Okay well the line feature isnt working with me so any way, here is the second chapter to The Journey. It is long and possibly far-reaching but im trying not to turn this piece into another 30 chapter epic, probably 25 or so. anyway enjoy.

The morning of the new day brought forth many new wonderings and occurrences, yet to the crowd who had gathered at the hall all that was said was that visitors from distant lands spoke silently with the Shipwright. Yet the inquisitive hearts of the crowd were not satisfied at that; it was then that one of the travelers revealed himself before them, his golden hair blowing in the wind as if he had stepped out of time and space, not heeding anymore the call of death and shadow-filled existence. The few remaining Noldor from the ancient world remembered this figure immeadiatly and word traveled through all the courts and pavilions, the dead had come to life, and the straight path remained open to the Eldar.

Yet within the confines of the Hall silent words were spoken, and five mysterious travelers spoke with the Lord of Mithlond, who sat in his seat and peered deep into the recesses of their mind, trying to navigate their murky and misted nature. One alone he could peer into, yet it was only by the will of he who was being searched over; his gray eyes opened before the white haired lord and within the minds eye Cirdan saw before him a figure standing tall amid the rest, whose gray curtain revealed a hidden light of pale white and whose honorable beard blew as sea foam upon the wind. When that day had come to a close the five strangers turned to be taken to their lodgings by secret paths through the city. Yet as the Gray Traveler turned to follow his comrades Cirdan stood and called to him; at first there as silence between them as they read one another's thoughts, on as old as the earth itself, the other far beyond the years counted in these days. Between them there was wisdom enough to rule the entire world, and yet in all their lives they submitted themselves to roles in which they served those who came after their time or were in truth lesser of power. At last Cirdan spoke turning to Celebrin who apathetically stood guard over the western door, farthest from the Seat of the Shipwright, with his back turned,

"Celebrin…come."

Silently Celebrin walked over to the elf upon the elevated platform and without making eye contact he answered stoically,

"Yes…Lord Cirdan."

His formal tongue seemed to strike at the core of something within the ancient elf, a loss it seemed plagued his thoughts; the sight of the elf before him reminded him of how for two years his foster-son sat brooding in the darkness of his room, refusing anything, even food and water.

"Celebrin, in my study there is a small box upon a high shelf…it bears a marking- a silver tree beneath a golden sun, and beneath the tree stands a black anvil. Please bring it to me."

In silence Celebrin left without even bowing to the lord before him; the Gray Traveler looked upon this scene with much interest, his noble face, which yet bore no scar or hard-carved wrinkles, was wroth with worry and he spoke in a kind and gentle voice to the lord before him,

"Lord Cirdan, is this a new form of service to lords from their servants? Not bowing to they who should be shown respect? Or, unless my eyes have cheated me, this youth's actions are common place in this kingdom?"

"Nay Mithrandir, the youth is…my kin, my foster-son, whom I have raised since he was but an orphaned child, many years ago."

"Even so, he seems to not know you have done such a thing for him?"

"I fear, new friend, that I am of all most deserving of his anger and hatred…I betrayed his trust, and the care that should exist between father and son..."

"Ah…you mean of course the lame sea-traveler…who last sailed beyond these shores…Yes, Lord Cirdan, I have met this youth, and have heard his story…"

"Then you know why my foster-son hates me so. What breech of trust I had committed in helping that youth."

"Your actions, are not worthy of hate, your foster-son will see this soon enough, and if he does not ere the end of his life, then the injury you have caused him was deeper than any could have thought of…even so the fault does not lie wholly upon you, it is the way of the world to break hearts…you know this surely enough?"

Cirdan looked at the traveler before him, who naught but two days ago was a stranger, and now spoke with him as if they had known each other for years uncounted-in him, Cirdan thought, there lies a light I cannot see with my eyes. At this time Celebrin walked into the great hall, looking down at the artifact in his eyes-his memory running to the last time he saw this box he now held, carved of dark mountain wood, and bearing the symbols most identifiable with Celeborn, Galadriel, and Celebrimor-the Lords of Eregion, the lost. In an awkward silence he handed the small box to Cirdan, knowing full-well what it carried within it, and becoming increasingly aware that it remained in there ever since that night many centuries ago, when Lorien and Greenwood did not exist in the maps of the elves yet, and the ancient world seemed so close as if it were only a few nights ago.

