Sorry for the long absence; hopefully you all have not forgotten about Celebrin and his adventures. I promise that now that summer is upon us updates will take shorter periods between them. Here is the latest in the story and -hopefully- it is not completely foreign from the rest of the story. There are some more "new" words which shall be explained alongside those in elvish.

Dawn, or what seemed to resemble it, broke the next morning without any sign of battle or even a single drum beat, They must be trying to drive us mad with silence… the elf thought as he prepared arrows out of crude stone cut from the larger stones about them. Cidhrali, even in her weakened state, was ordering the women around like a general; what's more they saluted her with all the seriousness in the world. Celebrin had tried to keep his distance from her, for some reason, ever since the blood-sharing ceremony, the sight of her eyes made the scar upon his cheek burn with an uncommon fire. Pain surged through his arm as the bone he was using to chip arrow points stabbed his finger and let loose a small drop of blood. Young men who surrounded him chuckled to see the finely clad stranger make a mockery of himself, he gave them a small smile that was a pitiful remnant of his grin; it was all he could produce, ever since…

He shook the thoughts from his mind, as he often found himself doing. Putting down the bone and stone chippings he foraged the wide circular tower for remnants of twigs, sticks and decomposed animal hides that were needed for the construction of crude weaponry. He heard slow and methodical foot steps behind him as he stooped for what he thought was a straight shaft, but turned out to be a shattered twig. Turning to the footsteps he saw the bent figure of Jzathi-ma-ala leaning upon her staff, smiling at him with a wide and foolish grin. He stood erect as a sign of respect, a movement that elicited a laugh from her. With his brow furrowed he crossed his arms and said haltingly in her tongue,

"Why do you laugh old woman? This is not the time for it."

"All must laugh so that they do not cry, all must cry so that they do not laugh."

Her cryptic words reminded him of Galadriel and Cirdan when they got into their "moods", it was these moments that he would take a leave day from his duty; their metaphysical prattle tired him. Yet now he could not escape and the old woman knelt on the floor and waved for him to join her.

"Young-old-one, I have been meaning to speak with you…about the ceremony. Now don't get up, you will hear me! Something passed between you and young Cidhrali, and between you and young Tal-anoku, it frightened many, and confused some."

"And you…"

"It awed and worried me…you have tied your soul to theirs…Young Cidhrali, I think depends on you now for survival, and young Tal-anoku? Well he and you have found a brotherhood, I cannot explain. I came to warn you Young-old-one, this may not end well…an understatement I know…But I also know what happens, when ancients mix with mortals…"

Celebrin turned to her but with the quickness of a young girl she rose and joined Cidhrali in the center, where the sound of ripping threads and clothing could be heard. The dark-haired chieftain's daughter looked up at the elf and on the right side of his face a burning sensation fogged his vision. He turned to gaze down at the fiery lake below them, the other pillars that surrounded them loomed in the distance, though none were as massive or as tall as the one on which he now stood. The golden river gleamed in the eastern distance and the red mountains towered above him, he was trapped in the middle of two escape routes and despite his wisdom could not think of a way out. The man Tal-ano saw the elf pondering many things and, excusing himself from the council he was a part of, strode over to the edge of the pillar and looked down upon the lake of fire.

"It is not impossible stranger…escape."

"You have greater hope than me. The rivers to our east, the mountains to our west…I do not see where escape lies."

"This darkness is their undoing…"

An ancient voice came from behind the two, and ambling up toward them was the ancient man Pallando, he bore a smile upon his face and seemed to be hiding something in the folds of his now tattered cloak. Stretching out his arm he held forth a coil of rope made from torn clothes, shredded bark and shorn hair. With a look of despair on his brow yet hope in his eyes he said,

"It is not much, but I think it may hold…"

Eyes agape the elf took the rope in his hands and though it seemed as though it would break just from touching it, it held together well and defied even the elf's perceptions. He then heard the old man speak of how the women-folk were busy making enough rope to build a small crude bridge to the next pillar. Already the younger members of that large tribe were tying a section of a large rope to a large stone, which formed the shape of Menelvagor.

