Forgive the unsteady flow of these chapters, they are coming as the story comes to me. I thank those of you who have been reviewing these stories and ask those who have been reading them and yet have not reviews to please do so, I am interested to know how you feel about the narrative, even if you don't approve.
This new chapter is rather rough, and sketchy. and is mostly a means of getting to a certain point.
The hours passed as the cloudless sky lets down a rain of sunlit fire, drops of sweat poured down Celebrin's neck as his mouth grew dry with little effort. With each passing period of hours, three to be exact, a new guard climbed to the precipice of that towering rock and relieved his comrade, few of them gave a drink of water to their captives, though Celebrin refused almost all of it, saying only to give more to the old men, for he knew then that the power from these wise travelers from beyond the west lay in their words and the strange sound therein. Though his tongue grew dry and foam lay thickly in his mouth, his mind stayed far from his bodily weariness and entered rather into the realm of dreams, where the minds of the elder race go, when the body rests. Twice the man called Tal-ano climbed the steps of that rock, once at midday and again as the sun began its descent behind the mountains of red, and each time a prisoner was taken and never returned, the first was Alatar and the second was Pallando…and as the hourse passed Celebrin knew he was intended for the last, as he had the greater grasp of their captor's language than the ancient men did. Thus was he set to wait, gazing out toward the east taking in the vastness of the land where the sun rose and it seemed touched the earth itself. The lay of that land was similar to the western side where they had been ambushed, rocky hills and low lying dry vales where tears of land showed the tell tale signs of a river bed. Miles apart lay small patches of gray shrubbery, as the red sand engulfed it in the winds. In the distance with his elven eyes he saw a storm approaching; black, columnus clouds dwarfed the mountains in their majesty, and he could see the flashes of lightning bursting from the darkness to strike the ground- and then he hoped, as he had once hoped in the land of Mordor that rain would bring new life to a barren land, for after the storm comes the gentle light.
The hours passed on with change coming slowly, save for the change of the guard, he heard them speak and from their lips learned newer words to replace the older ones. The wind of fire engulfed him as his eyes strained to keep their focus upon the actions and movements of the guard or the looks they threw his way. For suspicion and rumor had spread through their homeland, words of the earth spirits come again amongst their people as old women told tales to inquiring children of the people of the mountains, the Katchinai. And as the sun stood upon the midday he closed his eyes and heard a song in the wind unlike any he had ever heard before, for it was filled with a long begotten sorrow, so similar to the sound of the sea, and yet it spoke of violence, anger, hatred and above all things, a pining for ancient days. And there also lay a song of bittersweet joy, that reveled in the crackling sides of the mountains, the hollow rivers and lissome trees that yearned for rain to give them sustenance. A life was buried beneath the very sands, and it brought tears of awe to the ancient elf, for it was then that he felt the weight that age and weariness brings upon an elf who for thousands of years had walked the earth amongst his own people and he knew then the doom of Maglor and Daeron, the insurmountable fear of being alone. The face of Tal-ano entered his eyes with the splashing of water upon his wind burned face; he looked around to where he was, empty were the other stones of the ancient men that once were propped against them. He was forced from his place and stood tall against the man, whose harsh and flint-like face spoke of no emotion other than duty, though within him lay a silent seed of…sorrow? It took Celebrin by surprise to feel sorrow from this man; even though hard unmoving words came from him,
"It is your turn to speak with the council…"
And with that Celebrin was forced down the narrow steps and away from the red tower of rock, over the hills of dirt and dry vegetation and through back ways to a hall like structure built in the manner of a tent. A cool breeze now flew through that valley and made the earthen tent-hall billow and made it seem as though it was indeed alive. Rude symbols covered it, for it was not decorated as the wildmen of Rhovanion with vines of green or blue encircling it while diverging like river, instead these symbols ran and stampeded across the landscape of that billowing hall.
From it came a smell of ancient herbs, few he remembered though similar to the taste upon his mouth lay the scent of thingolodh and thonlas yet they smelled drier than that which was found in Rhovannion, or in the land of the Laiquendi east of the Hithaeglir. As they left the world of oncoming night the light of a hearth fire filled the room in an amber light, the same elders sat surrounding the fire only now others were with them, women of similar ages to their counterparts, hale were their eyes and each one looked at him directly into his own, some looked surprised by what they saw, others grew fearful and few looked unmoved saved by a slender smile breaking their cool exterior. Hard to his knees he was thrown as the ancient faces of those men looked upon him in judgment, and he remembered the seat of judgment in Mithlond, made of dark gray stone facing the sea as if the one who sat upon there sought judgment from the forgotten west rather than from his own mind and thought. He disliked the trials there and in Imladris when his Lord and Lady held sway, before being "asked" to leave; judgment he left in others care, him preferring to pass by undetected by those who would either see him rise or fall at their word. Yet now he had no such choice, now he sat in judgment, not behind the throne but before it, now he would not be asked for counsel but seek it himself, a position no elf enjoyed, the Teleri especially, whom the Goldo called Ondantar, the stubborn people. The chilling eyes of that same middle chieftain pierced his flesh, a surprise trait he did not expect to find among the mortals forgotten by the Powers, yet even so many of the Eglath bore such eyes that saw beyond flesh, beyond masks of fear and doubt…in Doriath no secret was kept, and no lie untold…until its fall.
This man with the piercing eyes and large ornate wild crown frowned upon his arrival, though his all piercing eyes bore a grief upon them, the grief of a father who had lost the child of his loins, the daughter of his youth, this face Celebrin knew well, Aran Thingol bore it when Luthien left the path of the Eldar, the Lord Celeborn bore it, in Imladris so long ago. And he spoke, in a voice hale and filled with wisdom that befitted his ancient warrior appearance,
"Much we have heard of you…U-elhku…your tongue is foreign in our mouths, your face pale as the face of the moon. Though you seem beautiful, you bear danger with you…Tell us why should we give mercy to you."
