Author's Note: Wayhay! Another chappie within a matter of weeks! I feel so accomplished. Yes, rather – lengthy. Had much to include. Oh well, enjoy!

The Enigmatic Timekeeper

Chapter 5: Release

Rating: PG-13

She drifted through darkness, wading through a gelatinous pool of shadow that slithered chill tendrils across her, drawing her down, seeking to immerse her in the impervious black depths. Her efforts to escape were futile; steadily, stealthily, she was pulled downwards, sinking into the nightmarish mire.

A layer of pitch closed over her head. It was so hard not to succumb – as her resolve to struggle eroded, something with the heat of life pulsing through it grasped hold of her, plunging through her prison of liquid jet. With an abrupt surge she surfaced, pushing through the onerous gloom, clawing in dismay for that warm touch as it relinquished her.

An ethereal glow glanced from ivory spears aligned in a gaping maw, the red-eyes beyond glaring at her, boring into her mind. The predator closed its jaws around her – for a moment she hung, a vice of horror crushing every last breath from her body, and then she was falling, plummeting helplessly into the abyss…

--Yes, come to me sainardhoni. Come to me…--

As though she had been suddenly hurtled in her physical form, an inexplicable sense of momentum thrust Jenny upright, her eyes flickering open in terror as her hair fell in a tousled shroud across her face. A dream, just a dream, she assured herself from behind the tangled veil of dyed filaments, gasping as she recalled the horror of that lurid gaze, like ghastly orbs of blood. They had been affixed on her so intently, harbouring such deep malice – she could not bear to think of it.

'Just a dream,' she reiterated firmly, one hand at her breast as her heart thundered frenetically. 'Come on, Jen, up you get. Some peppermint tea would be nice right about now.' She groped for her spectacles. And met only empty space where her bedside table should have resided. Startled, she flicked her hair from her eyes. She did not need her glasses to know that she had not woken up where she had fallen asleep – light like liquid amber poured through carven apertures that opened out onto a broad balcony. It danced across the translucent folds of gauzy curtains, through which a light breeze trailed delicate fingers, inciting a shimmering across white walls.

Diaphanous ribbons of mist seeped from the verdant hollows the room overlooked; a light coverlet of saffron lay over the quiet forest as the sun peered through a swathe of silver cloud, newly risen. The air was redolent with sweet fragrances – the bright scent of honeysuckle, the mellow smell of lavender, the warm aroma of rose – a veritable bouquet of perfume laced every breath she drew.

It would have been serene had not fear and confusion seized her: uncertain, she stumbled from the bed, trailing the covers behind her. A slight pain lanced through her legs – uttering a short cry, Jenny dropped to her knees. Awkwardly she sat down, massaging her sore sinews; draped in a haze of lassitude, her mind attempted to comprehend the situation. She did not know where she was; she did not know how she had come to be there.

Well, that's a great start, she thought caustically, alone, afraid, and uneasy. So, do I get to wake up now? Is there a camera in here somewhere? She glanced surreptitiously around, half-expecting to see the transparent eye of a lens staring at her from some high corner. The room was empty – at least of any visible spy equipment.

Oh boy, if the Guys are behind this – I'm going to kill them. No mercy. No exceptions, not even for being intellectually impaired. Not even for Dave. Not even if they had good intentions – highly unlikely…

She opened her mouth to shout but paralysis seemed to have gripped her vocal cords – all she managed was a soft sigh. Common sense vied with her desperate hope for her brother and his friends to be involved somewhere, for them to burst into peals of dim-witted laughter and assure her that it was just some stupid prank. A derisive voice in the back of her head cruelly informed her it was not, and she knew it was not. She shut it out, clapping her hands over her ears, refusing to believe.

'Ah, you are awake. Good.' The door had eased open without her realising; the tall figure standing in it started violently as she shrieked loudly, flinging herself away. The smooth surface of a wall halted her hasty retreat; she pressed herself against it, trembling. But – she recognised that mellifluous cadence, that gentle articulation, every nuance like a dulcet melody. A nebulous memory surfaced. 'You!' she burst out. 'You're the one that attacked me! Where am I? What do you want?'

