A Matter of When
The Post-Council Quest Revision Of Elrond

Through the mischief of two Hobbits Rick discovers his family line travels further back than he could have imagined.

~~~~~~~

The air was refreshing, cool, pleasant and unlike anything to be found in Egypt. Pampered and refined was this place, a place where all of one's needs would be taken care of at but a beckon. A truly western place to live, indeed. Far away from the dangers and troubles of the desert. Far from all they needed protection from. Rivendell, he had been told this place was called. Egypt, they had never heard of, nor England or the United States for that matter. And he and the American had never heard of the places this dark-haired, English seeming host had named off. At first neither had been able to accept the other's ignorance of the world, over talk a slow trust had begun to build. Apparently he himself caused more alarm than the American in his appearance, but this Elrond seemed now able to believe he was of a fair kind, rather than a so-called 'dark servant'.

Seated on a plush, silken-covered couch, Ardeth Bay took in his surroundings with the eyes of a warrior. Everything, every sight and sensation he catalogued for future reference. These strangers seemed nice enough, but appearances can sometimes be deceiving. There was a tenseness here that was kept in the shadows, but breathed caution into the Med-Jai's mindset. Strange enough was the appearance of these two men from another world, but he got the feeling something else may have been going on before their arrival.

Beside him lounged the American, also watching and listening, though his expression to any other may have appeared nonchalant. But Ardeth knew what to look for in a fellow fighter. A few years ago he thought most westerners were softened and lacked the skills needed to survive in the desert, but this man proved him wrong—this man and his other American cohorts, who had managed not only to get past the Med-Jai into the forbidden city, but also to awaken He Who Shall Not Be Named. He was someone to be kept under close watch.

Across the room stood two men conversing. One was an elderly gentleman, who wore strange clothes and carried a staff. His pointed hat made Ardeth smirk inwardly. This was another trait among westerners—eccentricity. The other was their host, Elrond he named himself and seemed to possess wisdom about him. He was kind and patient, and had not fed the small person to the rumored Orc in the basement.

These little people, now that he was having trouble figuring out. They looked like children in size, but bore the faces and voices of men. And they had big, bare, hairy feet. The two whose names were on the lips of the taller men sat perched upon a windowsill with nervous expressions written across their faces. They spoke in hushed tones and shrank back whenever the older man ventured to look in their way. Ardeth could see the old man had no real intention of hitting either with his great staff, but appreciated the point in the threat that came every so often, unspoken but conveyed through meaningful glances. Perhaps the legend of quickly delivered swats would keep those two out of trouble.

"The original book is older than I, but it has been altered throughout the years," Elrond spoke in a weary voice, eyeing the item in question. It sat upon a desk in imagined defiance, proclaiming almost that it would not be understood by any. The host walked with a deliberate grace to the book and touched its surface. A sigh escaped his lips. "My brother Elros used to keep it, though to him and up until now to I as well, it was nothing more than a book of poetry and tales of old. It is an ancient relic of Numenor, old writings of the heroes and leaders, both before my brother became their first king and after, even until the death of Elendil. There the writings stopped with the passage read by Master Took." Ardeth noticed the golden-haired troublemaker wince in renewed guilt.

Elrond opened the book and looked down upon the pages, making him wonder what was written there. The American beside him seemed a little doubtful about this whole affair despite the blatant truth that they were not in Egypt anymore, but Ardeth knew well the dangers that could come from reading books of power. The other one sitting beside this Pippin character…Merry? He ventured a question, taking advantage of the silence in the room. "What's it say?" he asked, echoing Ardeth's wonderings. At the other little being's expression, he added sheepishly, "I wasn't listening."

The host—who had pointed ears, the Med-Jai noticed suddenly with a frown, looked at the two with a stern expression that tried to melt away beneath understanding. "It was a passage lamenting the death of Numenor and calling all descendants of the line of kings to lift the ancient blood back to the glory it once had." His fingers brushed the text gently and there was sorrow written in his gray eyes. "Only a poem. And yet now that hope is gone with Aragorn."

Shaking his head, the American sat forward with arms elbows rested on his knees and hands clasped before him. "Gone with Aragorn? What are you saying? We can't go back?"

