The day dawned and Aragorn rose, moving gently to rise
without waking Faramir. The younger man groaned
slightly, settling back once more as Aragorn walked to
the basin nearby. It sat on a box and he poured the
basin full, washing quickly in the cold water. He
dried his face and turned, noting Faramir's eyes on
him.

"How do you feel?" Aragorn asked, pausing for a
moment.

"I feel fine," Faramir replied. He sat up, sighing
deeply as he rubbed his face with his hands.

"How often do you have visions?" Aragorn asked,
pulling on a clean shirt and fastening his belt.

"Not often," Faramir replied, pausing. "Well, not
in a predictable way. I have had them all my life."

"It is said that your father had them," Aragorn
replied.

"He did. My father could see things before they came
to pass."

"Boromir? Does he have that capacity?" Aragorn said,
moving to let Faramir use the basin.

"Not that I could ever tell," Faramir said, splashing
his face. "He did have the first vision once, the
dream that led him to Imladris. We argued over who
would go and see what it meant. He won, of course. He
always does. He steps in and takes hard tasks on."

"He protects you," Aragorn said gently.

"He does," Faramir replied, smiling slightly. "Then he
gets hurt himself when it was my place. I fear that he
will die in my place some day."

"Is that a fear or a vision?" Aragorn asked, handing
him a shirt.

"Neither. Both. I do not know clearly but the idea of
it has been with me a long time. It fills me with
disquiet."

Aragorn turned him around and looked at him, measuring
him for a moment. "You can live in fear or you can
live. It seems to me that you have a great gift. Just
remember it *is* just a gift and not the last word of
things."

Faramir smiled and slipped his arms around Aragorn's
neck, relaxing as Aragorn hugged him tightly. "I have
a vision."

"You do?" Aragorn asked, swaying gently as he held his
lover.

"I dream of a time when we can be together and the
threat is not upon us."

"What do you see?" Aragorn asked.

"A summer's day by a lake some place. A summer's day
and you and I together, walking along the shore by
ourselves. I dream of it, being alone with you, taking
our pleasure in the comfort of a real bed."

"As do I," Aragorn replied, smiling. "Some day, if the
world is not lost, perhaps we can find our way to a
lake some place, a lake dappled by the sun."

Faramir smiled, squeezing him tightly and then a sound
on the other side of the curtain broke the moment.
Aragorn kissed Faramir quickly and then turned,
stepping out to speak to someone. Faramir stood a
moment and then turned, his eyes falling on his bunk.
For a moment it was normal and then sounds faded
around him. He stared at the doorway and then back at
the bunk, starting at the sight of Aragorn sitting
upon it. He held his head in his hands, his shoulders
were sagging and then he leaned back, letting his arms
fall to his sides.

He was distraught, his eyes wet with tears but he made
no sound as he bitterly wept. For a moment he didn't
move and then he sat up and looked at his pack,
reaching into it and taking out the jewel that he had
worn until Faramir's enquiry. He stared at it and
leaned down, resting his elbows on his knees. He
pressed the jewel against his face, gasping with
misery and then rose, walking toward the curtained
door.

He passed it and walked out, the cavern filled with
sleepers and Faramir followed him, his disquiet
growing. Aragorn walked into the clearing in the front
of the cavern and stared at the sky, at the brightest
star above. He looked at the jewel, the brilliant
silver token and then at the sky and the star above.

"Why!" he called out. "How *can you* stand by? Is
there not enough that are *dead* without --" He didn't
continue, bringing his hands to his head and then he
fell to his knees in despair. "How am I to go on? How
can I go on? How much blood do you have to ignore
before you hear our despair? How can you sail the sky
and not hear our lamentations?"

Faramir walked to Aragorn and knelt in front of him,
staring at him with anguish. The jewel was in
Aragorn's hand and the sorrow of bitter tears on his
face and he didn't know what it meant. He reached out
but he couldn't touch Aragorn's face, the older man
sitting and weeping without a sound.

Faramir rose and looked at the heavens, the ship once
more sailing through the midnight sky. A bright light
shown like a beacon in the darkness and the soft sound
of words whispering filled his head.

"What would you give up?"

The words echoed through him.

"What would you surrender for the salvation of those
you love?"

He turned to Aragorn but he was no longer there, the
walls forming around him of their living alcove. He
turned around, staring frantically about until he
paused, his heart pounding in his chest. The pack was
lying by the bed and he longed to take the jewel. He
wanted to take it and fling it away some place where
Aragorn couldn't find it. What it meant to him,
Faramir didn't know but it felt doomed somehow and
therefore dangerous.

"Faramir."

He turned, pausing to stare at Aragorn, who stood half
in the alcove.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes darkening with
worry.

"I am fine," Faramir said. "I was thinking I need to
trim my beard."

Aragorn smiled, rubbing his own face. "You and me
both. Come. Let us eat and move out together."

Faramir nodded and moved with Aragorn into the cavern
and its rising activity. They would eat together,
making plans for patrols and before too much longer,
they would be gone on their way.

He would not tell Aragorn about his vision this time.

***************At the same time ...

"You have little to say."

Legolas stared at Eomer, slipping his belt through
its loops. "You are hardly a master of debate," he
replied, a smile gracing his lovely face.

Eomer smirked and rose, gripping Legolas' arm.
"Neither of us are. That does not mean that words are
not necessary. I think we should talk. After all, that
is the only intimacy that we have not recently
shared."

Legolas smirked at him, pausing and holding his gaze.
"You wish words now? After all, I have given you my
carnal body and you, yours. What words can do or undo
that which has already transpired?"

"Do you wish to undo them?" Eomer asked, his dark eyes
piercing Legolas' glib good humor.

"Not a moment," Legolas replied, his voice soft and
breathy. He sighed and looked away from the heat of
Eomer's eyes.

"Then what does it mean to you, Legolas?" Eomer asked,
persisting with great discomfort.

Legolas turned and looked at him. "At first, it meant
great surprise. I am not given to strangers, taking
that which is sacred to me and handing it over with
wrath and ill temper. I burned much that was harsh and
intemperate in the heat of our couplings. That is what
I first came to know."

"And now?" Eomer asked, stepping closer. Their chests
nearly touched and Eomer slipped an arm around the
Elf.

"Now?" Legolas whispered, his eyes level with Eomer's.
"Now I would grieve at your loss. Now, I would be
bereft of contentment, of passion and the sense of
belonging again. I am adrift from my family. My people
have fled to the West, yet you were there when I
needed you and that means much to me."

"Do you love me, Legolas?" Eomer persisted, his lips
nearly touching his lover's. "Say you love me."

"You wish that," Legolas replied, his lips brushing
Eomer's, the fullness of such ripe fruit making him
light-headed. "You have that."

"You love me," Eomer persisted, his hands gripping
Legolas' rounded ass as he slipped his arms tightly
around him.

"You have it," Legolas replied, crushing his mouth
against Eomer's as the big rangy man devoured him
back. Legolas groaned and pulled back, stepping away
and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Do not start
what cannot be finished here and now."

Eomer stared at him, like a predator at his prey and
nodded, pulling Legolas roughly into his arms again.
"You are then mine?" he asked, passion as explosive as
a rushing waterfall driving him to know. "Tell me then
that you are mine."

"Tell me, Eomer ... tell me what your heart feels."

They stared at each other, their hearts pounding as
they spoke of things neither were inclined to say to
another.

"I would kill any man that laid a hand upon you, fight
any duel, suffer any indignity. I love you," he said,
swallowing hard as his cheeks flushed red with
emotional discomfort at so public a declaration. "I do
not have the words to say to you what you might be
more used to hearing, but I do love you and I want you
to tell me that you are mine alone."

Legolas smiled slightly, shaking his head with
amusement. "That cost you a bit, to tell me of your
heart."

Eomer nodded, tightening his grip of his lover,
pressing his groin against Legolas'. His taut trousers
plagued him and he squeezed his lover until he
grunted. Legolas smiled and kissed him softly, pulling
back from his tight embrace. "You have that from me,
Eomer of Rohan. I am yours as you are mine until the
end of the world."

"That may not take long," Eomer replied with a grin,
his lust-filled eyes ever fixed on Legolas' face. He
longed to press him to the floor and make him moan but
they had to go and so he sighed deeply in frustrated
lust.

Legolas smirked and leaned in, slipping his tongue
into Eomer's mouth. Eomer closed his eyes and then it
was gone, the tease of it pooling in the middle of his
gut.

"You are a brutal wench," Eomer said, taking his sword
from his lover.

"And you are a brutal rider, horse master," Legolas
said, picking up his own weapons. "I assume that we
are meant for each other."

Eomer smirked and followed him out, grinning to
himself that this one was his alone. As they walked to
the dining room, pride of possession on Eomer's
handsome face, he leaned toward his lover and smirked.
"You will not get an argument from me."

***************At the Palace of Thingol of Doriath ...

They entered the great courtyard, the house set up
high among trees just beyond them and they turned,
pausing as others walked toward them. One of them
walking along with Turgon was a beautiful man, tall
with long and plaited dark hair. He had eyes that
looked far, directly into your soul and as they paused
before them, Turgon smiled.

"You came," he said, holding out his hand.

Elrond took it, smiling weakly. "I have a
well-developed conscience, Grandfather," he replied.
The tall stranger smirked, nodding as he stared at
Elrond, his intense gaze upon him from the moment he
rode in. Gil-galad moved to one side, seeking an
unobstructed view. He glanced at Cirdan, smiling for a
moment and then the kingly facade fell into place.

"That will please many, none the least this goodly
figure," Turgon said, turning to the tall man. "I am
honored in more ways than can be counted to introduce
you, Elrond son of Earendil, to Dior, your grandfather
and father to your mother, Elwing the White."

For a moment Elrond didn't move, his eyes flickering
from the warmly smiling face of Dior to the king and
back again. Then he took the proffered hand and bowed
as he grasped it, his eyes stinging with tears.

"Grandfather," he whispered around the lump in his
throat and then he was enveloped in strong arms.
They stood together, dappled light filtering through
gently swaying trees as grandfather met grandson for
the very first. Gil-galad watched them, feeling
intense gratitude that a fatherless child could know
his family again. Of their life together, little was
spoken of the family that had died and fled, leaving
Elrond and his twin behind.

He had given great thought to this in the early years
of his return from Mandos Hall and had made effort to
find all of Elrond's kin that were living here. He
felt great emotion and deep satisfaction as he watched
Elrond slowly be surrounded by family he had never
known.

Dior stepped back, his hands resting on Elrond's
shoulders and smiled. "You are a beauty like your
mother."

"I cannot remember her," Elrond said, his voice
cracking. "I cannot recall her, Grandfather."

"Then you *must* meet her," Dior said, conviction in
his voice. "You must meet your parents and tell them
of your life."

"And my brother," Elrond said, wiping tears from his
eyes.

"And of Elros," Dior agreed, his voice wistful. He
turned and glanced at his companions. "I am going with
you to help with your cause. My grandfather is a
redoubtable man but not without compassion, his time
in Mandos a reflective and goodly thing. He loves his
family and will be well pleased to meet his grandson,"
he said, turning to smile at Elrond, taking his hand
into his own. "As well pleased as I am."

Gil-galad smiled, turning to Glorfindel, who stood
beside Erestor, a smile on his face. "Then you must
go, my Lord Dior. And with you goes the prayers and
hopes of a world in darkness."

Dior turned to Gil-galad and nodded. "I will do my
best, as shall my grandson," he said, turning and
smiling at Elrond proudly. "I have been made aware by
those who are knowledgeable," he said, glancing back
at Gil-galad, "that he is quite gifted in a number of
things."

"I cannot know who you speak of, my Lord," Gil-galad
replied with a grin. He reached out and squeezed
Elrond's arm. "Go and meet your kin, my brother."

