A/N: I am quite confused by this sudden rush of Celebrían fics. While I was surfing ff.net, I came across an alarming number of Cel stories. I felt almost as though I was writing about Legolas (not to say, of course, that there aren’t any good Legolas fics – see Karri, user id 40500, as an example)! It makes me feel rather unoriginal, as you can all probably appreciate. I am unsure whether or not I should finish this. What say you the reviewers?

Energized by the appearance of Fanuilos, Celebrían took the most directly west course that she could, abandoning the relative safety of her refuge. The echoes of her song rang in her mind, sweetly it seemed. She saw in her mind the beautiful image of the white lady, in her mind wandering the white sandy shores of the sea.

Her legs were weak but steady, and the snow did not break beneath her feet. The air was crisp and clean; it felt good in her lungs. She felt dizzy sometimes, and darkness swirled in front of her eyes, but she did not dare to stop for rest. There was a pull now, a sense of urgency leading ever into the west. She feared that it was not only Lindir who drew her there.

The brook was wide and clear, with only a thin layer of ice crystallized on the surface. She knelt carefully and easily broke through the ice, and plunged her hands eagerly into the freezing waters. Cupping her hands, she drank, and drank. It was so pure and delicious, and her throat ached so, she thought she could drink forever. But instead, she splashed her face and shivered.

It was easier to rise this time. Her muscles were eager for the work, and the familiar motions eased her stiffness. She blew warmth into her chilled hands and glanced around. Over rippling brook/past boulder cracked…

She had no memory of seeing such a landmark, though they had crossed the river upon their horses last eve. Her keen eyes searched up and down stream, then across the wide, shallow brook on the opposite bank. She groaned aloud when she saw it.

A great slab of stone, worn smooth by wind and water, as wide as she was tall and split cleanly down the middle, was nestled in the snow on the opposite bank. There was no doubting that it was the marker she sought, across the water that she would have to cross, without even the protection of boots or breeches.

The shock of the water roused her from her stupor, and she screamed. They laughed, and tugged harder on her hair, pulling her forward violently. Her foot caught a stone, and she was flung forward, cutting her knees on the streambed. She screamed again, and again. A hand lashed her face, and she knew that they enjoyed her screams.

Celebrían covered her face, calming herself quickly with deep breaths. These memories would be with her for a very long time, she knew, perhaps as long as she remained in Middle-earth. She would not be mastered by them.

Her first step into the chill waters was jolting. She began to shiver, and wrapped her arms around herself for whatever meager warmth that would afford her. Each step caused a violent shiver to rack her body, but she kept on. After the misery of the rain and the dark and the unknown, this seemed a petty concern.

Across the river, she collapsed on the bank and sat upon the snow, vigorously rubbing her feet to restore circulation. They stung as the blood began moving, like pins and needles poking her skin. It only got worse when Celebrían hoisted herself back to her feet by grabbing the frosted branch of an elm hanging over her head. She set her teeth and ignored the pain.

Beyond the stone landmark, she could feel the ground begin to sharply decline. As she struggled to stay on her feet, she noticed how the mountains were closer together here, creating a funnel of sorts. The valley would continue to grow closer until it bottlenecked at the difficult opening. Traveling groups had to go through in pairs, and it was ever a tribulation for wandering traders to maneuver their wagons and horses into the Pass.

The ground leavened for a stretch, and Celebrían’s heart gave a leap. Lindir was near; close enough that she could sense his presence. Her pace quickened. She opened her mouth to call for him.

“Lindir! Pedan-nîn! Where are you?”

She practically held her breath, awaiting his answer. The wind came up, whistling through the valley and stirring her hair. It aroused in her a desire to feel the salty caress of the ocean wind.

“Hiril-nîn…” Her keen hearing caught the whisper as the wind carried it away. Stumbling the last few feet, she leaned heavily on a fallen tree trunk, and looked down into the tired, bloody, grinning face of Lindir.

“I knew that you lived, hiril-nîn,” he murmured happily, and reached up to catch her hand.

Cuiviénen – A bay near the Wild Wood, where the Elves first awakened

Pedan-nîn – Sin. speak to me

Hiril-nîn – Sin. My lady