Disclaimer: See Chapter 2
Notes to reviewers:
Tuima: Thank you for your review and the lovely comments especially about my original character Kim. It says to me that she is alive in the minds of the readers, which for me is a wonderful achievement always.
Kaellana: Again thank you. The idea of the chess game suddenly just popped into my head as I was sitting on the train and I mapped out the entire conversation between Chief and Namo there and then in my head. It just seemed fitting somehow, especially since Chief is a captive fea there at the moment.
Eonwe, bless him, is always portrayed as this elusive, virtually god-like figure, but I often wonder if he was continually bemused by the more bizarre things that the Valar did, yet being a servant of Manwe said nothing and just got on with it. I can see him closing his eyes, gritting his teeth and saying 'Here we go again' to himself after being given a particularly strange command. I don't see why he couldn't have feelings and emotions, which is why I've sort of given them to him by proxy through Gary Matthews. Gary/Eonwe is free from the restraints of the Valar, he's even free from the memories of who he was all those millennia ago and this is a deliberate act on the part of Eru who needs him to carry out a task, but without the baggage that he would have carried with him had his memories been intact. What this does, is make Gary a fresh page of Eonwe's life on which to write and play with and it also gives me a tool to make Eonwe more 'human' – so to speak. I'm sure there are many Tolkien devotees who would think I was taking too many liberties with him, but I feel they are acceptable because I don't think I am dragging him out of character. I am merely exploring another dimension of his personality. What wouldn't have been acceptable is me dragging Kim to Middle-earth for the sole purpose of her having a romance with Eonwe.
I wanted to hug him too when he broke down. I think my Eonwe might have liked to have a hug every now and again! I didn't want him to appear weak kneed or anything. I just wanted him to be as profoundly affected by the onslaught of feelings as Gary would have been.
Sharon: Thank you, for both reading and commenting, this is always greatly appreciated.
General remarks: Olorin clothed in Chief Knowles' body should be making his presence felt from now on and of course the Feanorian brothers have now been given their first honourable mention. However, this is primarily the tale of the four original characters and their quest and, in a roundabout, way, also the story of Eonwe rather than the story of the Silmarils and attendant stories. The War of Wrath took fifty years, presumably not a long time in the lives of immortals, yet still long enough for many things to have happened on the march northwards.
Chapter 25 – The longest day"I may not have gone where I intended to go,
but I think I have ended up where I intended to be."
-Douglas Adams
"People don't fall in love with what's right in front of them.
People want the dream -- what they can't have.
The more unattainable, the more attractive."
-Xander (From Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
Olorin didn't need Chief's memories and experiences to recognise a stand to when he heard one. Even bawled out in Sindarin, the meaning was crystal clear and the sudden flurry of activity within the healer's tents told its own tale.
Within seconds of the clarion cry going up, sounding clearly in Glorfindel's rich, golden tones and echoing down the cascade alert system that military, no matter what time or age, rely upon to get urgent messages from soldier to soldier, Elven healers turned abruptly from those who soothed and mended wounds into fierce warriors armed with wickedly curved bright swords and knives and who carried the bright light of impending battle in their eyes.
Once Olorin realised that he was the only one actually recovering from severe wounds and that the healers were preparing to defend him unto death, he leapt, without thinking, off the cot and landed much more heavily than he anticipated. A wave of dizziness and nausea swept through his now mortal form and he barely managed to support himself against the cot.
He realised after a moment that the severity of his injury and mere twenty-four hour recovery period meant that his body was still healing and he was still very weak. Sweat from the effort of making his leaden frame move poured down his forehead and trickled into his eyes making them sting and his legs felt like they weighed more than all the mountains of Beleriand put together. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand upright, bracing the corporeal form with all of the considerable strength of his Maiar spirit so that he could at least help in the defence.
"You must lie down. You are still not well enough." A firm voice interrupted his sterling efforts. He glanced around to find one of the healers standing beside him, steely eyes fixed on his errant patient and ready to use gentle force if necessary to make him heed his orders.
Olorin opened his mouth to reply but remembered, just before the Sindarin flowed out, that Chief wasn't supposed to understand any Elvish. Another wave of dizziness rushed through his body and he swayed drunkenly. The healer caught him and indicated, by hand gestures this time, that he was to lie down, shut up and be defended. He managed a weak crooked grin before allowing the healer to gently help him to lie back down on the cot.
