories to children of their heritage and the part their new guests played in such tales. And the two companions laughed to see their life made into song, both joyful and sorrow-filled, whispering to one another how accurate such stories were, or the opposite of it all. And those nights they slept in quarters of honor, only to awaken to more life amid the trees, while winter covered the canopies and ground with snow. Day to day life was lived in happiness until the coming of spring. When golden leaves of the old season fell from their limbs to make way for golden white blossoms, covering the once frozen ground with leaves of golden hue. Thus did it return to the mind of Alphindil the purpose of their journey, as his shoulder began to bite with bitter pangs, and darkness clouded his mind, even amid all this beauty of the early spring, the anniversary of the defeat of Sauron reminded him of his weariness and the fact that this gentle place was not the home he held dear. And so the parting of friends again occurred, as the King himself guided his friends to the northern borders of his land, where the forest of Greenwood began, saying,
"I have sent word to King Thranduil, he will provide you lodging fit for princes when you arrive, and thereafter you may rest for however long you wish, until you are ready."
"We thank you for your hospitality gwador...there is no gift we can give you at this parting?"
Alphindil's words, though sounding natural to him, began to lag and deepen, as if he had lived thousands of years beyond his age, showing the weariness of his life and the toll it presses upon him. Amroth smiled at his friend's words saying only,
"Since when have family members ever given gifts at partings gwador? Nay only the promise that you will return one day is enough for me."
"We shall see as the years unfold, but we shall return...Navear."
"Navear Celebrin...Navear Alphindil."
"May the trees of Lorien never fall by malice or war..."
"And may the paths you tread never lead to darkness again Alphindil."
Amroth's laughter faded as he turned and walked towards Caras Galadhon, laughing out the new name for his land, not different from the old one in meaning.
And again the two companions continued their journey, sometimes in silence, others times laughing at old memories, or singing old songs they heard in the courts of their youth. Yet as they went deeper into the great wood, shadows danced across the tapestries of trunks and needles and leaves. To the north they went, seldom stopping to rest, for the woods became so steeped in darkness that day was not so different from night, and the stars and moon were hidden from sight. Yet one night as they spoke of matters personal to themselves they heard the sounds of a crackling fire and a song heard for many millennia by the ears of elves everywhere, whose melody reaches beyond the time of Beleriand and the founding of Doriath. Three voices sang,
Ai Elbereth Glithoniel
O menel palan diriel
Le nallon si di'nguruthos
A tiro nin, Faniulos.
A Elbereth Glithoniel
Silivren penna miriel
O menel aglar elenath
And the two companions watched these three people sing, surrounding a fire, the greens of their cloaks and their attire matched them into the very woods they stood around. Their harps sounded alien to the other's ears, yet only served to elevate the song beyond the sounds of the mountain realm, to a foreign place that seemed so familiar at the same time. The three strangers noticed they were being watched and almost ducked into the safety of the woods had not Celebrin called out to them in the Silvan dialect that he learned in Lorinand, and again those same words in Sindarin,
"Hail, we are friends of your king!"
"What are your names?"
Called one of the strangers, whose hood covered his features and showed only a stern mouth, where none would have suspected such melodious tunes to emanate. To his question Alphindil spoke, removing himself from the brush with one hand before him, palm facing the sky, and the other hanging limply to his side,
"I am Alphindil, called Gaereledh, my companion is Celebrin Uialion...he was lieutenant during the war, under your king, over the contingent of Lorinand after their king's death."
The three elves stared at the attire of these two strange travelers, for they indeed wore the clothing given to them by Amroth in Lorinand, clothing that shimmered like the silver moon behind wisps of clouds that foretold wind the next day. The three golden-haired elves bowed their waists at these travelers, as if the ones who stood before them were indeed fabled kings out of songs. The ice between them melted as they greeted one another as kin, saying that their King expected their arrival within the next few days rather than the moment at hand. That night they slept before a grand fire, not needing to keep watch at all; in the morning they rose to begin the last leg of the journey to the Halls of Thranduil. And before them the great doors rose out of the side of a hill, like a mimicked Menegroth, as if it was made by stories told rather than by eyewitness account. They were received into the grand hall of the king, which was lit by many bronze lamps and fireplaces, and Thranduil stood to greet his guests stepping down from his throne to embrace them as diplomats often do. Two seats were brought for the travelers to sit beside the king at a dinner feast, where a regally dressed she-elf, clearly of Silvan descent, sat straightening her hair in its braids, her delicate fingers re-attaching a silver brooch in the form of a cedar leaf. Thranduil brought his guests to the she-elf and addressed her in a jestful mood saying,
"Herves, these are the famed Twin Spears you have heard often of in your gossips with your chamber maids...Celebrin of Doriath, and...Gaereledh...his companion."
