At long last I have updated, sorry this took so long to do, I just couldn't find the right way to write this...call it writer's block or something, hopefully it does not sound forced.

Upon the shores of Rhun they stood, looking out at a vast and empty land, the stars shone brightly in the east, and before them rose Earendil as he past into the west; the lands before them rolled on for what seemed an endless pace, they stood upon the brink of where all maps ended, where neither man nor elf nor dwarf would dare go again, having made the far journey from the land of their origin. For it was in this land that the Dark Lord's influence was strongest, far to the south lay the lands of Harad, and to the East the lands of the Easterlings and the Khand. Yet beyond none can say for once making the journey both man and elf ceased their trekking; there they stood two tall elderly figures dressed in sea-blue robes flowing in the wind of the early evening, and one immortal figure wrapped in elvish gray, and hanging by his side a sword in a scabbard of scarlet and gray silver, the handiwork of the Teleri by the sea. One of them, clothed in darker hues of the sea floor, spoke at long last, his voice deep and his gaze far into the land of the rising sun.

"Well then…what now remains but the plunge…Master Uial, if you still wish it you may return to your lands, where things are safest…"

"Nay master Pallando, nothing lies for me in the west, only the unknown before me…"

And they began their dusk lit trek into the east, following the river that fed the sea of Rhun, yet their journey was halted at first by a loud and fearless voice, a voice that many would follow in days to come, for the speaker willed its power so. The three turned to see a rider coming upon them in great speed, with a black stave raised high, his garments were white, and the horse he road was of a brown elvish breed; Alatar smiled to see who it was, and called out his name without fear,

"Hail Curumo!"

Yet he was soon silenced by the other beside him with a slight nudge of the other's staff,

"Say not this name, we know not what spies remain in these lands, or what few can speak the tongue of the Noldor."

Celebrin watched as the two greeted their comrade, and the white traveler looked at him with eyes filled with knowledge and yet in his mind Celebrin imagined a melodious song that soon became dissonant. Shaking from his mind this song, he greeted the new addition to their company, the great voice of this new traveler called Curumo spoke out as they began again,

"Long will be the journey into the net of the Dark One's following, if only we had Olorin to light our paths, well you two will have to do with me…"

And the others laughed at his jest, and it was in laughter, albeit nervous laughter that they began their long march through the empty wilderness, following the river until they came beyond the small, leafless wood and there found the meager spring that would come to feed the small inland sea.

The sun beat down on them as they gazed east, all night they had traveled in secret and in stealth, yet they awoke before the noon hour and prepared the rations they would soon have to take if they were to travel to places unknown. The four stood upon the edge of the meager forest looking into the vastness of the region that seemed never to end; Celebrin was at first amazed to see it in the waking hours of the sun, for he had heard only tales and lays of the great journey from the east by his parents and their kin, yet now before him lay the vastness of the Empty Lands empty of any of his people save they who remained in Cuivienen. Curumo pointed out the layings of the land, he held in his hand a rough sketching of a map, as if it had been drawn in haste, Celebrin peeked over his shoulder and was soon noticed, the white clad traveler said in a friendly voice as if he were speaking to a child,

"It is a map copied from one in the halls of the western land…the only known record of the Great Journey…made by the Vanyar themselves."

Not particularly welcome to being treated as a child at his age he found his bearings, and, turning to continue packing, nonchalantly said,

"It is not the only record, wise one, you forget the Teleri have long been known for their cartography, or at least in Ennor they are…in Cirdan's hall of memories there lies a map of the eastern lands, drawn by his own hand."

"He mentioned nothing of this…"

"Nor would he, it is dear to him as his own ships are, surely you know that something of this making cannot readily be copied, and once made is considered dearest to its maker. It is the only thing, sadly, he is not willing to send away as a gift or… as a whim."

"You demean your lord too much Master Uial, there are things I'll wager he does consider more dear to him than anything…"

The consoling voice of Alatar came from behind him, yet the mind of Celebrin was still heavy with loathing for the lord that remained in the west, the lord who raised him from birth and betrayed his trust as if it were nothing,

"You would be surprised Master Alatar, at what indeed the Lord Cirdan has sent willingly from his lands."