Silent Celebrin sat, looking into the gaze of the man, who now stood as though his captive's silence was an attack upon his honor; he stood tall above all and his elcerly frame shook not as old men do, but as a cypress bends in the wind of a storm from the sea, and his voice rose to a shout, and a rage was born in it that shook the room and made the fire itself quiver,
"Speak, for it is known to us that you speak our tongue! Or do you seek the judgment that we hand down to you!"
"Why defend? When you have already condemned me uselessly? I have already been condemned…not by you or your council, but by the actions that drove me to this place, by the past I left behind…You have no power over me, chieftain of men, and though you think I am…a thief, Your daughter's mind I do not have sway over… for none can sway her mind."
The words of this foreign tongue came slowly yet with strength from his mouth, and the eyes of many were filled with wonder that the stranger had knowledge of things beyond the seeing of eyes, for no mention of the blood between the chieftain and Cidhrali was made, save by eyes and the open thoughts of unspoken words. The man called Kwetalku, rose in anger at this and spoke to the council though his words were directed at he who stood in the midst of the circle,
"What further proof do we need of this man's enchantment, he knows that-which has-not-been-said, and presumes that WE have no power over him…who other than a dark one could do such things!"
"Seat yourself Kwetalku! I am not finished with this…man."
Kwetalku hardened his face and sat, his fire filled eyes glaring forth at Celebrin, a rage sitting beneath his breast, and his light face turning red with obvious anger. The high chieftain walked a pace and stood before Celebrin, upon his knees, before continuing to the back of the circle and with a movement fit for a man half his age he took from Tal-ano's belt a dagger of shimmering iron and brought it to the neck of Celebrin, yet the elf did not move as the blade cut slightly into his skin, forcing a small river of blood from the flesh wound. The man spoke then, taking the weapon from his captive's neck and throwing it to the ground,
"You do not fear death…why is that U-elhku? For even the dark one's servants know well of death…they fear it, everyday of their lives…"
His voice became a whisper as though the interrogation was meant solely for him, and as he paced the eyes of all followed him, wondering in their silent way how one, who for the entirety of the day remained silent, asked such a thing of one who was bound for a judgment of doom…
"I have known much death, and my life has been nothing but the death of all I love…What is there more to fear, when night is your constant companion? When family and homeland banish you with the joy that lives in them, when betrayal… and loss, make home a land of enemies and stone. "
Celebrin spoke also in a whisper, his voice showing some semblance of sorrow until the end of his speech when the mind of the elf forgot he stood in the den of men whose tongue differed from his own and spoke instead in the tongue of his people; the man turned to face him and he wore a gaze of wonder at the simple words of this one, whom he thought of as little as a minion, whose very tongue sounded as the river in the season of rain…
Then a burst of sound entered the room as a shout went forth from the entrance of the hall, the war cry of Cidrhali,
" Azjiday! Stop this!"
The chieftain seemed to pare himself for battle as the woman placed a firm foundation beneath her feet. Like an battlement of stone she stood, a dark tower with a sable banner, the glare of her eyes like the cold rock of the cliff that jutted out into sea, broken pieces of the firm land of Beleriand still clinging to life above the sundering sea. His voice opened to speak yet the blow of a horn and the cry of women entered that hall, and all looked toward the doorway, where the black, sable night turned to blazing red and the smell of smoke disturbed the ancient fragrance of the burning herbs. The man's cold face tuned to Celebrin, anger now resided in his brow and his chest heaved a great breath before a hand of rage came down unexpectedly to strike the elf across the face, causing the scar of his childhood to bleed again, the force of which toppled the elf to the ground and his face met the cold rock of the desert floor. Cidhrali cried out in defiance yet was silence as the raging voice of her father spoke,
"Do you still trust him now daughter? War is upon us and you have caused it!"
It was then that the passageway of the hall was thrust open and there stood the silhouette of a man, wreathed in flame, whose coal, black eyes glinted coldly in the fire light both withing and without the hall. The guards drew their swords, yet a small force of men, dressed in dull black, followed this man and they bore the symbol of a red serpent embroidered upon their regalia also. Gold shimmered upon their hands in the form of cruel rings and from their faces bone protruded earlobe and lip. The intruder smiled, and in his hand he held a curved blade of iron already stained with blood, and from his cruel lips came a voice barely hanging on to humanity,
"Greetings my brethren, the Lord Khamul sends his well wishes…"
Azjiday- Shize'e- Navajo for father- while Cidhrali's name is Nauhtl in origin there are common roots between Nauhtl and Navajo as being Uto-Aztecan languages.
Khamul- a ringwraith of Sauron's also called Shadow of the East.
U-elhku- a modified version of the name Uial, not transliterated as those using it have no idea what it is meant to mean.
Thingolodh- grey-wisdom- "sindarin" for sage, sage was used in many ancient religions to ward off evil and bring wisdom, I thought it appropriate.
thonlas - pine leaf- literally pine needles, used in tribal medicine to cleanse areas of meeting, or ceremonial places. Both herbs mentioned above do have their westerncounterparts used for similar methods so it is not unnatural to think that Celebrin would have known the scent of these herbs.
Ondantar- Quenya for 'stone-face', meant tomean stubborn and emotionless.TheTeleri, a hardened people by their life in Ennor, without the safety of Aman, I feel would nothave been so willing to showany sign ofemotion during interrogation. I use aQuenya word since they obviously would have seen such behavior as normal or integral to survival, as opposed to the Noldor, who hadthe power of speech and would have expected those accused of something to defend themselves, rather than remain silent.