Here is another installment! Hope you all are enjoying them, this is a bit long and is not divided by events so I'm sorry about that.
Elfique- sorry about not answering your question posted earlier, yes the brooch Celerbin gave Amroth was that of Alphindil, sorry if it confused you.
Edited (1-21-05) Completely sorry about not warning about this earlier, in this chapter therein lies language that may not be sutible for children, its really only one word and there is no more of it later. The dialouge just didn't feel right without it or with a euphamism, mostly because it was insult in ancient times as it still is today.
In the light of the new morning Celebrin stood facing the west, where the moon began to set and the stars faded from view, it was at these moments of twilight, one at day and the other at night that he often remembered his times as a child. He grew up too fast, that is what Cirdan always said, never playing with the other children, and when Alphindil came they never "played". A voice came from behind him a light and soothing voice he easily identified with Alatar, the elderly man's voice was always more to his liking than that of the others, Curumo's voice was too demanding and Pallando's reminded him too often of the sea,
"This young girl was indeed a blessing in disguise, I did not think we would ever find hospitality here, amid all this barren wasteland…she will lead us to the nearest village I hear?"
"Yes, there she says we may find food and water…it is an interesting tongue her language, smooth as the very sand dunes we walk upon, yet rough as the mountian's edge, I must admit it is quite difficult to understand and master."
"It would appear that her speech is uncommon in this land? She seemed timid to teach it to you last night…"
"It would seem that her and her people are forbidden from speaking so, there was a certain fear in her gaze when I asked her what the word 'stone' was in her tongue."
"How knowledgeable are you in speaking Harad, or even Khand…"
"Very little it would seem, I only learned such phrases that dealt with war, though from the outlook of this terrain that may be all I will need."
The vastness of the desert land stretched out before them; in the early morning hours the sand was not white hot with the blaze of the sun but cool and silver like as the gray shores of Harlindon that kissed the lapping waters of the sea where pearls were found in great abundance. Yet no sea of water lay before them but a sea of sand that, as the day became brighter, would betray its cool morning temperature and reveal a heat more painful than the hearths of the baker's home or the forges of the Noldor. And the day drew on so, with out sight of rain or shading cloud in sight, and the five travelers upon their steeds traversed the terrain, looking only at the broken image of the horizon before them. In the lead sat Celebrin with the woman called Cidhrali sitting before him upon the seat of the horse, oddly enough she seemed most comfortable upon a horse, even riding without a saddle. While the day was hot, there also came a heated wind that seemed to carry a message of ill-welcome in its wake, Alatar raised his ancient eyes to the sky where no cloud flew and said in a whisper,
"A storm comes, a weather not of this world."
Pallando who traveled beside him looked where his friend gazed and paused for a moment, and to his far-reaching eye came an image that turned his face pale for in the distance he saw a figure, black against the sapphire of the afternoon sky, flying as a great eagle, yet without feathers or noble crest upon its head. Before he spoke in warning the broken horizon straightened from its ever-moving glare and before them appeared a village of sorts made of earthen clay, one would not have been able to descry a village among the sand dunes for they were similar in hue, but for the violent red flags that blew at its high walled gates, the elvish eyes of Celebrin saw upon these billowing banners was the effigy of a black serpent pared to attack.
"We will not find willing help here, this entire land bears the stench of the Dark Lord…"
Curumo's words filled all with dread, save the young woman who knew not what he said, taking Celebrin's attention she motioned to the satchels where water was kept and pointed to the village, her face wore worry but in her eyes he could descry a knowledge of what they would find within the walls. Motioning to her in the hand-language they had developed, and speaking base words of her own tongue he said,
"Water… in village? Black snake…live there too? Who are they?"
She nodded her head in affirmation, and in fear she said one word that brought worry to the elf's face,
"Death"
He first turned to the other travelers and spoke in words the woman could not understand saying in a whispered voice,
"She seems frightened if we enter that place, is there no other place we may take water…"
Curumo replied,
"The map is unreliable in terms of distances, we do not know if we will be wandering for days or weeks, seeing this land now, I doubt we will find any hope of an unguarded well or spring."