'Hush, Jenny, I am not here to hurt you,' he reassured her, extending his hands in a placating gesture as he cast a wary glance over one shoulder and then shut the door. 'I've come to see how you are.'

'How do you think I am?' Jenny shouted angrily. 'You attack me in the middle of the night, and then drag me off to this – this place. What do you expect me to do, grovel at your feet in humble gratitude?'

The stranger had the audacity to laugh. 'Nay, Jenny,' he said gently. 'Never. You need not fear me; I know this may seem a little brusque, and it will take time to adjust, but I need for you to trust me.' He knelt before her; beholding him, she felt as though the tip of a needle suddenly perforated her heart. Rich light and soft shadow played across the honed planes of his face; his features were well defined, his gaze open and honest, framed by an autumnal cataract – an unbound fall of auburn hair interlaced with gold that poured across smooth shoulders. The hand he extended invitingly towards her was smooth and slender; tentative, she held out one of her own, placing it upon his palm. She was disturbingly reminded of the glimmering teeth as he slowly closed his fingers, his mismatched eyes, one blue, one hazel, glimmering softly as he smiled.

'Good,' he murmured, soothing.

'I think,' she said, wavering, 'that it's only fair you give me an explanation. Who are you?' Before he could answer, the doors at the back of her mind folded inwards; in a startling deluge, memory assaulted her.

'No, wait, I know you. I've seen your face – I know your name… the – the crash, and the headlines – I saw you, that night. We were staring at each other… But then I – I crashed, but it wasn't you… I saw you again, you were in the paper – your name is Lea, that's what it said, I know that; but that can't be right! How can that be –?'

'Hush, Jenny, calm down,' he interjected firmly, seizing her wrists; her confused prating tapered into hopelessness. She shook vehemently, unable to comprehend – nothing made sense; everything eddied indistinctly, her mind was in turmoil.

'What's going on?' she cried, wrenching herself from him. 'No, don't touch me, please – this doesn't make any sense.'

'Jenny, be quiet. You must try to be still. Listen to me: it is true, can you understand that? Everything you have seen, everything you have heard – none of it was a trick or a lie. I am Lea, and you did see me. Listen, Jenny, you need to know.'

'No, no, I don't want to hear this,' she whispered, folding her hands over her head. 'It can't be true, it can't be. It doesn't make sense.'

'Very little in life exists to make sense,' Lea said sagely; his fingers closed over her hands, surreptitiously prising them from their defensive position on her scalp. 'But it not whether or not we can understand it, it is that we are aware of it that makes it true. Come; let me help you.'

Feeling as though she drifted through a surreal atmosphere, Jenny numbly allowed him to assist her. 'But – why?' she asked at length.

'Because we are aware of it,' he answered gently. 'I understand how great an upset this must be to you, but you must not question anything I tell you. Curiosity or inquisitiveness, here, is not often regarded with patience.

'I will leave you to your peace for now; I do not feel it is wise to exacerbate your current state, given the circumstances. But here, drink this, it will help you rest.' He offered her a delicate cup of sweet-smelling amber liquid, lifting it from an ornate stand she had not noticed.

'How do I know you haven't put anything bad in there?' Jenny asked guardedly, accepting it warily.

A rictus of amusement answered her suspicion. 'If you mean poison, I assure you I have steeped nothing in the tea save lavender and valerian,' Lea answered genially. He leaned suddenly forward, so his comely countenance saturated her vision as she sat on the bed, holding the tea in tremulous fingers. A pleasant scent as of cinnamon seemed to emanate from his honeyed skin; Jenny hastily glanced aside, floundering helplessly in the puissance of his proximity, drowning in his ethereal beauty. She despised the simpering of sycophants, especially that of Lily. She had always viewed it as demeaning, but now she feared she would become one of them – those women whose eyelashes fluttered, who pranced about with their "cutesy" mannerisms to gain attention. The thought was disturbing, yet how could she look at him and not think about it?