The King's voice trailed to address the elf who stood next to him, looking down as if in some form of shame for having one such as he in his halls; Alphindil's mouth became stern to be addressed as such, yet for the sake of propriety he kissed the hand of the Queen, who, for spite of her husband, fawned at his greeting saying,
"What joy it is to finally meet you two, a change for sour eyes."
Her grasp of Sindarin, while well trained, could not stop her from speaking in her Silvan dialect at times, causing laughter to emanate from her husband who would patronize her grasp of his native tongue. This would in turn prompt her to jest at his loud and proud speech, which more often than not made her deaf, or at the very fact that he made a fool of himself with his boisterous pride, telling stories to these guests of such occurrences. The two companions sat often laughing at jokes that were said, sharing glances at one another in recognition of the fact that all this informality was something they had never before experienced. The people of this realm were joyful when the time came to it, and what sense of propriety was tossed to the wind, or at least any propriety learned by the Noldor or Sindar. It was as if another world had grown completely separated from the occurrences of the outer, so isolate and unique from any other culture either traveler had seen. It was during this feast that a small child with hair as bright as the morning sun on a spring day, and whose countenance was bright as a Noldorin lamp amid the darkness of the cave ran up to the king and hid behind his chair, looking over the shoulder of the smiling king, at two other children who were calling out his name. Laughing the king rose, startling the child into tripping over his own feet; causing the Queen to facetiously slap her husband in the arm. The king turned to pick the fallen child up, and holding the small figure in his arms he presented the child to his guests saying,
"Gentle guests, this is my son, the pride of my eye, and the soothing of my soul...Legolas, these are the famed Twin Spears."
"They do not look like twins, Ada."
The impetulant youth's words made Celebrin smile, and Alphindil laughed saying,
"Nay young princling, we are not twins...I am Alphindil, son of Oianar, and this is Celebrin, son of Uial"
"Where did you come from? Why is your hair darker? Why..."
"Such questions Legolas, leave our guests in peace."
"Nay Thranduil, he does not bother us, he is young and must have such questions answered."
The King nodded to Alphindil's statement and pulled a chair to the two guests for his son to sit on, who had waved his friends away as if they were servant, only to have them mock his regality as they left. Celebrin threw a raised eyebrow toward his companion as Alphindil spoke to the child, telling him in stories how such things came to be, leaving out information that was best for older ears to hear. All the while the child's eyes opened wide as he heard of the Great Journey and the sundering of the elves, yet when he came to the tales of the Noldor, Thranduil quickly interrupted and told the youth to go to bed, sending the child off with his mother. The child turned as he was walking away and said aloud to his mother,
"Why did Ada stop the story, it was getting to the good part..."
While Celebrin laughed at the child's last comment he noticed how disapproving Thranduil seemed of what his child learned, and as the King was about to open his mouth, he said,
"We thank you for your hospitality this night Thranduil, but I am afraid we shall retire for bed."
The king realizing the maneuver nodded simply and kept his eyes forward saying nothing as the two companions left, Alphindil prodding away on his stave, while Celebrin pulled him to their quarters before either elf said anything to one another. When they had reached their quarters Alphindil struggled free of his friend's grasp, saying indignantly,
"What was the cause of that?!"
"I saved your very life, that is what...Never should you say such things aloud, especially here and never before the impressionable mind of the King's son."
"The child asked for a story, and I gave him one, he seemed interested..."
"Yes, and when he asked why his grand-father's kingdom was destroyed, what would you tell him? Or worse if he asked why he was called a dark-elf, what would you say then?"
"You made no move to stop me."
"I did not realize the danger of the situation until it was too late...Stay here, I will try to make amends."
"I do not need protecting...Celebrin"
Alphindil shouted to his companion but it was to no avail, for the door closed, leaving him alone in the quarters. Frustrated and tired he sat in a chair and scoffed at how he was being treated, looking around the room he saw how uniquely carved it was, its finer features glimmering in the firelight. Realizing it must have been how living in Doriath must have felt, so safe beneath the earth, its warmth so fragile as its beauty was as well. And he saw why the Sindar of Doriath felt so passionately about their ancient home, and by what hands it was destroyed, choosing to keep it silent as they had kept the very name of Morgoth silent all these years, hoping not to reawaken its ancient evil. And he sat in silence, until a scream in the night awakened him from his sleep disturbing his dreams.
Celebrin found Thranduil looking at a tapestry that hung on the wall of his hall, depicting Beleg Cuthalion on one of his many adventures, his long flowing hair, catching the light of the woven sun above the trees, and his bow like the crescent moon poised for battle untold by the craft of the weavers. Before Celebrin spoke Thranduil looked at him and turned away saying,
"I have tried so very hard, Celebrin, to forget the sins and wounds of the past, and to spare the scars my father revealed to me, from the mind of my family. Legolas never knew any of that former life, nor should he, he should not know the evils the world can create, he should not know death, by any means, even the gift of men I will spare him from, even if it take all my power, I will spare him that."