As the healer turned away and headed to the tent entrance, he looked back and winked. "We can protect you without your help Edain." He said with a grin. "T'would be a great shame if you died from your injuries with so many here to aid you. Especially after all the hard work we did to heal your wound."
"'T'is an even greater shame that he cannot understand a word you are saying." One of the other healers, a female, laughed softly.
Glorfindel popped his head through the tent opening and glanced over at Olorin/Chief now lying back on the cot. "Ah, I see you heard the call to arms." He remarked to the healers who all laughed.
"Indeed Lord Glorfindel. Your voice is hard to ignore." The female who had spoken earlier chuckled. Another ripple of laughter passed amongst the assembled healers.
Glorfindel's eyes twinkled. "And our patient?"
"He heard you as well." Said the chief healer dryly. "We have only just managed to persuaded him to lie down and let us do the fighting."
The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower laughed softly. "It seems that warriors are the same no matter where one is." He smiled over at Olorin, who shrank back into the blankets before he remembered that Glorfindel was unlikely to recognise the Maiar who he had often spoken to in Valinor in the Chief's body.
Glorfindel stepped over to the cot. "You must stay where you are and obey orders. They are all as fine a group of warriors as they are healers." The accompanying gestures as he spoke left Olorin in no doubt as to the meaning of the words. He and the chief healer then stepped outside, but Olorin's Maiar hearing was sharp and he could follow their conversation with little effort.
"Who attacks us?" The healer sounded slightly worried.
"The scouts report a large war party of Orcs coming down from the north." Glorfindel replied. "It is better that they do not catch us unawares, especially given the presence of our guests. Lord Gil-galad has therefore ordered us to arms now."
"How soon?"
Glorfindel hesitated slightly and then shrugged. "I understand that they are still half a league away from us. An hour? Perhaps not as long as that even."
"We will be ready for them." The healer's voice sounded grim.
"We will indeed." Glorfindel squeezed the healer's shoulder reassuringly and then strode off in the direction of the High King's tent, which was currently being disassembled. Only the healing tent would remain standing during the impending battle and already Celeborn had deployed some of his archers in the trees above the area in order to rain arrows down upon the hapless enemy in case they got too close.
Their voices faded into the distance as they left the vicinity of the tent. Olorin shuffled down into the blanket the healer had cocooned him in and huffed a deep sigh. He felt rather exposed lying here while everyone else ran around armed to the teeth and geared for a fight.
His keen eyes alighted on a thin sharp curved knife generally used by the healers in their work. With one eye on the other healers and one eye on the knife, he surreptitiously reached out, grabbed it and sequestered it under the blanket. He immediately felt less vulnerable and a thought popped into his head that wasn't entirely his. No way in hell am I going to be caught with my pants down and without something to defend myself with.
Olorin chuckled softly to himself. That wasn't quite something he would have said, but it certainly sounded better than anything he could have thought of.
It looked like this was going to be a very long day.
"What's going on?" Kim looked totally bewildered as she stood in the midst of the frantic, yet remarkably ordered, activity. She held a beautifully carved bone comb in her hand and had been trying to make some order out of her bed hair.
Gary looked up from honing his sword with a whetstone and a smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. "I think we're being told to stand to. It sounds as though we're in danger of imminent attack."
"Stand to? Attack?" She echoed. "No. Absolutely not. They can't. My clothes." She looked around, panic stricken and yanked at the leggings she was wearing.
Gary bit his lip and tried not to laugh. "We're not being attacked by the fashion police, Kim. I don't think the Orcs will care what you're wearing when they try to kill you."
Jim hooted with laughter and Kim turned fire engine red. "Very funny, that's not what I meant and you know it. My combat jacket and trousers are thicker than these clothes, they're far too thin, and there isn't enough protection." She said defensively and glared at Gary. The deep dimples that appeared in each cheek when he grinned gave him a roguish look and she had to try very hard to maintain her outrage and not melt into a puddle of goo at the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.
