Disclaimer: See Chapter 2

Notes to reviewers: Apologies for the delay in posting a new chapter. My broadband internet is experiencing problems with a fault that my providers are being tardy in fixing, so my connection is sporadic at best. I was looking after my six-year-old grandson last week and the opportunity for some quiet writing was minimal. He deserves better than sporadic attention from his grandma! I will say thank you to those who reviewed. Reviews are always wonderful to receive, but for me the point of writing the story is that I have fun doing it. If people have fun and enjoy reading it then that is a bonus for me. My one and only request is that you read and enjoy!

Chapter 23 – Soft words and hard arguments

"He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream
and he sometimes wondered whose it was
and whether they were enjoying it."
Douglas Adams
"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"

"The average man, who does not know what to do with his life,
wants another one which will last forever."
- Anatole (On immortality)

The camp of Ereinion Gil-galad, somewhere west of the Forest of Brethil, First Age

Major Gary Matthews, Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, sat bolt upright in his blankets and then winced as his head connected with a particularly low branch that appeared to have inconveniently placed itself behind him while he slept.

For a moment he couldn't exactly remember where he was and that remembrance didn't come to him until his bleary-eyed gaze had swept around a silent campsite, registered the soft snuffling and snorting of tethered horses and finally rested upon the small group of tall, unearthly-looking beings with long shining hair, gracefully pointed ears and even brighter and shinier eyes.

Elves.

He groaned inwardly as a flood of recent memories threatened to overwhelm him. Of course, he wasn't any place anywhere near as uncomplicated as his basher (1) out on exercise, but he was in a campsite run by Elves on the edge of some forest in the middle of God only knew where, in a place that shouldn't exist in any kind of reality.

The small group of Elves who sat around the glowing campfire and spoke in their soft-toned melodic language hadn't noticed that he was awake yet and he didn't really want them to. What he actually needed was a few moments to himself to come to terms with everything that had happened to him and his small group since they had arrived at the Forest of Dean to carry out the relatively normal task of looking for weapons and a severed head five days earlier.

A slightly hysterical giggle burst up through his chest at the latter thought and he struggled manfully to stifle it so that he didn't disturb anyone. He simply didn't feel up to long involved explanations about why he was cackling maniacally to himself in the middle of the night when he should have been asleep even if he could have leapt over the language barrier. On the other hand, there was definitely something supremely cockeyed and morbidly hilarious about the notion that looking for a severed head was anything like a normal task, yet compared with everything they had been through in the past five days, it seemed blissfully so.

He lay back down, turned his head and allowed his attention to stray to two figures heaped in the blankets that lay quite near him. The gently snoring lump of blanket just a couple of feet away from him identified itself as Jim Moore's sleeping form and if he strained his head upwards slightly without removing it from the folded blanket that served as his pillow he could just make out Kim's fair hair in another heap of blankets. She had securely wrapped herself in the blankets like a cocoon and he chuckled quietly to himself at the sight.

It had been lucky for her that many of the healers that accompanied the High King's battle group were female and, given her unfortunate physical situation, Gary had been only too delighted to hand her over to them. Despite the language difficulties, they had done their job admirably and it was a well-fed, comfortable and much cleaner Kim, dressed in borrowed clothing, who had been delivered back to Gary by a graceful Elven woman who smiled and bowed to him as she did so. Kim had smiled sleepily at Gary as she accepted the blankets he handed to her and he had only resisted pulling her into his arms by the skin of his teeth.

Jim's quiet dependability and support were beginning to be one of the mainstays of the little group now that Chief Knowles had succumbed to his injuries. Kim wasn't used to acting in the field and was still trying to find her feet, but the young copper was proving to be a real gem.

Gary shifted his gaze to the healer's tents where the Chief had been taken immediately they had made camp-fall. He had tried to go in after the tall warriors as they gently lifted their burden and carried it carefully to where the healers were waiting, but a strong slim hand on his arm prevented him. He had turned to find the Elf who had helped them fight off the Orcs smiling gently at him with a look of sympathy in his dark, limpid eyes.

He had spoken in that melodic soft language that Gary assumed was Elvish and shook his head. In turn, Gary lifted his shoulders helplessly and shook his head to indicate that he didn't understand, whereupon the Elf pointed to himself and said carefully.

"E-res-tor." Then he smiled and pointed to Gary.