"In this world Thranduil, such a wish is seldom granted."
"I WILL GRANT IT FOR HIM! ... He shall never know the histories, and thus be spared from the sorrow of our people."
"And you will protect him from the Shadow as well? Thranduil, you and I both know that the ring survived, whether it was lost in the River, or not...do you not feel it? Knowing our past has made me and you strong, it will teach him the enduring spirit of our people..."
"And what of the evil we are capable of? Do not tell me Celebrin that you have forgotten who destroyed your home and family...the kin of that one you call friend."
"He is different, if you would only see...I have learned to forgive, though it pains me we must forgive, for the safety of our race and the future of our children."
Then a scream was heard throughout the corridor, the King's ears pricked up, hearing the direction it came from saying in fear,
"It comes from the Royal Corridors..."
Then the two ran to where the screams continued , passing from hallway to blackened hall way, the screams getting louder as they approached the very edge becoming as if a child cried out in fear and sorrow. Then the crying stopped as they reached the very door of the child's room, to where the sounds led them. The King in his madness, tore at the door, becoming fey crying out to his son, heeding not who came to hold him back. The door pushed inward yet was held shut by a large mass, yet with the help of two guards and Celebrin the king pushed open the door seeing only a golden-haired child crying in a corner and a figure leaning on the wall beside him, covered in black-red blood with torn clothing and tussled golden-brown hair. The King ran to his son and picked him up holding him in a tight embrace; Celebrin seeing his companion wounded called for a healer and ran to his side, kicking aside a sword, saying,
"What happened?"
Gasping for air Alphindil pointed to the dark corner of the room where lay the dead figure of a large creature whose blackened head was torn from its body and whose bulging massive body twitched still from one of its eight menacing legs. Alphindil regaining his wits said,
"I heard a scream... the guards thought nothing of it, saying it was only one of the soldiers with the war illness telling me to pay no mind. But it sounded not like it at all. I followed it here, where I saw that...thing standing over the child's kicking body, half wrapped in webs. Your sword, I used your sword, I could not find my own...my arm, it hurts."
"Rest a while, a healer is coming, the creature is dead."
Celebrin inspected the wounds to only find a scratch on his left arm, a scratch from a claw and not a bite mark, breathing a sigh of relief he was about to speak when the King interrupted, half in tears the other in a demeanor Celebrin had never seen Thranduil emanate, sincere relief.
"Legolas told me everything...without you, I would have lost that which was most precious to me. What you did, was most honorable, even in your current state, I owe you my life."
"Thank you."
And when the king turned Celebrin helped his friend out of the room, and to the place of the healer, where Alphindil spent the next few days recovering from his wounds, passing the time telling stories to a group of children who followed the princling to the Spider Slayer, while Celebrin helped with burning the lair of the beast that was found when an inspection was lead to find where the creature came from, located only a short distance from the Royal corridors, in a small cavern. Yet soon the day came when Alphindil finished his stories and the children learned them by heart, knowing of the Great Kingdoms of Doriath and Gondolin, of Mithlond beside the sea, and Lorinand to the south and the story of the elven king and queen who founded most of them. All left save the child, as he learned how to play a harp and how to string a bow, despite his teacher having only the use of one arm. Yet even so darkness seemed to reach Alphindil again, and he wished again to continue their journey, and the day came for the saying of farewells and the giving of gifts. The king himself gave the two companions, a silvan bow, made by the crafts of the people, and the king spoke with Celebrin privately saying,
"Tell your fool of a foster-father to give up his ships and live among real elves in the forest."
Knowing it as only a jest Celebrin laughed and said simply,
"I shall..."
And Alphindil bid farewell to his little pupil handing to the child a small hair clip in the shape of a little leaf made of emerald and silver.
And as they left the small child waved emphatically crying out his farewells. At his Celebrin laughed saying in jest,
"Fatherhood suits you..."
"As it would you or is the great Celebrin afraid of children..."
"I do not fear children, only what they will become if I am their father."
"What will they become?"
"Fearful of life, of what it can do; having grown-up, knowing only the sorrow I have lived, and fearing life because of it...I will break their hearts and deny them a true childhood."
"Do not say such a thing, you will not be so...You will teach them beauty, life love, passion, humility and strength. Any child you have, will grow to become renown and surpass the stories of the greats, because you taught them to be so; any child you have I would be proud to love as my own."
"How can you say such a thing? How do you know what I will teach them..."
"Because you taught me."
Celebrin looked at his friend, who though younger than him, seemed wiser and more ancient than even he knew, as if his brushes with death gave him a power over knowledge of time and space as well as drawing strength from his arm and leg day by day. That conversation ended that day, and moved on to other things, as they passed through the old road toward the hidden valley of Imladris, where the playing of music and the cries of laughter received them.