Elrond nodded and turned with Dior, walking toward the
winding stairs that would take them to the talan of
his grandparents, three generations removed. It was as
if Lothlorien had come alive again, such was the
beauty and tranquility of this lovely place. Galadriel
and Celeborn had patterned their own kingdom on its
unique and utterly Elven grace. At the fall of
Doriath, when all was lost, Melian had taken its
memory with her.

Standing in the gardens, weeping for her husband, she
was reunited with him eventually. They had taken their
own dominion near to his brothers and had rebuilt
their lovely kingdom once again. They lived there in
splendor, the only part of perfection missing, the
daughter they had loved more than any other thing.
They kept nightingales in their house, their music
soothing and a memorial to the daughter they would not
see again.

Elrond climbed the stairs, walking with Dior, followed
by Turgon, Cirdan and Glorfindel. They reached the
top, to a room of such splendor that he had no words
to describe its beauty. There were colors there that
had no counterpart in Middle-earth and flowers filled
the air with perfume.

A tall man was standing before a white chair by
himself, the room empty otherwise. They paused and
Dior smiled, leading the way and bowing with the
others as they paused before him. He was tall, perhaps
the tallest Elf Elrond had ever seen and the beauty of
his face was beyond compare. He wore simple yet very
rich garments, a silver fillet surrounding his head.
His hair was thick and black, braided in long plaits
that reached his waist, silver and gold thread
entwined within. He stood and looked at them, with
eyes so filled with wisdom that Elrond could scarcely
hold their gaze.

He turned and looked at Dior, the younger Elf smiling
and then stepped down, pausing before Elrond. Thingol
looked at him, then he touched his face, delicately
tracing the line of his jaw. Then without a word, he
reached out for his grandson and gathered him into his
arms. He embraced Elrond, holding him tightly, this
fragment written large of his beloved daughter,
Luthien.

Dior glanced at Turgon, at the third kinsman of the
Peredhel and smiled, swallowing around the lump in his
throat. Turgon smiled back, glancing at Glorfindel,
the elder Elf drawn with emotions of his own. He had
come back to Middle-earth to serve their people and
had given centuries of his life to this one single
person. Elrond was as his son, his beloved and only
child and to see his heart healed thus was
overwhelming.

The sound of nightingales sang in the branches of the
trees that formed part of Thingol's house. Standing on
a balcony nearby, their fingers entwined, Galadriel
and Melian looked on in joy.

Part 14:
 

They reached the river, pausing by its shining
embankments, the distant lands beyond peaceful under a
dull haze. The sky was being devoured, this he had
noticed and he wondered how long before the sun was
shut out. They were going to the road to search for
the enemy and hopefully they would be able to handle
what might be there.

Boromir looked over his shoulder, noting his brother's
composure and the grim-faced determination of Aragorn.
Halbarad was with him, other Rangers and Rohirrim and
they paused as they scanned the land below.

"I wish Legolas were here," he whispered, a Rohirrim
nodding grimly. "He would tell us better what might be
hidden below."

Eomer and Legolas, with Gimli and others were going in
the opposite direction to scout along the Pale. They
would check in with watchers, people who stayed until
relieved, who were their first line of defense against
the coming tide of evil.

Aragorn glanced at Faramir, both of them nodding in
their peculiar shorthand and then all of them rose and
began to descend. They would scour the ground, reading
the tracks and by doing so determine the level of
building threat. They moved through the brush, melting
into the ground cover and soon there was nothing to
show they had been there.

***************In the House of Thingol ...

They sat at a table with a crystal top and drank the
most unusual wine Elrond had ever taken. It tasted of
sunshine and flowers and rivers and the gentle breeze
of summer against your cheek. It wasn't like anything
he had ever imbibed and he sipped and savored it as
small talk was made.

Thingol stared at him, his gaze unwavering and then he
set his glass down on the table. "You have come a long
way, my grandson, to seek the intercession of the
Lords of the World. That is a big undertaking even for
me."

"I come on a mission of the greatest urgency, begging
for the greatest empathy that can be fostered,
Grandfather." He paused and swallowed. "Not all your
kinfolk have found their way here. Some of them cannot
come no matter what we can do. They have not been
given that right."

"Turgon and Dior have told me much about your twin, my
grandson. He was a goodly man, my Elros. I am beggared
into great poverty of spirit in that I have and never
will know him myself."

Elrond swallowed again, looking at his grandfather. "I
wish you could have. I wish you had known him and then
you would understand why I cannot turn away. His blood
line continues, his people continue and I have an
obligation to seek respite from the terror that has
engulfed them. They cannot stand alone, my lord. I beg
you without shame or falseness to help us in our
quest."

"You have no faith that I will?" Thingol replied,
watching his grandson closely.

"I do not have hope in many things, my lord. I beg in
my prayers that I am wrong but there has been so many
disappointments that I do not allow myself to believe.
I beg you, grandfather, to hear me and decide for
yourself what is the right thing to do."

Thingol sat a moment and then he rose, holding out his
hand. "Come. Walk with me."

Elrond rose and took his grandfather's hand, walking
toward a wandering veranda that was made to bend
around the great trunks of the trees which they lived
in. They walked together until they came to a flet
that overlooked a forest and beyond that a small lake.
It was breathtaking, the beauty of the view and Elrond
stood staring, unaware that his grandfather was
watching him.

"This is like Doriath?" Elrond whispered, almost
afraid to speak and break the spell.

"Very much. My Queen remembered our beloved kingdom
and we created it again as best we could." He turned
and looked at Elrond. "You remind me of my daughter
and her great heart."

"The Lady Luthien lives on in my own daughter it is
said," Elrond said, smiling slightly.

"So I am told." Thingol sighed and stepped closer,
turning and looking out at his domain. "I have loved
Middle-earth with a passion that has repaid me in
death and sorrow. My daughter, my family, my kingdom
... I have lost it all including my life. We get a
gift, our people, of a second chance and then it is up
to us to do the right thing." He looked at Elrond,
considered his profile. "What would you give up, my
beloved grandson, to make right what has transpired?"

He turned and looked at his grandfather, at the light
of his visage and his eyes. "I have sacrificed all my
life, Grandfather. I have given all that I have."

Thingol nodded, touching Elrond's cheek. "All?"

Elrond looked down, feeling intensely vulnerable, as
if the figure before him could see into his soul.

"You have a passion that is forbidden among our
people. What would you give up to save the world?"

Elrond looked up, his eyes filled with pain and he
knew then that his grandfather was aware of the king.
Elrond stepped back, hesitating for a moment and then
turned, staring out at the lake once more. It seemed
so far away, so out of reach of sadness and the
affairs of the world that plagued them now. He thought
of his brother, of his father and his mother and of
the King to whom his heart would ever belong. He stood
a long time, considering in wretchedness that there
was something he hadn't sacrificed that he could still
give up.

Turning, his face a mask of misery, he walked to his
grandfather and took his hand. He brought it to his
lips and kissed it gently, his tears falling upon it
as he made up his mind.

"I have something I can sacrifice ... the passion that
you spoke of and I would foreswear it forever to save
the world from this doom if that is what it takes."

Thingol looked at him, at the child of his children
and sighed before pulling Elrond into his arms. He
held him, swaying gently as he felt pride and love
fill him, pride and love for this child of his
Luthien.

"You would give up the King to save strangers,
abandoning the one thing that you desire overall?"

Elrond looked at him, his face streaked with tears.
"If that is what is needed, then I will do it."

Thingol's expression gentled, his dark eyes filled
with compassion. "You are much like my Luthien, with
your brave and sacrificing heart. I am glad that she
lives in you, my son." He sighed, shaking his head. "I
cannot take from you that small vestige of happiness?
What you must do about it is not my place to say. It
seems our doom to love in difficult circumstances. I
have spent much reflection in the sanctuary of Mando's
Halls and many years here on these peaceful shores. My
wife, your grandmother, is a wise woman and I have
learned to take her counsels. There is a need for us
to do what is right for those beyond our shores. I am
not going to stand in the way of that. I am on your
side."

Elrond looked at his grandfather, at the beautiful and
legendary figure of his childhood and hugged him
again. Thingol held him, comforting him as he
considered what it would take for them to mount an
expedition of this size.
 
***************On the trail ...

They cleared the plains, heading along the forest
line, their keen eyes spotting old tracks and very
little else. Orcs had come through here, traveling
light and fast but that was a while ago. Farther up,
closer to the Gap, they might find more activity
coming down from Isengard.

It was nearly mid-afternoon when they spotted dark
figures moving along the hillside. They appeared to be
trying to avoid being seen, so feared were the
hit-and-run tactics of the rebels now. Faramir notched
an arrow, moving toward the flank of the figures who
didn't seem to see them yet. Boromir went with him as
Aragorn took the short straight path through covering
brush to head them off. Men split into two parties and
they moved with skill and stealth, repeating for the
hundredth time this very maneuver.

The smell of creosote was heavy as they crept up
behind the orcs, measuring their speed against the
other group of hunters. Faramir was in the lead, his
bow sighted on an orc and when they were within range,
it sang out. It struck an orc in the neck, cutting off
his squeal but others were less lucky to die that
fast. Arrows from behind and arrows from in front met
them and they died before they could gather a defense.

For a moment it was silent and then they came from
hiding, staring at the dead as they gathered around.
Faramir glanced at an orc, slaughtered and bloody and
as he did, the world around him slowed down. Boromir
was to his right, standing and talking to Halbarad,
while Aragorn was across from him kneeling over an
orc.

He turned and saw a figure, black and shrilly
screaming and then he saw the bow and arrow in his
hands. He turned and swung his bow, hitting Aragorn
full on the face, knocking him backward to fall flat
against the ground. Then he turned and shoved as hard
as he could, pushing Boromir into Halbarad and out of
the way.

He turned, bow in hand and reached for an arrow,
feeling the dull thud of the orc's dart as it pierced
his chest. Beside him, their voices stretched and
eerie, others fired on the beast and he fell to the
ground dead. He, himself stood for a moment and then
he fell to his knees, staring down at the middle of
his chest. A big black arrow stuck out of his chest,
piercing his breast bone and exiting through his back.

Aragorn sat up, his eyes transfixed on Faramir, his
cheek battered from the blow of his bow. Then he rose,
unconcerned about any further fighting and ran to
Faramir and fell to his knees. Faramir looked up,
staring at him with fading eyes as blood trickled from
his mouth. He felt his heart seize, then he sensed the
darkness coming as he slumped forward into Aragorn's
arms.

He stared at the sky, a fading blue square, the
terrified eyes of his lover filling his vision.
"Sacrifice," he whispered as the cold crept over him
and then his spirit slipped his body and floated away.

Aragorn sat holding him, panic so violent in his mind
he could hardly breathe. He had seen men die before,
people that he had loved but this was Faramir and he
was destroyed. He couldn't talk, he couldn't move. He
couldn't breath or think or act.

Boromir fell to his knees, gripping Faramir's hand,
devastation and shocked disbelief on his face. He
looked at Faramir and things fell away inside of him,
so he rose and pulled his sword from its sheath. He
turned and walked to the orc that had killed his
brother and with a maniacal rage hacked him to bits.

Aragorn sat holding his lover, rocking him gently as
he struggled to consider what to do. Halbarad knelt
down and touched his shoulder, shaking his head in
sorrow.

"We have to go, Aragorn. There could be more."

Mad eyes greeted him and Halbarad was taken aback.
"We are not *leaving* him."

The others stood quietly and then Halbarad nodded,
moving to cut tree limbs to make a stretcher. They
would lay Faramir gently upon it, covering him with
blankets and then with a distraught Aragorn in the
lead, they would head north for home.