Gary cast an impatient look towards the healer's tents, but realised that if he wanted these beautiful beings to help him and the others, he needed to play the game the way they wanted it played. He smiled and pointed to his chest. "Gary."

Erestor's laugh was musical and lovely to hear, just like the language he spoke. "Garee." He repeated dutifully and laughed again.

Gary laughed with him and pointed at him. "Erestor?"

The Elf nodded enthusiastically and gently grasping his arm, gestured towards a group of his colleagues who were currently surrounding a tall, slim but regal-looking dark haired elf.

The big Boss Elf. Gary thought to himself wryly, although the 'Boss Elf' himself actually looked quite young from a distance.

"Come." Erestor said in a heavily accented, but unmistakable attempt at English.

Gary started in surprise, but allowed himself to be drawn across to the group and Jim detached himself from them almost immediately. He had a slightly worried look on his face.

Gary raised an eyebrow in query and Erestor diplomatically distanced himself so that they could talk in relative privacy. "What gives?" He asked quietly.

Jim shook his head. "I can't understand everything they say, unless they speak really slowly, but I think the tall dark-haired chap is their King. High King in fact, if I understand them correctly."

Gary shrugged. "I don't see the problem. So he's a King, so what? All the better really, at least they have resources. Perhaps we can get them to help us find that creature and the missing weapons."

"Well it's not a problem really." Jim hesitated. "It's more who he is rather than what he is."

Gary sighed wearily. The events of the last few days were beginning to catch up and he could feel his thoughts wandering randomly, when what he really needed to do was focus. "Okay, I give up. Who is he?"

"Somebody who, by rights, shouldn't exist except in the pages of a book." Jim replied bluntly. "As far as I can gather from what is being said, his name is Ereinion Gil-galad. The silver-haired bearded one who brought us here is called Cirdan and the tall golden-haired impressive looking one is called Glorfindel."

Gary looked puzzled. "I still don't see… What book are we talking about?"

"They're characters from the works of J R R Tolkien, Gary. He was the Professor chap who wrote the Lord of the Rings. Ereinion Gil-galad was the High King of the Noldor Elves in exile at the end of the First Age and through the Second Age until his death at the Last Alliance. Cirdan was…is a shipwright. He builds or will build the ships that ferry the Elves from Middle-earth to Valinor. Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower was a warrior of a hidden city called Gondolin who died killing a Balrog of Morgoth while helping his folk escape."

Gary looked over at the vibrant, shining golden Elf. "He looks remarkably alive to me." He said with a tired grin.

Jim laughed reluctantly. "He was re-embodied and sent back to Middle-earth to help Gil-galad, but the point I'm making is that all of these people aren't, or shouldn't be, real. They're meant to be characters from Tolkien's imagination. Even though Middle-earth was supposedly meant to relate to our earth, it was a separate place with a separate history, filled with things like Balrogs, Elves and dwarves, not to mention magical rings of power and stuff. It's not real." His voice rose slightly when he said this and the little knot of Elves, who were all talking animatedly at their slightly bemused looking King, stopped and looked at Jim and Gary for a moment before resuming their conversation.

Gary put a hand on Jim's arm. He could feel how tense his muscles were and knew that exhaustion was rapidly overtaking them both.

"Okay, okay." He said in the most soothing voice he could conjure up. "I realise that all of this is a bit much to take in and I'm not saying that you're wrong, but we're all exhausted and, strange as it may seem, for the first time in so many days I feel secure enough to let go and get some real sleep after some real food. We can wrestle with it in the morning." He looked around and then up at the sky. They had ridden a fair amount of the day and the blue sky was beginning to darken to the hue of early evening. The smell of food cooking was making his stomach grumble painfully.

As if he was aware of the conundrum being experienced by his guests, the tall dark-haired Elf who Jim had referred to as the High King held up his hand and the talking stopped abruptly. He came over to Gary and Jim, smiled, placed one hand over his heart and bowed.

"Mae Govannen." Despite his apparent youth, his voice had a lovely deep reassuring timbre.

"It means 'well met'." Jim muttered in Gary's ear. "It's a traditional greeting."

Gary held out his hand. "How do you do?" He said politely, hoping his tone would be self-explanatory.

The Elf looked a little taken aback at being offered a hand, but after a slight hesitation he took it in his strong firm grasp and smiled at Gary before launching into an introduction similar to Erestor's by pointing to himself. "Ereinion." He said firmly, but his shining grey eyes were twinkling like stars.

