Disclaimer: See Chapter 2
Notes to reviewers: As always I appreciate your comments and your feedback. For me, as long as the story is being read, I am happy. I'm trying to write new chapters in-between doing the edits and re-writes my publisher requires on my original fiction novel, occasionally I get the characters mixed up which could make for an interesting combination!
I know that Jim is so far unexplored, but I wanted to establish the rapport firstly between the military members of the group, then Gary and Kim, who decided to develop their romance without permission from me and then with the group as a whole. As Olorin's role in the story develops, so Jim's will develop alongside it and he'll have more of an input into the story – and now I might have given too much away so I will say no more on the subject!
It was also important to the thrust of the story that Melannen should become a sort of bridge between the modern mortals and the ancient people of Middle-earth, just as Rion and Noruthalion are a bridge between the Elves of Valinor and the Elves of Middle-earth. Gil-galad, Celeborn and the others are the anchor between both groups, a bit like 'piggy in the middle'. They are the central point from which the others radiate and they provide the solid middle ground, so to speak. As such, they are crucial to the tale.
Chapter 21 – I'll take the high road, you take the low road"Aim towards the enemy."
- Instruction printed on Army rocket launcher
"The Nation that makes a great distinction between its scholars
and its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards
and its fighting done by fools."
- Thucydides
"The creature stopped here and rested." The Elf pointed at a seemingly undisturbed part of the ground in the shelter of a large tree. "See, this is where he put his burden down whilst he sat."
Celeborn dismounted and examined the patch of earth. He nodded at the Elf. "Yes, but he took no food. Orcs are not the tidiest of eaters, they 'ere leave their debris where it falls."
"Perhaps he has none." The Elf suggested. "Everything we have noted of his passage so far has indicated extreme haste. He may not have taken the time to hunt. Even if he could have found something to hunt."
Celeborn stood up and glanced around him. He closed his eyes and summoned every part of his innate ability to communicate with the trees. At first there was nothing but a distressed buzzing and rustling, but after a short while he could separate the sounds.
The trees were both angry and distressed at the mere presence of the orc in the woods, but they also spoke to Celeborn of a small battle among the willows of Nan Tathren just a short while ago. Celeborn's eyes snapped open and the silver of his eyes slowly turned a less molten hue.
"I believe that Cirdan and the others have been involved in a small sortie." He said quietly and remounted.
"Do we go to aid them my Lord?" The Elf asked.
Celeborn shook his head. "The trees do not speak of deaths, at least not Elven deaths. They tell me that the wind has brought them knowledge of a small battle and many Orc dead." He smiled grimly. "If the sortie is won then we will add nothing productive to it and our quarry will only get further away from us. If Cirdan has been successful in locating the mortals he will take them to the High King. On the other hand we need to know what road our large friend has taken with his heavy burden. Perhaps we should see if he needs a hand with it."
Light laughter rippled amongst the warriors.
"We could relieve him of the burden." One of them suggested.
Celeborn grinned; the light of the chase was now in his eyes. "My thoughts precisely. In the meantime, the trees tell me that he headed northwards, but they also tell me of many loose groups of Orcs roaming around further north. It is likely that they are the remains of those battle groups that Eonwe and the host have already routed. It seems that the Herald of Manwe has been tardy about sweeping up after himself. However, from these signs it does not seem as though our Orc has met up with friends yet. Let us try to stop him before he does." He lightly pressed his heels to his horse's flanks and the animal leapt forward with enthusiasm followed only an instant later by his warriors.
The hunt was on!
Celeborn knew that their job of locating the Orc carrying the mortals' weapons would be a lot harder if he managed to hook up with any of those loose groups. On the other hand, it was also possible that he may deliberately avoid them and in doing so, avoid having to explain why he was carrying his burden. Loose groups of Morgoth's creatures tended to forget their allegiance once out of eyeshot of their masters and behaved accordingly. The only reason the Orc they were tracking would have for the extreme loyalty he had shown so far was the fact that he had obviously been promised a large reward. That, or he was at least intelligent enough to know that he could perhaps advance himself by taking the weapons directly to Thangorodrim.