**************That night ...

They had left an hour later, Elrond making plans to
return the next day. Gil-galad rode beside him, noting
Elrond's silence and even though Dior and Turgon had
told him of the success, he was apprehensive about his
lover's demeanor. The ride back seemed shorter somehow
and when they reached their temporary home, it was
with relief for all concerned. Elrond hugged his wife
and greeted the others, walking with them to the hall
to dine. Gil-galad ignored the hard looks of Elrond's
twins, sitting in his place of honor at the long
rectangular table. Dinner was served and then
questions were proffered, dozens asked and dozens
answered.

The dinner finally wound down and the party moved to
the sitting room where all of their conferences were
held thus far. Wine was poured and they all sat
together, the specter of war their next ordeal.

"Who will go to the King, then?" Elladan asked,
sitting next to his mother, holding her hand.

"We will go, that is, Celeborn, myself," Turgon
replied, "Elrond, Dior and Thingol King."

"This is remarkable," Galadriel said with a smile. "I
have not been this filled with relief in ages."

Elrond smiled slightly. "He is a remarkable man,
Thingol."

"He loves family, especially those of his daughter,"
Turgon replied. He is a tough man, our Thingol."

"His word is enough for Ingwe. And perhaps out of this
moment something that needs forgiving can be put to
rest," Glorfindel said, glancing at Elrond. "I would
hope so."

"And I," Dior said, shaking his head. "If I can make
some accommodation to what transpired, then there are
few to say otherwise."

"Have you, Grandfather?" Arwen asked.

He looked at her, at the image of his mother and
smiled. "Mostly. It is like all hurts. You do what you
can each day."

"I expected it to be harder," Elrohir replied. "I
expected Thingol to make it harder."

"You have never been to Mandos," Dior replied. "You
cannot come out until you find a way to live with your
past. Thingol is a hard-headed figure but he is a man
who spent a lot of time thinking over his life. That
cannot be discounted."

Elrohir nodded and then smiled. "When will we get to
see our grandmother? When can we see Elwing and
Earendil?"

Dior glanced at Elrond and shrugged slightly, smiling
for a moment before sipping his wine. "That is yet to
be seen."

***************At the encampment ...

They came in late, the sun only hours away and when
the word of Faramir's death reached them, they were
waiting in silent groups, standing in the light of
torches. They moved through the group, Boromir and
Aragorn holding the ends of the stretcher as they had
for most of the journey back. They carried him inside
and put him on the table, Aragorn staring at his body
in a daze.

Someone had cut the arrow off, the fragment remaining
slipping in out of sight. His face was ghostly, his
eyes staring and Boromir gently closed them again with
his hand. He leaned down and kissed Faramir's cheek
and Aragorn felt himself breaking apart.

"He ... he needs to wash his hands," Boromir
stammered, shock still shadowing his face. "I think he
needs to wash his hands," he repeated as Frodo started
and hurried to get water and cloths. They stood in
mute silence, struggling to comprehend the calamity
that had overtaken them when Frodo reappeared with a
basin and a cloth.

Boromir looked at him uncomprehendingly and then he
took it and set it on the table by his brother's body.
For a moment, he just stared at it and then he took
the cloth, dipping it in the water and turning to his
brother. With the gentlest touch he would ever bestow
in his life, Boromir of Gondor washed his brother's
face for the last time.

Aragorn stared at them, at the enormity of his loss
and turned, stumbling into the alcove they had shared.
He sat on the bed, his head in his hands and wept like
he had never wept before. Sam stood by the door,
feeling rather than hearing the searing sadness of his
friend and comrade. He closed his eyes, a tear
trickling down his cheek as he remembered the kindness
they had encountered in Ithilien.

He glanced at Frodo, standing to one side of the table
and they looked at each other, their thoughts the
same. If they hadn't failed, this would never have
happened and Faramir would be alive this day. Sam
looked away, unable to bear the sadness and sat by the
door of the alcove. He could offer little solace to
anyone around them but if Strider needed Sam, he would
be there not matter what he needed or when.

***************Nearing Mirkwood ...

He walked in chains, his mind rent with terror,
stumbling through the mud and dirt as they ran
overland. Behind him, also chained, his accomplice
scurried, more weary than he had ever felt before.
They had been found by a party of foraging orcs and
had been taken prisoner to Sauron when they realized
who they were. He had hoped they would just kill them
instead of taking him to the Demon and his mind
twisted with the horrors he expected to face.

They hurried down the Old Forest Road, veering off on
the road that would take them to Thranduil's seat of
power. Farther to the southeast, it was already
beginning as big spiders began to move into Lorien.
They would have the southern wood but could come no
farther as Sauron expected to keep this domain his
own.

They hurried through the wet grass and stumbled over
the rocks as the orcs dragged them closer and closer
to their doom. Grima Wormtongue was already rehearsing
the arguments that he would give to Sauron in a bid to
save his life. He would switch his allegiance or
whatever it was he gave his master to the evil beast
who had them now. Saruman was on his own, the old
stupid bastard and Grima would be hung before he would
die for the wizard's sins.

***************Late at night ...

He had sat on his bunk for hours, ignoring the pleas
of his friends to eat and rest. Nothing could save him
from his sorrow now. His friend, his companion, his
lover ... the one that he had come to love and depend
upon was gone in the blink of an eye. For a moment
futility and precarious hopelessness overtook him and
he cast around his alcove for a token of comfort.
Nothing was there but Faramir's bow and small bag but
he didn't have the heart to look inside. He reached
for his pack and pulled out the jewel, the one she had
given him long ago.

He stared at it, at the loss it encompassed and
pressed it against his face in searing anguish. Then
he rose and stumbled out, hurrying through the crowds
of sleepers until he got outside. He moved to the
middle of the small cleared yard and stared at the sky
above.

"Why!" he called out. "How *can you* stand by? Is
there not enough that are *dead* without --" He didn't
continue, bringing his hands to his head and then he
fell to his knees in despair. "How am I to go on? How
can I go on? How much blood do you have to ignore
before you hear our despair? How can you sail the sky
and not hear our lamentations?"

Halbarad stood in the doorway, near to him stood Sam
and they watched him until he staggered once more
inside.

Part 15:
 

"Do not go near to him. Let him grieve."

Legolas pulled his arm free and moved past Eomer,
pausing for a moment beside where Boromir sat. He
looked up and nodded, gripping Faramir's hand in his
own as he sat in a miasma of searing pain. Legolas
shook his head, unable to articulate what he wanted to
say and then moved onward, pausing outside the alcove
that was Aragorn's. Halbarad looked at him, shaking
his head.

"He has not come forth since this happened nearly two
days ago. He has not eaten nor slept."

"Were he more of Elf kind he would be dead of sorrow."

Halbarad nodded and Legolas pulled the curtain back,
entering to see him sitting on the bunk, hunched over
his misery. Food on plates sat nearby but it wasn't
touched. Legolas walked over and knelt, placing a hand
gently on Aragorn's knee. Eyes looked up, eyes mad
with sorrow and Legolas swallowed hard as he searched
them.

"How may I help you now?" he asked in his gentle
voice.

Aragorn looked at him and then shook his head. "You
cannot."

"Then we must find a way for you to live."

"There is no living. The light of the world went out.
Its going out everywhere. We are fools, Legolas, to
think it could be otherwise. You should go to the
Havens and flee. At least you will be alive to
remember us."

"Do you think I would?" Legolas asked, moving to sit
next to him.

"I cannot think. I cannot ... comprehend ... it is all
too much," Aragorn replied, closing his eyes in
weariness. "He had a dream."

"What kind? A vision?" Legolas asked gently.

"He said only part of it. He hid some of it from me.
Maybe he foresaw this, I do not know."

"Then it was ordained."

Aragorn looked at him, fire in his eyes. "Then there
*are* no gods and everything we do, everything we
*believe* is a *lie*. All is *futile* and nothing we
do makes any difference!" He rose and swiped the
plates off his table, turning and fixing enraged eyes
upon the elf. "What is there to *need* of gods if it
is all planned ahead? Is this planned, this calamity
that swallows us all up? What does this mean for our
beliefs ... our hope? Are we all fools praying to the
sky ghost, the one who we *invented* so we wouldn't be
*alone*? What if you *are* right? What if it is all
planned in advance and nothing we do can make it
different? There *is* no hope, Legolas," he said, his
voice breaking. "No hope."

Legolas rose and embraced Aragorn, holding him tightly
in his arms. He felt devastation and loneliness and
for a moment no hope as he held their leader weeping
in his arms. Standing by the door, peering through the
curtain, Eomer of Rohan watched them together. It was
impossible for him to carry anymore sorrow and so he
watched it as detached as he could manage to be.
Later, if there was one, he would fall to his knees
and weep until the sky crashed to the ground. But for
now he was determined to push away the darkness until
that last moment of freedom when he died on his feet,
Legolas by his side.

***************The next day ...

They dressed him in his best clothing, putting the few
possession that he had with him, minus a small book
that Boromir kept for himself. They stood together as
they carried him to a hillside and lay him into the
cold damp earth. Wrapped in blankets they could ill
afford, they buried Faramir of Gondor under an
overcast sky. They piled rocks on him, a cairn to
protect him from the winters that would surely follow
their doom.

Aragorn stood silently, as if etched in stone, his
eyes shuttered and his pain hidden as they sang sad
songs. Elf songs, man songs and a short halting poem
from a hobbit with tears in his eyes all broke the
unbearable solemnity for a moment. When they were
done, they drifted away and left their chieftain alone
on the hill. Aragorn would stand without moving for
the entirety of the night and in the morning come down
a changed man. Gone would be the uncertainty, the
caution and the stealth. The man who would lead them
had been transformed by death. He no longer feared it,
this calamity of the world and he made a vow to take
the fight to the enemy.

They would not just hit and run, they would destroy
and rend, beginning with the tower of Orthanc in
Isengard. The enemy would be denied the tower for a
base, as Aragorn had deciphered that much from the
palantir. They would find it inhospitable if he could
manage it and their efforts in the south and the
mountains delayed.

He walked to his alcove and closed the curtain,
staring at the jewel he held in his hand. He felt
nothing for it but the rage that iced his heart and so
he put it back on to keep that focus intense. He would
remember Faramir's uncertainty when he had asked what
it was for. Now he had a reason for continuing to wear
it. It was his talisman, his token, his good luck
charm and as long as he wore it he would remember to
hate.

He sat on the bunk and held his head in his hands as
he tried not to think that he had laid the best part
of himself into the cold dark ground.
 

***************In the courtyard of the House of Manwe
...

They had arrived separately, gathering in the
courtyard of the great mansion on Taniquetil that was
the home of the Lord and Lady of the World. Ingwe had
arrived earlier, going into the great house to speak
with his lord and friend, Manwe.

As they stood talking together, a radiant figure came
from the house. He walked down the steps, smiling
broadly and extended his hand to Turgon.
Turgon smiled and bowed, turning to his companions.

"My Lord Fionwe, you know most of my companions, but a
few," Turgon said. He turned and smiled. "This is my
great-grandson, Elrond son of Earendil. You know
Glorfindel and the others here gathered."

He gripped Elrond's forearm, smiling and nodding. "I
am well acquainted with all but you, son of Earendil."

Elrond bowed and smiled, the whirlwind of
conversations and meetings leading to this moment a
blur behind him. They were at the house of the Lord of
the World, Manwe, greeted by his son and his heart
pounded in his ears. Behind him, standing with degrees
of relaxation he felt he would never remember again,
his family and colleagues stood quietly.

Erestor and Glorfindel, salt and pepper, stood side by
side as ever for him. Celeborn and Galadriel,
Thranduil and Oropher, Ellan and Haldir waited with
enormous dignity. Behind them, talking quietly
together, Gil-galad and Thingol exchanged thoughts. It
was strange and unearthly being in such company in
such a place but it was the last best hope of the
world and her people.