'I am not ready to resign myself to death,' he murmured enigmatically, and smiled; something in his manner irked and yet drew her to him, as though a tenuous thread of gossamer bridged them, so fragile a connection, almost unable to be sensed, yet its existence could not be denied. She had forgotten the words that had preceded his mystical remark, but could not care.

Distracted, Jenny took a deep draft of the tepid concoction. Within moments an iridescent haze had descended, masking Lea as he prised the cup from her lax hands and left, pausing briefly at the door and then closing it in his wake.

The pillows were so soft and deep, yielding to her heavy head as she lay down, bathed in warm lethargy. The soporific effect of the herbs soon precipitated her into a dreamless netherworld, safe from savage jaws and scarlet eyes.

Saffron light flickered across dark eyes, staring at him, depthless pools of death. Tremulously, Merry brandished the torch at the hulking beast. 'Avaunt!' the Master cried. His hand curled at his side, fingers closed over a nothingness that the cold steel of a sword-hilt should have occupied; the blade lay on his desk, still encased in a black leather scabbard. It would be of little use to him now.

Black lips pulled back in a savage snarl, baring dagger-like dentition. Hackles raised, the great wolf paced warily; it did not like the stick of fire the small creature threatened it with, but it was not soon to admit defeat. The prey was cornered, and the flames were fading. Soon it would be safe to lunge forward and claim the spoils.

Merry had the wits to realise this as well, but neither was he prepared to stand down.

'If I had my sword with me, I'd have run you clean through, muzzle to flanks to the tip of your tail, you furred demon,' he growled viciously, stabbing at the wolf with the dying brand. Despair crept like hoarfrost through his limbs as fate reared its bloody head over the horizon – trapped between teeth and stone, with nothing more than a wearying torch to defend himself with, his chances of survival seemed winnowed by every hot blast of vile breath that issued from the wolf's slavering jaws.

'Sorry, cur, there will be no halfling to fill your belly this night,' a voice suddenly cried; from the concealment of the caliginous night, a looming shadow was sequestered – the paltry glow of the flames lanced across an arc of cold steel that cut through the darkness, the air whistling across its length. Mounted on a black gelding, the equestrian swiftly sheathed the sword, extending a gloved hand towards the shaken hobbit as the wolf collapsed on its side, black blood seeping in thick rivulets through its coarse fur, the flesh neatly cloven.

'We meet again, Meriadoc,' the rider laughed as the Master gingerly took the proffered hand and was hoisted into the saddle.

'Dale Heather?' he inquired, astonished. The young man smiled, the pale blue of his eyes glinting. 'I thought I might lend myself to your cause,' he said, and coaxed the gelding to a canter. 'I was patrolling nearby and thought dabbling my blade in some wolf slaying would be a perfect sport for an otherwise dull night. There are but a few errant grey-pelts left; for a little folk, your people are certainly hardy warriors. But 'tis fortunate I chanced by, would you not say?'

'You've indeed a knack for judging time. Well, dabble your blade all you wish, and welcome to it,' Merry said as they progressed to a gallop, flying towards the heart of the town. Fate's ominous crown descended as the tables turned with ardour, and the scattered remnants of the fanged menace took to the woods, only a few fleeing beneath the verdant eaves as with a clamour, a tide of halflings surged in their wake, cutting down those within reach of their weapons.

'You've an army there to match the fiercest gathering of Men,' Dale commented, aiding Merry to dismount. The hobbit meticulously brushed down his clothing and gave the gelding a joyful pat to the flank. 'Well then, I suppose that's the end of it,' he said. 'Thank you kindly for your help, Master Heather; I feared my days were shortly to end on those teeth. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe there is a flagon of ale, a good meal, a pipe and a chair before the hearth awaiting me. Farewell.'

'Farewell, and may you enjoy your well-earned comforts, little Master,' Dale laughed, and with a cry to his horse vanished into the night.