Celebrin assented to this and dismounting he began to take the woman from the horse she seemed confused at first then realizing she was to be left behind she clung fast to the mane of the white steed objecting to what Celebrin was doing, he tried to reason with her saying as well as he could,
"You…safe here, no need go village. Time you go-back home…"
Loosing her grip upon the mane she fell into his arms and grabbed at his tunic, it was at this time he saw fear in her strong eyes, trying to maneuver herself around his tongue she said,
"Me… no safe, you no safe go town, no leave you me!"
His eyes furrowed at her fear, turning to his fellow travelers he said with a grave voice and concerned look to his visage,
" We cannot leave her here, out in this wilderness, it seems perilous to do so."
Curumo replied with urgency and stern disrepute, his commanding voice resounding in the elf's ears forcing him to heed the white one's commands,
"Danger is no place for such a young child, if we go to a hostile place I will not have her blood on my hands, nor will my comrades willingly allow her to accompany us."
Yet the mind of the eldar is not easily swayed by such power, and Celebrin sternly matched wits as the young woman clung to him trying to tell him she wished to remain,
"There is fear in her eyes Curumo, will you willingly throw her out where she feels she has no chance for survival…She fears the wilderness and these people, she feels safer here among us…who knows what kind of men dwell beyond the city, she calls them death, but in truth I tell you she is the only one who may allow us to get a foothold in this country; where none of us know the tongue save she and she alone."
Before Curumo spoke the one called Alatar interjected bringing his steed beside Thingalad, he said sternly,
"We waste time now discussing the usage of a poor girl as if she were an object we could throw away when all is done! She has shown us to this place, regardless of knowing who we were, she trusted us, and now she asks us with fear in her voice to take her where she knows evil resides. The least we could do is take her back to her people when we are done here, for showing us this kindness…"
Silence followed and no one said anything until Pallando stirred his steed to be level with the others, Curumo seeing he was at last defeated in this debate sighed and said,
"Very well, she is your responsibility Uial…do not forget that."
And so the march into the city began, silently and with the hiding of faces with heavy cowls, the woman hid her dark visage with a long shawl she wore around her neck to the point that nothing showed but her dark earthen eyes, wherein shone the very stars of the midnight. As they entered the gates silent became the road they rode upon, for it seemed they walked into a bustling market place where hung from close shops a variety of things spaning from coarse jewelry made of stones and dark red jewels, to trapped game hanging from their bound feet. None of the villagers made any eye contact with the foreigners and cast there gaze down toward the ground and hid their contempt for travelers not of their kind. All behaved so save the servants who seemed to recognize the garb of the woman who rode upon a white steed with a strangely dressed figure whose garb none could place for the colors and fabrics were foreign to their eyes and methods. Silent the travelers walked through the main street toward the place where a well lay at the center of the village. Yet unknown to the travelers eyes two stern guards kept their vigil upon them, for it was only these two who returned from the west where men upon horses of white battled their on forces, only these two whose names were lost to legend and myth kept their gaze fixed upon the travelers who bore the garb of the folk whose bright eyes lit the night as they fought alongside the bearded ones. From behind them an invisible voice came that was icy as the northern frost and twinged with an alien and metallic tone,
"Who are these visitors come to your lands? Conquerors of the west come to steal your rightful lands, given by the Eye to your ancestors…show them who rules these lands, be loyal to your lord and master…"
In their harsh tongue they replied to a name that caused fear and dread amid the west, for second among the Deceiver's many forces he was known as the Shadow of the East, Vassal of the Dark Lord Sauron in the lands of the Harad, Khamul he was known in the west and dread followed him for he brought forth with him the cruel Eastern forces that succored the armies of Mordor.