And so silenced followed and no mention of the Lord of Mithlond occurred for a long time thereafter.

Throughout the coming days they would journey into the East, and the land turned from dry grasslands, where the grazing was easiest to land where rocky earth gave way to sand. The mountains could no longer be seen in the distant west, and the sea of Rhun became a speck of moisture in their eyes; The ground turned from rocky to soft and burning grains of sand, here and there a small patch of grass could be seen and the sings ofrain were present, though it had been weeks since it came. They turned their journey south, for they sought not only the lands of the Easterlings but also the lands of the Harad where the Dark One drew the bulk of his mortal force.

"It is upon the borders of these lands that we may be able to sew the seed of dissension among the lines of Mordor, rumor from the very wind speaks of upheaval in the south."

The one called Alatar spoke these words as a brave gust of wind began to blow harder from the south, a warm wind it was that seemed to burn their very eyes as the sun had begun to do. The trees became small and wiry, gnarled as cypress yet barren of leaves or fruit; no sign of life could be seen for it seemed it was a vast wasteland that was once fruitful in the ancient past.For days on end they journeyed and fear of finding water began to grow in their minds, for while the bodies of the elves and whatever beings these others were never tired, the valiant steeds they rode began to show the signs of weariness. When at long last their skins ran low the two elderly men dressed in sea-blue robes, mimicking the hues of the sea, raised their eyes to the very stars and with shut eyelids felt their way around the world of water. And as they did so their cloaks of sea-blue began to flow like the waters of the Anduin and the shores of the sea, and in this unfelt wind their long silver-white hair flew like the tendrils of thunder from the sky. The others watched, one in amazement the other as patient as a farmer oversees the seeds of his crop grow from season to season. Twin voices filled the air speaking in the languages from across the sea, only one could Celebrin decipher for it was the speech of the Noldor, it spoke something similar to this,

Waters of Ulmo dancing brightly

Osse's shores rushing madly

Uinen's froth guiding serenely

Oh stars be our aid!

Guide the waters of Ea flowing

In deep hearts rising

To the shores of this desert land

Ulmo's waters all in one

Music of the horn of shell

Sing greatly to us your servants twain

Guide us to the shores of water

In a waterless land.

And nothing but silence followed as the invisible wind ceded to the breezeless day, and to the others they returned and taking a blackened bark from the campfire they took the map from Curumo's hand and begun to mark it, one from left to right the other from right to left; blindly guiding their hands they marked at blank contours of the map. When at last they were done seven marks were present were there had been none in the borders of the empty lands, and silently whispering Pallando pointed to one of the seven,

"Here lies the closest…a well it seems, and nearby it feels life is teeming."

And so to that ambiguous marking they went, as the sun began to rise from the east and the moon fell in the west, and foreign stars could be seen in the sky save for one final and lasting image, the Sickle of the Valar hung in the far north, where the heavens and the earth met in their unending dance. The heat of the day dragged on, and before him Celebrin could see the distance become a broken image as if he saw it through eyes covered by the surface of water, and whether in his mind or not he saw before him,

A green country behind white shores and a calm sea lapping upon the ground of white sand. And in the nearer distance he saw a forest filled with cedars, oak, ash, and cypress and from the woods came a long and sonorous song, as if it were mourning, yet the words were not ones of sorrow, but of longing, a calling from beyond the sea; names he heard, of those he knew that now dwelt in Mithlond, where lay the broken pieces of his heart. And the woods were stripped away and where stood now in the place of the trunks were elves dressed in all the hues of the summer wood, and their hands were outstretched toward him yet they seemed to turn away from him and seek others behind him. And he saw an image dressed in white and silver, whose golden-brown hair crowned his head as the flowers upon the mallorn crown the woods of Lorien and blow in the wind of the spring rain. The figure stretched not his hands toward him nor did he speak any words of longing only this one word left his mouth,

"No…"

And he felt a rush of water beneath his face and a wave seemed to take him away from the white shores and green country…