Elrond stared at his grandfather, Thingol, talking in
earnest with Gil-galad and the conversations of the
past few days came home again. They had just gone from
Thingol's house to dinner and from there to a private
conversation in the library. They had sat quietly,
Gil-galad waiting for Elrond to tell him what was on
his mind. They were a jumble of thoughts and images
and he had to sort through them in his own time.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"I am overcome," Elrond finally said, the glass of
wine in his hand forgotten.

Gil-galad nodded, gripping Elrond's hand.

"I am overcome."

Gil-galad smiled, shaking his head. "I understand.
You are speechless."

Elrond nodded, looking at Gil-galad with a shaken
expression. "We talked."

Gil-galad nodded, waiting. Elrond sighed and closed
his eyes a moment.

"He talked to me about sacrifice. He asked me what I
was prepared to give up to ensure that there would be
relief for Middle-earth."

"And you told him what, melme?"

"You have not asked what he asked of me."

Gil-galad looked at him, his expression quizzical.
"What did he ask you to forsake?"

Elrond looked at him, his expression filled with
strain. "You."

Gil-galad looked at him, then sat back, sighing
deeply. "Well, that was interesting. What if I may
ask was your answer?"

Elrond drained his glass before answering. "I told
him if that was the price to save the world, I would
pay it."

Gil-galad nodded, looking at his lover. "You do not
sell low, my brother."

Elrond glanced at him, a painful expression on his
face. "He did not require the sacrifice. That I was
prepared to make it was enough."

Gil-galad nodded, then drained his own glass. "I am
interested, my brother ... how did he know about the
two of us?"

"I believe," Elrond began, sighing, "that there are
few anywhere who do not know that you and I had been
together as more than King and Herald for a very long
time. I also believe that there would be few places in
my mind where I could hide a thought from him."

"Frightening, that one," Gil-galad replied. He leaned
back, staring at the fireplace. "He is as formidable
now as he was then."

"I am weary," Elrond said, gripping Gil-galad's hand
tighter. "I am torn between two obligations, my lord.
I do not know what to do."

"Do not do anything now," Gil-galad said. "We have
many other worries to take care of." He squeezed
Elrond's hand. "It may be that we have no future
together. Maybe your sacrifice will be needed in
another time. Let us put it aside for now."

Elrond nodded and brought Gil-galad's hand to his
lips. "No matter what happens, I will never love
another the way I love you."

"Then that is enough," Gil-galad said. "That will be
enough for now."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Elrond?"

He turned, embarrassed. "I am sorry, my lord," he
said, giving his attention back to the moment at hand.
 

"You must focus, my friend," Glorfindel said, patting
Elrond's shoulder.

"I am sorry," Elrond said. He smiled at Fionwe.
"Forgive me, Lord. I am distracted over too much
family. I, who have ever been alone, find myself awash
in family who were only hither before names on a page.
I am overcome."

Gil-galad looked at him, the word resonating between
them. Fionwe smiled, glancing from one to the other.
"Do not despair, my friend. Things will be all right.
Take one step at a time."

Elrond smiled, nodding. "Wise advice."

"Then come into the house," Fionwe said, turning and
beginning up the stairs. "Lord Ingwe is with my father
and mother but you are most welcome. I am honored to
escort you inside."

Elrond stared at the mansion, the heart center of the
world and looked at Fionwe. He felt the others
generous spirit and peace settled over him. With a
nod, they walked up the steps together.

**************In the camp, three days later ...

They moved out, heading for Isengard, hoping to reduce
the tower to rubble. Aragorn led them, the palantir in
a bag carried on his back. They had horses this time
and rode into the night, leaving before the sun came
and it made hiding more difficult. They hoped to cover
most of the distance in a day or two instead of the
long and winding week of trekking through safer
country.

He had paused by Faramir's grave, standing for a
moment alone by the cairn. They waited silently until
he came down from the hill, his face cold and
emotionless. Eomer and Legolas were coming with them
and they sat on their horses as overhead the great
star continued on its journey. They had hope that
destroying Isengard would make putting forces into the
south untenable and they knew that the ride would be
long and hard.

Aragorn climbed into the saddle and with a glance at
his men, he turned and rode down the path that would
take them to the back trails and the great road
beyond. Standing nearby, watching them riding, Frodo
and Sam glanced up at the sky. It was filled with
stars, one brighter than all the rest. It would be a
relatively dark night and that would work in their
favor. Sam sighed and grinned at Frodo, following him
as he turned and walked into the cavern.

***************In the Halls of Manwe ...

Elrond stood silently, staring around the opulent and
enormous ante room to the great kings audience hall.
Everyone was silent and expectant, as one would be in
such a moment and the air was filled with tension as
they waited to be called inside.

Elrond wondered what they would be like, these lords
of the beginning of the world. They knew Iluvatar,
having seen his face and heard his voice and the mere
idea of it made him feel small and insignificant.
Fionwe had gone ahead, slipping through the doors,
disappearing from view in the blink of an eye.

Gil-galad stepped closer, squeezing Elrond's shoulder.
He nearly jumped, turning and smiling, the King's
presence worth more to him than he could articulate.
At that moment the door opened and Fionwe reappeared,
walking toward them with a smile. "You may come," he
said, turning and waiting as Thingol stepped forward
as senior petitioner.

Next came Turgon and Glorfindel, then Erestor,
Gil-galad and Elrond. The others followed, all of them
walking through the door into the hall where the King
of the World received guests. They entered a huge
room, one with the illusion of clouds and the heavens
surrounding them on a gigantic ceiling that seemed
more real than contrived. Two chairs, gilded and
beautiful, stood alone in the back of the room, which
was open, with pillars that broke the vista. Beyond it
lay white capped mountains and the curve of the world,
with eagles flying lazily in the blue sky. They were
above the clouds and they lay like snow on the top of
the sky that covered the world.

Two people waited, a woman and a man and at their side
stood Lord Ingwe of the Vanyar. They crossed the
glossy floor, the figures becoming more distinct, even
though for the rest of their life they would not be
able to describe them with accuracy. Each of them saw
them, Lord Manwe and Lady Elbereth, but each of them
saw them as they thought them to be. Elrond saw a
beautiful older woman with a timeless expression of
intense joy. Glorfindel saw a young girl, full of
light and the vivaciousness of youth. They paused
before them and bowed, a suffusion of peace falling
over them, adding to their comfort in the presence of
divinity.

Manwe reached out, raising his hand, blessing their
presence before sitting down. Elbereth stood a moment
and then sat, a smile of such radiant beauty on her
face that Elrond found himself without words. He stood
a moment and then noticed that people were waiting for
him and so he came forward and bowed again.

"My Lord and Lady, I am ... I am honored to be in your
presence," Elrond stammered. His cheeks felt hot from
his embarrassment but when he looked at Elbereth, it
faded away. He stared at her and something began, an
exchange between them happening without words. It was
as if all the days of his life were open and she read
them like a book page by page. He wasn't alarmed, but
rather soothed for he felt her love as one does a soft
caress. It comforted him, for there was no other word
that could describe what he felt at that moment.

"My Lord Elrond," she whispered, her smile gentle in
his mind. "I am most happy to meet you in person at
last."

Then the scenery changed and he was standing on a
ledge looking out over the world with her by his side.
He stared at the horizon, at the way it curved over
and he felt a terrible urge to fly. A hand touched
him, a soft and feminine hand and he turned, smiling
with pleasure at the lady beside him.

"Elrond," she whispered, smiling back. "You have been
a faithful servant of the Valar. We are most pleased
with you, son of Earendil."

"I have never seen him, my father," he said, shaking
his head.

"You will some day. Soon," she said. "What we must do
now is turn back the darkness. In that, you have a
part to play."

"We cannot do it alone, Lady," Elrond pleaded. "We
cannot stand up to his power. We beg you for the sake
of the world to come to our aid. It must be soon."

She nodded and touched his brow, his anguish falling
away and when he opened his eyes, he was standing in
the chamber once more. The others were staring at him,
watching him intently, then all faded once more and he
was back on the ledge. No one was with him and he
glanced around quickly, his anxiety rising once more.

"What do you fear, son of Earendil?" a disembodied
voice asked.

"I have a heavy duty, my Lord. Where are you that I
might beg for your pity on the world below?"

"I see all things, my son," the voice said. "All
things."

"Then you know that we are lost without you."

"I am aware of the darkness that threatens the Little
Kingdom and I know that the time for reckoning has
arrived. You were its messenger, Elrond of Imladris,
the conduit through with freedom will return."

"What must I do?" Elrond asked. He turned and watched
as an eagle flew past. It was beautiful and he watched
it transfixed. "What must I do?"

"Go back to the Little Kingdom with the Army of the
Powers and prepare to take back that which is lost."

Elrond stood a moment staring at the mountains and
then they disappeared. He was back with the others and
the room was empty, just the party and Fionwe, the
Lord and Lady gone. He glanced around, unnerved and
Gil-galad took his arm, steadying him.

"We are to go now," he said kindly. Turning to Fionwe,
he nodded and bowed. "We are in your debt, my lord."

Fionwe nodded and smiled, watching as they walked back
through the doorway. By the time they got to the
courtyard, Elrond's head was clear.
They paused and gathered around, Gil-galad smiling.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"I ... I think we have what we came for," Elrond said,
shaking his head.

"They talked to you alone," Ingwe replied, nodding
respectfully. "We are going to war then?"

Elrond nodded, rubbing eyes. "We are going to war."

Part 16:

Isengard ...

They crept closer, the miasmic swamp that was Isengard
before them. No one seemed to be around and they
waited, intent to make sure that they would be safe
when they crept to the door that stood slightly ajar.
In the war, it had been destroyed of effectiveness by
the rage of the Ents. Now it stood abandoned but they
knew it would not be for long. Eventually the orcs
would be able to return and make it a base for their
western incursions.

Aragorn looked from one side of the drowned compound
to the other, searching for any sign of life. There
wasn't any and he felt a cold and grim satisfaction.
They would have time to search for a way to make the
fortress uninhabitable. The orcs might come but they
would have no forward base if he had any hand in the
day's work.

Nodding to Halbarad, they began to creep forward,
crossing the still drowned  courtyard on the backs of
stones. They moved to the door, sword and bow at ready
and when they entered the dark and cool confines it
was obvious they were alone. Aragorn stood and looked
up, the ceiling hundreds of feet up, a darkling place
that gave a deep sense of foreboding to them as they
stood below.

He glanced around and then turned to his party,
signaling some to be guardians and support those still
stationed outside. The others were divided into teams
and together they set out to find a way to being the
stone tower down.

Eomer and Legolas moved up the stairs, weapons in hand
as they crept upwards. Into each room they peered, one
standing guard while the other searched, ever going
upward in total silence. Below them, moving equally
silently, Aragorn and three men made for the cellars.
Dreading deeply what might be lurking in such a
terrible place, they descended the staircases, torches
in hand.

They peered into rooms, most of them empty until they
came to one that had an acrid smell. Aragorn paused,
remembering that odor from another time and place.
Moving forward, he peered into the gloom, shadowed and
wavering with the flicker of his torch. Barrels stood
side-by-side, one of them loosely covered and he pried
off the lid and reached inside.

Black granules, grains of a sooty greasy material he
pulled into the light and he sniffed them, the picture
of what they were like formulating in his mind. He
smiled grimly and found a scoop lying on the floor,
filling it with the material and turning to go. They
followed him, his men, flying up the stairs and once
in the foyer again, he called upwards.

"Legolas! Eomer! Come!"