The Ancient Elf opened the box with a key that hung from around his neck, and from the box an amber light emitted, as an ember that clings to life when the wood has been turned completely to ash. And yet in the hands of the shipwright it began to shimmer brighter, and brighter until it blazed forth its hidden light and lit the entire room in its warm amber glow, bringing all things to truth in the mind, bringing courage to the weary, awe to the disheartened, and hope to they who had little. Yet as soon as the light appeared it vanished, returning again to the small ruby gem that sat within a golden band, which lay in the hand of Cirdan. Holding his hand out to the gray traveler before him he spoke with great conviction and will,

"Mithrandir I call you, because you came to us, wandering it seems, clad in gray, the hue held most sacred to Teleri-a reminder of times long past, when our valourious people lived among the twilit trees of Neldoreth, and Eglarest- and a hue that hides a hidden strength, as a veil does a candle burning in the hidden paths of the forest. Take this, Olorin, and find better use of it than I ever had, for you I see it was made, because only you have the strength to wield it and bring strength to weary hearts. Take now this ring…for thy labours and thy cares will be heavy, but in all it will support thee and defend thee from weariness. For this is the Ring of Fire, and herewith, maybe, thou shalt rekindle hearts to the valour of old in a world that grows chill."

Looking at Celebrin, who now looked at his foster-father in a subdued awe, the ancient elf saw the image of the brother he cared deeply for so many years before and who helped to build his former kingdoms even as his son had aided in building Mithlond; yet who now bore a face of sorrow and sadness, pain and anger, shame and pride. A small tear welled in his eyes and he continued looking at the downcast face of this elf whom he loved as his own son.

" But as for me…my heart is with the Sea, and I will dwell by the gray shores, guarding the Havens until the last ship sails. Then I shall await thee."

Celebrin looked up at his foster-father and peered directly into his eyes when he had said this, not knowing whether the last comment was meant for him, or for the gray-clad traveler- and it filled him with an ever-present doom, as if the ancient elf spoke of a time far beyond in years, that seemed too near for the youth's liking. Silence filled the rest of the day as the gray-traveler left the hall seeking rest, now bearing a precious gift hidden deep within his robes.

As night fell over the land and sleep came for all, Celebrin leaned upon an arch-leg that held aloft a domed walkway that surrounded the Hall of Cirdan; he faced his eyes westward, holding his arms around him, shielding his heart from some unknown evil, some unfelt cold from the wind in the sea. Behind him he heard the soft patter of footsteps and the swishing of robes in the sea-wind; turning he beheld an elf dressed in night-clothes the hues of the night sky that is littered with clouds bearing rain from the sea, foretelling a storm to come to the land. The shadowed figure hid his face in the dark, yet to Celebrin the clothing was familiar to him, as was the voice behind it, to the figure he spoke returning his gaze to the ever moving sea. Cirdan entered the pale moon light of the crescent, which hung in the distance dropping below the zenith of the sky toward the rising Earendil; looking ahead at the ever-present sea he at last spoke,

'The strangers wish to see the whole of Ennor, all the lands east of Mithlond and South of Angmar…They seek… a guide."

"What business is that of mine?"

"I have…elected you to be their guide…before you yell at me hear this, though it pains me to send you away after so many years of not seeing you, it is only fitting that such honored guests have the best of guides…you alone in Mithlond have seen the lands farthest East, and you alone know the roads and paths they may take in secret, to wherever they wish."

"Is this how you apologize? Sending away the troubles you cannot deal with, placing them on other's hands?"

"Do not say such things of me Celebrin, I raised you when you had no one, I deserve that much respect!"

"You raised me? While you were busy building your kingdom, I was being raised by the stable-hands, by the fishers, by the cooks, healers, masons, gardeners, and smiths…You raised me Lord Cirdan? Yes you raised me…to only know duty over the feelings of the heart."