It was a mournful ululation as of a distant howl that awoke her to greet the pallor of dusk. A gentle lilac suffused with darkling azure and pale ochre crowned the mountains, and the forest was a soft blanket of shadow carpeting their flanks and sweeping down into the valley. Disorientated, she recalled the morning's bemused conversation with the one who named himself Lea, the same Lea whom she had momentarily beheld before that evening's accident, the same Lea who had supposedly been in a critical condition, lying unconscious in the intensive care unit, and yet who appeared without a scar as a testament to his ordeal.

The same Lea who leant on the balustrade, gazing pensively down upon the gardens, pleasant zephyrs playing amidst the silken strands of his long hair; he was, she noticed, arrayed in soft grey raiment that dripped in liquid folds from the lean contours of his lissom form.

'There is food and drink on the stand, if you care to partake of them. I trust you slept well,' he said quietly. His smile was convivial as she timorously reached for a small loaf of golden bread, herbs speckling its soft white flesh. The water was sweet, as though imbued with a tincture of nectar. Her appetite and thirst piqued by this offering, she set upon it with vigour.

The intentness of Lea's stare disconcerted her. 'What?' she said, frowning, and brushed self-consciously at her face for any lingering crumbs.

'Nothing,' he answered; his voice was hazy, strangely distant. He had the courtesy to avert his eyes, but a shadow of trouble had descended on his countenance. 'Do you think you are prepared to hear what I have to say?' he queried at length.

'I don't think I'd ever be prepared,' she answered, setting the emptied dishes aside. 'This still feels too – too dreamlike, but I – I can feel things in the dream. I see you, I know you're not a ghost – but, still, it's strange.'

'As I said before, it is the fact of something's existence that makes it real, not our level of belief,' Lea reiterated. Pervaded with the faint glow of the insipid sky, a disk of polished crystal resided in his palm, produced from within his sleeve by some sleight-of-hand, she suspected. Leaning closer to the object, she realised it was her watch.

'I believe this is yours,' he murmured, and pressed its cool weight into her palm. Jenny slowly closed her fingers over it, feeling the warmth of her hand suffuse its cold metal. As she gazed at him expectedly, Lea seemed to struggle with appropriate words to explain. 'I – Jenny, this is going to be difficult; however— '

He was interrupted by an unexpected intrusion; a lithesome figure slipped through the door, one slender hand resting against the handle as the newcomer peered furtively from side to side, and then closed it. 'Say nothing,' he warned with a whimsical inflection. 'As far as you are concerned, I am not here – oh, you've awakened. Good evening.'

He strode to the bedside and took up her hand, pressing his lips upon the back of it; the sable veil of his hair brushed in silken strands across her wrists – how hard it was to resist the temptation to run her fingers through those fine filaments. When he relinquished her hand, she abruptly jerked it back, feeling heat rise in her cheeks as she forced such thoughts from the forefront of her mind.

Like an unseen aura, there was a certain quality that mantled him, one that had an eldritch feel to it. Eyes of a depthless green regarded her from within an ovate face, so perfectly sculpted it seemed preternatural; like to Lea's, his features were honed, but their definition was less severe. His hair, the forelocks pulled into a loose braid at the back of his head, trickled like liquid shadow across his shoulders to brush his slender waist. Leggings of a dusky green limned the lean contours of his legs, vanishing into boots that partially encased his calves, the tops turned down to reveal a velveteen lining. It was difficult for Jenny to comprehend that this epitome of perfection, who appeared like a numinous manifestation to her eyes, could possibly be real – he seemed an effigy carved from finest marble, animated by mystical forces or the working of secret mechanisms crafted by a master engineer.

'You've not made an escape from the Twins again, have you?' Lea inquired resignedly. The vision of male allure lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. 'If they miss me, they may come seeking, and I fear hither shall they seek if you speak so loudly,' he replied, unperturbed. 'But I suspect there are more pressing matters at hand than my disappearance.'

'Jenny, may I present to you, despite the fact he has already taken the liberty to present himself, Legolas Greenleaf, the more flippant and reckless member of our cavalcade,' Lea introduced with a flourish.

