At long last, I have finally updated the story, and now that I am in summer break hopefully I'll have more chances to do so. I had some trouble with how to continue it so i hope this works. There is a major flashback scene in this one so be prepared.
The stench of the air was acrid, the smell of musty, old dried herbs filled Celebrin's nose and forced him to wrinkle it just to stop himself from vomiting. Despite the fact that the herbs had some medicinal value, he could not for the life of him understand why they had to smell so…diseased. Even now, after 17 years of living among mortals in their refuge lands, he had not developed immunity to their vibrant odors, the smell of their sweat, their food or their medicine. It was not that all the smells were bad, some were rather pleasant; they were just, strong, inescapable. In the herb houses of Rivendell or the fish markets of Mithlond smell was less overt, somehow being around true elvish smells was like being in an open air meadow. The same smells were there, just more spread out. He blamed the mountains most of all; the red rooted Orocarni encircled them as though they were in a fort or a bowl made of stone. The profound result was that air didn't move as freely as it did elsewhere; therein trapping the scents and concentrating them on the elf's nose.
He waved these thoughts with a flick of his hand, he had to concentrate on the project at hand; lying before him was a cairn, beneath it lay the body of Chief Kwartegu, who had died two years ago. The old man became very fatherly to the elf roughly a year before he died, confiding in him his fears and the advice he wanted to give his grandson, who was barely 15 years of age, old enough in this land to take upon himself his grandfather's chieftainship. The old man feared the young did not know what it meant to be a leader, much less the leader of a nation. Though it didn't seem right to the elf, he accepted the charge as he had others in his self-imposed exile. Many times throughout the years he had thought of returning to the lands of his people but anger still burned in his heart, ever was he longing to finally be rid of the world that had hurt him so much. Stoically he laid the sage and mryhh boughs upon the cairn, and whispered to the spirit of the old man,
"I shall still take care of her… you need not worry about that."
The wind blew through the bushes that grew hopelessly out of the sandy ground, salt was in the air as the summer gusts kicked up the old sea-bed and filled the sky with a hazy darkness. The elf could smell rain in the air, though it would probably fall farther north in the recesses of the mountains where none dared to go. He remembered often the words he had shared with the old man that led him into this predicament, ones that made him abandon his old ways and fully made him part of this tribe…
His memory reached back then and saw the old man lying ill in his bed, surrounded by the Ithryn's acolytes. The smell of the bitter herbs was just as it was now, and the foggy haze encircled their heads heavily before escaping out of the tent's roof. The aged, wrinkled man, called him close and whispered in his ear,
"I worry about her, Cedlal and about who will care for her when I am gone. "
"I shall try Old Friend, I promise you that…"
The old man chuckled and looked upon Cidhrali with a mournful face,
"You cannot care for her, bachelor as you are. She needs a husband and try as I might, I could not find one that suited her, or her tribe."
"I do not think it is an evil thing that she remains unwed, she is strong and you have no need of an heir. "
"No perhaps not…still she bears the shadow of her foolish husband's treachery…a better match could give her the respect she deserves when I am gone."
"Tal-ano's brothers-in-law could be such a match."
"The only one that is unmarried is only a boy of 16…hardly worthy of her. No Cedlal, the man I had in mind…was you."
"Me?"
The shock almost was audible in that cramped tent, the aged man waved everyone off, and waited for the tent to be empty before continuing.
"No more of my children need to be bartered for the safety of their people; you have earned a good name among our people and you are respected in all the tribes of this nation…why not marry her?"
"I am not free to do so…my own people caution against it."
"But they do not forbid it…from what you have told me, such unions have been…very good for you."
"I…I…cannot."
"Do you not care for her and did you not promise to see that she is safe?"
"I care for her very much…The Holy-ones would not allow it."
"I don't care for what those blue ones say…I care for what you say…"
"I… I shall leave it up to her…it is after-all her choice too."
The old man smiled and nodded his head, and sagely said,
"You will make a fine husband then."