The old man shook his head with a thoughtful expression. "Ways are often hidden where we deem them missing. But what of our other business, Elrond? This puzzle troubles me and the loss of two such as Aragorn and Legolas is deeply saddening, but the other matter stands unfinished. That is a thing that will not afford us time to mourn. We are now missing two members of our fellowship, whose absent skill and wisdom are a sore price to pay."

"This quest begins wrong even before you have left my doorstep," Elrond mused, letting his eyes wash over the two strangers in his study. "There is no help for it, Gandalf. You must depart tomorrow as planned. Had I still my sons in my home I would have sent them in the place of those lost, but I fear I may have to look elsewhere. There is no passage in the book I can discern that would call Aragorn and Legolas back, nor do I know what brought them in the first place." His fingers toyed with a ring on his fingers as he thought through the facts given him. "This mystery eludes even me and in so dangerous a time I have little thought to spare over it."

Ardeth met the eyes of this Gandalf as he too swept over the strangers, with decidedly different interest than Elrond was displaying. The corners of his lips seemed to tilt upwards as he considered the Med-Jai, but so slightly Ardeth thought perhaps he was wrong. "Why not send these two?" he said suddenly and Elrond's expression became quite startled.

"Gandalf…" he began, bewildered and Ardeth furrowed his brow.

The old man allowed his smile to grow visible as he now turned his vision on the troubled Lord of Rivendell. "In all our years I cannot think of one time when I have seen you quite so speechless, my friend."

Elrond's surprise dimmed into a wry expression. He took a few steps away, then turned back with a shake of his head. "Need I tell you all of the reasons why what you are suggesting is madness?"

Beside Ardeth, O'Connell quipped softly, "Yeah and with the fuss he's making, I'm not so sure we'd want to get stuck doing someone else's dirty work." The American smiled almost innocently when the host frowned.

He had observed enough and kept his peace. Now Ardeth felt ready to speak, echoing his companion's thoughts—if for different reasons. He would help if he could, anyone that needed him, but there was a little quest of his own going on back in Egypt. His people were in grave danger if Imhotep again walked the earth. "I do not know what your troubles are, but back where we come from people are in danger." He turned his head and gave O'Connell a meaningful glare. "There is a walking plague about to destroy all we hold dear and if he is not stopped, the world will fall under his darkness."

For a moment the room was silent again, glances conveying different messages being shared all around, grave expressions that added a tense atmosphere to the study, until, that was, Pippin finally spoke up. "Well, now. Doesn't that sound familiar? What is it with all these dark lords, anyway? Don't they have anything better to do?" An elbow to the ribs from Merry and a long-suffering sigh from Elrond counseled him to quietness again.

Gandalf paced a little with thoughts turning, a reflection of indecision weighing on his mind. The staff went with him everywhere he went and tapped loudly against the wood floor when he set it down. "My suggestion is this, Elrond. My intuition tells me whatever force took our friends away gave us these two for a reason. Their coming is a mystery to even you, but perhaps there is one other who may shed light on this. Perhaps in the Golden Wood they may find answers. That is what my heart speaks, but I will heed your council."

"Lorien," Elrond sighed, rubbing his chin and looking out the window as if he could see this place the old man was talking about "The High Pass is surely watched by Orcs and Goblins once more. The path through Hollin is rough, but uninhabited and unknown, yet leads to passes that may be difficult to cross. All paths lead to darkness. Gandalf, I do not like this question you have put before me, but regardless, I trust your intuition. If you must take them, do so, but my advice is to leave them behind in Lothlorien and reveal nothing of the quest if it does not suit them to know."

O'Connell shook his head at this and grunted. "Okay, look. I don't know what's gotten into your water, but there's a girl back home that needs me to save her from men like this one," he threw his thumb back at Ardeth, who inhaled deeply and frowned. "Orcs and Goblins? That right there tells me you people are a missing a few cards from the stack and don't get me wrong, I'm sure your little quest is very important, but why should we trust you?"

The two on the sill winced, the old man concealed a smart little smile and the dark-haired Lord of Rivendell shared a cool, steely gaze with the outspoken American for a moment, then turned back to Gandalf with a smile of his own. Elrond stepped by, gave the old man a friendly pat on the shoulder and nodded. "You are right. I believe this is something you should handle. I think it is madness, but if you see hope in it I will trust you, Mithrandir." The two drew aside again to talk, leaving the others a moment to consider their fates.