"They look very fetching though, much more flattering than the green stuff." Jim offered. He had already unsheathed the scimitar he had carried since the other attack. The Elf who was called Celebrimbor had sharpened it for him and shown him how to care for the blade. The bandanna was back around his now shaggy black hair and the beard was much longer. He looked as though he was just waiting for the next pirate ship to round the corner and sweep him away to the Caribbean. "I'm sure the Orcs will appreciate the finer, more aesthetic points of the ensemble as they slice you in two and shish kebob you."
He emphasised his point by swishing the sword down in an arc one way and then the other. Gary winced as the blade whistled perilously close to his ear. "Would you mind not doing that so close to my head?" He demanded.
"Oops, sorry." Jim blushed and sheathed the sword. "Well, I think you look very dashing Kim. Very like that chick that hung out with Xena, Warrior Princess. Guinevere or something. She had lovely reddish gold hair and was quite fit really, if you like the shy, dorky type."
"Well thank you for the vote of confidence, you…you apology for Johnny Depp. For your information Guinevere was King Arthur's queen, Gabrielle was Xena's sidekick." Kim turned her glare on him instead and Gary vainly tried to turn his laughter into a cough. She turned on her heel, went in search of the healers who had taken her clothes and her sword and pretended not to hear the muffled hoots of laughter that followed her progress across the camp.
"I knew her name began with a 'G'." Jim called after her plaintively. Gary shook his head and rolled his eyes. It was obviously going to be a long day.
Ereinion Gil-galad stood and watched the by-play between his mortal guests. "Comradeship has been forged between them over the past few days." He remarked to no one in particular.
His fine dark brows drew together slightly in a frown as his gaze rested on Gary Matthews. Should he now tell the others of the contents of Eonwe's missive before the coming battle? Or should he leave it a little longer? Perhaps they could have found the Orc that carried the strange weapons much more swiftly if they were now not threatened by a larger band, which even now marched towards their position.
Celeborn had reported back that the Orc appeared to have gone to ground and made no attempt whatsoever to contact his brethren. The silver Elflord and his warriors had been preparing to hunt him down when they became aware of a greater danger, one that threatened the main party. They had reluctantly left their quarry to fester in whatever hole he had buried himself in and made haste back to the battle group. It was clear that he did not intend to join the other Orcs and now it was perfectly obvious to all of them that the Orc would make good his escape while the heat of battle was intense.
Gil-galad sighed with frustration. It appeared that fate was working against them. If they had not had to stop while one of the mortals recovered from his injuries; if they had just been a little quicker finding that cursed Orc; they could have discharged their duty to the mortals, seen them safely back to wherever they needed to be and been well on their way to join the Host by now.
He watched as Gary stood up flexing his sword arm, and noted the muscles rippling under the skin of the mortal's forearm, the smooth powerful lines of his muscular back and the tautness of his long legs. Looking at the man's beautifully sculpted features, the bronzed skin and the shining mass of golden-brown hair, he could well believe that this was a version of the Maia who held the title Herald of Manwe. Well they would soon see if a likeness was all he was. The Eonwe of Maiar fame was a mighty warrior, the mightiest of all in fact. When the battle began Gil-galad would see how he acquitted himself then.
He became aware of Glorfindel standing patiently beside him, watching him with those sky-blue far-seeing eyes. "All is prepared?" He asked, more for something to say rather than a lack of confidence in Glorfindel's expertise.
Glorfindel's golden brows knitted together slightly, but then he laughed. "Indeed it is. Do you not trust me to organise our defence then my Lord?" He asked lightly.
Gil-galad sighed again. "Of course I do, I trust you with my life even. I meant no offence. What of the injured mortal? How is he?"
"Staggering around with the intention of helping the healers fight, as I understand it." Glorfindel's tone was laced with mirth and Gil-galad couldn't help but smile. "The healers have all but tied him to his bed."
Gil-galad laughed at this and his sombre mood lightened. "Then let us make a good account of ourselves as we rout this band of vermin. We need to catch up with our thieving friend and I have a feeling that he will take advantage of our attention being elsewhere to make good his escape."
Glorfindel glanced sharply at the High King. There was an edge of extreme impatience and anxiety to Gil-galad's demeanour. "You are concerned he will escape, yet he travels alone and with a great burden. Even given a battle here, we will catch up with him eventually."