With that, he turned and hurried outside. Legolas and
Eomer, with two other archers, hurried down the stairs
and out of the door. When they reached the steps they
paused, watching as Aragorn knelt nearby, working with
a black substance on a flat dry rock. He had placed
the scoop on the rock, balancing it carefully, then he
rose and turned, hurrying up the stairs and
disappeared for a moment into the silent tower.  They
watched curiously, patiently waiting for the reason
for Aragorn's behavior. He returned with a thin white
cord in his hands and kneeling once more he put one
end into the dusty black pile. The other he laid
carefully on the ground, standing and looking at them.

"I remember something important. Gandalf used to make
fireworks for celebrations. The powder he used was
like this. If this is what I think it is, if I light
this cord, it will burn to this substance and cause it
to explode."

They all stepped back, looking at him and then the
black dust, almost as if expecting it to explode right
then and there. He took a torch and knelt, lighting
the end of it and then turned, urging everyone to step
away. They turned and moved back, watching with
fearful fascination as the fire burned up the length
of the cord. It faltered a moment and then reached the
funnel, sputtering and then exploding with a
frightening blast.

Rocks were shattered and peppered them, drawing sharp
exclamations of surprise and pain. They turned and
stared at the place where the scoop was, now a charred
and blasted hole in the stairs. Rubbing a bruised arm,
Aragorn stared down at the blast hole, smiling with
grim satisfaction. He turned and looked at them and
then up the tall tower, his decision made for him
already.

"We can destroy this place. I know how. Right now, I
need your strength and cooperation."

They turned with him, following him up the stairs and
into the building once more. For the next two hours,
they moved the barrels, taking them to different
levels of the tower. They placed them near to windows,
opening and casting off the lids. Eomer went from
each, tearing curtains and sticking one end of them
into the dark material. The other end, he dangled out
the window and then carefully, he poured kerosene on
the cloth. He soaked it to the edge of the black
substance, very careful to not let it get too wet.

Then he moved to another level and did the same until
there were five barrels of explosive dust ready to
light. Sweating with effort, Aragorn gathered his
people and they left the building, their explosives in
place. Hopping from rock to rock as they put distance
between themselves and the tower. Behind them, like
tongues dangling grotesquely from black cavernous
mouths, the curtains flagged the barrels.

Aragorn paused and turned to Halbarad, Legolas and
three others. "Make a fire arrow and light those
fuses."

They nodded and with a moment of effort, five flaming
arrows were ready to go. They took careful aim,
Aragorn standing tensely watching, and with almost
simultaneous release, they flew through the air. They
pierced the cloth, flames bursting into sight. For a
brief second they burned and then almost as one,
explosions appeared.

The building convulsed, shuddering for a moment and
then exploded into pieces, erupting into the air. They
turned and ran, tugging the horses behind them as the
air rained down death from the shattered tower. The
tower poured flame and dust, pieces of itself falling
everywhere and when it was over, they stood on a
nearby hillock.

The tower was gone, just the barest of jagged rock
indicating where it had stood. It jutted up, like a
broken tooth and smoke issued from it as bits of
masonry still fell. The blast had been deafening, the
loudest they had ever heard and they stood in shock at
the destruction they had wrought.

Legolas turned and looked at Aragorn, stilling at the
sight of the coldness on his face. That kind of
satisfaction he had seldom seen. Aragorn turned and
nodded to Legolas, turning and walking to his horse.
They mounted up and turned to ride, secure in knowing
that the opportunities to hurt them had been struck a
hard blow.

***************In another place ...

"Father."

He turned and looked at her, his beautiful daughter
and smiled, holding out his hand. She came to him and
hugged him, the same sense of security filling her
again.

"Father? I have to talk to you."

"Very well," he said, comforted by her presence.

They turned and walked to the settee and sat, Arwen
gathering her thoughts in silence for a moment. Then
she looked at him, taking his hand into hers.

"I have a difficult question to ask you, one that I
must, Father."

He nodded, frowning a moment. "Ask, daughter."

"Father ... I want to know about the King ..."

He bit his lip and nodded, disquiet filling him. "The
King and I ... we were partners in the leadership of
our people for a very, very long time."

"I am aware of that, Father. I am also aware that you
were very close to him ... intimate."

He sat a moment and then rose, turning to face her.
"That part of my life was before you and your mother.
I am not prepared at this time to talk about it. That
time ... that history ..." He paused, sighing deeply.
"It was another time and place, Arwen."

"It was," she agreed. "What I want to know is if there
is a portion of that past that has come into the
present. Is there anything between you and the King
that will trespass on our lives now?"

Elrond felt his heart squeeze and he turned from her
anxious gaze. "Arwen ... I cannot discuss what even I
do not understand."

"You still love him. And he loves you," she said,
quietly.

Elrond shook his head, his expression filled with
pain. "Arwen ..."

"Father," she said, rising and walking to him, placing
her hand on his arm. "I will not burden you further,
but we must talk about this later. Tell me that you
will."

He sighed painfully and nodded, avoiding her eyes.
Then she turned him and hugged him tightly. He hugged
her back, remorse filling him. Then she smiled, her
eyes brimming and kissed his cheek.

"I love you, Father."

"And I, you, daughter," he whispered, watching as she
turned and walked to the door. She paused and smiled
and him and then left, the door closing silently. He
stood for a moment, his heart filled with pain. Then
he pushed it aside, turning to his table where plans
for their invasion lay.

***************On the trail ...

They rode hard, leaving the smoking ruin of their
great success behind them. They would reach shelter by
nightfall and the cavern of their rebel friends the
next morning. The victory they had achieved had been a
great thing and morale would be lifted for a while.
Aragorn rued that they had not taken more than a
couple of bags of the material with them but even that
much was better than nothing. They would have a chance
to make and leave behind little surprises and as they
got better at using it, wield great victories out of
certain defeats.

They rode onward, moving across the flatlands as they
headed for the mountains and the sanctuary and safety
of the forests beyond.

***************Late that night ...

He stood before the door, hesitating for a moment and
then he knocked, entering at the sound of a soft
voice. Gil-galad was there, sitting in a chair by a
table, papers and scrolls littered over the top. He
paused, smiling and then rose, waiting as his lover
crossed the room. They stood before each other and
then embraced. It was silent for a moment and then
Elrond sighed.

"Things are too complicated right now," he whispered,
rubbing his cheek against Gil-galad's. "My daughter
came today. She wanted to discuss you and I."

Gil-galad sighed and looked into Elrond's face, unable
to measure the emotions behind the mask that was so
firmly in place. "I am sorry to hear this. But I am
selfish enough to still want you."

"It is not in doubt where my feelings stand but for
now, I can only manage to do what I must. I am asking
you, my dearest friend, that you give me some latitude
to do this first thing because it is so important."

Gil-galad nodded, kissing Elrond on the lips. "I will
grant you that, melme. But I will serve you notice
that I am not prepared to surrender what I feel for
you."

"I am not asking you to," Elrond replied, unable to
meet Gil-galad's eyes. "But I am asking that we
hesitate for the good of all. At some date when there
is a chance to think about this, then we must do it.
But now, I cannot bear the reproaches that surely will
come if this erupts into something we cannot control."

"Fair enough," Gil-galad replied, considering the
misery on Elrond's face. "Life is complicated, isn't
it. I remember simpler days even though there was
danger everywhere. I do not know what may happen when
we finally traverse these shoals but we shall sometime
in the future."

Elrond nodded and embraced Gil-galad, kissing him back
with all the devotion of a lifetime of love. Then he
sighed and looked at the table, at the plans that were
being drawn to move an army unprecedented since the
days of the Beginning.

"May I help you?" he asked, glancing at his lord.

Gil-galad smiled, kissing him softly. "There is not a
moment of any day in which you do not do that, my
brother, in some way or another."

Elrond sighed and squeezed his King's hand and
together they worked into the early hours of the
night.

***************In the world ...

They circled lazily, watching the ground below as they
flew over the earth. Below, unaware, creatures moved,
heading ever westward toward the mountains beyond.
Dark specks moving swiftly, encamping along the
eastern side of the river, dark specks that were the
enemy of freedom and peace. They circled and watched
and then flew toward the ocean and the lord who loved
them and depended upon their allegiance. They were the
messengers of Manwe and he asked them to tell him of
the movements and placement of Sauron's troops.

Sauron rued his Nazgul, dead and destroyed by Gandalf.
He had no eyes and ears in the sky. He had only
information he could divine from his
foot soldiers, his collaborators and his own cosmic
powers. He was divine but not infallible and as he sat
in the Halls of Thranduil, he languidly considered his
progress thus far. He was in no hurry, so completely
confident in his victory was he, so the resistance
that he was hearing about didn't bother him a bit.

He had other things to think about, turning and
glancing to his left. Hanging by chains, stretched
spread-eagled, Saruman gasped in pain. He glanced to
his left and spied Grima, sitting on the floor, a
collar around his neck. He was Sauron's pet, his own
personal canine and when he walked about his domain,
Grima came along at the end of a leash. It amused
Sauron to humble them thusly..

Saruman was a long term commitment in his mind, a slow
and torturous death was on the agenda for that
duplicitous bastard. He had sold out his master,
trying to take the Ring for himself and for that there
would be no mercy at all. He looked at the chain that
lay at his feet, the end of which was attached to
Grima's collar. He smiled to himself, amused that such
weaklings could think they could overpower someone
such as he. The Ring had sought him for three thousand
years. It had needed him as much as he needed it and
now they were together, inseparable and unbeatable,
the masters of Middle-earth until the end of Time. He
had plenty of time to defeat the remnants, rather
relishing the idea of having that for a diversion over
the course of time.

He relaxed in his chair, resting his eyes on Saruman's
torment and considered the pleasure of his coming
sojourn in Rivendell.

***************At the encampment of the resistance ...

They arrived late in the afternoon, the news of their
triumph bringing a surge of happiness that had not
been seen in their ranks before. Aragorn moved to the
dining hall, pausing as Boromir gripped his arm, the
big man's eyes filled with emotion. They stepped
aside, Boromir taking his hand.

"You did well, I am told," Boromir said, gripping
Aragorn's hand.

He relaxed a moment, his expression gentling. "We
leveled Orthanc. They have no base in the south now."

Boromir nodded. "We have eliminated a spy network in
the north along the river. Our watchers were right
about orcs setting up hidden outposts. They are
mostly, to our best knowledge, eliminated from here to
thirty leagues north of us."

Aragorn nodded, sighing tiredly. "Good work," he said
to someone he counted upon, the one who was slowly and
tentatively filling Faramir's tactical role in his
mind.

Boromir hesitated and then he held up a small book,
one that Faramir had in his personal effects. "You
should have this."

Aragorn looked at it, his eyes darkening with emotion.
"That is yours. Your brother--"

"It has things that you might want to know. I ... I
give it to you because of that. I have memories of my
brother. You have less. Take it and if you ever want
to give it back, I will take it. But for now, I think
it would do you good to have and read it yourself."

Aragorn swallowed hard and reached out, taking the
small leather-bound
book into his hand. He nodded again, his eyes
expressing what his lips could not and then he turned
and walked into the alcove that was his home. He
paused and then sat on the bunk, staring at the book
in his hand, a small brown leather bound journal of
some quality. He unfastened the clasp and opened it,
the neat hand of his lover filling the pages. Tears
came to his eyes and he leaned back against the cavern
wall, closing his eyes against the loneliness he felt.
 

He sniffled and then sat up, staring at the page and
found his name written therein. He looked at it, the
finally drawn handwriting and turned to the front to
read. He sat all night, reading page after page, his
dinner untouched as it sat on a box. He read and
mourned, learning Faramir's heart and when he was
finished, he was as lonely as he had ever felt.