'Legolas Greenleaf? That's not a very funny joke,' Jenny said dryly. 'Aren't you guys a little old to be playing at fantasy?'

'Excuse me?' Sable-Hair interjected, bemused. Lea held up a hand to silence him. 'Jenny, I have already mentioned the matter to you,' he said patiently. 'Rest assured that this is no fantasy.'

'I'm not listening to this,' Jenny declared obstinately. 'This is stupid. If you're not going to do anything other than sit there and babble on about belief and existence, then let me go home. I won't press charges if you just let me go; I won't say anything, I'll forget it ever happened.'

'Look at the timepiece, Jenny. Look at it. See those decorations? That is actually an ancient mode of writing, long antiquated,' Lea said firmly. 'Your great-aunt gifted it to you on her death-bed, but did she ever tell you how she came to acquire it?'

'I want to go home,' Jenny repeated, an icy influx of fear creeping through her veins.

'Jenny, please, you must try to understand, you must try to see,' Lea coaxed, a tint of despair in his now hollow voice.

'No, just – no, this isn't right. Please, just go away,' she murmured, disquieted. 'This can't be real. I'm dreaming, I must be, there's no other explanation… But I'm not dreaming, am I?' she whispered dismally, gazing at them in misery.

'If you are dreaming, then I have been asleep for the entire duration of my life,' Lea said quietly, his lips twitching into a weak smile. Jenny's face remained still, her eyes vacant as myriad thoughts coalesced into a writhing mass of confusion, dread, disbelief, and fear in her aching head.

Sable-Hair gave a slight start as her outstretched fingers brushed unabashedly against his side, running across the mossy velvet of his tunic. 'Oh God, I can touch you,' Jenny uttered in cold horror. 'Does that mean—'

'I am as you see me,' he replied gently; white heat lanced through every sinew in her arm as his slender fingers closed around her hand, a sensation both terrible and entrancing. 'Do you dislike my name? Fain would I change it to please you, save that I can find no other that quite matches my eyes so well, think thee so?'

His light levity was misplaced. Jenny fell back against the pillows, the bitter fingers of shock strangling her voice, a string of recollected words taunting her:

There was also a strange Elf clad in green and brown, Legolas, a messenger from his father, Thranduil, the King of the Elves in Northern Mirkwood…

'I-I know your name,' she stammered. 'It was in a book – but how can that be true? It's a story, just a story, just ink and words pulled from someone's imagination and put together on paper.'

'Many stories have historical foundations, as some are conjured from experience, and others based on truth.' Lea placed one hand in an empathetic gesture on her arm. 'Sometimes where knowledge is incomplete, we must simply trust in fate. You are familiar with but one part of a tale that spans many thousands of years, the threads of which we must now take up once more.

'Come, if you feel hale enough, let us walk awhile. It is a pleasant evening, and perhaps it will help to clear your mind.'

Despite the fact that comprehension yet glided far out of reach, Jenny retained enough prudence to refuse to go anywhere in her pinstriped pyjama bottoms and old Winnie-the-Pooh nightshirt.

Lea offered her something that appeared to be a gelatinous heap of cobalt-coloured stuff that dripped in flaccid folds over his arms. 'Here, array yourself in this,' he invited. Jenny stared at the tremulous mass dubiously; without her glasses, she could not quite discern precisely what it was.

'It is a cotehardie,' Lea expounded.

'A what?'

'A cotehardie, an outer tunic. The air is chill this night; you would do best to wear it. Wait, there is a gown to go beneath it.' To the dark cotehardie he encumbered her arms with he added a second folded garment; the fabric was soft, a pale blue. White laces hung loose at the back, and delicate silver embroidery worked like spider-silk into trailing patterns was stitched around the wide collar.

'Oh, and I fetched these from your home as well.' Her fingers closed about cold steel; hastily, she placed her spectacles on and blinked as everything aligned into clear shapes, no longer distorted. Speculatively, she ran the articles of clothing through her fingers, admiring the fluidity of the material, the elaborate stitch work, so precise and tidy, not a dangling thread to be seen. 'Well, turn around,' she ordered. 'If I'm supposed to put these on I'm not having you two watching.'