Gil-galad's orders had been clear. He was to track the Orc as far as he could and obtain the weapons if possible, yet the young King had shown great foresight in surmising that their quarry may meet up with others of his kind and that they may present too great a challenge for a small group of Elven scouts to rout. In that scenario his orders were equally clear. Celeborn was to waste none of the warriors; they were to ride back in all haste to the main body, which would then advance forward and deal with them.
As ever he kept his thoughts calm and was alert for any further messages from his lady. He had not heard from her for some hours now and tried to stem the tide of concern that he felt at their separation in such dangerous times. He knew she was alive because their bond was un-severed, but that didn't stop him worrying.
The tent of Eonwe, the Forest of Brethil, Beleriand, First Age
"Put him down child."
Through the red haze that filmed his eyes Eonwe became aware of the gentle, but commanding voice of Tulcas. In an instant the veil cleared and his horrified gaze met the anguished expression in the eyes of the Elf that he currently had by the throat. The Herald stopped in mid-shake, just as the Elf was beginning to turn a particularly pretty shade of purple.
The shock of his actions resonated through him. He let go of the death grip he had around the warrior's throat and backed away. The Elf would have fallen to the ground had it not been for Tulcas catching him. The Vala gently lifted him onto Eonwe's cot and ran an exploratory hand over his form, but he had at least now returned to a somewhat more normal colour.
"Is he all right?" Eonwe's question came out in an agonised whisper. He felt as though someone had doused him in ice-cold water. Never before had he attacked anyone that was not an enemy and it had shocked him to his very core.
The silence that met his question was dreadful and Eonwe felt his stomach tighten, but finally Tulcas turned around with a smile on his face. "Some bruises and a lot of shock, but he will live to tell the tale of when the Herald of Manwe tried to throttle him for asking whether he required his meal now or later."
He winked at Eonwe who sank down onto a chair with relief and buried his head in his hands. "Oh Eru be thanked."
"I will fetch a healer." Tulcas left the tent and the Elf on the cot struggled up to a sitting position.
"There is no need, really. I am fine." He insisted.
"You should lie still until the healer has seen you." Eonwe got up and approached him with a view to gently pushing him back down. The young Elf blanched and sank back down with such a look of abject fear in his eyes that it made the Herald stop in his tracks. It suddenly occurred to Eonwe that the young warrior was afraid of him and it only added to his shame and mortification.
"I will not harm you little one." He said softly moving back to the chair and removing the threat.
A look of doubt had appeared on the warrior's face. "No my Lord. Of course not" But his tone was unconvinced as he gingerly fingered his throat and kept a wary eye on Eonwe's powerful hands.
What have I done? Eonwe gave an inward cry of remorse. What is happening to me?
He looked up as Tulcas reappeared with one of the healers who took in the tableau with a practised glance. The healer immediately went over to the cot and examined the injured warrior.
Tulcas hunkered down beside the distraught Herald's chair. His voice was filled with pity. "What happened child? It was as if you could not hear me, as if you were seeing or experiencing something completely different to the rest of us."
Eonwe dashed the tear that had begun to squeeze itself out of the corner of his eye away with the back of his hand and when he spoke his voice was choked with misery. "I was there." He whispered. "I was there among the willows with the mortal who looks like me, battling a group of Orcs." He stopped, shook his head and looked up at Tulcas with such anguish in his eyes that the Vala's heart constricted with pity. "No, that is not exactly right. I was not with him. I was him. He and I were one and the same."
The healer stood up and cleared his throat and both Vala and Maia turned to look at him. He gestured at his patient. "Bruises and shock, nothing more, however I will take him into the healer's tents and give him something to calm him. He will rest there overnight and return to his unit tomorrow." He glanced over at Eonwe. "He says you tried to strangle him my Lord." There was a note of distinct coolness in his tone.
