Thank you all for your patience. It tok me a while to post these chapters, mostly due to a long and arduous semester in Grad School and also due to a slight bout of perfectionism. These following chapters will move rather quickly since the story needs to move on. I thank those of you who have stayed with this story for better or worse; I appreciate your input deeply. Please as always read and review.
For the next few days Mithrandir slept and ate and spoke with Ciryaher and his men seeing how they had been treated by the Crow and Utashtegu; much of their tales said that while they were allowed to walk anywhere, when the camp or village would move they were blind-folded and herded into wagons like goats. In general however, the treatment they received as prisoners was surprisingly humane and not at all what the Istar expected. Pallando had long since left the village with Cedlal, that is, Uial as he was once called; Mithrandir, meanwhile was left to his thoughts contemplating what he was doing there at that particular moment. He had no love for war and in truth what he wanted best was to wander the world, not lead garrisons across winding desert paths; he had deep affection for Narmacil and the other soldiers but he desired solitude, many a long year had passed since he was alone on the winding road. One morning he awoke to see Dhraloku packing a black horse, readying for travel. Though the youth had said he would leave in one week that had drawn out into two as he entertained several Khand emissaries who had traveled from their homes in the east to buy grain from them and to see the pale, now burnt pink, faces of the Western Men, who had seen the other end of the unending ocean that lay to the west of them. So now two weeks since their arrival at what was called Maishedhl, the houses of grain, Dhraloku and the young woman he called "cousin" were preparing to leave; Mithrandir approached the Utashtegu general and said,
"I was wondering…if you would take me with you…I have great desire to speak with Cedlal before I leave."
Dhraloku looked quizzically at Mithrandir and looked at the Gondorians who had begun training again now that they had a steady supply of time, food and water, as well as their King back.
"Surely Ciryaher will need you Grandfather?"
"My mission was to get this garrison to him…he is completely capable of commanding them without me. Besides I must return to my own deeds, I have neglected them for far too long."
Dhraloku nodded and said,
"You shall ride my mare then, I will ride with my cousin. Yet, I must insist that you be blindfolded, I cannot allow anyone, even you to see where we are going."
Mithrandir assented to this, by now having memorized of the caution of the Utashtegu and their allies when it came to bringing strangers into their midst. By the setting of the sun the three left the small village and entered a rocky and hilly terrain, the red soil of the mountain getting darker and darker as they went. When they came to a large rock that stood in their path Dhraloku placed a black blindfold over Mithrandir's eyes and they continued upon their journey, not stopping even for water. The young woman, who had yet not spoken a word since she first invited Mithrandir to Dhraloku's home, still did not speak during the entire journey; instead she sang, the song was soft at first and the words in a tongue Mithrandir would not learn for many years. She sang a sad and melancholy song that he would later translate as saying:
I am lost and forsaken, abandoned and
broken from my people.
My love has gone, my history strewn
Upon the rocky sand.
What song shall I sing?
For all is lost and the waves of the sea
Have taken all my life.
Its charring melody has drawn all
From my side, leaving me barren,
As the desert wind leaves the earth,
Before the coming of the rain.
The shadows are calling
The towers have fallen
The desert shall be the home
My soul will seek.
What song shall I sing?
When melody herself has left
Across the sundering seas?
Mithrandir was moved by the sorrow in her voice; she sang with a husky and hale voice, deep in the way that young women sing, as though it came from another world. When her song was finished, he found himself lost in thought, his mind returning to the halls of Imladris where he began this long journey into the east. The winter sun rose over the white pinnacles of the mountains then and the only sound made was the gentle trickle of the water cascading down the cliffs that led to the hidden valley. The river Brunien had slowed to a large stream, enough for young elvish children to jump across and pick the berries that still clung to the last remnants of autumn. Mithrandir prepared his horse to ride south and join Saruman at the black tower of Orthanc; he had enjoyed the overly generous hospitality of Elrond Peredhel and his family and was being laden with a great many treats and even a special package from the Lady of Imladris, the way bread of the elves, lembas. Celebrian stood behind Mithrandir holding a small silver tin, flat and circular, the top was richly ornate with a silver tree whose branches and roots joined as one twisted circle around the trunk, upon which was carved mellon a Imladris.
"It is such an odd thing, that the elves of this land journey westward and all my friends shall journey to the east…I feel quite suddenly left behind."
She said this with no sense of sorrow in her voice; her spirits were light, she would soon be travelling to the Hidden Kingdom, where her brother and parents made their home, once the spring began to turn back the frost. Mithrandir turned to her and laid a friendly hand upon her shoulder,
"Such journeys have a way of coming full circle my lady Celebrian…those once lost will return."
She smiled shyly at him looking at him with emploring eyes,
"If you see him…"
"I shall send your love and regards…May I ask you a…a personal question?"