"How do they know it will reach?"

"They do not, but they are gathering every scrap from every conceivable place…"

The elf marveled at Cirdhali's people and their genius, and he cursed himself as to why it had not occurred to him before. The Galadhrim had long used rope bridges to traverse rivers and large sections of impassable foliage in the forests. Yet he had not the skill or knowledge to make their light and strong rope, though now he wished he had even just a coil of it.

"The enemy has not fully surrounded the pillar but they have left a small force on the other side, blocking complete escape."

"It is near impossible to send even one of our number to attempt this! The stairs go around the pillar, not down one side…the enemy will see any attempt of escape."

"Perhaps not…"

At this point Celebrin interrupted the conversation of the others and with a whistle Thingalad trotted over to them the light, elvish saddle jingling with what few bells it had left upon it. He reached into his pack and pulled out a gray cloak that seemed to both reflect and become a part of the surrounding light. He smirked at the last minute gift from Amroth; he had had several cloaks, and knew then not why he needed another. But he knew the properties of this one; the cloaks of the Galadhrim were a famous piece of elvish lore among those who bothered to study the Nandor and their close kin.

"This will protect any from the sight of foes and even friends, at least from a distance. Take your quickest runner and give him this…it will at least allow him to reach a more reasonable section of the stairs to escape."

With a nod Tal-ano took the cloak and walked to where his men waited anxiously for orders.

"We both know Uial, that you can reach the next pillar with no sound beneath your feet and no evidence of detection…Why, then, do you give it to another to do?"

"I am needed here, and we both know that they are the best judges of the layout of their land."

"Do not fool yourself, they hardly need you here…you may have far sight and keen hearing but in methods of war you are no Beleg or Glorfindel. You were trained in stealth and deception…this is what you are needed for."

With a stern look Pallando then called out for the man Tal-ano, when he came with a look of worry on his face, the ancient man spoke,

"He will do it…He is swift of foot and light upon them, and he has better sight in this shadow than any of your men."

Taking the cloak from Tal-ano, he offered it to the elf, who with great hesitation, took it and wrapped it around his shoulders. This produced a gasp from the man as the gray turned to uneasy shade and the body of the elf blended in the surroundings.

"I shall tell the scout he will not be needed…I think stranger you are not of this world, though you do not know it."

Tal-ano walked off, never seeming to take his thoughts away from the elf and the inhuman nature of his person.

"Pallando…"

"Before you say anything else, I did what I did because it was necessary…Do you think these people have the slightest chance of survival if they sent one of their own? Their arrows will hardly reach this pillar, your bow, however and your skill can achieve the result they desire. Now is the time to go…too much talk and not enough action."

The old man hobbled away and left the elf pondering what he must do, a nudge from Thingalad revived his senses and with a sigh he patted the horse upon his white neck,

"He's right my friend…Stay with the woman, she is your mistress until I return."

He walked over to the edge of the flat-topped mountain and looked down into the darkness beneath; it was true, there was nothing but a few fires at the bottom, yet in the distance the empty space began to fill up as more troops were sent to guard the open gap and close the ever surrounding ocean of flame. The distance to the next decapitated mountain was not long, though it seemed in that darkness to be miles away; in the darkness below him the elf could see several sentry guards who had planted themselves on the stairs in secure places where they were not threatened with arrows from above.

The elf tied the rope around his waist and after resetting the cloak around his head and back; he sat on the edge and looked back at the silent people who for an instant looked as though they would never see him again. The eyes of the woman shone in the dimness at him, she held a bundle of rope out toward him, which he took and put it over his shoulder. As she handed him more and more bundles, he felt the weight of them against his back. A young man who had caked himself in mud sat beside him, silently, ready to follow him, he already had a great many bundle around his chest and shoulders. Cidhrali looked at him with great fear; taking some mud from the boy's body she marked the elf's forehead,

"Stay safe."