Eonwe nodded but met the healer's accusing gaze directly. "Yes, I did, but not deliberately, I assure you."
The healer stared at him intently for a second, but then, as if satisfied by what he read in Eonwe's demeanour, he nodded. "Do I have your permission to take him my Lord?"
Eonwe nodded wearily and stood up. As the young warrior passed he reached out and touched his shoulder. "Forgive me little one. I was not myself."
This time, the warrior didn't flinch or draw back instead he gave the Herald a smile that warmed him a little. "I know my Lord, I can see that now. Please do not concern yourself about me unduly." His voice was hoarse from the bruising on his throat.
Eonwe gave him a grateful smile. "I will come and see you later if you will permit."
The warrior nodded. "Your visit will be welcome Lord." He inclined his head and followed the healer out.
"Do not concern myself?" Eonwe sank back down in the chair in misery. "How can I not concern myself? I cannot be trusted." He looked up at Tulcas. "You will have to lead them. If I cannot trust myself not to react when these visions or whatever they are assail me, then I am not fit to lead an army."
Tulcas sat down in the other chair and took Eonwe's cold hands in his own. "You said that you were him." He said gently. "Could you feel his thoughts as though they were separate to your own?"
Eonwe cast his mind back, but everything he remembered about the incident seemed jumbled and confused. "I am not sure." He said slowly. "But I do not think they were separate. He…I… was distracted by fear for the woman who had fallen and the blow given to the Orc who was attacking was considerably deflected by the momentary lack of concentration. The creature saw his chance and thrust his sword. I was angry. The mortal…ah…I were both enraged and we grabbed the creature by the throat and shook him, then I thrust the sword into his belly. I do not remember aught else until I heard your voice telling me to put my orderly down."
Tulcas nodded. "I thought as much, and what you have told me makes sense. I need to go and speak to Lord Manwe."
"Makes sense?" Eonwe's tone was filled with bitterness. "I wish it made sense to me. All I feel is an overwhelming sense of impending doom." He jumped up and started to pace around the tent. "Why is he here and why am I feeling and experiencing what he is feeling and experiencing? Who is he?"
Tulcas wisely remained quiet in the face of this fraught questioning, but this was a disturbing development that he needed to discuss with Manwe. He knew that Manwe had preferred the Herald to remain in ignorance about the mortal Gary Matthews until that situation was resolved if possible, but now Tulcas knew that it was becoming imperative that he was told the full story. It was no longer possible for him to function as a leader of the host whilst in a state of ignorance. At least if he was fully apprised of the situation they could make contingency plans.
Camp of Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor in exile, north of Nargothrond
Ereinion Gil-galad read Eonwe's missive for the umpteenth time and gnawed at his bottom lip in concern. There were parts of the letter that he had not shared with anyone, simply because Eonwe had stressed they were for his eyes only, namely the knowledge that one of the mortals wore the face of Eonwe, but his true nature and reason for being here were, as yet, unknown.
Cirdan had sent a scout ahead to forewarn the main battle group that they had not only found the mortals and were bringing them in, but also Lord Melannen, the missing son of Ingwe. In addition one of the mortals was badly injured and would need immediate attention. Never one for anything but blunt words, the Shipwright had also warned Gil-galad that one of the mortals was not human, but a Maia.
There was nothing wrong with Gil-galad's powers of reasoning and deduction and it was a tiny step to realise that the 'mortal with my face' and the 'mortal who looked like a Maia' were one and the same. He cursed himself for allowing Rion and Noruthalion, who would have recognised 'Eonwe' immediately, to go along with Cirdan's party. It was just that, at the time, he could not think of a viable or pressing reason for keeping them with him when Cirdan suggested that they should accompany him without giving away the information he had been asked not to speak of. This decision had complicated matters greatly.
There were going to be questions, and many of them, when they all arrived back at the main camp.
He expelled a huge sigh and re-folded the letter, placing it in its hiding place inside his tunic, then he got up and started to make his rounds of the camp. All the warriors he passed called out friendly greetings to their King and he answered them with sparkling eyes and friendly quips that belied the level of heavy anxiety that had settled around his heart.