"Of course Mithrandir…"
"Why him? I know your family to be quite close to their servants, but this is…well stronger."
She looked at the old bearded man with a look of concentration as though pondering the very words he said one syllable at a time. Her eyes were cast down onto the ground for a small eternity. When she looked up she smiled,
"Because he was never a servant to me…he didn't follow my orders like a lap dog, he made me earn his loyalty. No one Mithrandir, no one ever did that. And when I earned it, it felt not like I had received a servant like my father had, but a friend, a confidant, a teacher and…well…a brother. And while servants have come and gone, he has remained true…I love him Mithrandir and I worry for him now that he is lost because it feels as though a part of me is lost as well in the desert of the east."
A cracking of a twig brought Mithrandir back into reality; though he could not see them, the rocks around him had grown and the large red mountain loomed larger in the distance. They had gotten off their horses and were now hiking up a steep series of hills. Mithrandir wondered if the village was at the pinnacle of the mountain but when they had climbed the last hill there laying before his unseeing eyes was a small fortified village, arranged in much the same circular way as the granary where Ciryaher made his camp. The wall surrounding the village was built of clay and mud bricks that were enormous and solid and closed off the village from one steep hill to another. There was no opening in the wall, just a small door built into the side of a flat-faced hill; Dhraloku led Mithrandir through the door and in the darkness of the cave behind it he cut off the blindfold. Mithrandir was greeted by the sight of several lamp-lit faces, who inspected him and wondered about him and his beard. Dhraloku led them through a series of hallways that opened to a narrow stairway and into the open light. When Mithrandir stepped out into the village he was amazed at its size, in the center stood a rather large well where women filled urns and carried them to their houses; around the well were roughly 12 large brick houses, circular in shape, their flat roofs supporting a small apartment and patio. Around these houses were small gardens filled with grains and vegetables growing on vines; each house also had a large cistern in the shape of a large flat bowl, used for gathering rain water. Around these gardens and homes was a large stable built into the red rock and a gated fence yard for goats to be held in at night. The mountains to the north provided some cool air descending their sides and the hills provided some relief during the early morning and late afternoon; were the curse on the land lifted, this place would have and once did know seasonal rains that fostered the growth of an old forest range complete with game and fertile soil to plant small home gardens or to sustain a small foraging band, now lost to time and circumstance. When the girl climbed out of the cave she covered her eyes from the bright noon sun, seeing a familiar figure walking towards them she ran to it, her arms outstretched, her voice no longer afraid to speak,
"Abha!"
With relish she ran toward the shadowed figure who caught her in his arms and spun her around effortlessly, his laughter, deep and melodious ringing through the valley. Her black tresses caught the noontime sun as she spun around; like a spinning dervish her white linen skirt flowed and flapped in the wind. When he set her down, Dhraloku and Mithrandir had approached, Dhraloku shrug off the yoke of leadership and became a young man, barely over 25 and embraced the man who had approached them calling him, "Menthu". When Mithrandir saw the face of the stranger he smiled curiously and called him,
"Uial?"
The face of the elf had changed, for the ancient elf of the west was wearing a smile upon his lips and looked older though there were no lines upon his face. He did not wear a loincloth or the black garb of the Utashtegu warrior; rather he wore a white linen tunic and brown pants made from deer skin. His feet were shoed in light moccasins and he wore only one band around his neck at the edge of which was a small roundish turquoise stone. The elf's hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, yet hid the points of his ears in the dark strands of hair. Dhraloku and the young girl left the two and entered one of the central houses descending a set of stairs into the dark coolness of the house. Uial smiled and held out his hand to the Istar.
"Welcome to my home Mithrandir of the West, I am proud to personally offer you my hospitality at long last."
Mithrandir was speechless at first until a voice came from the house,
"Cedlal, t'ahinishidle, ki-yana hum."
A woman with a smooth olive face and long straight hair dotted with white and gray had pushed back the curtain covering the entrance and held a jug of water in one hand. She wore a smile on her lips until she saw the old man standing beside Uial. The elf smiled and said to her,
"T'aspin quito Manna-le Cidhrali."
The woman disappeared and the elf turned his eyes to Mithrandir who looked on curiously, Uial read his expression and said,
"She was just telling me that the food was ready, I told her that we would be in shortly…"
Mithrandir asked the first question that came to his mind,
"Is abha another name you hold here? For, I heard three for you just now."
The elf looked about him as though he were going to tell a horrible secret, leaning in he said,
"Cedlal is my name here Mithrandir…here I am no deity or spirit, I am merely Cedlal. Abha…well abha is translated in the western tongues as father."
Mithrandir wore a look of shock upon his eyes,
"That girl…she is…?"
"My daughter… yes… her name is Xidlalique, though in the outer world she is known by another name."