"Great," breathed O'Connell, leaning back and looking at Ardeth with irritation written across his features. With that he could sympathize, for the need to return home was even greater than this man could imagine. The American ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "We've just been shanghaied on some Robin Hood adventure while your men run around Hamunaptra looking for blood. I wonder how Evelyn's doing."

Ardeth leaned forward on his knees and pulled his navy turban off, feeling a little commandeered himself, but there was nothing that could be done about Egypt right now, in either of their cases. There were losses on both sides, but this elderly man seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. He trusted his gut instincts and that was also something Ardeth understood. "You had better pray for her safety. I do not know what dangers you and I face, but if you succeeded in awakening He Who Shall Not Be Named, she is in immediate danger. My men will not be the cause of her death, but whoever read from that book may be the cause of theirs."

With a curse, O'Connell rubbed his face tiredly and groaned, "Yeah, I told her not to mess with that thing. Who's this He Who You're Too Scared To Name, anyway?"

The Med-Jai glared at his companion a moment, then sighed in frustration at what he could not solve now. "He is death. A walking plague that cannot be stopped by mortal weapons. My men and I saw the locusts rush upon the City of the Dead. We heard the immortal screams. For three thousand years we have stood watch over the ancient city and you and your friends have single-handedly brought our work to ruin."

The American looked at him with disbelief written in his crystal eyes. "What do you mean 'three thousand years' and 'immortal screams' and 'walking plague'? And if you say 'Goblin' I'm going to really be disappointed in your originality."

"No Goblin," Bay replied, giving a wry smile as he looked the American over. Maybe it was not a Goblin that would trouble Egypt, but the being now wandering Egypt would still draw disbelief. "Three thousand years ago there was a priest who served his pharaoh well, until one year his eyes were captured by a young girl in the palace. She was the concubine of Seti I, beautiful and prized. No man was allowed to touch her. But the priest was not a man to be bound by rules. He desired her and she him, for her hatred of her master was deep. They fell in love and soon conspired to kill Seti. They succeeded, but not without paying for their crimes. The priest was mummified and cursed, and now my people are bound to watching over him, to make sure people like you don't rouse his sleep."

With a grunt, O'Connell smirked and replied, "Good job. Mummies and Orcs, huh? I think I must have really hurt my head in Hamunaptra. I'm probably lying there, somewhere, Evelyn smacking my face and her brother drinking up all the liquor. I wish I could wake up about now."

"Unfortunately," came another voice, that belonging to Gandalf as he neared, "waking up will do you little good. Come. We have to prepare you for the journey. Do you have weapons?"

Ardeth unsheathed his scimitar and held it forth with the knowledge of how to use such a weapon confidently displayed in his gaze. Gandalf shared an approving look with Elrond, then turned to O'Connell, who reached into his double holster and pulled out two guns. "I also have one stocked away in my pant leg. I don't suppose you have any ammo for these?"

Curiously, Elrond held his hand out and took the gun given, examining it as if he had never seen anything of its like. O'Connell sat up quickly when the robed host fingered the trigger, explaining not to pull it back. "What manner of weapon is this?" he asked with an eyebrow raised as he handed it back.

O'Connell turned and pointed it at Ardeth, looking down the barrel with a grin. "It's called a gun. You shoot it. Depending on the make and where you aim, one bullet could put down an enemy. It's like a sling shot, maybe or a…mini bow and arrow, I guess."

Ardeth noticed a look pass between Gandalf and Elrond as he stood. The little troublemakers on the sill hopped down, noticing a general migration towards the door and both looked up at the Med-Jai with friendly—if wary, smiles as they passed, which he returned. "I hope you're not mad about the whole book thing," Pippin said hopefully as the warrior took the rear of the group and followed into the hall. "Totally Merry's fault. Name's Peregrin Took. Pippin for short."

The other one frowned at his friend and gave a miffed little shove, hissing, "One look at you and who do you think he'd believe?" The darker-haired little one shoved his hand into Ardeth's and shook it. "Merry Brandybuck."

"Ardeth Bay," the warrior replied with a quiet grin, watching them fuss at each other.

It seemed truly strange to him, the situations that life could toss one into. Here he was in a foreign city with a quest thrust into his lap, an oddly clad wise man, two tiny troublemakers and an American who was asking their host, "Hey, Elrond. What's wrong with your ears?"

O'Connell was right. Waking up now would be good.