Was all she said, and then she disappeared into the crowd, to make more arrows and to sharpen the knives. With a gentle breath in the elf jumped off the edge and felt the rope tighten in his hands as the weight of both he and the bundles made the rope twang with tension. As he repelled off the cliff into the unknown darkness he recalled in his memories, the last time he climbed on a rope like this,

The ocean beat below him then, as the shouts of an elderly elf edged him to hurry up. The other young Ellyn had already made it to the boat waiting on the bottom, one in particular looked at him with great worry, his golden-brown hair shimmered in the noonday sun. He knew then why ropes must be climbed, but never in his entire life had he understood why one would want to repel down them; this was what Noldor did when they had to climb down from their city walls in an emergency. The Sindar had lived in caves then, there were no ropes to climb down, at least not until the Nandor built talans. The instructor began to untie the rope at the top,

"You are going down one way or another Thinda…Good thing you can swim better than you can climb."

He gasped then as the rope lost its tension and he felt the space beneath his feet rush away. Just as he fell one foot toward the rushing waves beneath him, he curled into a small ball and as his heavier torso propelled his head toward the ocean, he stretched out as his father taught him years ago. Like a spear he fell through the air to the waves below; he heard the praises of the other young Ellyn on the boat for his flawless conversion from falling to diving. As he penetrated the water with a small splash a sharp pain bit him on the corner of his forehead and he knew darkness. When he awoke he saw a tear soaked face blocking the sun from his eyes, the golden-brown hair shimmered like a river of bronze though it was soaking and still had sea foam netted in different places.

"Hi…"

, Was all Celebrin could say. With a shake of his head and a shout of joy the worried elf embraced his friend after having almost lost him to the sea.

Uial remembered that later that day the instructor was fired once the Lord of Lindon saw the scared, bleeding forehead and had heard the story of how a simple rope exercise had turned into a diving routine into sharp, unpredictable rocks below. The scar from that little brush with death had healed long ago, but the other which had not healed in millennia burned on the side of his right eye. By the time the memory had faded from the elf's mind the guard below him was close enough to smell; after cringing his nose, the elf looked up and saw the mud-caked boy following after him. Silently unsheathing his knife, the elf threw his legs up around his torso and grabbed hold of makeshift rope between his legs; apparently the Noldor had taught him more than he would care to admit. Sliding down to where the rope ended, just a few feet above the guard, he stretched out his had and with a quick swipe and a muffled groan the guard lay motionless upon the ground. Landing lightly upon the ground the elf looked down at his unknowing victim, it was a man, not much older than Tal-ano, though he wore crimson not sable black.

Landing with an inaudible pat of his feet he pulled on the rope, signaling the young man following him that the ground was safe. Taking another rope from his back he secured the second line on a deadened branch, which at one time began growing out of the mountain, yet had died some years ago. Despite its position on the mountain, the roots went deep and would easily support the weight upon it, at least temporarily. Peering over the edge the elf saw the other guard looking up at the darkness above him, the darkness did seem to be their undoing, for the man below could not see the rope hanging from the top of the mountain, nor the mud covered man slowly descending it. Celebrin threw the rope over the side and the end once again dangled just above the head of the other man. He threw his leg over the side and with a final tug of the rope he descended the way he came, silently he crawled down, and once he reached the end of the rope he turned himself around and quietly disposed of yet another sentinel.

By the time he reached the last level of stairs, just before the end, he looked down at his hands, now covered in blood. He had never killed a mortal before, and was surprised by how easily it came to him now, and how smoothly the knife ended their existence. He had always thought, since men were slightly larger than elves, that they would be harder to kill or made of tougher skin, but they seemed more fragile, more…sympathetic. He shook the thoughts from his head, he still had an encampment to slay at the foot of the mountain and already the sun would soon be at noontide. Looking up at the young man above him he saw his silent partner busy tying loose ends together, creating a long rope from the top of the mountain to where the elf now stood. He still could not understand what exactly their plan was but he hoped it would work, or at least that it would give the people a fighting chance.

