Many thanks to Elfique for reviewing the last few chapters. It really helps to know someone is reading this!
It would be another month before Mithrandir left the company of the elf and his family, for the desert storms were passing through the Valley of Fire in their annual migration south of the mountains, making it impossible for any creature, be they elf, man or Istar to survive the long waterless trek to the West. In that short season Mithrandir walked the paths of the Utashtegu warriors as they went from village to village in the mountains gathering what surplus there were and redistributing them wherever there was need. The villages near Ciryaher's garrison supplied the soldiers with grain, meat and they had free reign of the water, though there was always a small child or woman watching the well from which they drank. When the wind and sand season had ended, the world outside this fiery land was going through the gentle touches of autumn and Ciryaher decided he needed to confer with Saruman who held Umbar with several garrisons and legions from Khamul's attacks. And so when Mithrandir judged it was his best time to go, Ciryaher joined him in the central village, brought blindfolded by Dhraloku and Anatse who had been visiting the garrison. They shared a meal in the hospitality of the elf and his family and were sent off into the early dawn. As they prepared to leave, Mithrandir looked out from the roof of Celebrin's home, seeing the winding path that should take them to the old northern road the Dwarves of Erebor used to reach their kin in the Iron Hills; they would touch the northernmost reaches of the Valley of Fire and be without water for a day or two until they reached a small stream that supplied water to a village of Easterlings. Both the Istar and the King of Gondor were given Harad warrior garb so that they could pass through the valley and the lands of the Easterlings unquestioned.
As he looked out he saw Ciryaher readying his horse and Anatse walking up close behind him; she carried something in her hands- what looked like a small package. Ciryaher smiled when he saw the young girl, gently caressing her hands and arms as she spoke with him, she looking into his eyes and furrowing her brow,
"How long till you return to us?"
"Not for a very long time…but worry not, Captain Narmacil will watch over the garrison until I arrive and my men have assured me they will keep up their end of your cousin's bargain. They will watch the mountain passes and let no spy into your lands."
"It is not for your garrison that I fear, but for you…the journey is long from here to the end of the Valley of Fire, or so my father says. And…it is filled with great dangers. To go alone, it is not wise. Perhaps you should wait until my cousin can muster a trade caravan within which you can hide…"
"I must get back to Osgiliath, I worry that my long absence is proving ill…I must go back and remind the Gondorian people why their sons and fathers must wage war in the east…especially now that we have allies."
His hand lightly cusped the smooth curve of her chin, his beard and her youth made them seem like father and daughter, more so than the elf and her; yet Mithrandir read something more in that touch- almost as though Ciryaher never wanted to remove his hand. She handed him the package and then turned lightly, almost noiselessly, and left; Mithrandir decided not to bring it up- he had been warned that meddling in affairs of men can be dangerous and he had done enough of that for the time being. When the two travelers from the West disappeared into the horizon, led away and blindfolded by a small group of four Utashtegu warriors, Celebrin, called Cedlal, watched from the roof of his house, his body leaning on a walking stick, his raven black hair blowing in the uncommonly cool mountain wind. The small shuffling of feet behind him pricked up his ears so that for the first time in many days the leaf-point tip peaked out from the black net of his hair. He turned his head slightly and the image of a woman with dark sable hair, spotted with gray appeared in his periphery.
"I wonder if we did the right thing, bringing them here."
The woman cleared her throat and said in a now husky feminine voice, where once the voice was lilted and musical,
"We cannot say now, but I think the path has been changed and there is no going back."
"If we had just turned them away, they could have waged their war in the south…away from us. We could have known peace."
"And what peace would that have been, Cedlal? We could have built our defenses and for what? If the King of the West had lost, then the Dark One would have come upon us with a vengeance! Now we give our people a chance to fight."
Celebrin looked at the woman, in his eyes he did not see the deep lines of age, or the white and gray strands that highlighted her once raven hair; he smiled and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her warmth and for a moment he allowed himself a little moment of peace in her arms, almost melting into her embrace.