Gil-galad looked at his tall golden-haired companion. "Yes, we would, but something is telling me that we need to do this sooner rather than later. Lives, and perhaps much more, may depend upon it." His gaze rested again upon the tall figure of Gary Matthews as he spoke and Glorfindel followed it.
It was clear that the High King was worried about something, and that something had to do with the man called Garee. He would have pressed Gil-galad for more information but they were both interrupted by a horse galloping into camp and the rider sliding off it to kneel in front of his startled monarch.
"My Lord. The vanguard of the Orc war party is almost upon us."
Glorfindel turned to the High King with a gleam of triumphant mischief in his eyes. "It is a good job that I did all of that shouting and organising earlier, is it not my Lord?"
Gil-galad sighed and rolled his eyes. Apparently it was going to be a very long day.
Eonwe was about to mount his horse when the visions struck again. His fingers tightened in the horse's mane and he closed his eyes tightly as the visuals stabbed into his conscious thoughts and then dissipated leaving behind a kaleidoscope of images, all from the mind of Gary Matthews.
After a few seconds he managed to mount the animal without his usual panache and grace and in a somewhat drunken fashion. Ingwion who was sitting his horse alongside Eonwe noticed the sudden pallor of the Maia's usually warm golden complexion and reached out to him as he lurched into the saddle and sat for a few moment with his head slightly bowed.
"Are you quite well my Lord?" He enquired anxiously.
Eonwe forced the slight dizziness and nausea that he had come to associate with any onslaught of visions from his alter ego down and managed one of the his famous smiles. "Yes, I am quite well." He replied not very truthfully.
The truth of the matter was that although he could block the worst of the visions, for him to not see them at all would require Gary to have more control over his conscious thoughts. The kind of control a Maia would easily have the strength to exert. It was there, deep inside Gary Matthews, but because his memories of the time before his existence in the modern age had been firmly blocked, he had no way of accessing those powers that most Maiar simply took for granted. Therefore his visions, emotions and thoughts were pouring into Eonwe's overloaded consciousness unchecked. In essence, Eonwe was having to cope with two sets of everything, simply because his future self was not aware that he was sending out emotional messages and even if he was aware, did not have the ability to stop it.
Aware that Ingwion was giving him rather doubtful looks, Eonwe braced himself both mentally and physically. He sent a silent prayer to Eru Iluvator for the strength to carry on despite what was happening to him and after a while, as though Eru had heard him, it seemed that the burden he was carrying grew a little lighter.
He impulsively placed a hand over Ingwion's gloved hand. "It is nothing, I merely did not get much rest last night. There is so much to be done before we reach Thangorodrim and we must press on. Time is of the essence. Have your herald sound the trumpet for the march to continue Lord Ingwion. We have a foe to vanquish for the peace of Middle-earth and the triumph of the Valar!"
A relieved Ingwion signalled to his Herald who obligingly sounded a silver trumpet. The dulcet silvery tones of the instrument grew as Finarfin's Herald took up the note and the order to march was passed down throughout the entire army, rag-tag units at the rear as well.
Ingwion saluted his Commander. "May I have your leave to ride with my warriors my Lord?" He asked respectfully.
Eonwe stared intently into the slender handsome face of Ingwe's eldest son. The young Ellyn's aspect had lightened considerably since Ereinion Gil-galad's messages that his brother Melannen had been recovered unharmed had reached the host only a day earlier. The Herald inclined his head graciously in assent. "You have my leave." He said with an impish smile that brought out deep dimples in both cheeks.
Ingwion responded with a brilliant smile of his own and Eonwe felt his heart lighten further. The Vanyarin commander lightly pressed his knees against his horse's flank and bent down to whisper in its velvety ear. The horse needed no further encouragement; it whinnied in pleasure and cantered away in the direction of the Vanyarin contingent of the host.
"So, what did you just see?" Tulcas reined his horse in alongside Eonwe, who was busy massaging one tender temple with his forefinger.
Eonwe gave a rueful smile. "They have entered combat and I do not know whether to feel grateful because it will give me time to put more distance between us or sorry because I think I will get to review all of the vivid highlights of the battle in bright colour with every attendant emotion."
"Entered combat?" Tulcas enquired. "With whom?"
"As far as I can understand it, a large war party of Orcs from the north and somewhere, in the middle of the whole disaster, is our friend with the weapons." Eonwe replied dryly.