The travelers filled their skins with the well water silently, bringing no attention to themselves, though all servants gathering water looked upon the woman standing alongside these old men. One, finally gathering his courage, spoke in her native tongue, making the sindar's ears prick up and his eyes watch what happened,
"Who are these, sister, …who you travel with?"
"I don't know friend, I found them in the wild…they speak a tongue I don't know…though it sounds like…"
Her conversation was halted by a tall dark, cruel looking man, whose eye related harshness and anger, for he had no second eye, nothing occupied its space but a long scar that ran down the line of his chin; he wore a blood red head scarf and a dark hued robe close to black though its faded color showed a charcoal color emptied of vibrancy or color. In a harsh manner he shoved aside the servant with his hand and violently grabbed the woman called Cidhrali by the forearm, speaking in his harsh and sharp tongue he said,
"What are you doing here filthy bitch, you should stay in the mountains with the rest of your goat herders…"
Violently Celebrin rose from where he knelt, and keeping his hand upon the hilt of his sword he cried out sternly to the man in what words of Harad he knew,
"Release her coarse man, unless you want to feel my blade!"
Laughing the man threw her to the ground and kicked dirt on her, from behind him emerged another man more menacing and bearing a gash at the corner of his mouth that ran until it reached his ear. In a cruel and mocking tone he said,
"Leave us to our merry-making then you can have her for your own fun…"
Their harsh laugh was reverberated through the gathered crowd, for all the servants disappeared and in their place stood several like-dressed men, cruel in demeanor, haggard in garb, some young, some old, some brandishing swords curved and made of iron that gleamed rusted brown from the staining of blood. Surrounding the five travelers they stood, swarthy dirt-covered men who smelled of blood and grime of the dark places in the cities of men, where ill-deeds were done, men who lived among the filth they created and covered themselves in the blood of sacrifices to the shadow long exiled from the land of Ea. The others stood, leaning upon their staves, having strapped their water skins tightly to their horses; the noble steeds could feel the tension rising around them and began to rear, as they had been trained to do in times when it seemed that battle was to be fought.
The mighty cry of Thingalad, a meara raised from the loins of two of the purest blood line of his kind caused some of the untrained men to wince in fear for his cry sounded as a great burst of wind that would bring storms, a high and dooming tone that brought the storms filled with sand to the land of the Harad. Yet the two heads of this brigand band laughed to see the horse prepare for battle, for to them they far outnumbered the company before them, yet the eyes of Celebrin began to gleam with elvish fire, and their minds were drawn back to the last time they saw eyes as fierce, in their long journey west, to battle the forces of men for the dark god they worshiped in fear. For elves long keeping their sacred borders kept them from escaping the steel-clad soldiers that ran them into the very woods of Lorien and Greenwood. Their smiles turned grim and they drew their cruel-bladed swords; yet in return Celebrin drew his own and it shone forth with ancient light, not blue as the swords of the Noldor in time when orcs come close, but it shone in the light of the desert sun as coldly as the lightning from the sky, its elegant curve mirroring the bend of a river-bed and its scarlet handle gleaming against the palm of his hand. Behind him Alatar and Pallando raised their staves, and around them it seemed a fierce wind blew, their garments blew in the wind as the waves of the sea and the rapids of a mighty river; yet Curumo did not raise his staff in preparation for battle, he stood grim faced and walked calmly to the forefront of the would be clash, speaking in an echoing voice, he said in the language of the west,
"Be still your blades, listen to me cruel-race sword wielders, put down your swords!"
