Many thanks to Elfique for her many and very positive reviews.

This Story is nearing the end for now, but my fingers will not be retiring. There will be a short story about Anatse and Ciryaher; I feel the need to write about them in detail and to set history aright to the way Tolkien intended it.

The years began to pass in the East as Ciryaher Hyarmendacil rebuilt the lands of Khavul; first the dams of Khamul had to be found and re-won from the evil Harad who had fled to their secret locations. When that had been accomplished the dams were broken and for the first time in many centuries the waters of the Orocarni flowed freely into the Talath Anorui and down to Khavul, joining together to form a large river to rival Anduin in the West. At first the water flowed warm and dark as mud, yet as the desert sand was washed away and replaced with rich dark sediment, tall grasses began to grow and after several years the flood plains of Khavul were once again used to grow and harvest grain and vegetation. The city of Khavul grew in majesty as bright clay buildings arose in terraces, mixing a variety of architectural styles: Gondorian, Utashtegu, Harad and Hamadjon. The roads that Hyarmendacil built proved well for the prosperity of Khavul as merchants from Harad, Gondor, Khand and the lands further south came to ply their trade and wares in that city. The king traveled from time to time to Gondor to maintain the city and to placate the Lords of Gondor, yet in truth his heart lay in Khavul with his wife, Anatse. Each year that passed he hoped for a child to grace them and more so for a son to ensure his lineage and provide a prince for Gondor. Yet among several of the Lords of Gondor a child born of Anatse and Hyarmendacil was an undesirable thing and they began in secret to seek for a way to lure their king back to Gondor, and to take a new wife of true Numenorean blood.

Despite this, the years that passed were peaceful and filled with joy; Anatse was named head of the Council that ruled Khavul, as her uncle and mother had been before her, and she ruled over matters of state wisely, with her father and the three Istari Alatar, Pallando and Saruman by her side. One day, seven years after the forces of Gondor conquered Harad and the army of Khamul, Anatse whispered to her husband a secret she had learned only a few weeks before. Upon hearing it he leapt into the air for joy and announced from the balcony that circled the roof of their home in Khavul that Anatse was with child. The entire city erupted with joy and even a few places in Gondor rejoiced. The gossip in Osgiliath was that the aged Queen of Khavul used dark magic to get with child, for in that time she already neared 40, though in appearance she looked no older than half that age. The months of her pregnancy went by and on the full moon of Afteryule she cried out in a pain mixed with joy that water flowed from between her legs. For many long hours she lay in bed, tended by her father and a midwife, while Ciryaher paced the Great Council's hall, surrounded by the Lords of Gondor and the Council of the Seven Nations.

One of Ciryaher's oldest and noblest advisors, Calmacil the Steadfast, called the king to a corner in private, asking him in hushed tones,

"Should they bring the child to you, my King Hyarmendacil, perhaps it would be wise not to take it in your arms."

"You are being a foolish Calmacil, I must acknowledge my child- you know that. He will not be a bastard as other kings before me have had."

"I do not mean ignore the babe, I mean only leave it in the arms of the midwife; for I fear that if you took the child in your arms in public, you would, by the letter of the law name that child your lawful heir, and heir to the throne of Gondor- an action many of the Lords would not take kindly to."

"What's this? Are there secrets kept from me among my own counselors and vassals?!"

"Only that the Lords fear to say out loud what many in the streets are gossiping about you; that you would put a child of half-heritage upon the throne of Gondor…or worse, move the kingdom to the East and your throne to Khavul itself."

"I will not divorce my wife Calmacil, I made that very clear! Nor will I abandon the lands of my father to rule a kingdom in the East. My child will not be of half heritage, it shall be of two glorious ones…This child will unite East and West in ways you and those ignorant half-blind fools cannot even dream to imagine. Now I will not hear of this again!"

At this the King heard a great cry of a woman's pain echo through the silent city; it was a cry that came from the very depths of the soul, a cry the Utashtegu called the "wail of creation". Silence followed and for what seemed like an eternity the entire city of Khavul held their breath. Suddenly a shrill and almost inaudible cry entered their ears; it was small, like the gentle ringing of bells calling to the stars and moon announcing that a new soul had entered the world. At this great cheers went up from the Council of the East and some among the Lords of Gondor shouted with shouts of joy and laughter, patting Ciryaher Hyarmendacil upon the back. A few minutes passed before the doors to the hall were opened and from the darkness of the night outside and into the light of the torches and chandeliers emerged the elf Celebrin, caring in his arms a small bundle of moving limbs and gentle piercing cries. He walked toward the King of Gondor and with a gentle, smooth bow of his head, he said, choking back tears,

"You have a son…"

The King chuckled a little as the tension left his throat and looking around at the gathered faces he turned his strong warrior arms into a cradle and the elf placed the small creature into it. Immediately the babe ceased crying and the King was reduced to tears as he saw the slightly darkened skin of the child and the brilliant black hair that topped its head; his eyes were dark pools of wisdom and within them a gentle star glowed to the world. But the peace was interrupted by a shout from the doors; the midwife, covered in blood called out to the elf and begged him to come quickly. Immediately the elf ran out of the room and silence fell in the hall and the child began crying again.