"It seems that Morgoth is extending that arm of his again." Tulcas replied through his teeth. "What I would give to rip it right out of his socket and beat him to death with it."
Eonwe tried his best not to laugh, but failed miserably. His rich laughter rang out and settled over the host like healing balm. Everyone smiled and the notion of the long march behind them, and even longer march in front of them, made them step lighter.
"What a pity his arm is not really real." He said with a sly grin and sidelong glance at his mentor. "I would bet a year's salary on that fight."
"Not really real? Are you sure you are not being unduly influenced by your other self?" Tulcas asked with a raised eyebrow. "What does 'not really real' mean exactly? And wait…you get a salary? When did we start paying the Maiar for their services?"
Eonwe gazed around at the countryside in pretend unconcern and hummed a fairly bawdy tune currently popular in the inns around Aman under his breath. Eventually his wandering gaze met Tulcas' glare with a look of assumed innocence. "Not really real? It means that Morgoth is basically incorporeal, just as we are, so his arm is not real, it is merely there for the same reason that you and I clothe ourselves in flesh, for the sake of those among us who cannot do it. So you could rip it off and beat him as much as you liked, his spirit would still exist and he would just grow another arm."
"Oh. I see." With a deep frown on his face Tulcas settled back on his horse and considered the explanation. "I suppose you are right about the arm. And the salary?"
Eonwe's dimples peeped out again and a light of mischief filled his expression. "Oh, I just said that to see what you would say. Of course we do not get a salary. What would we spend it on? Like the Valar, we Maiar have no need to gather material possessions around us." He reached down and gently patted his horse's neck. "Such a shame really. I quite enjoy eating, drinking and all the pursuits that having a body implies. I just don't enjoy sharing it with another version of myself."
"You would rather have the mortal woman…what was her name again…Keem, Kim to yourself?" It was Tulcas' turn to be sly. "I am surprised at you Eonwe. I never thought of you as a ladies' man and with a mortal woman too."
Eonwe shrugged and grinned. "She is…ah…cute."
Tulcas' eyebrows hit his hairline. "Kewt? What kind of word is that?"
Eonwe gave a wicked little chuckle. "His kind of word. I do think that some of the things he thinks and terms he uses are beginning to rub off on me. Cute is his word, as applied to something like a pretty young woman, chubby elfling or a puppy. Adorable, something to be hugged and loved."
"He wouldn't say that if he saw the puppies Orome's hounds give birth to."
Eonwe laughed. "That is only because the last time Orome visited you one of them sat under the bench in the garden and chewed one of your best soft leather boots into shreds. Ilmare laughed about that for weeks. She still giggles if someone uses the words 'Tulcas' and 'boot' in the same sentence."
"That was my favourite pair of boots, and now I only have one of them. What in the name of Eru am I supposed to do with one boot?" Tulcas asked plaintively.
Eonwe wiggled his eyebrows at the Vala. "Give it to a one-legged man? We have seen a few of those since arriving in Middle-earth."
"Yes we have, more's the pity."
"We cannot solve everything." Eonwe said in a gentler tone. "Whilst many of the ills of the Edain and others can be placed squarely at Morgoth's door, sometimes the nature of the Secondborn is such that, except for those who lost limbs or were injured through wars with the Enemy, they are often the authors of their own ills. Many of those we have seen received their disabilities through disease and this is caused by deficiencies in their own hygiene. No matter how much the Eldar have tried to teach basic cleanliness it has yet to filter down to the poor and more ignorant and that is solely the fault of their rulers and not necessarily Morgoth or the Valar."
"We should still do better." Tulcas said in a soft voice. "We Valar think of Middle-earth as part of our responsibility, yet we gaily and arbitrarily choose when and when not to take responsibility for what happens within it. Look at this war. There will be much upheaval and many innocents will die and all for the sake of not keeping Morgoth in chains when we had him." He intercepted the slightly surprised look on Eonwe's face. "Oh I know that he is Manwe's brother and Manwe is purity personified and therefore simply cannot understand why he will not just play his part in the music like the rest of us. The fact of the matter is that he is wholly evil and will never change. And now look; we are sweeping up after him again. I promise you and Middle-earth this, once we capture him he will stay where we put him and I will stand guard over him myself if necessary."