And though they knew not the tongue he spoke they harkened to his command, their blades pointed to the earth and their eyes remained fixed upon him; using this distraction the woman called Cidhrali nervously stood and went to Celebrin's side, amazed at the power of the white man, who seemed heavy with age yet young as a hale lord of men. Curumo smile to see the sight, at how easy it was to command the hearts of men, he turned to his companions who looked around a the sight, yet as he was about to speak an icy voice came forth and a shadow seemed to cover the sky, the men knew fear then and they sleeked away to the shadows of the city and the company was left in the center of the village beneath a shadow that made the woman cringe at an unseen fear. A cruel laughter filled the darkening sky and a place that was once brimming with white-hot light from the sun became blackened as the oncoming of a storm, though no cloud remained in the sky to tell how the sun became so dimmed. A great wind began to blow fiercely around them and grains of sand like ash blowing in the wind flew this way and that as the cruel alien laughter came closer to them. Its tone was grinding, deep as the forges of the dwarves and filled with a cold and icy demeanor, like steel at the sharpening wheel where the grind of metal by metal tears at the very fabric of the ear.
Curumo himself looked in awe at what stood before them; a tall figure became shilouetted in flying sand, he seemed to wear a cloak of ashen gray that had once been black as the void of the night, held back by the net of ever-guarding stars. Upon his neck he bore an old golden necklace, made in times of antiquity during the fall of Numenor, the blessed realm of men. The necklace was pieces of golden plates that now shimmered pale in the light of its wearer, and the blood red gem encased beneath the edge of the cowl-covered face gleamed greedily for life-blood to succor its ageless thirst. There before them stood Khamul, the Shadow of the East, vested in his dark sable robes, his cruel and icy laugh pierced their hearts as he spoke in a harsh and hated tongue of the west,
"At long last the dotards of the West send their forces to challenge Sauron, Lord of the Earth…And what a force this is indeed!!!…Tell me Ancient Curumo, slave to the bended god of the soot beneath the mountains, what power have you here?! …Or you twain Slaves to the child who makes the storms at sea? It is joyous indeed to see that the Powers have sent their canaries to deal with the mighty Vulture Sauron, Lord of the Eastern Lands…"
A cold laugh left his mouth and the empty cowl shook with excitement as he turned his head and spoke cruel and biting words to each aged man, their faces were as adamant and unmoved by his sarcastic jests at their masters. The creature's voice became grim again until it seemed its invisible eyes set gaze upon the Sinda who stood, sword-drawn shielding the woman who covered her eyes from the sight of the demon before her. A cold and mocking laugh left the empty cowl as dark and unseen eyes saw the immortal being before it,
"And what is more, you have brought the Sickle of Doriath to be your guide and protector! You must be unimportant indeed to receive so fine a guide and bodyguard, who cannot even guard his companion of long years whom he said he loved as himself…"
Celebrin angered at this cried a curse at the void-filled robes, yet was stopped by the stave of Curumo which resulted in the laughter of the being before them, he continued his diatribe,
"There is no power left in the world that can destroy the Lord of the Earth, you think a brigand of servants and tree-dwellers can do any better? Leave this land and die in an honorable death, lest you shame yourselves with failure…"
And the robes became limp and fell heavily to the ground and the invisible being encased with in flew up with the cyclone of wind that began to blow stronger around the company. The steeds began to rear and wish for escape from that prison and the five quickly mounted, charging through the cyclone of dirt. Above them dark clouds covered the sky, yet the clouds bore no sign of rain and the wind began to hurl at them in violent alien ways, from the clouds emitted a dark and harrowing laugh and those with the eyes of elves could see hidden within the dark and sable clouds flew an orbs of fierce and fiery red flames surrounded with eight pale, colorless lights.