And he felt cool water upon his face and hands beginning to touch his skin, the blur before his eyes cleared and he saw a face with skin dark as the newly tilled earth, as copper fresh from the smith, the faces features spoke of womanhood and her eyes were dark and piercing as the void between the light of the stars. Her hair fell down toward Celebrin's face in a cascade of black velvet that reminded him of a dark bean the Numenoreans once gave to Cirdan in the days of their glory, a bean from the southern lands where the weather was warm and rain was said to fall in long cascades of hours. She wore a face of worry upon her countenance and to him spoke in an unintelligible language, that to Celebrin sounded as the flowing of the river amid rocks intending to break its course. Her voice lilted upward as if she were asking a question of him yet he could answer her in return, instead he moved quickly from beneath her and turned her eyes of worry into panic. And from beside her she unsheathed his own sword and held it strongly in her hand, as if she had held a sword before, yet she seemed surprised to hold something lighter than mortal steel. She cried out in fearing tones, yet strength remained in her alien tongue, as she held Celebrin back by the tip of his own blade; yet a voice came from behind him a familiar and deep voice retaining power and majesty, and he turned to see the white one called Curumo facing his palms forward in a sign of peace. She seemed to follow his command, even if she knew not the tongue he used, and she placed the sword upon the ground and knelt upon the sand keeping her intensely dark eyes upon both before her. Now that he could see her better she wore a scarlet robe of a coarse fabric and around her neck she wore a large veil of deep blue, her feet were bare and scared from long years of walking amid the desert sand. For one whose face was beaten by the forces of the land and by a long life of pain she was fair to look upon, she bore with her a sense of strength in her gait and in her form. Her wild black hair blew fiercely in the wind as her gaze never left that of Celebrin, his own sea-gray eyes looking at every feature of her face, reading as it were the life she lived by the details of her rustic and wild beauty. Indeed she seemed like a wild mare upon the plains of Ennor who was tamed by none, as one of the mearas she was wild, regal, and awe-inspiring in her subtleties. Curumo at long last spoke,

"We thought we had lost you, Alatar and Pallando remained by your side until I could find help…Then she appeared as if out of nowhere…It was a dangerous thing you did, taking no water for yourself…Yes! I noticed when your sack was the last to be emptied…"

"Who is she?"

"One from these lands it would seem, none of us can understand her for the most part…in the time you were healing we developed a rather simple Lammcam to communicate."

Making a movement with his hand he bid her to stand, she stood before them and though smaller than the women of the west she stood tall and with a certain dignity. With another movement Curumo spoke in the slowed common tongue to her,

"This…is…Uial…"

In reciprocation she motioned toward herself and spoke in her soft and strong flowing tongue, much like the dunes of the sand surrounding them. When she made a movement toward her heart she said the word.

"Cidhrali…"

And she pointed to the faint and rising stars and back to herself, Curumo's face shaped into mystery yet Celebrin smiled a little saying only,

"Her name…it means stars…"

And using the same motion he pointed to the east and the west, where now the sun was beginning to fade and the moon beginning to rise, in the hour when the golden light of the sun and the silver light of the moon mingled and the world knew then the light of the two trees. He pointed to twilight hour when the stars were unveiled and their beauty could be seen from a distance undominated by the great fire of the sun, he pointed to the same sky she pointed to and then to himself saying,

"I am twilight…Uial"

And she smiled at this, a smile that seemed filled with joy and a subdued laughter, she understood this odd twist of fate and her fear was quieted for in that world of unknown a connection seemed to form, something alien to the darkness and harshness of the world they were in. She was not of this harsh terrain, but of the gentle night, and in their conversations she told them she came from the mountains far to the east, and taught them bits of her tongue, as much as could be understood. And into the night they spoke, and she took in the tongue of the gentle elf, never knowing that he was of the elder race her grandmother spoke often of, that lived in the woods to the north, whose firey gaze pierced the darkness of the night and whose sorrowful and moaning songs led babes to their gentle rest, to dream of far off lands and to play amid the stars.

Cidhrali- A slightly linguistically modified version of the Aztec name Citlali, which does mean stars...having very little information of the language of the Harad or the Khand, I pressumed they were of the race that would come to cross the land bridge of Beringia...Aztec seemed like a nice homage to my ancestors (sorry for being a bit selfish but hey..)

Curumo- Quenya name of Saruman, forgot he journeyed with the Ithryn Luin to the East. He does seem kinder in this story, but of course it is before he turned..

Edited sorry about the mix-up