Eonwe leant over and placed a gentle hand over the Vala's. "As will I."
Tulcas' sombre mood broke and he smiled. "You? You will be far too busy fathering babies on your little mortal Kim. I can just see you with a whole brood of little half Maiar running around clutching at your legs."
Eonwe shuddered. "A brood? No. Definitely not. No brood. If that is what Eru has sent me to the future to do then I refuse to do it right now. One might be nice perhaps, or even two if the first one is female." He looked over at the now broadly grinning Tulcas with growing alarm tinged with horror. "What am I saying? No children, definitely no children. I do not have the time to spare what with the many commands from both Lord Manwe and Lady Varda. I am very, very busy. All of the time."
"But you would not be there would you?" Tulcas pointed out with an evil chuckle. "You would be over here sometime in the future." He flapped his hand in a vague direction somewhere ahead of them as though that was where the future lay.
Eonwe's mouth set in a firm line. "Absolutely. No. Children. That is my last word on the subject."
Tulcas stabbed upwards with his index finger. "Do not tell me that, tell him."
The sounds of metal crashing against metal, the smell of blood and death and the guttural snarls of Orcs and battle cries of the Elves rang around the clearing where only hours earlier there had been a peaceful, somnolent camp. Battle raged all around Gary Matthews as he twirled, cut, slashed and thrust with the huge battle sword he had carried since the last skirmish.
Beside him the slim figure of Erestor carried out a graceful and elegant dance of death as Orc after Orc fell beneath his sword. On the other side of Gary, a grimly determined little blonde woman used the slender lethal looking sword the healers had given her in a slightly haphazard manner. Kim hadn't had the time to change her clothing before the vanguard of the war party had hit the camp and the healer had no time to show her anything but the basics of using the much lighter weapon than the one she had carried before.
Gary had to parry one of her wild blows more than once as he fought off the snarling enemy and only Erestor's lightning fast reflexes had allowed him to duck out of the way when one of her flailing blows had nearly severed his arm. This drawback did have a silver lining however in that the blow which would have disabled the Elf ended up severing the main vein in the neck of an Orc who was going in for a killing blow with Celebrimbor. When Celebrimbor realised who his saviour was, he grinned widely at Kim and saluted her with his dripping sword.
The bodies of the dead Orcs gradually piled up around them, but it was a large war party and even despite the deadly accuracy of the archers firing from the tree branches, the enemy kept coming. It was just as yet another wave of snarling creatures pounded through the trees that a gasp of dismay was wrenched out from Erestor. Gary stopped and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his jacket and stared in the direction that Erestor was looking.
Somehow the Orcs had managed to separate the High King from his commanders. He stood alone with a circle of at least twenty enemy surrounding him. He looked fair and fierce as he swept his spear Aeglos around in a scything motion and the tip shone like silver fire as it flashed back and forth. But it was not enough. As those in front fell more joined the fray to take their place.
Gary searched around desperately for sight of Cirdan, Celeborn or Glorfindel, but they had their own troubles. For the moment he, Erestor, Kim and Jim were the only ones who could possibly reach the beleaguered King.
Gather them to you. The voice in his ear was firm. I will give what aid I can. It is vital that Ereinion Gil-galad survives this battle.
"What? Who? Who are you?" Gary's tone was bewildered and, not fully realising that the voice was disembodied and inside his head, he spoke out loud.
"What are you talking about?" Kim stared into Gary's eyes only to find that they were strangely distant. She clutched at his sleeve. "Gary, what's wrong? Who are you talking to?" Jim had also stopped what he was doing and drawn closer to them.
Gary stared at her uncomprehendingly and now Jim was growing alarmed. Kim shook Gary's arm and was only stopped by Erestor who shook his head and gently pulled her away. His dark eyes narrowed as he realised that Gary was in communion with someone.
Speak to me through the link. Eonwe used all of his considerable power to make the link between him and his other self stronger. There is not enough time to explain. Allow me to help you. Open yourself up to me.
It's you, the one from my dreams. Gary whispered to himself. Who are you?
There is no time. I am Eonwe, Herald of Lord Manwe Sulimo and I am also you, or rather you are me in a future form. Your…my…memories have been erased to enable you to function in your time, if we complete the link then you will remember most of it, but it is a risk we must take. I cannot come to you physically, but I can lend you my spirit. However you must be willing.