"I forget how long we have been fighting this war…it seems like we have a few brief years of peace and now I wish them only to remain."
Cidhrali embraced her husband and felt the eternally youthful sinews of his muscles that ran up and down his back; the firm embrace of his arms and the sweet smell of the stray strand of black hair that fell about her face transported her back to the first days of their marriage, nearly 20 years ago, before their small clan grew to large numbers and developed into a nation. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and she nestled her face into his chest, Celebrin looked at her with questioning doubt in his eyes.
"What troubles you my love?"
Cidhrali looked into his eyes and smiled,
"Has it really been 20 years since we were married beneath the winter stars?"
"Almost…why do you ask?"
She disengaged him from her hold and sat upon the bench watching the sky turn a burnt rust color. She looked up at him and realized that he wasn't as tall as he was when she first saw him, because his shoulders were hunched and his back bent. She sighed and wrung her hands together; one year shy of 50, she already began to feel the closing years of her life weigh upon her and she often looked at her husband who never seemed to register the piling on of years to her life. She sighed,
"Why did you ever marry me…I was far beyond child-bearing age."
"I did not marry you for a child…I married you because you saved me…you brought me back to life… Besides you did give me a child."
He smiled, thinking he had taken her out of this reverie, but she only looked firmly at him and said,
"You have never spoken about why you needed saving, only saying that one had broken your heart in two. Who was she that did this to you? In all our years together you have never once spoken of her though I know her name."
Celebrin knelt at his wife's feet placing his hands upon her knees; he looked up at her as though he were one wounded,
"You do? How?"
"In your sleep, when the fever and nightmares take you…Who was she, this…Alphindil?"
Celebrin let out a gentle but pained sigh, his brow furrowed and he lay his forehead in her gentle hands that smelled of lavender and sage, looking at the long shadows of her feet in the setting sun he opened his heart to her,
"Alphindil…was my companion of many long years. He fell in battle and was wounded…"
He told her of his long friendship with the elf of the havens, the many years spent in constructing the city of Mithlond, the years of service in the forces of Celeborn and in serving the house of Elmo in the days of peace ere the fall of Numenor. He spoke of Caras Galadhon and many other things until the midnight stars began to wheel around the pinnacle of the domed sky, which in the West was known only by the constellation Valacirca. When he had finished his tale she looked at him, her silent ancient eyes taking him in. She slowly knelt so as to be at eye level with him and without words she embraced him taking him into her arms. Much of what he said amazed her, even given the many things that she had seen since he and the other travelers from the West entered her life those many years ago. It pained her to know of his past; it pained her for it seemed like he had lived countless lifetimes and still seemed so young, so untried in the wisdom of the world. She embraced him and took in his scent, she did not want to let him go, for in that brief and subtle moment she wished she bore with her the life of the ancient ones, so that she would never leave him alone as others had before her.
The years passed on and the war in the East dragged by; when Ciryaher once again stepped onto his native soil of Gondor he seemed as one changed, for no longer was there a hint of his impetuous and gallant youth. Instead his counselors were amazed that who stood before them was a man battle-hardened and for once wise enough to turn them out of their positions of power, which they had held while he was a youth after the death of his father. He sat upon his father's throne in the shimmering city of Osgiliath and none could question his authority; already whispers went through the land of his deeds, some taking upon themselves grander and grander themes. Tales of his travels in the East became legends overnight and included such enigmatic figures as the Dark Queen of the East who enchants men with her eyes and of the fierce race of warrior women who treat men as wives and slaves. Other tales included tales of immense forces of dark faced Harad or slant eyed Khand whom Ciryaher defeated with a small garrison of soldiers and freed the captives of Khamul's land. Such is the way with stories in times of war, and whatever Ciryaher said to correct them the stories took on a life of their own in the market places and bustling centers of Osgiliath.