The five travelers raced out of the city gates and saw before them the vast expanse of the desert facing toward the far east, behind them as they turned stood a wall of dark cloud and blowing wind picking up the very ground beneath them and racing toward them as a tidal wave comes upon a ship at sea. With a cry from Curumo they flew away from the danger behind toward the east where the moon had barely begun to rise, yet no matter how fast their noble steeds ran they could feel the whisps of thunderous wind upon their ankles. They cried, "Faster, faster!" to their steeds and as a cat, who has cornered its prize feigns weakness, the wind pulled away. And they came upon a deep gorge, a scar upon the land, whose depths could not be fathomed for within one could only see emptiness. They turned their steeds to face the wall of cloud that stood at bay before them, teasing them with ferocity and cruel joy. The two aged men dressed in sea-blue drew up their noble staves and stood firm as if ready to charge the oncoming storm, missing was Curumo in his brilliant white robes, for he was swept up by the storm during the race, his comrades could not race back for him, but only hoped in their deep hearts that he would survive the storm. Firm and grim they stood while a race away stood an impenetrable wall of smoke, ash, sand, and storm, a cry as shrill as anything that resided upon the earth, a broken voice filled with loathing and hatred. And then as an armed forced it descended upon them rushing as the waters of a flooded river, yet a fierce clear blue gleam shined forth, as a star over a misted ocean, and was joined by a emerald blaze; both came forth from where Alatar and Pallando stood firm, crying words out toward the rushing wind in a tongue none knew upon all of Middle-Earth, and as the rushing of the storm came down upon them it was split by a sea-blue light coming forth from the staves of the twain men, and the storm flew over them and to their sides surrounding them in the over flow of rushing death. And the veil of the storm was parted and they saw before them a firey creature, who seemed to stand like a man, yet taller than man or elf, engulfed in flame and he wore armor of brilliant, violent lightning. He was Sauron, the deceiver, not dead from the stroke of Isildur's hand, unveiled from physical form, no longer able to feign his beauty as when he was the Annatar in the ages long passed; surrounding him flew eight pale-ghostly figures of men, each bearing a blood-red flame upon his finger though the bodies were twisted and no longer resembled human forms as they did long ago.
And Thingalad the mighty horse, born of the line of the Mearas, who before this hour knew no fear reared to defend himself against the image of flames before him, in doing so his riders were tossed from his unbridled seat. Yet Celebrin, son of Uial, stood and drew his sword at the shadow-flame, crying out to the parting winds,
"Come for me dealer of Death! Cursed bane of life upon the earth, come for me and show me you are no Coward!"
And before him approached a shadow though the din of the storm, he raised his sword to strike down the figure that would appear, and when it came forth from the dark, sable rushing wind his face was not grim but filled with awe and shock, for before him stood a figure dressed in rich blue robes embroidered with the silver figures of swans in flight, upon his belt-sash he wore a black, silver-lined pendant made in Gondolin many years ago. His golden brown locks of hair blew gently as if he stood in a breeze and a peaceful smile graced his face; his lips parted and a voice long-awaited and long-missed entered the Sinda's ears,
"Good morning, mellon nin…I hope you slept well last night."
And then to Celebrin it seemed that the world around him was torn away, and as if waking from a nightmare he looked around him and he sat now in a dimly-lit room, outside the song of the nightingales filled the air. He wore no longer the traveling garb of Lorien, for he now wore a silver-gray tunic and the dawn of a new morning filtered into the room. Shocked and gasping for air he stared all around him as one who has not seen the world after thousands of years of sleep; Alphindil's face wore worry now instead of an amicable greeting, he gently touched his companion upon the shoulder saying softly,
"Are you well? Celebrin speak to me…"
The other shied away in fear, raising his sword before him, yet no sword lay in his hand only air; frightened he backed his way into the wall, saying with a growl in his voice,
"Begone Deceiver! Let loose your nightmarish hold upon my mind!"
The figure did not bend, only rose from his seat upon the bed and went toward the figure of the Sindar readying himself to defend any attack; yet in a quick and stalwart move the other raised his left hand to touch the gentle scar upon his companion's face, and as flesh touched flesh it seemed as if the dream world and reality were now parted again, tears flew from Celebrin's eyes and he embraced the friend before him.
Eight figures- yes I know there are originally nine Nazgul, but one is obviously running Angmar at this time.
Khamul- actual name taken from the Encyclopedia of Arda, the only Nazgul Tolkien truely named, he was known as the Shadow of the East, so it made sense to have him there.