Then stood Eru Iluvatar and lifted up his hands, and the music of the Ainur fell silent. And he spoke, and his face was glad as he spake, saying, "Now is come the fulfillment of the Theme, and all that is in discord shall be brought into harmony, and it shall come to pass that the uttermost ends of My will shall be made plain. For the dwelling of the Children will be with their Father, and all that is marred will be made right. And lo! The Doom of Man itself shall be made plain, and that which has long slumbered will awaken."

Seattle, Washington: 12:30 AM. Telcanachi Residence. 1994 AD.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Maria sighed and rolled over. Emanuel would get it.

"Mommy! Mommy! Please!"

She sighed and rolled out of bed, the floor cold on her bare feet. She opened the door. Something hit her in the chest like a cannonball, the little jet-haired boy clinging to her with desperate strength. He buried his face in her breast. She could feel him trembling through his thin cotton Superman nighties.

"Shh, it's ok." She stroked the long black hair and he stilled beneath the comforting touch, "What's the matter, Raphi?"

He looked up, her hand cradling the back of his head, green eyes vivid and bright and extremely wide. "Monsters...bad things. Digging from beneath the hills. Coming awake."

He began to shiver again. Uncontrollably until she put her hand on him again.

The night-terrors were getting worse. She had talked to Emanuel about seeing a doctor, but neither of them knew if it would do any good. She laid him down on the bed between them. He moaned quietly and then fell asleep. Out like a light. She smiled softly. Her Raphi. A peculiar child, very much like his father. Quiet. Always looking and listening, as if he could pick out the patterns behind the world. Troubled by strange dreams, like his father. Emanuel would never admit anything, but she could see it in his eyes when he woke. The way they looked. So...old. Old and filled with sorrow.

Seattle, Washington: 10:30 AM. 2013 AD.

"Grant us grace to entrust Emanuel to your never-failing love which sustained him in this life. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, and remember him according to the favor you bear for your people. God of Mercy..."

"Hear our prayer." Raphael muttered. He tried not to look at the casket, tried to look at the trees that dotted the cemetery. Anywhere but the grave. Anywhere. He wasn't supposed to die. Not now. Not so soon. Not so quickly. He had been in Colorado just two days ago when the news came that his father was ill. He had died while his son boarded the airplane at DIA. Not even twenty-four hours. To go from perfect health to...he blinked back tears. So fast. Mom was leaning against him, her face buried in his shoulder, and he had to be strong. Had to pretend. At least until the service was over. Then Grandfather would see to her. And he would be free. The car was already packed with gear. He would disappear into the mountains for a week. Drown his sorrows in the greenery. Lose himself in silence.

"...that neither things present nor things to come will be able to separate us from your love in Christ Jesus our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forevermore."

"Amen."

They took communion, a blur. More words read stumblingly from the little pamphlet that contained the order of service. Then the dismissal. Pastor Grimmold's face was pale above his vestments as he stepped cautiously around the open grave.

"Raphi, Mrs. Telcanachi." He shook Raphi's hand. After a moment's awkwardness, he embraced Maria.

"Thank you." She smiled softly. He smiled back, but Raphael could see he too was fighting back tears. The way moisture beaded at the corners of his eyes. Emanuel had been a deacon.

"If there's anything I can do for you, or if you just need to talk, call me and I'll come running."

"Thank you." Raphael said. "I think we'll be all right. The whole family is here, now."

Pastor Grimmolds glanced down for a moment, then looked Raphi in the eyes. Blue met green. "Sometimes that isn't enough. Especially with fathers."

Northern Cascades National Park, Washington. 11:30 PM. 2013 AD.

The Subaru roared up the final incline, and he caught the sign out of the corner of his eye, a ghostly green and white in the headlights. He jerked the steering wheel hard to the right and the late-model Crosstrek shuddered in protest, the tires kicking up gravel as he made the sharp turn into the camping loop. Highway 20 had been nearly empty, a rarity in late summer. No rangers at the gate, either. He had left his fee taped to the booth window with a note.

He slowed. The dirt road here was little better than a washboard track, and he grinned as his high-beams bobbed up and down. Something small scampered away into the safety of the columnar woods, disturbed by all the light and noise. There. The old pull-through. He turned a hard left again, and the suspension shuddered as he descended a short, steep incline before leveling out. Shift down. Brake hard. Give the car a moment to cool. Kill the lights. Bury his mind in the silence and the dark. Recline the seat. He was asleep within a few breaths, as the car ticked and hummed to itself in the language of machines.

He was standing in a dark place. Underground. He could almost feel the tons of rock above him, and the preternatural stillness. A deep place.

Something stirred.

Black as the abyss around it. It stirred. He caught the sense of massive power and vast antiquity. Older than the stones around it. It stirred, stood on legs thick as redwoods, a shadow against the black, more sensed and heard than seen.

It began to dig.

Other things, smaller things, whirled around it. Bodiless shadows filled with malice. The cavern gave way and light streamed in. They poured out, the beast itself kindling into flame as it strode from the hillside into the waking world. A flaming sword grasped in a massive fist.

A castle, a citadel, a fortress-city carved from the rock of a hillside. A great keel of rock out-thrust. Crowned by a silver tower. A fountain. A flowering white tree. A man, crowned with kingship, holding out a great double-edged sword to him. "Take, and smite. Take, and fight." The man gestured at him. "Take up your name."

He backed away, slipped and fell, and he was falling from a vast height. From a mountain peak. And far and away, he could hear the cry of an eagle.

A/N: I own nothing except Raphael.