He rose and put it in his pack, carefully concealing
it and then walked through the silent cavern to the
door. He walked through the yard beyond and up the
hill to the solitary cairn where Faramir slept. The
stars were bright overhead, the biggest star of all
shining through the scattered clouds. Dew formed on
the grass at his feet, the elevation ensuring that the
temperatures at night were cool even in summer.

He stared at the rocks before him, a mounded heap of
them and sighed, closing his eyes with pain. Faramir's
words came back to him, halting thoughts about what it
could mean to live in a world without hope and then
grim determination to do the right thing, to be strong
for his men, to help Aragorn against the burden that
had fallen upon him.

Help Aragorn.

It stuck in his mind, his heart filled with grief and
as he stood in the darkness, he felt tears in his
eyes. He quashed them ruthlessly, unwilling to give in
once more to the horror of what had happened in the
split second of an unguarded moment. He had saved
others and died in their place, Boromir included. He
had once said that he feared his brother would die in
his place and the opposite had happened. The
desolation that Boromir bore on his back was evident
to him. He felt it too.

He had no hope that there would be a part of himself
that would be private and emotional until that night
when they had given in to each other. Now it was all
gone and he was bereft. He would turn that suffering
into action, he knew, but it gave no comfort.

'Behold the end of tribulations ... born on wings, the
illuminating light of ancient days. Shadows fleet
before the powers, ruthless end to the tyranny of one.
All shadows shall be vanquished, sacrifices noted and
repaid in kind. One alone shall triumph and the fallen
shall rise again. Blessed be the peacemakers ...'

The words of some vision that Faramir had written down
in his book came to him and he mulled them, unwilling
to believe that they meant more than just that. He
sighed, staring up at the heavens and felt more alone
then than at any other time in his life. They were
truly alone. The Valar knew, surely, what was
happening. But they did not come. They were on their
own now.

Turning, he walked down to the yard, passing sentries
and softly whispering groups before entering the cave.
He walked to his alcove and entered, reaching into the
pack for Faramir's book. He stared at it and then put
it in a pocket of his tunic, the feel of it against
his heart comforting. Then with great effort, he lay
alone on the bunk and closed his eyes, willing sleep
to come.

***************Nearby ...

Legolas sat beside Eomer, working the shaft of an
arrow. With skilled hands, he shaved with a sharp
knife along the long nearly straight grain of the
wood, making it more in keeping with his meticulous
tastes. Eomer worked a whetstone on his blade,
sharpening it to suit himself. It was quiet in the
yard, the two leaning against a big rock, comfortable
in the cool evening air.

"What will you fletch that with?" Eomer asked,
admiring Legolas' skill with blade and wood.

"I have feathers in my kit. I put feathers I find in
the pouch and use them against rainy days."

Eomer smiled, nodding. "Resourceful you are, Elf."

"I find it pays." Legolas smiled slightly. "What are
you, human?"

Eomer glanced at him, shrugging slightly. "I am the
last King of Rohan."

For a moment it was silent and then Legolas sighed. "I
am sorry I asked you. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," Eomer replied
stoically. "It is what it is."

"Perhaps," Legolas replied, sighing. He looked up and
saw the evening star, the brightest star above them.
It was far away, out of his reach and he knew that the
Mariner didn't see them. How could he, he wondered,
thinking for the thousandth time about his family. How
could Earendil know? He glanced at Eomer, watching his
sure hand work the blade and sighed.

No one anywhere could know.

Part 17:
 

On the shores of Valinor, three days later ...

Ships sailed into the harbors and sheltered anchorages
of the shoreline as they gathered to begin a transport
that had not been seen in the living memories of at
least half the inhabitants of Valinor. In domiciles
and squares all over Aman, Elves gathered to listen to
their chieftains. The situation was explained, the
risks sorted and in great numbers they picked up their
weapons.

Armor was secured from cabinets where it had lain
unused for centuries. Helms, mail, swords and bows,
all of it was gathered, cleaned and repaired. Men
gathered their horses, tack and gear, all of the
logistical and material needed for a war overseas.

They began to come in armies, marching behind their
leaders, banners and symbols streaming in the cool
breeze. They massed on the shores and when given the
signal, began to board the ships that would take them
away. Women and children and all others who were not
going, stood on the shoreline and watched. Ululations
rang through the hillsides as the People of the Stars
began to gather for war.

It wasn't festive. It wasn't frivolous or
light-hearted. The seriousness of the crowds was
evident. The Powers were coming to the Little Kingdom
to remove once and for all the manifest evil that
lingered from the Elder Days. They could feel the
presence of greatness all around them and the sea
thrummed with energy as the moment approached. It
wasn't as rough as once it was but the steady chop of
small waves was evidence enough of the interest of the
gods who roamed the depths. They would be carried over
the domain of Ulmo with care.

The breeze was brisk, the emanations of Manwe bearing
themselves on the backs of the wind. His anger could
be felt gathering and they drew from it what they
needed as they began to make this thing happen for the
first time in ages. Ships filled and sails were
raised, moving them offshore to make space for others
to come. They waited together, all of them gathering
to land in Middle-earth at the very same time.

They stood together on the shore, all of the leaders
of the Eldar, clothed in their armor, their weapons
were in hand. As they did, Elrond felt a soft breeze,
something familiar but very faint and then the mists
parted and a beautiful ship appeared. It was graceful
in a way that defied description and the sails were as
white as the whitest snow. It signaled its presence
before it was even seen by the bright light that shown
from its prow. It came closer, gliding rather than
sailing and when it finally reached the shore, they
knew who it was. Cirdan was smiling, admiring the
lovely lines of the ship he had made so many years
before. It was magical, this vessel, Vingilot they
called it and it was obvious that it was one of a
kind.

The sails were pulled in as it glided to a stop,
floating in the water off the shore where they stood.
Elrond stared at it transfixed, his eyes searching the
deck until he found what he was looking for near the
bow.

A tall figure stood there, his hair in a black plait
that hung to his waist. He wore simple clothing but
made of very rich materials and of a style he could
barely remember from the time of his childhood. A
sword hung at his side, the necklace of Thingol was
around his neck and in the brow of his crown a very
bright jewel pulsing with light.

Elrond closed his eyes, remembering the soft glow of
the Silmaril in repose, when its light was not needed.
He had touched it himself, a far away memory when his
mother had shown them what it was like. He opened his
eyes, noting the presence of another, a tall and
lovely woman with beautiful eyes. Elwing the White,
the daughter of Turgon, stood beside her husband on
the deck of his ship. Elrond stepped forward, Turgon
catching his arm and he paused, swallowing around the
lump in his throat.

"Wait until they dock," he said, smiling at his
grandson as the ship began to move without sails
pulled up. It found the dock and pulled even with
ease, stopping without effort from anyone on board.
Elrond and the others turned and walked to the stairs,
climbing down to the water level. Along the wooden
structure they went until they came to the ship and
the plank that was laid to allow them to board.

Elrond paused, looking at the couple who stood there,
their faces wreathed in tears and smiles. They knew
him, he sensed, before they ever met him as an adult.
They had not forgotten him in the long, long years
apart. He hesitated and then stepped onto the plank,
crossing to the deck without a word. His father
turned, smiling at him with pride and held out his
hand, gripping Elrond's. They stood a moment and then
embraced each other as his mother stood nearby, tears
on her cheeks.

The others waited until he had embraced his parents
before boarding the ship that would take them to the
Grey Havens and the war beyond. Elrond held his
mother, images of Elros in his head and made a vow to
tell them everything that he knew. The wind was
soothing against his tear-stained cheeks, the sun
middling warm against his skin. Soon they would sail
out to save a world where the last surviving
descendent of his brother fought alone.

***************In Mirkwood the Great ...

He hung by his wrists, willing himself to expire but
the beast prevented it as if he could read his mind.
He was beyond pain, beyond terror and it would not
become less than it was right now. Sauron was
stretching out his suffering, making sure that he
lasted before he decided how he would kill the wizard.

Saruman could die a mortal death, that much was
certain but Sauron kept ii from him like a dangling
carrot. It was torment unmatched and he struggled to
resist it but the power over him was just too great.
He would last and last before the end came and from
there, he was uncertain where he would go. No one
would allow him to shelter in Mandos, the Valar would
know of his terrible treachery. He would end in the
Void, tossing into oblivion with Melkor, to spend
eternity bereft of the warmth of God. Hell was an
absence of the love of Iluvatar and as he hung in his
misery, he felt the sorrow of his life fill him. But
it wasn't for the right reasons. He was selfish to the
end and as orcs laughed and poked at his plight, he
wept silently for his own sorry hide.

***************On the shores of Valinor ...

They lined the beaches and the cliff sides for more
than a league, witnessing the greatest armada to leave
these shores in the remembered history of their
people. Vanyar and Noldor stood side-by-side on the
decks of ships with Teleri, kindreds all. The wind was
favorable, Manwe sending them toward the east with
fulsome gusts.

The great Armada was going to war and eagles flew
onward to scout the land ahead. Ship after ship sailed
behind Earendil as he sailed Vingilot with ease.
Standing by his side, holding his mother's hand,
Elrond watched as the mists formed around them. Ulmo
was concealing them, preventing their discovery and
there would be more than this in the days ahead, he
knew.

Tulkas had been seen, it was said, riding his horse
along the shore. He would be there, leading the army
against the demons and smiting them dead with his
sword and his hands. He closed his eyes, thinking of
the days when the world was young and so was he. He
wished Elros was with him to see this moment when the
family they had never known had come to his aid.

The sky was obscured and the mist refreshed him as
they sailed with the armada toward their native
shores. In a few hours they would be there and the
press eastward would begin. Once more the Eldar would
stand against the darkness. Celeborn and Galadriel
stood behind him, as did Turgon and Dior and Thingol
King. The members of his family had joined his friends
and they went to war with him and his twin sons.

Cirdan stood on deck, watching the sure hands of
Earendil steer the great wheel of the ship he had
made. The magic of the vessel he could feel beneath
his feet, this ship that could fly across the sea and
the sky. He felt the years fall away as they came ever
closer to the fabled shores of his beloved home. Soon
they would disembark and form into armies and ride out
to meet the demon for the very last time.

Glancing back, he considered Valinor. Soon it would be
his home too. For now, he would do his best and make
sure that liberation was successful and worry about
the future when it was certain it would be there.

***************In the mountains ...

He paused by a stream, bending down to drink. The cold
water felt good on his parched throat. They were
working along the forest, fighting back roving bands
of orcs who were trying to find a way into the higher
up ground. Legolas stood waiting, watching Aragorn as
he drank. The man was tense and strained. He lived for
the hunt now, for destroying his foes and he knew it
was sorrow that drove him onward.

Eomer was walking back when he paused, staring behind
them. Then he drew his sword, catching their eye.
Aragorn rose and pulled his sword as Legolas pulled an
arrow from his quiver. They paused for a moment as a
very bright light formed in the trees just behind
them.

"What is it?" Eomer asked, moving to stand with them,
gripping his sword with great tension.

"I ... do not move," Aragorn said, hesitating himself
as a sense of peace he had not felt in over a year
came to him. He hesitated again and then stepped
forward, Eomer gripping his arm.

"Do not go there," the Rohirrim said, his face filled
with distrust and fear.

Aragorn squeezed Eomer's hand and stepped forward,
lowering his sword. He came to the edge of the trees
and paused, the light growing until it hurt his eyes.
Then it faded and a figure stepped forward, youthful
and beautiful with kindly eyes. A smile graced his
lips, warm and friendly and when he came to Aragorn,
the figure touched his face with his hand.

Aragorn closed his eyes, the peace that transmitted
through that simple gesture soothing and overwhelming.
Tears came to his eyes and spilled down his face. The
youthful figure smiled. "You despair, my brother. Do
not give up hope. There are those that are coming who
will stand with you. Have faith."

