AN: My friend, Pheas, and I have been writing this together for some time. We have no intent to distribute or commercialize, but rather have been writing this for our own personal enjoyment, but it would sure enhance our personal enjoyment if you would R&R! Middle Earth and all its inhabitants belong only to the brilliant J.R.R. Tolkien.
CHAPTER ONE: The Past is Prologue
The Third Prophecy of Mandos
In the Seventh Age of Man
The song will end as it began
A breach in the Door of Night
Hate and rage stir the fight
Discord haunts the dying lands
Destiny rests in the walker's hands
His duty to guide the Dunedain
A strong bond, the dark's bane
To the stones, borne of a father's death
Exhaled in long mountain's breath
Only then will the children of Eru rise
For the final battle as Arda dies
Then the song will start again
And end forever the Age of Men.
From where they stood on the hillside among the trees, the two men watching the burial were hardly noticeable, which was by design. They were not particularly welcome, so they kept their distance.
Even from a distance, however, they could hear the sobbing woman next to the coffin. She was hunched over, a thick veil obscuring her face. There were two small children next to her, holding hands.
The two men watched as the soldiers handed the woman the folded flag and the coffin was lowered into the grave. The mourners filed past the diminished family, hugging the woman and attempting to comfort the children, who clung to each other. Once everyone had gone, the smaller child, a boy, went to his mother, holding his arms out, but the woman turned and walked unsteadily away, either not noticing or not wanting to embrace the child.
The two men on the hillside exchanged glances.
"They are the last chance," one murmured. "We shall have to take measures."
"What if we fail again?" the other whispered back. "All will be lost."
"You will not fail," interrupted a soft voice from behind the two men.
"My lady!" exclaimed the first man. His tawny hair was gathered back into a braid, which whipped over his shoulder as he turned to look at the woman moving through the trees toward them. Both men bowed as she approached. Her face was almost entirely shrouded by a greenish gray cloak that melted into the landscape.
"It has been a long time since we have seen you in this world," the other man remarked, and the woman inclined her head toward him.
The braided man, who was not, after all, entirely a man, cleared his throat. "My lady Melian, you should know that it does not often end well, when we seek to help," he gestured vaguely toward the open grave.
"You are not to blame, Elrond," the woman countered, frowning at him. "Humans make their own choices. You know that."
He bowed his head.
"In any case, it was not time. You cannot rush destiny."
"Yes," the other elf remarked dryly, "after nearly 5,000 years on this Earth, Legolas remains a young man in a hurry."
The woman laughed. "I see this age agrees with you, dear Glorfindel."
He grimaced, running a hand through his short, blond hair and tugging at the tie around his neck. "We all play our parts," he shrugged.
"And now I shall play mine," Melian said softly, staring at Elrond. "It has been too long since I looked after my own kin." Both men started, and Elrond touched a hand to his heart.
"The Maiar are here," he said wonderingly. "Then it must be time."
"Yes, it is time," she agreed.
"Dagor Dagorath," Glorfindel whispered. "The battle of battles."
"We must keep them safe and make sure they are ready," she nodded in the direction the children had gone, and glanced meaningfully at the ring on her finger, which sparkled in the wintry sun. The men's eyes widened.
"Should we bring Legolas back?" Glorfindel finally asked.
"No, leave him be. We shall call on him in due time," she answered. "Elrond, you must go to them now."
"I will not be welcome. Their mother will recognize me," he warned.
"I am counting on it," she responded, voice low and ominous as a storm cloud. "Trust me: she is in no condition to refuse your help."
Elrond bowed to the cloaked woman.
"Now," she said in a disconcertingly lighter tone, "tell me about this, what do they call it? 20th century?"
"21st now," Elrond corrected.
"Indeed. I have much to learn," she smiled at him.