And so, 15 years into his exile it came to pass that Celebrin the elf was married to Cidrhali the mortal, and as is the course of such things it went on as an unnoticed and unremarkable thing. Their ceremony was in the manner of the people of the East, which is altogether foreign to the minds of the Western lands. Those in the West would call it primitive and without ceremony; yet the eyes of the elf contemplated all these things and in his heart he kept their sacred secrecy,
for none ought to see such things and recount them as though it were only a trip to the shore. Vows were spoken to the stars and the gods of sun and moon, as well as to the Earth itself. The cosmos of the Eastern peoples was never fully accepted by the elf, for he was schooled and had seen the Powers of the world, even if from the distance.
Yet something compelled him to follow by their devotion; who was he, an elf born of a herald and a seamstress to question the faith of men and elves? There was indeed a feast, as is usual when it comes to celebrating such an occasion; and Tal-ano brought forth his own tribe, of which he was now Chief, along with his wife and four children. There was great rejoicing in those days, despite the darkness that lingered beyond them; the free tribes of the East enjoyed a tense peace and freedom that comes with hiding in the shadows, unseen. Yet the thoughts of the darkness were ever in their minds, for the City of Khamul did not rest but grew, taking in more slaves from distant lands. It was then, in the stillness of the night that a gray figure crept into the lands of Khamul, alongside one dressed in white; their twin sets of eyes recalling all that happened in that dark land. Yet such matters are better left in other moments. That night Cedlal the Kadjinai of the west married Cidhrali the daughter of Kwartegu of the East, and when the celebrating had ended she took him into her home, as was the custom of this people.
The elf watched as she undressed before him, and thoughts ever came into his mind warning him of the sorrows that came with the mingling of the children of Eru, yet also the great joys. He shook the warnings in his mind; "Too long," he thought to himself, "too long have I been cautious. And caution has earned me as much sorrow as action…I am no elf anymore…and shall never be again." He said this to the two Ithryn, who objected to his marriage, to the sky, and most importantly to his own heart. Playfully she ran her hands through his hair, the sensation of which made him gasp for air.
"What are you thinking about husband?"
He started to back away, remembering the warning in his heart, and the silent war going on beneath his eyes. Her smile crooked and passionate drew him into her eyes, dark pools of ever-lasting night the deep cleft above her heart and the rolling curves of her form called to him. The scar upon his cheek burned then, yet the fire in it only made the warnings in his mind grow more and more silent. He felt without reason, without thought, and even without immortality, for the first time in his life, he tasted then the brief flavor of mortal fear, something he had only tasted on the eve of battle. And yet, he felt the vigor of his once lost youth coming back to him, he no longer felt the weight of three ages of the sun, but instead cast them off as one does a heavy raiment. He looked upon her as one changed, his eyes filled with tears of passion, of freedom,
"Only of you my wife...I have always thought of you, ever since that night by the river and ever since the day you battled the shadow."
Silently she leaned into him and placed her lips upon his; their feathery touch feeling both warm and chilling, sending ripples down his spine. The coldness of the night on his exposed skin made him shiver, it had never done that before. Drawing him down into her warm embrace, she pulled the woven blanket over them and beneath the blazing night, man and elf joined again, as they had not done since the days of Earendil...
These memories faded from his mind's eye and left a tear upon his cheek but a smile upon his lips, he looked upon his neck and saw the turquoise marriage totem hanging precariously on his buckskin tunic. His elvish clothes lasted him a total of two years before they fell into disrepair and despite his mother being an accomplished weaver he couldn't recreate the subtle works of art in this arid land. At first he wore what he could, but found that it made him look profoundly ridiculous and elicited laughs from the old maids who warned him he would look that way without a wife. So he consented to wearing the clothing of these people; since they were foreigners in a strange land they could only raise minor crops and scratch a living off of sheep and a strange creature from the mountains which they called Ihamba, smaller than a horse, larger than a goat and whose fur reached down to the floor. Cotton could not be raised in this way and so animal skins and wool from their herd animals was all they could muster to build clothing. The buckskin tunic was a gift, from his brother-in-law, who lived in the lands of the Crow, where sparse forest lent itself to a small population of deer. He wore a simple loincloth also, rather than the full leggings, which he reserved for the bitterness of winter, or excursions through the brush.