Here we go again. Gary sighed and pointed to himself. "Gary." Then he pointed to Jim and said. "Jim."

Ereinion bowed. "Gar-ee. Zhim." He said and then laughed and offered his own hand to Jim who chuckled.

"Close enough." He said cheerfully as he took Gil-galad's proffered hand. "Mae Govannen." He added as an afterthought.

Ereinion's face lit up and he let loose a steam of words that made Jim back away, hold out his hands and shake his head. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. You need to speak more slowly." He said with a flustered look at Gary.

He needn't have worried because the High King seemed to understand. He gently grasped Jim's shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze and then proceeded to speak very slowly and concisely. Every now and again Jim would nod and reply in a very halting version of their language while the High King patiently strove to understand the bastardised, mangled Elvish. Gary stood by silently, frustrated that he couldn't understand anything that was being said or offer anything to the disjointed conversation.

Finally Jim turned to Gary. "He bids us welcome and seems to know about our problems and the missing weapons, although how he does is a mystery to me. I just don't understand enough Sindarin to get the ins and outs of the whole thing. He's apparently here to help us." He finished on a rather confused note and Gary was too tired to question him further.

"Okay." Gary smiled at the High King who beamed back at him. "Le hannon."

The High King grinned and made the 'hand over heart' gesture again. He spoke very slowly to Jim and indicated the tall golden warrior who also bowed.

Gary raised a querying eyebrow at Jim. All this bowing was making him feel dizzy.

"The tall blond chap is Lord Glorfindel. If we go with him he'll show us where we can clean up and there'll be a meal waiting for us afterwards, then he'll show us where we can bed down for the night. I think he said that he would discuss things tomorrow, but I'm not certain." Jim explained.

Gary chuckled. "You seem to be understanding quite a bit of the lingo."

Jim flushed. "Only if they speak very slowly. It's a lot different from the 'teach yourself Sindarin' courses they put on the Internet."

"Still, it's rapidly becoming clear that we'd be pretty lost without you and since we desperately need to discuss this whole situation, having someone on our side who can understand even some of the language is better than no one at all." Gary replied quietly. Jim blushed and muttered under his breath in embarrassment.

Satisfied that his guests had understood the preparations for their comfort, the High King smiled briefly at Gary and Jim before turning back to the general discussion with his warriors. Glorfindel led his charges away to experience their first bit of Elven hospitality and some civilisation since being thrust so abruptly into Middle-earth only days earlier.

Gary lay quietly and went over the events of the evening in his mind. As much as he wanted to deny it, the possibility that they were no longer in their own time was becoming more of a probability as time wore on. However Mrs Matthew's little lad was a practical soul and he made a decision to just let events pan out rather than try to find logical reasons why everything had happened the way it had.

What were worrying though, were the dreams he was having. They had started out as random scattered fragments but were rapidly coalescing themselves into a coherent pattern and he felt as though he was losing a little part of himself with each ensuing dream.

Gary wasn't the only one having trouble resting that night. Not too far away and well within viewing range of the three mortals, Melannen, Rion and Noruthalion sat around their own small fire and discussed the matter of the alleged impostor.

"We should tell Lord Gil-galad of our suspicions." Rion maintained firmly. "This Maia or whatever he is meant to be is impersonating Eonwe, that much is plain to me."

Melannen glanced at his young companion. "Yet this impostor, as you maintain him to be, was responsible for saving my life. I have seen and spoken with Eonwe many times; indeed, I learnt my first swordsmanship from him as an elfling. He was gentle and kind, perhaps a little remote also, but that is because he is the Herald of Manwe and elevated above us. I recognise the same qualities in this Garee as were present in Eonwe. True, he does not seem to recall Valinor, me or Quenya, but he could have lost his memory."

"Truly a magnificent achievement, even for a Maia who is mightiest in arms." Scoffed Rion. "To have left the main host camp after we did, join up with the mortals and lose his memories in what must have only been a day or so. Nay, he is an impostor I am sure of it. I would wager that he is one of the enemy's minions sent to cause trouble. Not that I am not pleased that he rescued you Lord Melannen." He added hastily as Melannen's mouth twisted wryly and his eyebrow climbed up to his hairline.

Melannen looked at Noruthalion who had, so far, said very little on the matter. "What think you Noruthalion? Are you of the same mind as Rion?"