The night passed and a brilliant clear blue dawn emerged in the East; Celebrin walked out of Anatse's bedroom covered in bright red blood, massaging his neck and shoulders; before him sat Hyarmendacil and Saruman, as well as Penethislea, and beside her, her lithe husband, holding the child in his arms softly cooing to it. Pouring himself a flagon of wine, the elf said stoically,

"She is resting…She lost a lot of blood and for a time, we came near to losing her."

"Will she recover?"

Ciryaher stood and crossed his arms over his chest, wrapping them around himself as though he were trying to keep the contents of his heart from spilling out.

"It is difficult to say…if she rests then it is very likely. I do not think she will bear you another child, Ciryaher, at least not without considerable risk to herself and the babe."

Tears began to flow down the King's cheeks as he entered his bedchambers and went to his wife's bedside, taking her hand into his own, gently caressing it. When he left, the elf threw the flagon of wine into a corner of the room and fell to his knees, releasing the pain and fear he kept inside. Saruman stood and ushered the other two out of the room as quickly as he could. His voice filled with compassion and tenderness, the old man knelt beside the elf and placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder,

"Shhh, it is alright now, she will live…that is a miracle we should rejoice in."

"You do not understand…I lost her, for a few brief moments I lost her to the shade of death and…and I froze, completely taken over by fear and grief. I can't…I can't watch her die again Curunir, it will utterly destroy me!"

The elf wept into the arms of the Istar and it seemed to him as though his very soul was being ripped from him; the weight upon his chest and the catch in his throat caused immense pain and his fea cried out in sorrow, though his physical form was silently weeping into the gentle arm of the Istar before him.

Across the great expanse of Middle Earth, past the wastes of the Eastern lands and the Sea of Rhun, beyond the heights of the Misty Mountains and through the land of Eriador that cry traveled coming suddenly and unlooked for upon an old elf, who lay asleep in his bed as the first beams of light began to color the night sky with a hint of white and silver in the east. Cirdan, the Shipwright of Mithlond awoke with a start, he heard a loud crying in the night, like one in pain. He awoke and went to the balcony beside his bedchamber; calling out to the night watchman below he said,

"What has happened? Who is crying out in pain?"

The watchman, startled by the call from above him stumbled with his words,

"Wh…What do you mean my lord?"

"Did you not hear that cry? A great shout as though someone were being mortally hurt!"

"It has been quiet all this night my lord, except for your voice, I have not heard anything above a whisper or the sound of the waves."

Cirdan returned to his room puzzled by this, he thought to himself that he was never really disturbed by dreams in this manner; it felt almost as though he was the one screaming, crying out in pain, for his lungs ached and his throat was dry and scratchy. He paced his room for the remainder of the night; the scream would never leave his mind and all that day he heard echoes of it as others spoke. He tried to erase it from his mind but it would not leave, as though it were a gnawing thing upon his heart; he was musing upon it when a harsh voice entered his mind, he turned to see a rather largely muscled elf standing before him in pale blue robes. The blue was in stark contrast to the ruddy hue of his hair but it was his look of arrogance that put Cirdan off,

"Forgive me Cullofea, perhaps you could repeat your question, my mind is elsewhere these days."

Sighing, the Lord of Forlindon spoke again,

"I was, my Lord Cirdan, inquiring about the position of the Captain of the Tower Guard; it has gone unfilled for over 50 years. Perhaps it is time to appoint a new captain. Meaning no disesepct to your fosterling but there is a heavy duty in manning of the Tower guard and in organizing its ranks, surely you must see my point?"

Turning to a calm looking elf, with stark raven hair and firm expression he said,

"Is this true Gildor? Has the absence of Celebrin sorely affected your guard."

"Why no, my lord, Uial was above all else a master of organization…he trained all the members of the Tower Guard to work without him. We know our duties well, I know not to what my lord Cullofea speaks of."

"Is there some delay in the lighting of the North light tower, Cullofea? That you fear your boats should be moored?"