"And so the woman?"
"Is Dhraloku's aunt… my wife…"
Mithrandir was still in shock when he sat on the floor of Uial's house; he looked at the young girl who now was more talkative than he had ever seen her and she blended between the language of this village and Alamb-harad. Mithrandir looked at her, inspecting her for any sign that she carried the blood of the immortal kind. Her hair was black as night and her gray eyes, so filled with an ageless youth…could it truly be? She felt his eyes upon her and looked directly at his,
"What troubles you Grandfather?"
She said it in perfect Sindarin that he was at first taken aback, Mithrandir shook his head and said in Alamb-harad,
"Nothing child, it is just the heat of the day."
The inside of Cedlal's house was sunken into the ground and was surprisingly cool despite the heat outside. A small hole in the roof let light in and large beams crossed the ceiling, making Mithrandir wonder where they had come from, noting the lack of forests in the area. Yet he also noticed they were richly carved and seemed to carry with them an age that even he could not comprehend. As dusk began to fall the woman called Cidhrali started the hearth fire and Dhraloku left the house to walk about the village. Xidlalique, who Mithrandir had learned was called Anatse in Alamb-Harad, went to a small cleared space where a loom awaited her. Celebrin motioned for Mithrandir to follow him up a long rope ladder to the square apartment above. It was not really an apartment but a place to store corn and other roots and vegetables; it opened into a patio that centered on a smaller hearth. The dusk was settling in the West turning the sky a brilliant purple and blue, contrasting with the deep red of the rock around them. Celebrin beckoned him to sit on a low bench beside him as the elf picked up a group of fibers settling in water and began to twine them into a rope. At first they sat in silence as the elf expertly tightened and braided the rope, periodically testing its strength by pulling on it before continuing; it was Celebrin however who broke the silence,
"Fifteen years…she is fifteen years old."
"Who?"
"Xidlalique… Anatse…she was born 15 years ago last winter, tiny for a child…They thought she was sacred because of her eyes, they feared her and loved her…as did I, from the moment they placed her in my arms."
"Is she truly yours?"
"I don't know…"
Celebrin read Mithrandir's face as soon as he said the words, he looked into the distance and slowly began,
"It was roughly 17 years after I set out on my journey; I had lived, fought, eaten and breathed among the Utashtegu when they were a small roaming tribe of goat herders and horse groomers. I took Cidhrali for my wife because…because she needed me and I needed her. That need grew to affection and blossomed slowly but surely into love. Then one day she was taken from me when she went to retrieve water from a nearby stream…one not far from here. Creatures…creatures of shadow, vile, barbaric and base things they were, they took her into their lands beyond the red mountain; I followed, tracked them down. After much time I found her, and she returned with me to the Utashtegu lands, quiet and frightened by small sounds in the night…she was plagued by nightmares, dark memories when she would rail against the shadows. They violated her, Mithrandir, those vile creatures that…that moved in shadow as well as I…they violated her in ways that she has not fully recovered from. But a year later Anatse was born to us, I thought she would come out vile and evil as those creatures were, but she was a blessed thing. Bathed in starlight…she smiled and laughed when they placed her in my arms, touching me with her soft fingers...I did lay with my wife Mithrandir…so did these creatures, be they man or other dark being in shape and form not unlike our own. I do not know who sowed the seed of her life…but I tended the garden…in this way, Mithrandir, she is my daughter."
When he had finished Mithrandir looked to the first stars that broke into the sky, he sighed heavily,
"Alatar and Pallando?"
"They have voiced their objections. They caution always that the union of elf and man has never been an easy one…"
"One that is always fraught with danger."
"But great beauty also! For where would the elves or men be had Luthien not found love in Beren, or Turgon's daughter for Huror's son?"
Mithrandir smiled and said,
"Forgive me, Uial, I forget this is probably not your first time arguing this."
"I know Mithrandir, and I apologize for my tone…it is my fatherly prerogative. But it is hard to say if she indeed has the blood of elves within her…she is 15 and is on the cusp of adulthood…at 15 years of age I was still but a child clutching to my mother's skirts in the Halls of Doriath. The elvenkind have always aged slower than mortals…but I know nothing of the raising of Peredhil, I know not how life courses through their veins. She may be elf…and she may very likely be mortal."
"And if she is mortal and will die by the slow decay of time? What will you do then?"
The elf looked at Mithrandir and then slowly to the night sky, he sat quietly for a long time before saying, a fearful choking in his voice,
"I know not…but I will protect her for as long as I draw breath."
OK, before anyone spears me, there were other accounts of possible elf-human pairings that resulted in children in Tolkien's world. The Lord of Dol Amroth was said to have been descended from an elf-maiden and human male, outside of the Luthien bloodline.