Noruthalion said nothing for a moment. He picked up a stick and began to idly draw letters in the dirt and ashes surrounding the fire, but a pensive expression played across his slender face. Finally, just as Rion had begun to bristle with impatience at the silence, he spoke. "I know little of Lord Eonwe, other than what I have seen at festivals or on the few occasions we are summoned to Mahaxanar. He did once visit Lord Finarfin's court to join in the celebrations surrounding the Lady Earwen's begetting day, but I did not meet him. I was too young and watched the festivities with my nurse from a balcony above the main feasting hall. I can recall him dancing with the Lady Earwen, but I know nothing of his true nature. I would say however that if this Garee were a minion of the enemy and a Maia he could perhaps impersonate someone like Eonwe quite well…"

"There!" Rion burst in impetuously. "You see? Noruthalion agrees with me. We must tell Lord Gil-galad. If we do not then we put all here at risk." He made as if to jump up to his feet, but was forestalled when Noruthalion grabbed his elbow and drew him back down.

"I did not say that I agreed with you Rion." He said softly. "I merely meant to say that a minion of the enemy would not necessarily show a foul face to those he was sent to hinder. However, I sense no ill in this Garee at all. He is most genuinely concerned for his companion, the one they call Sheef and the others. His face and actions clearly showed this. I can see the resemblance between Garee and the Herald of Manwe, yet…" He hesitated slightly as if searching for the right words. "There is something about him that makes me think that Garee is also very different from our Herald. Something is missing and not just his memory. To me, it is as if he had absolutely no recollection of this place rather than merely lost a memory of it. He does not even recall Elves he has met on many occasions or the task he has been sent here to carry out for the Valar. If I did not think it was a ridiculous notion, I would say that he is indeed Eonwe, but an Eonwe from a different time or place, with a different past altogether."

Both Melannen and Rion stared at him; Rion looked as if he thought his friend had lost his senses entirely.

"How could that be?" Rion's tone was aghast. "It is simply not possible. There is past and there is present. No one other than perhaps the Valar and Eru Iluvator know truly what the future may bring."

"Indeed." Melannen said thoughtfully. "Yet that on its own gives some little credence to Noruthalion's theory. I have a notion that many futures may be possible and can be altered by many events. One small action by any of us in the next few hours could alter our individual futures completely. What if one of those many futures has impinged on our own present? What if Garee is, as Noruthalion believes, an Eonwe from another future and therefore has no memories of Middle-earth as it is now? Perhaps his memories are of another place, like this, but slightly different. I think what we might have is two Eonwes, both genuine, yet both belonging to different realities."

Rion deflated slightly. "I am confused." He said in a sulky voice. "I do not understand this talk of other futures or realities and past events."

"I can give you no explanations that would make sense to you." Melannen said quietly. "Since I do not understand it entirely myself. My thoughts came from a discussion I once overheard between my father and Olorin. Olorin said that he had reason to believe that the time barriers between future, present and past could be breached, but it would take someone very, very powerful to achieve it and a certain set of circumstances to encourage it."

"Someone like Morgoth perhaps?" Noruthalion looked at Melannen from under his dark fringe of eyelashes. The atmosphere around them seemed to grow very still and darken at the mention of Morgoth's name.

Melannen glanced around uncomfortably. "Yes." He whispered in reply. "But I think we would do well not to bandy his name around too much in this place. He has spies everywhere and his arm is long." The two younger Elves also glanced around uneasily. "I think for now we should just watch this Garee and see what he does. With three of us observing him, the opportunity for mischief will be less. Let us see what he does and how he interacts with Lord Gil-galad and the other Moriquendi. If we see anything ill in his behaviour we can then approach the High King or, if necessary, one of us could return to Lord Eonwe and report our findings."

Olorin took the opportunity of watching everything unfold around him with huge interest and fascination. Although he could not actually perform healing on this mortal body, his spirit was powerful enough to sustain it while the healers worked their own magic.

The wound itself had not been bad, certainly not bad by the modern standards of medicine that his host and three companions were used to, that much Olorin had gleaned from the Chief's memories and experiences. What had made it a lot worse than it should have been were a number of factors, the chief one among them being that the Chief was both exhausted and in need of bodily nourishment. Had he been rested and well fed, the loss of blood would not have drained him quite as much as it did. Nor would infection have set in quite as quickly through dirt in the wound.