"Be wary of what you say Celebrin, I have only struck you once in my life, do not make me do it again!"

"Strike me then! And give me the reason I need to never see you again… You knew about his departure, and yet you said nothing…You gave him the idea in the first place! And yet you did not choose to speak to me about it!!"

"He was in pain Celebrin! What was I to do? It was not I who ordered you not to go with him, I had hoped you would go that road, and yet you did not, for what reason is beyond me…There are times Celebrin that your stubbornness is worse than your father's! A stubbornness that brought death upon him!"

Cirdan's rash phrase stunned Celebrin at first, it was at this moment that he felt threatened by the ancient shipwright, a feeling that caused him to growl primeavally from his breast. Before his eyes he no longer saw the proud stature of his foster-father, rather he saw red flame and a stinging pain burned at his right cheek. Cirdan's face turned to worry as he recalled what he had said, and as he tried to mouth an apology Celebrin spoke,

"Tell me when we leave and you will be rid of me then."

"You…you leave tomorrow at the third hour of the day…Celebrin…"

"I must ready myself then…goodnight, my lord."

Cirdan stared out into the sea, looking in the direction where his foster-son had just stood, and he breathed heavily, realizing what he had done, and he cursed his words beating his hands upon the stonework of the hall.

The next morning Celebrin sat upon Thingalad facing the eastern gate, waiting anxiously for the five travelers to come forth upon their own horses- it had been years since he had again traveled openly in Eriador, yet this did not bother him, all he felt was a great desire to be as far from the haven as possible-this Thingalad seemed to sense, for the wild gray white horse trotted nervouslt to and fro. At last, he was joined by the five travelers- dressed in heavy robes, which hid their bright clothing beneath sea-gray. And a sixth came, yet not dressed in gray, rather he wore brazenly the mark of Gondolin upon his tunic and allowed his infamous Golden hair to flow openly in the morning wind that came in from the sea. He rode up beside Thingalad and spoke openly to the Celebrin,

"Why do you look so Celebrin? Does this journey not bode well for you?"

"Nay Lord Glorfindel, rather I am joyous at this departure…merely deep in thought."

The voice of Cirdan broke their conversation as he opened his hands in farewell to the small company of seven,

"Travelers, may the blessings of Mithlond be upon you, as you travel roads that lead beyond the mountains. Be safe, and return when thou wilst…Mithlond is ever open to you, as is my hall."

And in his mind Celebrin heard the voice of Cirdan speaking to him,

Think better of me when you return

And the youth turned Thingalad toward the eastern door saying outloud,

"The hour is late, the time has come to ride…Farewell, Lord Cirdan."

Farewell, my son.

And they rode into the east, passing beyond the White Towers, into a small country land, where once Celebrin had sang beneath the stars a lullaby beneath a tree that had now grown to a large height and whose branches covered a large field in its shade. Passed that land they rode and far into the sunset and through the night they stayed in an old forest, where as he sat at watch with Glorfindel he heard a song in the distance, a song from an old and ancient voice, that seemed to call to him from a time long passed.

And for the next days they rode, sometimes at speed, most times at a slow and methodical pace, as he would describe the lands they had passed and the ones they were passing. At every stop he would answer their questions, and would show them where rivers led and from where they came. He spoke of the Kingdoms of the mortals, and where now the three kings lay their claim. Yet their road was not straight, for it curved this way and that, as he spoke of landmarks, and other secret paths to take to get places quicker or in need of stealth. The traveler known at this time as Mithrandir would sit and speak with him for hours on end into the night, of the paths held most secret by the elves, and how the land had changed. Yet Celebrin spoke less of such things, save only when he felt in a better mood, it was at these times the Travelers dressed in sea-blue would speak with him concerning the shores south of where they now traveled. And oddly enough he would speak with them openly of items he spoke seldom to others, for in them he saw what he had been searching for his entire life, a gentle blending of the Sea and the Woods. They would stay silent, the three of them, and hear the sound of the wind, which would carry a mountain song from the east down into the river valleys of Eriador. And it was at these times that Celebrin felt most peaceful, until one day as they slept on the wayside of the main road toward the Mountains of Mist dreams of darkness plagued his thoughts, and he tossed in his sleep, until Glorfindel awoke him, only to have a hidden dagger thrust at his direction. The raven-haired elf was subdued by the larger Noldor, and pantings of terror gave way to soft breaths of disturbed sleep and mumblings to the darkness.