~~~~~~~

Everyone called them 'The Fellowship' here in Rivendell—or 'Rivenhell' as Rick liked to put in, at least in his own mind. Not that this was a bad place, really. Quite the opposite of what one would term hell. But such a drastic and unexpected change in locale ruffled the feathers of even a guy like him. He wasn't even sure if he were really awake or dreaming. This place certainly felt like a dream. Elves. These people actually went around claiming they were thousand-year-old Elves. O'Connell took a swig of the wine in his hand—perfect wine for a perfect house—and grunted.

He stood alone at a window just outside the 'Hall of Fire' where their host was throwing a big farewell supper for the Fellowship. A big farewell supper for him, for those he left behind in Egypt. Normally he may not have minded this trip. He was certainly treated better here than anywhere else he'd ever been. But what Bay said had bothered him. He really had taken a liking to those Carnahans—or that Carnahan, to be precise. Evelyn was different than the girls he was used to carousing with. Come on, Rick. It wasn't going to go anywhere, anyway, he thought with a sigh. He just hated the thought of her getting hurt and her brother wasn't one to keep an eye on her.

"Is the food not to your liking?" The voice startled him, both with its suddenness and with the soothing confidence veiled within. When he turned he wouldn't have expected to see so young a girl speaking with it. She was beautiful, looking on him with startlingly blue eyes and a serenity he had never seen on one so youthful. Her smile was soft.

He shook his head, feeling a little comforted that he wasn't alone anymore, even though that was why he had left in the first place. "No, the food's great. Never had better in my life."

She took slow, graceful steps around him, maintaining eye contact as she moved soundlessly. "Then it is the company?"

Rick leaned against the sill and watched her, feeling a little silent himself. "No." Actually, there was one place he could think of that this 'House of Elrond' reminded him of. His mind traveled back to a time when he was six and still living with his parents in Chicago. Back before he had become an orphan. Every Sunday morning they would get up, get dressed and head to mass and every other Sunday or so one of the nuns would haul him out of class for one reason or another, and take him into an unused, private chapel to sit while she prayed for what she claimed was his forgiveness for being so irreverent in God's house. Secretly he thought maybe she was just kneeling for half an hour to make him suffer, but whatever the case, he remained quiet during the prayer. His father wouldn't have tolerated anything less. It was bad enough he got into any trouble, let alone disturbing a lady during something like that.

This place reminded him of that, of the quiet in that small room and the feeling that any small sound was too harsh and disrespectful. But this girl was no elderly nun with a ruler to swat with. She was one of God's angels. "Do not carry worry for things you cannot change, Lord of Men."

He smiled at that and took a drink. "Lord of Men, huh? So, you people really think you're Elves? I don't suppose you've got a jolly leader in a red suit tucked away somewhere?" That came out a little more sarcastic than he had intended and he grimaced inwardly.

But if this kind Elf took offense, she surely did not show it. Instead, she laughed—a quiet, church laugh. "I cannot recall my grandfather ever donning the color red," she commented, coming beside him to gaze out the window. "Have you never seen an Elf before?"

Sighing, Rick turned back to view what she was viewing. Outside the setting was as peaceful and beautiful as a painting. "Where I come from Elves are stories. Fairytales. So are Orcs, Dwarves and dragons. I've never even heard of a Hobbit before." He shrugged and looked down almost apologetically. "Mythology." The sadness in her eyes was not unnoticed. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you, miss…?"