Becoming agitated the ruddy-haired elf spread his stance firmly upon the ground, crossing his arms he said,

"The Tower Guard performs immensely well but I am merely speaking of the vacancy that has been left behind. Should a dire emergency come or some other cataclysm there is no Captain to man the Tower guard, much less ensure its survival as many more elves begin to leave Middle-Earth."

"That position has always been Celebrin's, Cullofea, and he has not been relinquished from his service to Mithlond… The Tower Guard as you know well performs admirably in his absence and there has been no need to appoint and train new members has there?"

The white-haired elf lord turned to Gildor and looked at him imploringly. The young elf, at least in his eyes, seemed to shift his feet, uneasily,

"Well, we lost Cirvanyar and Harmiriel after the last ship left into the West, and Thilbarad and his sons went into Imladris to serve Elrond and Celebrian after that. We are not in dire straits but we are rather stretched as it is…"

Cirdan sighed and looked at Cullofea who was smiling, beaming with victory,

"Well then Gildor, you were appointed deputy of the Tower Guard…can you not train and appoint new members?"

At this Cullofea spoke at this,

"Inglorion cannot serve as captain of the Tower Guard! You already have him acting as head ambassador to Imladris and Edhellond…another position I might add that…"

"Enough! I will not stand by whilst you slander one who has served this city and its people faithfully for many centuries. Uial shall return to us and when that happens he shall return to his duties as is fitting."

"I know you will not give up hope that your fosterling will return…We all hope that he does, and shall dance for joy at his prodigal return. Perhaps if you but appoint a…an interim Captain, then we might await his return in peace of mind that all shall not turn to chaos."

Cullofea spoke moderately yet to the aged Shipwright he could not hide his elation; Cirdan could have sworn he heard that clicking sound that cats made when they neared their witless prey. Lifting one eyebrow Cirdan said, flippantly,

"No doubt you have a candidate in mind…another of your sister's children in need of a position?"

The lords of Harlond, sitting quietly to Cirdan's right chuckled at this; it was often joked that Cullofea's sister had three too many sons and Cullofea, no matter how hard he tried, always ended up with at least one in need of some position to make him useful.

"I would not presume to push any candidate upon you my Lord Cirdan, but my sister's youngest son, Galdor is more than capable of running the Tower Guard…until Master Uial returns to us, of course."

Cirdan crinkled his nose, he liked Galdor; the young elf was witty enough and intelligent, handsome in many ways and fair in appearance and gait. Though, he had always lived a pampered life under his uncle's wing, always being tutored in the rules of courtly etiquette and always spoke in a manner where he said many flowing and ornate words which meant little and said even less of his true thoughts. He saw how the youth averted his nose, when sailors passed by and in the fish markets he always held a handkerchief to it, never actually touching anything in the market. The youth was not who he would have first considered to be captain of the Tower Guard, which was filled with young eledh who had to climb the long march up the cliffs carrying much wood and oil and must keep watch for boats in the night, covered in soot and smelling of seaweed and ash. And yet, Galdor had a keen mind and when he was given a task he fulfilled it well, often choosing the best people for the job, regardless of whether they liked him or he liked them, which was always a good trait for a bureaucrat. Perhaps if Gildor could train him he would shirk off the training his uncle gave him and prove useful in some greater way than in merely being a spy for his uncle's schemes. Cirdan sighed and turned to Gildor who looked worried, obviously having read the Shipwright's mind,

"I am wary of giving a position of such immense importance to someone so…untried, Cullofea, surely you understand that?"

"I do of course… Perhaps for a position that does not require so much importance to Mithlond, perhaps he might relieve Inglorion of his duties as ambassador. Galdor is very well equipped at speaking and he has a very keen mind for politics and trade, you know , I am sure from the many times he has represented me in your court."

A lord from Harlond spoke out,

"Yet he is unknown and untried in Elrond's court, much less in front of Galadriel and Celeborn…there are few who could meet their gaze and not shrink…I fear the poor boy would faint before he even got a word out."

At this a chorus of laughter erupted from both sides of the council table and even Cirdan smiled at the jest, Cullofea however pressed on, still behaving courtly, though his voice was becoming strained with attempting to monitor its own volume and icy edge,

"Perhaps a test is in order, to test his mettle…I would be willing to drop this matter if we but knew when, and if, Master Uial was returning to us…Send Galdor to Imladris to seek out news of Uial. There is little in Middle-Earth that the Lord and Lady of the Hidden Vale do not know for all manner of folk pass through their House on their way from North to South and East to West. If he has, as rumor tells me, devoted himself to Celeborn again, then Celebrian of Imladris would know for sure and we would not need to hold onto his positions since he has become Herald again to the family of Elmo."