Glorfindel watched his King with narrowed eyes filled with concern. This was just one of the many times he had caught Gil-galad reading and re-reading the letter from Eonwe. Each time he read it through, he would carefully re-fold it with a worried furrow between his brows and pursed lips. Then he would place it carefully inside his tunic and pace restlessly around the camp, ostensibly checking on the watches and stopping to speak to each and every warrior under his command.
Not that this wasn't appreciated by his warriors by any means, but it was fast becoming readily noticeable to everyone that he was very worried about something.
And that something definitely had to do with this task they had been set by the Herald. Glorfindel firmly resolved to get the King to talk to him about it. A trouble shared was a trouble halved when all was said and done.
It took no effort for the non-corporeal Olorin to follow Cirdan and his group as they rode back to Ereinion Gil-galad's main camp.
Eonwe carried the young woman who Olorin now knew was called Keem in front of him. She sat wrapped securely in his strong arms and even dozed contentedly against his chest. Olorin repressed a chuckle. Eonwe in no matter what form rode disgustingly superbly, just as he did everything, but he was seeing a side of the Herald so far firmly suppressed, especially since the disastrous attempt at a bonding with Arien the sun maiden.
It had been clear to all the other Maia that Eonwe had been deeply hurt by her rejection and subsequent flirtation with Tilion, but he had asked for no comfort from anyone, not even Manwe himself. The ever sensitive Olorin's heart had bled for the Herald as he stiffened his upper lip and viewed everything to do with his former love with pain-filled disdain, his only armour against the misery and hurt that he held within. Olorin would have readily comforted him had he but asked, but Eonwe kept everyone, including Ilmare who was as a sister to him, firmly at arm's length.
The future Eonwe had obviously been imbued with a strong sense of humanity and all of its quirks, including the ability to fall in love, and a part of Olorin's curious nature and thirst for knowledge about the corporeal Elves and Men was heightened by the fact that this version of Eonwe could tell him much about the future. This Eonwe was obviously not averse to falling in love and showed a confidence with the female sex that was not present in the old Eonwe.
Concentrate on the present Olorin. Lady Varda's amused voice tinkled through his consciousness. It is, after all, what you are there for. I see your plan and approve, but you will need to make your move soon, preferably before you reach the camp of Ereinion Gil-galad. You have chosen well my friend and all my blessings go with you.
Olorin humbly acquiesced and turned his attention to the man who the mortals called 'Sheef', now slumped bonelessly in Erestor's grip. His face was a deathly grey and he had long since given in to deep unconsciousness. The man Zhim rode beside Erestor and cast anxious glances at Sheef from time to time. He was obviously very concerned about his friend.
It was plain to see that Sheef was sinking fast from extreme blood loss and would not make it alive to where the healers awaited for him. His spirit already hovered anxiously around him in the form of a distressed deep orange aura. Olorin glanced quickly between Zhim and the injured man and made his decision. He did not have the ability to heal a mortally injured human outright, but he could lend his considerable Maia spirit and strength to sustain him until he could receive treatment for his injuries.
With no more than a whisper of movement, the Maia Olorin conveyed himself to the Chief. The calm, but powerful, blue of the Maia spirit met the distressed orange of the mortal and for a moment it was as if they stood face to face in corporeal form. The Chief cocked his head on one side in enquiry and the Maia indicated his desire. A ghost of a smile crossed the mortal's face and he bent his head in assent.
In the blink of a eye, the wounded fea of the Chief had been taken into the care of the Doomsman of the Valar who had, albeit reluctantly, agreed to this interchange at the request of Varda Elentari on the strict condition that it was to be restored to the mortal once he had been returned to his own time. Olorin would also be allowed access to the mortal's memories and experiences for that time so that he could function normally.
He settled himself within the Chief's unconscious form and began to impose his own strength of will and spirit on the grievous wounds.