In the meantime Ciryaher busied himself with first asserting his control over the Council of Lords in Osgiliath who had controlled the affairs of Gondor when he first began his war. He named his general Calmacil as acting steward in his place; the old man was fond of the young king and alone of his councilors sought to empower the king to make his own choices. He next rode to the different lands of his kingdom beseeching and seeking men to add to his army and navy. His campaigns brought him to the shores of Umbar where Saruman the White commanded his legions and navy; then back to Osgiliath and finally to the Northern Kingdoms on the border of his cousin's lands in Eriador. There he made great plans to build a vast and great navy, an armada that would rival the ships of Ar-Pharazon. He took from the great forest of Fangorn, old and strong trees to build his great ships; they cleared the valley surrounding the tower of Orthanc and even to the roots of the Misty Mountains until they suddenly stopped. For it is written in the annals of Lorien and in the histories stored at Orthanc that Amroth, the king of Lorien sent messengers and emissaries bidding him to cease his work, for he had angered the great Onodrim. The ships were built on the shores of the Enedwaith and in the havens of Minhiriath; it was even said that he commissioned the guild of shipwrights from Mithlond to design and build his warships so that they would not sink in battle or in storm.
Meanwhile the garrison in the East prospered under the hospitality and tutelage of the Utashtegu and the Crow; the younger captains and soldiers took to be their wives the women of the Eastern nations and thus the blood of Numenor flowed into those people. Captain Narmacil of Gondor took as his wife the kinswoman of Hipholuta, the Chieftain of the Hamadjon, whose name was Athalantia and who was the greatest of those warriors. From their union the matriarchal bloodline of the Shield Maidens of Rohan was born, for one among the great- great granddaughters of Narmacil and Athalantia, whose name was Hipholyte in the tongue of the Hamadjon, was wed to the son of Eorl the first King of the Riddermark.
The garrison, led by Narmacil and the warriors of the Utashtegu, Crow and Hamadjon led raids into the net of Khamul's land; so great and many were their victories that Khamul stretched out his hand into the North, sending a mighty fighting force to wipe out the Seven Nations once and for all. Yet the Valley of Fire proved to be his undoing and many of his forces died of thirst, heat-stroke or were separated and slaughtered by the small bands of warriors that defended the mountain stronghold. Yet in this time Talano and Dhraloku were lost in battle as they led their warriors against the invasion force of Khamul; it was sung in many war-songs after that the brave and young Dhraloku stood over his father's body and slew many Haradhrim and orc-kind before he was slain in turn- the last devotion of the youngest son to his father. Yet it would be many years for news of their deaths to reach Ciryaher who busied himself for the great battle that was to come; it was even written by some scribes that when a messenger from Narmacil told him of the news the King fell to his knees and wept as though he had lost a father and brother that were so dear to him.
The deaths of Dhraloku and Talano shifted the support of the council so that the Ayab-Mamuk and several bands of the Harad joined their cause; the leadership of the Crow passed to Talano's eldest son and the Utashtegu looked to Cidhrali once again as they had done before Dhraloku came of age and as was their custom. Celebrin, as her husband, was named war-chief of the Utashtegu and took upon himself the training and leading of warriors to battle. For many years the war waged on, with Ciryaher coming into the East at first regularly and then sending vassals as the years went on as his armada grew in the North. Saruman held Umbar for many years until Khamul led a vast naval fleet of Corsairs and Dark Numenoreans and an infantry of Harad and Ayab-Mamuk that were allied to him up the southern coast and through the Harad Road. The assault upon Umbar was too great and Saruman was forced to retreat to the Havens of Belfalas and Lebennin. It was at this time, 30 years after Ciryaher's first failed assault upon Khahalazul that the King of Gonder took the Old Dwarf Road one last time and came to the roots of the Orocarni seeking the council and aid of the Seven Nations of the Red Mountain...