Courteously, they obliged. 'Well, I must say the walls are most interesting at dusk, would not you agree?' Legolas mused inanely. 'So – bland, so – fascinatingly dull, such – nondescript charm. Sooth, my mind has already been rendered numb.'

'I concur, but I prefer the door,' Lea replied airily. 'There is such a tedious quality to the wood it cannot help but cause one's eye to twitch if one stares at it for too long.'

Through their satirical exchange, Jenny struggled to find which limb went through which opening in which garment. This is like trying to put on a Rubix Cube, she thought wryly, unfastening the laces of the gown and slipping it over her legs.

'Do you need help?' Lea inquired earnestly as she performed an awkward dance in an effort to draw it up over her hips, surprised to find she no longer ached.

'No, no, I'm fine,' she declined, at last claiming victory. 'But – could you do these damn laces up for me?'

She pulled her hair across one shoulder as, laughing, Lea rethreaded the ribbons and pulled them taut, fastening them neatly at the nape of her neck whilst chiding her for pulling them apart in such a rough and hasty manner. When she finally emerged from the voluminous labyrinth of the cotehardie, Legolas ceased his study of the wall. 'Well, my lady, shall we depart?' he inquired, offering her his arm. Charily she accepted it, unable to shirk the onerous feeling that she drifted somewhere far beyond reality, trapped in the nebulous confines of a world wrought of dreams.

The click of the catch as Lea shut the door in their wake was an oddly jarring sound in the serenity, resonating through the recesses of her mind like the crystalline plink of a stone disturbing quiescent water, the faint sound echoing through dark tors. Splinters of light scattered across panelled walls with white architraves, fractured by deciduous silhouettes, as the last vestiges of sunlight sluiced through shifting gaps in the leaves and a light breeze danced through the heavy boughs.

The arched windows faced the west, so for the glare of the descending sun Jenny found it impossible to glimpse anything of what lay beyond the airy corridor. Leaves formed a carpet of russet and gold on the parquetry, rustling beneath her bare feet while the strides of her companions barely roused a whisper. Every now and then an arras would billow gently, light scintillating across its vivid colours, each thread imbued with living history.

A flight of marble stairs led down into an open chamber, wide apertures admitting the outside. Through one Jenny discerned faced east they walked, descending a series of steps carefully fashioned from a natural wall of stone, and came to an arbour overshadowed by the tapering girth of an ancient oak. Beyond was the arc of a tiled verandah; to this Jenny was led with some difficulty, having to pause every now and then to bury her nose in the soft petals of some sweet-scented flower that entranced her, or to admire the architecture and ask questions that more often then not remained without an answer.

The view from the verandah took Jenny's breath away the moment she glanced over the balustrade. A wide vista of the valley opened out before her; to their right, the opalescent curtain of a waterfall cascaded; glinting rainbows caught in a web of mist. The silver thread of a river wound its sinuous way through willow withies gilt with autumn's mantle, and circlets of wispy cloud coroneted the summits of the forest-flanked mountains. The arch of a bridge straddled the banks of the stream that flowed from beneath the cataract, a tributary of the distant river; from the bridge a stone courtyard extended, its edges hedged by all manner of lush plants, and from this a road ran through an open gate, forging a precarious route perilously close to the ragged borders of cliffs, which dropped suddenly away into the dale, sheer facets of weathered rock plunging to the verdant floor far below.

The very building itself was a wondrous architectural feat, no detail neglected, almost an extension of the natural marvels the dale harboured. No visible door or window disallowed entry of the world. It consisted of various segments, some climbing to two storeys, others merely one, some bridged by corridors, others sequestered. Everything, even the purity of the air Jenny breathed, seemed too marvellous to be true.