"Who are you?" Aragorn whispered, reaching his hand to
the creature, touching his long hair with wonder.

"You have known me by many names. Now you see me as I
truly am. Olorin, I am called."

Aragorn felt his heart squeeze and tears spilled once
more. "Gandalf," he whispered. "Gandalf." His voice
was broken with pain and astonishment and he felt his
heart rend in two. "You have come back."

"Yes," Olorin replied with a smile. "I will not be
leaving you until the ends are achieved."

Aragorn nodded, swiping at his eyes. "I missed you,
Gandalf."

"And I, you," the youth replied. "Do not despair. I am
with you even when you cannot see me. I will return."

With that, he faded and the light went out, leaving
Aragorn alone once more. He stared at the emptiness
and turned, agitated, looking around himself
frantically. "Don't go!" he shouted, but to no avail.
The figure didn't reappear again.

"Aragorn," Legolas said, rising from his knees, his
eyes filled with concern for his friend.

Aragorn stopped and gathered himself together, his
iron control reasserting itself once more. He sighed
painfully and nodded to the two, moving toward the
stream once more. He splashed his face and turned to
them, a grim look of satisfaction on his face. "He
said others are coming. The Valar are coming."

"I cannot give myself that much hope," Eomer replied.

Legolas squeezed his arm, a slight look of amusement
to his normally calm expression. "The Valar are
coming. They are coming to destroy Sauron and it is up
to us to make sure that they do." He glanced at
Aragorn, nodding with a smile. "My people are coming
back."

Aragorn looked at him and then nodded, glancing at the
men who had gathered silently around the three of
them. He turned and looked at them, measuring the
moment and decided that truth was the best option.

"There was someone here that has given us a sign. The
forces of Aman are gathering."

They shifted, surprised, smiles of hopefulness on the
faces of some.

"They are coming to avenge our world. What we have to
do now is hold the line. We have to hold on until they
come." Aragorn turned and looked at his partners,
nodding. "Let's go," he said with steely
determination.

They moved out, melting into the mountains and when
they were gone, it was still again. Out on the sea,
moving with the wind, the greatest armada the world
would ever see made its way to Middle Earth.

***************On the shores of the sea ...

They huddled for miles and miles, lining the shores of
the sea. The misery of their situation relieved as
best could be done by the Elves that still lived in
the Havens. They gave what they had and helped with
the sick but there was not much left to do. They
boarded ships, filled with anguish and left for safety
beyond sight of men. Behind them, watching with rage
and despair, the Strangers were reluctantly abandoned
to their fate.

The crush of refugees had slowed somewhat because the
rebels in the mountains were able to stem the tide of
enemy that had harried them thus far. They rested in
all the lands between the mountains and the sea, yet
ever they moved westward in a futile attempt to find
sanctuary.

The night was dark beneath the clouds of the heavens
and the days were wet and dank. But this night the
clouds parted and the heavens were open to the people
below once more. She stood by the fire, staring at the
sky, bothered by something she could ill define.
Turning to her father, who was sitting beside her
mother, she frowned.

"Papa?"

He looked at her, his eyes filled with despair and
followed her finger as it pointed to the sky. He
frowned a moment, then rose to stand, considering the
element that appeared to be gone.

"The star, Papa. Where is the star?"

He stared at the sky, vainly searching for the evening
star that was always there. It was gone and he felt
terror, so he gathered his daughter and huddled near
his wife as the night wore onward. He didn't know what
it meant but it couldn't be good. Nothing was ever
going to be good again.

***************At the Havens ...

They woke to a drear day, the mists from the ocean
rolling inward toward the land, forming dew on
everything and pain in joints made weary by cold. Old
people groaned and young ones muttered as another day
of despair dawned. She stood and stared at the
restless ocean, her eyes roaming from the sea to the
shore and as she turned, she paused for a moment,
wondering what it was that she saw that was new.

A light flickered, a bright and piercing light and so
she turned and stared as it came ever closer. She had
never seen one so bright and it drew her toward it,
making her hurry down the steps toward the guarded
docks. An Elf turned and held out his hand, kindly
halting her in her tracks.

"Look!" she said, pointing out to sea. "A light."

The guard turned and looked, surprise crossing his
ageless face and the two stood together, watching the
light grow. Activity paused on the cliff side above
them and on the wharf beyond and around them as well.
Eyes turned to the sea, to the steadily growing light
and when the mists finally parted it was breathtaking
to see.

White ships emerged, swan ships glittering with gold,
silver and purple, with banners flying in the crisp
morning breeze. They were filled with armored
soldiers, with colorfully cloaked officers and in the
lead of them all sailed a beautiful white ship. On the
deck, steering it forward stood a tall dark-haired
figure and on the brow of his crown shown a
spectacular light.

She gripped the Elf's hand, looking with joy into his
face. "It's Earendil, isn't it? It's the Silmaril,
like in the stories," she asked.

He turned, his own face filled with joy and nodded, so
overcome with emotion was he, himself. He leaned down
and kissed her forehead, glancing up to the shoreline
where people began to gather and cheer with abandon.
"Go up and stay back. My people are coming," he said
with pride, tears burning in his eyes.

He turned and ran forward, rousing deck hands as the
horizon began to fill with white swan ships. They
stretched across the horizon as far as could  be seen
and they came in more numbers than could be counted.
They were led by Vingilot and as they entered the
harbor, hands on shore scrambled to give them a berth.

They glided in, pulling up on the docks, ropes were
tossed and orders briskly given. Orderly lines of
soldiers disembarked while on the stable ships horses
where brought from the holds. They moved toward the
cliff side and the roads that would bring them topside
and people moved aside, hysterical with joy. They
reached their hands to touch the soldiers, crying
their relief and their hopes as well.

The armies disembarked and would until the next day,
gathering together on the flatlands above. Horses in
their livery, soldiers in their armor would regroup on
the shores of the sea as other ships took their
places, dispensing their loads. Moving then to
anchorages off shore, still others came and disgorged
their loads. Horses and Elves, archers and foot
soldiers came in numbers to join the war. Then with
the sound of horn calls the greatest hope of all could
be heard in the distance. They were coming, the gods
of the world, coming to lead them forward into the
gathering fight.

Tulkas and Orome and Fionwe as well would go before
the armies as they marched toward the east. In the air
all around them, they could feel the presence of Manwe
while in the mists against their faces and the thrum
of the rivers, Ulmo made himself known as well.

The people parted, making way for their saviors and
offered their prayers and their thanks. Men joined
them, gathering their weapons and with horses and on
foot, they went with the tide. The Elves welcomed
them, pulling them into their ranks and together they
went forward to save the world.

Civilians walked beside them until they moved beyond
the shelters, heading for battles beyond the shores.
When they were lost to sight, people stood for a long
time, unable to assimilate that they might not be
enslaved. It was silent and still in the camps along
the ocean for a long, long time.

***************In the front of the army ...

They had their plans laid and their captains
determined, the army organized and their roles
assigned. Elrond rode beside Gil-galad, bearing his
standard and before him rode the Elder kings and
captains of the guard. His father stayed behind, his
own role defined and with his grandfathers' company,
Elrond rode off to war. Thingol led them, Ingwe by his
side, with Turgon and Dior following behind. Others
came, figures from the pages of books and he knew that
his sons were nearby as well. Celeborn and Glorfindel,
Erestor and Ellan, all of the Elves of the great
houses were there. Chieftains of Kindreds, some
returning for the first time since the Great Journey,
rode side-by-side toward the gathering fight.

The sky had begun to clear as they moved steadily
forward, the laughter of Tulkas distinctly heard. They
had ridden ahead, going out to hunt the enemy,
clearing the path to the den of the Beast. Tulkas
claimed the honor of destroying Sauron as he had
destroyed his master eons before.

Elrond sighed, glancing at Gil-galad, catching the
ghost of a smile on that formidable man's face. He
returned it, his heart lighter for it and together
they continued into the growing dusk.

Part 18:
 

The rain fell steadily, a soothing soft sensation. He
crouched under the cover of trees and watched the
river. The Anduin swept by, dark and full, coursing
toward the sea far away. Beyond there were orcs,
camping in groups and they crouched tensely, as if
waiting for a signal.

All along the tree line, archers were also waiting,
prepared to make any crossing dear. Aragorn and Gimli
squatted together, while farther down the line Eomer
and Legolas sat watching as well. They were heartened
now, knowing that they were not alone and so it would
be their lot to hang on.

As they waited, he listened, a niggling thing
bothering him, like one missing thing out of many.
There was something out of joint here, something just
a little askew and as he considered what it was, he
heard a sound behind him. He glanced over his
shoulder, his adrenaline surging and froze at the
sight of a very tall man. He was standing by himself,
watching over the river just like they were.

He was tall and very muscular and dressed in a style
of clothing that was ancient and functional. He had
long blond hair and a blond beard, eyes piercing like
daggers and a smile on his face. He stood silently,
glancing at Aragorn with bemusement and then he
disappeared into thin air.

The static of the air soothed, becoming less
electrical and he felt his nerves relaxing again.
Turning, he glanced at Gimli, who was still staring at
the orcs and smiled slightly, gratified. Tulkas. He
had seen Tulkas, or so he thought. The god of the hunt
was with them. As he sat on the ground, he considered
the possibility that there might indeed be hope.

The sound of bells came over the breeze, soft and
gentle and totally out of place. Gimli turned and
glanced at Aragorn, frowning. Then he turned and
looked at the orc camps beyond the river. Some had
risen, watching toward the north as the sound of bells
became louder. All along the line, archers turned
northward and stared into the gloom for the source of
the sound.

Aragorn stood, peering through the trees as beyond the
bend of the river a light could be seen. It was coming
closer, the sound of dogs added and when it rounded
the bend, it could be seen as a rider. Upon a white
horse he came, a horse unlike that seen in Middle
earth in many ages of Men and Elves. Big dogs ran
beside the horse, massive jaws slavering and dark eyes
seeking battle, they wore collars dark and studded
around their big necks.

Aragorn sat up, rising onto his knees and peered
through the limbs of the trees that shrouded their
position. With the rider, a big and powerful man, came
others, lesser beings but no less beautiful. He
paused, staring out at the encampments of the enemy
before calling to them in a language that Aragorn
didn't know to any great detail.

Those with him raised their voices, calling out their
challenges as well before raising horns to their lips.
They rang out, bellowing sounds of great purity and
Aragorn found himself on his feet, sword in hand. He
moved from the trees, called to battle by the horns of
Orome and as he stumbled forward, his feet moving as
if with a mind of their own, the horsemen drew swords
and spurred their mounts forward, their shouts ringing
out.

For a moment, the orcs just stood dumbfounded and then
they turned and began to run, some dropping their
weapons in terror and others pulling theirs to make
futile stands as the riders went through them like a
hot knife through butter.

All along the line of defense, archers stepped forward
weapons poised, called almost without thought to join
the forces before them. Legolas was moving, shooting
fleeing orcs, the first to recover from the awe that
had taken the rest. Then Aragorn was running, reaching
the edge of the river and as he did, he began to
engage those that had crossed. More joined him as the
slaughter continued and before he could even think, it
was over.

The stillness was almost painful as they stood among
the dead, turning as one to the riders among them.
They were beautiful, impossibly so and they exulted in
their victory before turning their gaze to the Elves
and men in their midst. Aragorn stood transfixed,
watching Orome circle him, astride his horse. He met
Orome's gaze, unable to look away and as he did,
feelings and words filled his mind.

The tumult of ages became clear to him, faces of
people he had never seen but instinctively knew
showing themselves as almost memories of his own. He
could see him, Elros, tall and beautiful, the picture
of Elrond in the crown of his fathers. Others came,
images all and then they faded away in the silence
surrounding them.

"You must not despair," Orome said, smiling at
Aragorn. "You are not alone."