Reports had come that Khamul and his forces were beginning to expand to the North into the lands of the Crow; Tal-ano had ordered that all the tribes and nations mover further into the cliffs and canyons. They took to living in canyon caves or settlements built upon "meshai" the flat-topped mountains, which littered this land.
As a result they had to go further inland to get water from the sparse rivers that ran through the rocky land, Cidhrali had gone to fetch water earlier today and Celebrin would have accompanied her, but he was soon to meet with Tal-ano to discuss moving the tribes yet again perhaps this time further North and East, where herds of Mumakil could be found. A rustle in the brush startled him and he drew Lingaladaear, which shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight, eliciting a gasp from the young lad before him. Seeing who it was the elf gingerly sheathed his father's sword, and gave a slight chortle before speaking,
"You know well enough Dhraloku, never sneak up on someone in the wilderness, especially if you haven't yet mastered walking quietly."
"I try to remember what you teach me uncle, but my feet are too clumsy to walk like you do."
"Not everything I do is natural, it takes determination and a little bit of hard work."
"But I'm 15 years old, and still I cannot hunt like you and father…the others, they call me weak or little boy… "
"Who calls you these things?"
Cedlal moved from where he stood and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, comforting him as he had done when the youth was a child, afraid of swimming.
"The others, the Holy-ones…they say I am not ready to lead, that I am not fit to."
The youth kicked a stone toward the grave of his grandfather and walked to the edge of the cliff on which the old man was buried; the sun had begun to slide lower and had turned a deep orange and caused the land to emanate red hues, almost blood like. The boy continued, leaning against the trunk of a dead tree that had snapped asunder in antiquity.
"The only ones who say I am ready are you and aunt Cidhrali; sometimes I wonder if I was cursed to always be small; even my sisters are taller than I."
"Size means little, when it comes to the ability to act and lead, much less to defend that which one loves. Your aunt and I have faith in you because we know that when it comes to a difficult moment you are always able to act and consider…most just act, and others spend their time considering; being able to do both is a great gift."
"Why do you always talk in doubles Uncle? It's nerve-wrecking!"
The youth laughed, and it rang out like little bells in a great hall; the elf smiled and leaned against the same tree the boy was.
"It was the way of my people, to speak of both things, when one asked for one answer. I suppose I still haven't learned to put it away."
"Do not, I enjoy it…it makes me think…You used to tell me much of your land, of the people there, your lands and your tongues, but you stopped when I was 10. Why did you do that? I enjoyed them."
"They were fantasies Dhraloku…memories that have no more meaning…Stories that have no more purpose than to entertain."
"Sometimes we all need to hear about such peaceful places… it makes living here seem a little bit easier."
"Well when you become Chief, I will tell you much more…come let us head back to the village, we have spent too much time up on this cliff."
Together the two walked down the cliff, through the brush and came to a small circle of rocks that demarcated the beginnings of their land toward the east. They turned into a small winding path away from the stones and veered northward behind a shelf-like embankment of a dead river. There among the dry tangled thorn-bushes they crawled into a small cave no larger than a small youth. The cave opened into a tunnel that led southward for about a mile before opening suddenly at the height of a large canyon. Beside the opening of this exit was a rope bridge that led down to the village, carved into the bottom of the canyon. This was a defense engineered by the elf and Tal-ano's people, a way of misleading the enemy from the location of their villages. It consisted of many numerous pathways that led nowhere with few entrance points, most of them underground as the previously mentioned one was. As they climbed down the rope to the village the sun began to descend and night scaled above them overhead. Below the elf could see commotions in the village center, warriors were already preparing for battle and Tal-ano was getting ready to lead them.