'Welcome to Imladris, or Rivendell, the Last Homely House, once of Elrond Peredhil,' Legolas said quietly, gesturing with a generous sweep of one hand to the breathtaking panorama. 'Now his sons, the lords Elladan and Elrohir, preside over its halls.'

'Imladris – I always thought the name sounded beautiful,' Jenny murmured. 'I never thought I'd be able to put a precise image to the words.' She smiled weakly.

'Yea, the last enclave in which true beauty still resides,' Lea said pensively, a dark stain of sorrow in his voice. 'But there will be time enough to admire it later. You have knowledge of Tolkien's work.'

It was not a question, but Jenny nodded in answer.

'And you see now the true magnitude of what he created.'

'Created? What do you mean?'

'Sometimes, Jenny, one simple letter can be the beginning of something great,' Legolas said sagaciously. The turn of his mood was sudden – the jocular gleam of his eyes was now a glint of solemnity, his face untouched by the humour it had held before. The gravity of the situation sobered Jenny; like something caught by peripheral vision, yet gone when one tried to look at it clearly, a shadow seemed to drift, an augury that vanished when she focused on it. Somnolent content became cold anxiety. Presentiments scuttled along the length of her back – what was going to happen?

'This will be as hard to understand as it will be to explain,' the raven-haired prince murmured with a soft laugh, shaking his dark head ponderously. 'But we have only words, and we can only use them as we may. Shall I begin?'

Lea inclined his head in silent acquiescence, his arms folded grimly at his chest. Legolas deliberated for a moment, and then glanced at the Otherworlder woman. 'This – everything that surrounds us – was built by the hands of one man,' he said quietly. 'Your people might call it "magic". He sang with the Firstborn and rose with the Men; he made all things we see, touch, sense, and hear. One letter can be the beginning of something great,' he echoed his earlier words. 'Sometimes, that something great is given the chance to manifest into a more substantial form. This is what Tolkien did.

'Time exists as a nothing that surrounds everything. All life energies, both plant and being, have a connection to it, a thread that binds them to their place in what we call the Way Between, or the Void. When that connection is sundered, the life energy drifts free. That is death.'

'Things past are only what lie behind our own connections,' Lea said. 'Our threads anchor us to one place in one flow; however, it is possible to pull an energy into a different flow without segregating them from their own time. This is what we have learnt to do, in order to traverse between your world and ours. But it only takes the displacement of one energy to change the course of Time; our world is younger, but we exist in a flow that, while parallel to that of your world, moves much faster. When an energy is shifted, the flow must alter to compensate. You stand here now, Jenny, but your connection remains with your world. Because of this, Time will repeat itself.'

'So – at the moment, I don't exist?' Jenny said, struggling to grasp the enormity of the concept he introduced her to.

'As an energy, yes. As an incarnation of that energy, no. Even before we are born, our energies exist, secured in a flow but not yet fixed to a position. All lives, past, present, and future, will forever be contained within the Void. Only the mortal form will perish.'

Lea's shoulders heaved in a silent sigh. 'It's a capricious thing,' he murmured. 'Something that can truly only ever be understood without words.'

'But – if all of this is for real, what about Elves?' Jenny asked, confused. 'Elves are meant to live forever, but how can they if the mortal form perishes? You're an Elf, aren't you? The – the book said you were.' Jenny turned to Legolas, feeling distinctly ill as her mind worked frantically.

A sad smile curved Legolas' mouth. 'Once, we were no less immune to death than your people,' he sighed. 'Once, we aged and we died. The Noldorin were renowned for their ingenuity. Tolkien made them so, and such they were, forever occupied with puzzles and mysteries that other races had no concern over. It was they who discovered the secret, that which would allow a thread to remain intact forever, and to keep its shape. And so, we are trapped in the circles of Arda, both curse and blessing.