He had to be more careful now; the light of the encampment's fire below made the descent more treacherous, if not impossible. The elf had counted roughly 5 men at the base camp and about 7 more out on patrol. More to this the stench of orcs was in the wind, meaning they were close by or approaching, and he could count on their presence to know the scent of an elf over a human, no matter how long it had been since that elf had bathed. A rock fell from up above him; looking up, he saw the young man hold out a bow and a quiver of arrows, as though he would drop them. Celebrin planted himself right below and with bent knees he absorbed the sound of the fall the weapons created. His sword and knife were already secure on his belt when he armed the bow and pulled it taught aiming for a patrolman who had wandered off to relive himself. The elf's target stood oblivious to the doom that lay upon him and then something struck the ear of the archer on the ledge, the whine of a horse. With a curt smile the elf realized a better plan than picking off guards one-by-one, moving along the edge of the mountain-tower he found a small tent which housed the encampment's horses. Within there were about 6 horses, one for every guard and an extra to rotate. They were tied to a small post that had been dug into the earth. With his body laying on the ground the elf hung a rope down the edge and, having wrapped himself tightly in his cape, he descended the moderate distance till he hung just above the tent's roof. Lightly he set his foot on top of it and lay he body down on the thick tent roofing. Within he could hear the sounds of the horses whinnying and the rhythm of them lapping from a bag of water. Using his knife he cut a hole into the roof and looked within, there was no fire inside and no one tending to the horses. He gently jumped down into the makeshift stable and the horses lifted their heads to the new presence; though fiercely loyal to their dark masters these steeds had never before seen or smelt an elf. Like all creatures, evil or no, they were at most curious or at least treated him with the annoyance they would pay to a rabbit. Having untied their reins, he gathered bits of dry grass from the floor, and with a quick strike of flint against hard stone the whole ground seemed ablaze. The steeds brayed and cried out in terrifying shrieks; with bolts of thunder under their hooves they tore the tent that housed them down and scattered in every other direction, panic following them wherever they went. The elf barely escaped without being trampled and with a wry smile upon his lips he saw the men from the camp chase after their steeds, leaving their camp and fire untended. With a quick motion of his hand the elf signaled for the young man following him to throw the ropes down and descend as quickly as he could.

They with the kicked up dirt as their shield they stole into the darkness around and ran to some cover of rocks not far away, there the young man let out a laugh amid the shouts and thunder of hooves, and he called the elf a name which he could not understand.

"Cucuopeylley, you are Cucuopeylley, stranger!"

"What does this mean? Cucuopeylley?"

"Cucuopeylley is, stranger, an ancient one, who tricks men and brings rain."

Unease fell over the elf, already this young man gave him the name of a spirit, and powers which he did not have. Yet seeing how the young man smiled, the unease went away, and looking out into the darkness they saw that they had escaped notice of the men in the camp.

Menelvagor- the sindarin name for the constellation of Orion.

The Flashback- A little trifle of Alphindir that I decided to throw in here, hopefully it makes some sense. The Noldor instructor using the word Thinda, rather than Sinda is an attempt at creating a linguistic insult. The Sindar morphed the word for gray into "thin" such as in Thingol, or Thingalad, as opposed to the more Noldor-like Sinda, and Singollo. This would be a means of insulting the Sindar way of speaking, much the same way that mock accents do.

Cucuopeylley- A fictional early form of the name Kokopelli; Kokopelli is a trickster spirit amongst the Katchina believing people of the American Southwest, such as the Hopi and Anasasi. He is often depicted with a flute and causes mischeif as well as bringing rain and presiding over fertility. The reason why i chose this name for our elf will hopefully become apparent.

Please, as always, feel free to provide constructive critism of anything you find good or bad of this installment.