"Arwen. My name is Arwen. I am Lord Elrond's daughter." Her smile returned and her hair swayed when she shook her head. "No, my lord. I think only on these dark times. A world ruled and peopled only by Men…" Again she looked out and up, her eyes oceans of feeling and sorrow that seemed ages old. "My people are leaving these lands. Leaving Men to stand on their own. In time there will be no Elves left upon Middle-earth and I will be separated from them."

"Separated?" he asked softly, mentally kicking himself for even unknowingly bringing these thoughts to her. He didn't like seeing pain in those eyes.

Her touch surprised him and soothed him and made him feel strangely inadequate, all at the same time. A warm hand clasped his and her peace was restored. "These cares are not for you to spare worry over. Morning will dawn and with it will come the beginning of your quest. Take rest and be well."

She left him there without another word and he watched the shadows chase her back into the great hall of her father. Take rest and be well. Sound advice, only he felt very restless just now. Rick lifted the sweet wine to his lips and took a sip, wondering idly if these Elves brewed anything like beer. He assumed now that he was alone, free to brood and explore, but all too soon it proved untrue. Another form came from the Hall of Fire and this one caused him to swear beneath his breath and he conceal it with a smile. "O'Connell," the Med-Jai greeted curtly. He seemed troubled.

Raising his cup, Rick answered cheekily, "Bay," and took a sip. "What's the matter? They trying to squeeze you into a pair of tights?"

Bay fell in beside him and examined the view of outside. "Do you have a joke for everything?" he asked through a weary exhale, his dark eyes glittering.

Rolling his eyes and turning back to the window as he finished off his drink, O'Connell muttered, "Sorry. What flew up your…?" Rick stopped himself at the other's glare and grinned. "Sorry. Wanna talk about it?"

The warrior shook his head and returned his heavy expression to the scenery outside. But he wasn't seeing golden trees or grass or a stream. Rick knew it as well as he knew himself. They both saw sand in their vision. This man had much more than O'Connell had back home in Egypt, for while Rick had always counted Cairo a home away from the home he'd never known, it never meant much to him. Certainly not like it would to the Med-Jai beside him. Ardeth missed his home, his people and knew terrible things could happen without him being there to help. In a way, so did Rick. He would miss being there to make sure Evy was okay. Why did he care so much about her?

"Hey," he said, wanting to push that away for the time being. There were other things to discuss that would keep the demons at bay. "We're in this for the long haul it seems." Bay looked up with an unchanged, merely tolerant expression. Rick shrugged and sighed. "Look, you can be mad all you want to, but it won't change what's already happened. I think this'll go a lot easier if we lose the edge and try to be friends, okay? Whatever they're talking about sounds like it's not short on danger and we're the strangers here. So, you wanna drop the angry warrior act and concentrate on what's important?" Bay glared back at him and said nothing. "Fine, but if you get attacked by the boogie man or something else weird, don't come crying to me."

He turned away in frustration and headed towards the Hall of Fire, deciding to let the Med-Jai save his own neck if he needed. Rick had tried and that was enough. So what if Bay was stubborn? Rick had been through enough on his own not to need help. But midway down the hall the warrior stopped him, calling, "O'Connell." The ex-Legionnaire turned in exasperation, but stopped up short when he saw a small smile written on Bay's features. "Would you mind telling me exactly what a 'boogie man' is?"

Maybe this guy wouldn't be such a pain after all—much of one, anyway. O'Connell grinned and motioned him to join. "I really don't know, but I'm pretty sure we'll find out, knowing this place."

~~~~~~~

Author: Ruse – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: No infringement intended. Naseen and Salih are mine.
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A/N: Okay, I just want to apologize right here, right now, for the many many typos in that last chapter. :O Color me mortified! Bad bad habits, I have, of posting too quickly. *lesigh* So I am sowwy. I have been more careful with this one. :-D Anyway, I know this was a lot of talk…but to get the explanations across…:-/

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