Olorin lay unmoving while the healers silently glided around his bed and efficiently cleaned the wound, packed it with healing herbs and stitched it up. The herbal drink that they had managed to make him swallow did not numb the pain caused by these ministrations, but it certainly made the body relax. He had no doubt at all that had the mortal been inside his own body he would have been in a deep sleep, but the drink had little effect on a Maia's spirit and Olorin could overcome the effects with ease.

He used the time to access the Chief's memories and discovered that his name was not Sheef, nor was it pronounced with the soft 'sh' sound, but rather with the somewhat harder 'ch' sound. He also discovered that Chief had a given name, which was Harold. In fact he had two. Harold and Knowles, both commonly used together. The name Chief was in fact a sort of military title, rather than an actual name.

There were other deeper memories that the Maia did not attempt to access, because they were much darker than the ordinary memories and experiences the Chief used on a day-to-day basis. He had a wife and two daughters and through the memories of his family and his life Olorin managed to get a fascinating glimpse into the world that these strange mortals lived in; a world very different to either Middle-earth or Aman.

It was a place of machinery and gadgetry. It was also a world of strife, poverty, hunger and war, which marched alongside the great wealth of what the Chief called 'a consumer society'. There was a huge gap between the rich and the not so rich and this was something that horrified Olorin who came from a place where everything was plentiful and nobody wanted for anything, physically or spiritually.

All in all, the world that the Chief and Eonwe's future self inhabited was no less dangerous and only marginally more pleasant than Middle-earth was under the thrall of Morgoth Baugir in the First Age and Olorin found the thought rather depressing. The world of these mortals had its dictators too, and no matter how pleasing the public persona, the end result was still the same; an oppressed mass of people at the bottom with a few powerful and rich at the top of the tree.

There also seemed to be little magic in this strange world, even of the natural kind. Nature and her resources were largely ignored while progress was made elsewhere. The second born of this world had long since lost their connection with the good earth, each other and the bounty of nature and instead clung to this strange item called 'money' which was apparently some form of bartering currency, machinery and technology. All new words that were grist to the mill of a Maia of Olorin's highly inquisitive nature.

Olorin sighed. Perhaps this was why Eru had taken it upon himself to send a Maia to them. Maybe Eonwe in the persona of this Gary Matthews was there to try and redress the balance somehow. It would make sense to send someone with the immense physical and mental strength of the Herald of Manwe. Anyone else would fold under the weight of the responsibility.

All in all, the information that Olorin had managed to sift from the Chief's memories and experiences was not wholly pleasant. There were good parts of course, such as the great love he bore for his family and his concerns for the future of his children. Even the military part had its amusing and pleasing aspects, but the picture of the world he lived in and his feelings about it were disquieting to say the least, especially to someone who lived in the divine aura of the Valar and the bliss of the Blessed Isle.

He also gleaned that the Chief was subordinate to Gary who apparently had the title of Major, a senior rank in the military of that time to which they both belonged. The woman Keem, who he now knew was actually called Kim with a short 'i' sound in the middle, also belonged to the same military and was very subordinate to Gary.

Their language, which the Chief called 'English', was complex, confusing and utterly amazing. There were so many words that appeared to sound the same but meant something completely different. Using the wrong word in the wrong context could prove to be a major hazard and he would have to be careful. All he could do was listen to the others when they spoke and try to learn as he went along.

The trouble was, he didn't have all that much time to assimilate the Chief's persona and make sure that he encouraged Gary and Kim to cement their relationship. He could only occupy the Chief's body for a limited length of time before Namo was forced to release the Chief's fea from the Halls of Waiting.

He also knew that Gary was on a limited timescale. Only one Eonwe could occupy one present at any given time. Somehow Olorin had to help Gary/Eonwe achieve his aim in finding his modern weapons and get back to where he could step through to his own time period as quickly as possible. The closer in proximity the two Eonwes became, the more difficult this would be to achieve. The Eonwe of this time was inherently stronger because he belonged in this world and Gary/Eonwe didn't, therefore he would eventually impose himself upon his modern counterpart to the point where Gary/Eonwe would cease to exist at all.

Olorin had a lot to do and not much time to do it in.

The race was well and truly on.

(1) Basher: Military terminology for a one-man tent usually created from a groundsheet or the massive rubber poncho that all soldiers were issued with. I am not certain whether soldiers are still issued with them these days. However, anything near at hand and which was suitable for the purpose could be utilised.