What do I do? Gary felt strange, as though he was really talking to himself.
I will do the hardest part, all you need to do is relax and let me in.
Nobody was really sure what happened next. One minute Gary was plain Gary Matthews, a mortal and an officer in Her Majesty's Armed Forces, the next he was a tall, mighty, glowing Maiar and there was no doubt in anyone's mind in that moment as to his true identity.
The Orcs fled before the enraged Maia who cut them down before they had time to reach any kind of safety. Once they had got over the shock of seeing the transformation, he was followed into battle by Erestor, Jim, Celebrimbor and a totally bewildered Kim. Not that they had much to kill since Gary had effortlessly disposed of everyone in his way in a matter of seconds.
Melannen, Rion and Noruthalion saw the transformation and were delighted.
"It is Eonwe." Whispered Rion as he watched his idol prove his expertise in battle.
"Indeed it is." Melannen agreed. A wide grin split his face.
Noruthalion said nothing, he merely watched in wonder and admiration as the Maia sent Orc after Orc to their deaths. Very few of the war party survived, but those who did took the opportunity of escaping before those terrible eyes and even more terrible sword-arm alighted on them.
Finally Gary/Eonwe stood before a bemused, but grateful Gil-galad who had despatched a fair few all on his own. "Lord Eonwe, I presume?" He said in a slightly shaky voice and bowed. "I am in your debt my Lord." Gary/Eonwe bowed in return.
Kim had caught up with Gary by this time. She grabbed a handful of his combat jacket and tugged hard so that he was forced to look down at her. "Are you nuts?" She scolded. "You could have got yourself killed for god's sake."
In the midst of the carnage, Gary/Eonwe reached out and drew her into his arms. He kissed the top of her head and then tilted her chin up and looked deeply into her eyes. He did not sever the link with Eonwe and nor did Eonwe try to do it from his side. Instead he sought Kim's mouth and kissed her, lifting her clear off her feet in order to do it. Both Gary and Eonwe were one at that moment in time and both felt the love and desire that flowed between man and woman. They stayed locked together for what seemed like an eternity and when the kiss finally ended Gary's memories of his earlier life had returned in full.
Light silvery laughter and murmurs of approval came from the Elves who were witnessing the event. Jim was grinning from ear to ear.
Kim looked up at him in disbelief. She felt completely numb. He had just kissed her in front of everyone and she looked such a mess. She bit her lip and looked down at her gore-stained clothes. It was in her hair, on her nose and smeared over her chin "You haven't got a mark on you. No blood, nothing and I'm covered in it." She said in a cross little voice.
Gary/Eonwe gently drew her back into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head for a moment, then he lifted her chin again and smiled tenderly at her. "I don't care. You look beautiful." He said softly.
She rested her head against his chest and sighed. It was as if she had been holding her breath in all of her life and had just been given permission to exhale. "So do you." She whispered finally.
Soft applause sounded all around them and Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor in exile, gently clapped an approving hand on Gary/Eonwe's shoulder as he walked past to count the wounded and re-organise his army.
Olorin came to the door of the healing tent. The slim knife, now dripping with black Orc blood hung loosely from one hand. He witnessed the scene between Gary and Kim and sent a silent message to Lady Varda Elentari far away in the west.
Can I come back home now?
Lady Varda's laughter was like tinkling golden bells in his head. Foolish Olorin. She chided gently. They have found each other, that is true, but they still need your help to get back to their own time with the modern weapons of war. Even more so now. Although there are now two Eonwes, they are now both complete in themselves and it is even more imperative that they remain apart. He will know you for who you are, even if the others don't. Glorfindel will also certainly recognise you for what you are once he has a closer look. You and Eonwe must now speak to Gil-galad. Things that have perforce gone unspoken must now be brought to the surface.
Olorin bowed his head. As you command my Lady.
One of the young healers touched his arm and he turned to smile at her.
"We are in your debt. If you had not acted so swiftly there would be one less of us. But now you must let us re-stitch your wound and you must also rest." For some reason she did not seem to question whether he understood her or not.
He grinned and allowed himself to be led back into the tent.
Things were beginning to unravel.