Aragorn nodded, nearly numb with fatigue and
revelation. "Why the memories?"

"Because they are your legacy. It will not end with
you," Orome said, turning and looking toward the east.
"I have to go. There is much hunting to do before the
world is free of the Shadow."

"Don't go," Aragorn said, stepping closer.

Bright eyes regarded him and Orome smiled. "The hunt
calls me." He looked at his companions and then back
at Aragorn. With a smile, he turned his horse and
began to ford the river. They stood watching as the
group rode away, disappearing into the darkness of the
eastern lands. Eomer let out a breath he had been
holding and turned to Legolas, caught by the
expression on the Elf's face. He was filled with pride
and awe, a strange mix of love and longing, as if
something had been renewed and remade inside of him.
He was watching the darkness where the gods had
disappeared and then he turned to Eomer and smiled.
Nodding, he glanced at Aragorn and turned to the
forest, walking back through the orcs on his way to
shelter.

They all began to follow, Aragorn the last, until they
disappeared into the shadow of the trees once more.

***************On the trail to the East ...

They made their first camp in the wilderness that led
to the Valley of the Bruinen. Elrond stood by the door
of his tent and considered how strange it all seemed
and how long ago it was that he had left this land in
retreat. Now they were back, armed and ready to fight,
passing through tides of suffering humanity as they
moved back to his longtime home.

Gil-galad watched him, pausing on his way back to the
tent he would share with his herald. The sadness that
suffused his lover was hard to watch. This land was
not unknown to him. He had spent many days traveling
across it on the way to the hospitality of the Last
Homely House. It was Elrond's land, he had always
thought in his mind, the place he had chosen to make
his stand.

Somewhere ahead, an abomination had happened, the
destruction of a place the like of which would never
be seen in the world again. They were too late for the
traditions and grace of that redoubtable domicile but
they could exact their revenge in consolation.

Celeborn was for revenge, Gil-galad knew, a sentiment
that he himself could hold to. Others were less direct
about their motivations but they all felt it, this
need to punish. Ingwe and Thingol were sitting
together, along with Dior and Turgon and a number of
others who would leave in the morning with Fionwe to
go to the Gap of Rohan. Earendil was gone, sailing his
vessel into the sky, flying away to help in his own
way.

Elrond had watched them go, his parents standing
side-by-side and the wistful look on his face was
painful to Gil-galad's eyes. He had spent his small
stores of spare time with his herald, the mere
presence of his person a comfort to him. Being here
was painful, memories of places long gone tugging at
the vision of the new reality. Doriath was gone, as
was Gondolin and other places treasured and known as
well.

More land was inhabited by men, lesser and greater and
they were going toward the great White City of
Elendil. It had fallen, a terrible thing to
contemplate and now they must liberate it but before
that could happen, they had to engage the enemy.
Rivendell would be the first place they would do that,
he considered, the first place of many they would seek
out the Beast.

The passes were narrow and so they would have to be
careful, marshalling their forces both north and
south. A group would be moving toward the Gap of
Rohan, making for Isengard and the garrisons expected
there. He himself would be going to Rivendell, leading
the forces that would secure that locale. He continued
forward, greeting Elrond's wan smile with his own.
"You look tired."

"I don't know what to think. I was a child last time
something this big happened. I feel like a character
in one of my books rather than a person in the midst
of history."

Gil-galad smiled, sitting down beside his lover. He
squeezed Elrond's hand. "History is just one day
following another, occasionally punctured by
interesting events."

"You have a way to make even exciting things mundane,"
Elrond said, smirking with a sigh. "I love that about
you, your accessibility."

"That I am guessing is a very sophisticated way of
saying that I am easy."

Elrond smiled, shaking his head, his dark eyes filled
with passion. "There is nothing about you that is
easy, my King."

"You speak to me formally," Gil-galad said, his hand
gently massaging the tension of Elrond's neck. He
watched his lover's eyes close, a sigh escaping his
lips. "You and I are more than that."

"I have never forgotten that, melme," Elrond sighed.
"I cannot forget that. Ever."

"Nor I," Gil-galad said, his hand falling to his lap.
He sat back, relaxing his big frame. "I wish for you
tonight."

Elrond nodded, grinning for a moment. He looked at his
lover, at the relaxed and familiar sight of his king
in battle garb. "There seems as if little time has
passed from the time we did this as brothers
together."

"Some things are timeless. Like you and me."

"You are hopeless," Elrond said, chuckling. "I am glad
for that, for I find that hopeless describes my heart
for you. It describes my regard for you, my King."

Gil-galad's gaze was dark with emotion as he met
Elrond's. He reached out, drawing his fingers down the
side of Elrond's face, the Peredhel's dark eyes
closing at the tenderness of his touch.

"You break my heart," Elrond whispered, sighing with
emotion.

"I do not wish it, Elrond," he replied quietly. "But
you know my own."

"I do," Elrond replied, staring at his lover. "And you
know my dilemma."

"That is so," Gil-galad replied. "We are hopeless, you
and I. I am not even sure that the wisdom of the Valar
can make this right."

"Later," Elrond replied, sighing. "When there is time
to think. Then we can see what ... what we can do."

"It is a callous and terrible thing, my beloved
brother, that such should befall two so devoted for so
long, that we should be reduced to debating whose
tears must fall to ensure another's happiness."

Elrond nodded and looked into the night sky, the
evening star missing from its accustomed place. "My
father is a miracle, or so I have been told. He wept
when I told him of Elros. He has never known us, I
thought, but he told me that he watched over us every
night." Elrond swallowed around the lump in his
throat. "I find that sadder than the idea that he
never knew us at all."

Gil-galad squeezed Elrond's arm. "Your father loves
you," he said quietly. "Your mother does too." He
sighed. "You and I are fated to be different, to have
different burdens. We are not like other people."

Elrond smiled slightly, glancing at his lover. "It is
our curse?"

"Sometimes," Gil-galad replied, chuckling. "Our curse
and our very great burden," he said, sitting up and
leaning close to Elrond. "But in the midst of our
deliberations, we are entitled to joy, Elrond."

"At what cost?" Elrond asked, watching as his king
rose and turned to the door of their tent.

Dark eyes half shuttered met his own, eyes that
smoldered with need. "That is to be determined later,
my brother. We can only know about now."  With that,
he turned and entered his tent.

Elrond watched him go, sitting quietly, his own
thoughts a jumble in his mind. Then he rose and stared
at the sky, sighing with fatigue once more. For a
moment he just stared and then he turned, entering the
tent he would share and the open arms of his lover. As
he did, another watched, his dark eyes filled with
sadness and then he turned and walked onward as was
his custom in the evening. Celeborn stared upward, at
the newly strange sky and wondered where Earendil
sailed this night. Around him the camp settled in
sleep, gearing up for the entrance into Rivendell the
next day.

***************

"You can not sleep?"

Eomer stared into the concerned eyes of his lover and
shrugged, moving slightly so that Legolas could sit
beside him. They sat together, staring at the sky.
"The night star is gone."

"I noticed. The Mariner is freed from the Heavens and
joins the Powers in the war against our Enemy."

"That makes sense," Eomer said, nodding. Then he
smiled slightly. "That is, if anything can make sense
these days."

Legolas smiled and squeezed Eomer's arm. "Do not
despair. Orome came to us today and Olorin. They are
*with* us."

"Too many are not," Eomer said softly.

Legolas sighed, shaking his head, staring at the toe
of his boot. "I am shaken by the notion of your gift,
Eomer. It would seem that gift may not be the most
accurate description of what your frailness entails."

Eomer smiled slightly. "There will come a day when the
end of my life will intrude and you will be left
alone. I do not envy you the passing of all that you
love." Dark eyes fixed themselves on Legolas. "You are
not given to display, Legolas, but I must hear it from
your own lips. Do you love me?"

Legolas' expression gentled, his eyes warm with
emotion. "Aye. I do. I love you, Eomer son of Eomund.
I do not know how it came to be but I do. You were
there when I needed someone and in that, for me, came
love."

Eomer nodded, overcome with relief. He stared at
Legolas' hands, long fingers of amazing strength and
agility. "I worried. I will admit it. I am a mortal
and you are of Elven kind. You will some day watch the
passing of my spirit from beyond your knowing. Only in
the End of Time will we know where the other fled to
when our mortal homes fall to dust."

Legolas nodded, taking Eomer's hand into his own. He
pressed his lips against it, sighing softly. "You are
a curse to me, Eomer, and a great blessing. I am
doomed to suffer your loss even as I rejoice at your
company. It is a two-edged sword, our friendship."

Eomer sighed, nodding. "I will not regret a moment. I
will regret only leaving you."

"Then let us live now and not rue what might come some
day. We are here and it is now. There might be no more
than this. Let us not regret the future."

Eomer nodded. "I am given to moroseness tonight."

"You have lost much," Legolas replied.

"And you."

"My family will be restored to me someday if they have
gone beyond the circle of this world. I do not know
where you go, brother. Maybe it is in some way the
same for you but only among Men to know. I do not
myself. There is only guessing for my part."

Eomer nodded and looked at the sky, the absence of the
night star keenly felt. "Tomorrow. That is something
that I can almost consider now. Maybe there will be
one."

Legolas smiled and rose, pulling Eomer to his feet.
They stood together, their gazes level and then
Legolas leaned forward, kissing Eomer with the softest
brush of his lips. "Maybe," he said, smirking. "Forget
it now."

Eomer smiled and nodded, turning and walking back into
the light of the campfire with his lover. They would
lie together that night and in the morning pick up
their arms to fight once more.

***************On the road to Rivendell ...

They moved slowly, armed to the teeth. They were going
to Rivendell to make a shelter for their master. They
had learned to be very careful, since the enemy was
like smoke, issuing practically straight from the
ground and disappearing into the forest without a
trace. They were merciless, leaving no one alive and
so they moved with discretion and many armed guards.

No matter how much they told their lord, Sauron
refused to be interested yet. He was preoccupied with
other things. Exploring his domains and gloating were
his main diversions and he knew he would wipe out the
remaining opposition in his own time. Who but the
pitiful remnants of Man and Elf could stand against
him? It would amuse him and keep him occupied in the
endless years of his domination to come.

They moved slowly, wains heavy-laden, rolling ever
westward toward the narrow valley of Rivendell.

***************On the Plains of Pelennor ...

They rode slowly across, a band of warriors, their
unnatural countenance casting an eerie glow. Before
them, driven like cattle, the enemy ran, dropping
their weapons as they fled. Beyond them, draped in
scorched disarray, Minas Tirith gaped into the
darkening sky. It was ruined and broken, banners of
hatred flying from its ramparts, and it beggared the
mind to see it thus.

He rode forward, another by his side, a shining and
beautiful youth. The crowds ran, their foul refuse
scattered before them as the party made their way
through the ruined grounds. Word went on before them
and the city began to empty as forces fled the coming
of death. By the time they reached the great gate, the
city was almost deserted, the enemy conceding their
hard-won gains.

The few that remained or were unable to leave were
dispatched without comment by dog and sword. Up every
winding level the party continued until they reached
the great Citadel at the very top. The youth
dismounted and entered the main chamber, walking
toward a place that he instinctively knew.

Sword drawn, the light of his countenance the only
illumination, he braved the stairs that led to the
dungeon. Past cast off weapons, past cowering enemy
remnants, he moved forward until he came to the place
he intended. Pausing, sighing, he touched the metal
locks, the manacles releasing themselves at his mere
touch.

The doors opened and wretched creatures peered out,
men who had been captured and held since the city
fell. Among them, bowed and bedraggled, the Steward of
Gondor limped toward the youth. Kind eyes greeted him
and a hand steadied him as Olorin of the Maiar helped
Denethor out.

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