That morning he awoke to find the two travelers in blue sitting with their back to him, tending the fire with their long smoothly polished staves; their conversation reached his ears as one with the deeper hues spoke in a voice as the deep caverns of the mountain or as the crashing of the waves upon the cliffs of Mithlond,

"…pain seems unbearable for him Alatar…I fear for his safety and the safety of our mission were he to come with us."

"But Pallando, he needs this, you saw how he acted in Mithlond, how it pains him to remain here longer…and you know as well as I we have no chance on our own in the East. We need him as much as he needs us."

The second's voice came from the one dressed in lighter hues of blue, whose tone was as a light and gentle breeze as that which flies through the woods of Lorien into the deep river valley of the Anduin. The former spoke with as much conviction as the later, yet in his voice one could deem a higher quality to his voice, though it sung in the lower registers.

"Our mission does not involve the first born. They have little to no need of our help, their kingdoms are founded, their leaders chosen. Our mission was to safe-guard Arda for the future, not re-make it for the past."

"And his future is the future of Arda, the first born are still as much a part of this world as the second born, it is their future we fight for also-even if it be for a brief moment."

"He has duties here, we cannot ask him…"

"I still say we should, he is of more value to us in the unknown east than any lord makes use of him here."

"Where do you go Masters Pallando and Alatar? And whom do you intend to bring with you?"

The two elderly looking men turned around quickly to see the object of their discussion wide awake behind them, his raven hair flowing in the morning breeze, and his ages old scar brightly showing signs of reopening from the previous night. The deeper hued one, who was now known as Pallando smiled at the ground and stroked his short pointed gray beard and stood tall before the elf, shadowing his features from the dawning sun.

" You, Master Uial, you were the person we were conversing about, rather rudely I might add- then again you were evesdropping so I assume we are even in that respect."

"And even so, you refer to me as a child, unable to make my own decisions, despite my age and experiences."

At this point the one called Alatar spoke, his voice the fairer of the two travelers, and seemingly younger.

"We did not mean to demean you for the task Master Uial, merely that other duties might become paramount to what we…wish to ask of you."

"Which would be?"

"Myself and my companion Alatar, were sent…to bring relief to the abandoned East, where men have lived under the influence of the darkness for far too long. It is our hope that if the Dark one is indeed defeated or biding his time, then we may have a chance to prevent his victory in those lands…or at least minimize it."

"I know not the lands of the East, or at least as far as you wish to travel, I of course would be of no use."

"Yet, if there remain Avari in the East then…"

"Silence Alatar!"

Pallando nudged his companion with his staff looking in the direction of the river that flew down the mountain rise into the valley occupied called the Rhudaur, the valley just outside of the borders of Imladris, where centuries ago, victory was claimed in the northern kingdom, and the dark deceiver went west toward the island nation of Numenor.

The other three travelers and Glorfindel were walking toward the others at a slow and methodical pace, the signs were clear they had gone foraging around the area surveying the land they had never seen with their eyes, save they who saw it in its infancy if ever they saw it in days long past. And thus did the journey continue, with no words spoken of the East or of the ever so secretive mission of the travelers. Celebrin wondered at the usage of the word he had come to equate with a mysterious and mythic people, even among the Eldar…the Avari, a lost and forgotten people, whose fate was never truly known. Some assumed they had become the dreaded orcs of the days of Beleriand, or rather that when Arda broke and was made round Cuvienen was lost into the bowls of the earth and they with it. These thoughts plagued Celebrin until the lights of Imladris' lamps entered his eyes and his mind was turned to the news he must tell the lady of the lord's house, who had lost a friend two years ago, when his heart broke and was marred, it seemed, for all time.