At this Cirdan considered…Celebrin was known for spending long periods of time away from home, yet the last time he was gone so long was because of his devotion to serving Celeborn, a devotion the Shipwright never particularly liked. Perhaps the rumor was true and he never intended to return, never wanting again to look upon his foster-father's face…still associating it with betrayal. The ancient elf sighed and said diplomatically,

"You are right Cullofea, word should be found if Celebrin does indeed plan on returning…however I would not dare burden such a young ellon with this task…No, this is a family matter and should be done by family. I shall go to Imladris and seek word of my kinsman; Gildor will take up my seat here until I return, then…and only then, shall my judgment be rendered."

At this the council erupted into talk and debate; some, Cullofea none the least of all stood silent, caught somewhere between shock and confusion. This, the proud noble elf did not expect and Cirdan smiled knowing he had caught the calculating Noldo unawares. He stood silently as the council debated amongst each other if there was a law that prevented the Shipwright of Mithlond to leave, which of course there was not. Only Gildor followed him out of the hall through a simple beech wood door that stood in the southern end of the hall and led into a narrow gray corridor. Gildor Inglorion had been surprised few times by Cirdan in all his time living in Mithlond, for in all those years Cirdan seemed like something unmoving, more a feature of Mithlond itself rather than a one who lived in it. Gildor had begun to think that the old elf was getting complacent and was beginning to fade into the world around them, as he had heard some elves did when they reached old age…if that even existed for elves.

Yet now Cirdan seemed alive, not happy or joyful but actually alive; he moved with a speed he never had before and began walking quickly through the corridor coming to a bright auburn door at the end. With the turn of a key the Shipwright entered his private quarters leaving the door halfway open, as though closing it was an afterthought. Gildor wondered at this and did not know if the ancient elf was meaning for him to enter or if he had forgotten him. The sounds of bustling came from within and Gildor slowly stepped into the private quarters of the shipwright. The place had not changed in all the years since he had been there, several books still littered the small study desk in the Northern corner and the bed, barely made in haste still looked out toward the balcony on the western edge. The cypress now had grown larger and its branches and roots began to enter the room, the nooks and crannies of the twisted wood becoming places where the shipwright's garments hung. The shipwright began undressing himself from his garments and having shirked off his robe revealed that he wore the simple garment of a sailor still as was his wont, though he rarely went out to sea these days. Gildor watched him as he made provisions for his journey, gathering his clothing into his satchel as well as some maps and other such things. Finally he spoke,

"My lord…You cannot possibly think of going to Imladris? Send me I shall gladly go."

Without looking up Cirdan spoke evenly,

"No I spoke my mind in the hall, this is a personal family matter and I shall deal with it as I see fit, besides I have a greater duty for you. I need you to take Galdor to sea."

"You could ask me to turn a rock into drinking water and I think that will be easier than even this task."

The Shipwright let out a slight chuckle,

"No doubt it will be hard, but I need you to begin his training at sea…If he is to become the Captain of the Guard then he must live among the sailors and guards; he must come to know their ways and the hardships of their lives."

"You intend to make him Captain of the Guard!?"

"No…but I must be ready for anything, regardless of what news I learn in Imladris"

"He will return my lord he always does…he is just, taking a sabbatical."

"I do not think he is Gildor…I wish he were…but in my heart I can feel…I feel as though he is slipping away from my sight, as though he no longer lives in this world."

At this the ancient elf stopped moving as though the very words he spoke were a sentence of doom. He seemed to see a great canyon lit in the dimness of the evening twilight; surrounding him was a barren land and at the far end of the canyon stood a figure silhouetted in black, the stars wheeling slowly behind it. He called out to the shadow but at this the stars spun like a pinwheel. A great sound of wings came crashing overhead and an enormous black wing covered the figure; the great black raven let out its mournful cry before taking off into the sky, when he looked back at the other end of the canyon the figure was gone and the stars fell from the sky…

"My Lord Cirdan?"

Gildor looked worriedly at the ancient elf next to him; blinking from his brief foray into the dream realm; the ancient elf took in a deep breath.

"Get Galdor away from Cullofea as often as you can, train him the best way you know how…Maybe…Perhaps there is some way the young ellon may learn some independence from Forlindon before he can take the post."

At this the ancient elf looked directly at Gildor's eyes, a thing he rarely ever did. For a moment Gildor was taken aback, the deep blue of the elf's eyes drew him into them. The dark halo around his iris seemed to grow with a great intensity and Gildor knew that he was asking him something from the depth of his soul. Though he could not understand the question he merely nodded and in an instant the Lord of Mithlond was gone, away to the stables to make the journey to Imladris.