'At first, the immortality was irrevocable unless the body was slain, the connection forcibly severed, or an energy languished from deep sorrow. The Noldorin, for all their cunning and wit, did not understand how Time moved, knew it only as a passing thing which explained the turning of days and nights. They did not know it existed as something far greater than they could ever understand. It took an accident to make the discovery, one that gave us the freedom to choose to separate ourselves when we grew weary of physical existence. But it was something that was never meant to come to our knowledge. By the time Tolkien attempted to intervene, nothing could be done to revoke what the curiosity of our forefathers had wrought. Again, it became curse and blessing. We have no choice but to live as they have made us.'

Legolas drifted into reticence, a dark gravity seeping into his gentle aura. Lea took up the tale.

'Tolkien knew that what we had done would have terrible consequences. And the only way to maintain the balance was to allow the essence of the Void into his being, become part of it as it became part of him. But that knowledge passed into the wrong hands, and gave birth to black machinations that almost destroyed all.'

'Sauron?' Jenny inquired. The appellation tasted bitter on her tongue. Legolas nodded slowly as Lea continued. 'Yea. Sauron. The Necromancer of Dol Guldor. His curiosity was piqued when he learnt of the Elves' workings. If he could find a way to harness time, all of our land, and mayhap all lands beyond would have become his vile demesnes.

'When one becomes of Time, Time becomes of them. When that balance exists, if an energy has strength enough, one can learn how to pull the threads, so to speak. Tolkien was the first to gain this power.

'But Sauron found an unguarded Gate. He slipped into the Void, and bled into it, thus creating that balance within himself. He took Arda's Time, and through nefarious means he coerced it to take a certain form, the Ruling Ring. There were nineteen other rings made, gifted amongst the great of the races. Those who wore them were bound to the power of the One, their threads interlaced. Only those who had great will and strength of mind were able to withstand the terrible forces that worked against them.'

'But, what does this have to do with me and my watch?' Jenny interjected querulously. Gates and Voids and threads and flows and rings were all very well, but bewilderment over where she fit into their verbal puzzle was eroding her patience.

'Everything.' Lea had been prepared to answer but it was Legolas who spoke, leaning against the balustrade and staring vacantly into the verdant hollow. 'Tolkien was the first of those we call the Timekeepers, those in whom the balance exists. He established the line after the final war in which Sauron was defeated. Thus far, there have been three. And your aunt was wedded to the second.'

A dagger of ice twisted in Jenny's belly, sending cold thrills through every fibre. As precise as though she viewed it, the memory of the photo Sean had found discarded in old newspapers rose. Her aunt, and the man on Muriel's arm – the handsome stranger with the intense gaze, wearing mystery like a mantle. The same man whose tombstone rose, a silent sentinel of black and white granite, to mark his final resting place; the grave beside him occupied by his wife.

'That timepiece, Jenny, is something I aided in the making of. Timepiece is perhaps not the most appropriate word to name it, but that writing, each letter, has a connection to every thread between the worlds. In good sooth, it is the seam that holds us together.

'Time is capricious in its loyalties, and we cannot rely on it to be an ally. Already it is turning against us. There are only few paths left to us, and we have decided upon one. You have knowledge of the One Ring and its fate.'

'Well, I hadn't gotten that far but you've ruined the ending for me,' Jenny replied with weak humour. It all sounded so ridiculous, so incomprehensible that she did not know where she stood. Derisive laughter was a pressing weight behind her lips, but she was careful not to give it freedom. The sheer solemnity of the men, the pleading earnestness in their eyes was making it difficult to differentiate between truth and fiction. Considering what they were explaining to her, did a difference exist at all? Or were they two terms applied to something misconstrued?

There was no laughter in Legolas' darkling eyes as he gazed down on her. 'Time oft repeats itself,' he said, subdued.

'You mean you want to go marching all the way down to some place which should only exist in a book, and throw my watch into an imaginary volcano to save the world?' Jenny clasped the timepiece at her breast, afraid he might wrest it from her.

'No.' A slight smile alleviated the severity of the prince's comely features. 'We want to go marching down to a place that exists beyond a book, to forge a new ring and thus keep the world from tearing apart.'

For those in a state of confusion, sainardhoni is something I got from my trusty Sindarin dictionary and roughly means "of the other world.'