Disclaimer: See Chapter 2
Notes to reviewers:
Pink Panther – I completely agree that Olorin is a fascinating character. In spite of the fact that he felt he had nothing to offer in the run up to the War of the Ring and told Manwe as much, I always get the impression that out of all of the Maiar, he was perhaps the one who spent most of his time trying to understand the world and the people around him. I believe that this is that character's true strength. The vitality he brought with him, along with the sensitivity to the feelings oor tutting to himself and shamortal or not.
It's always been my impression that the Valar hardly understood the Elves, never mind the Second born. They made so many ill thought out decisions with regard to the Eldar and the future of Middle-earth and were genuinely puzzled when people like Feanor thumbed their noses at them. They seemed so stuck in their rut of perfection that it bewildered them when not all of the Elves wanted to live and bask in their reflected glory in paradise. In essence, the Valar were the ultimate snobs and 'klutzes' of Tolkien's world and this coloured their every action. I can almost see Eru Iluvator tutting to himself and shaking his head in despair every time they went off half-cocked and did something to make things worse.
I always see the Maiar, being the direct servants of the Valar and Ainur in their own right, as reflections of their masters and mistresses. Curunir (Saruman), Sauron and Olorin (Gandalf) stand out from their colleagues (as highlighted by their subsequent actions) and Eonwe does to a lesser degree even though he's always painted as the loyal obedient Herald of Manwe. I've always felt that underneath that seemingly obedient exterior is a passionate, fiercely intelligent man trying to claw his way out, which is why I chose to make him Gary Matthews in 2005, rather than who he was during the War of Wrath.
Kaellana: Welcome to the crazy fic! Thank you for your wonderful comments. I realised quite early on in fanfics especially in this fandom that writers either made Tolkien's characters so familiar and modern that they were completely out of character, or they erred on the other side and made them so formal that they seemed to be one dimensional. I like my characters to come alive, both original and those belonging to other authors. I feel it would be less than courteous not to make them come alive. The thing that many writers have problems with is making them become real without either completely mangling them or making them utterly peripheral, like cardboard cutouts.
Original characters in Tolkien fanfics are very strange animals. Usually writers err on the side of caution and make them belong to the world and time of Middle-earth and the Elves. This way they can create an original character that doesn't smack of 'Mary-Suedom'! Although it has to be said that this doesn't always work either. I've seen many an Elven or Rohirric Mary Sue.
If, however, they try to put original characters in from another timeline completely, then the OC's seem to me to be like square pegs in round holes. They could fit if the correct caution was used when putting the story together, but they usually don't because the writers try to make modern people fit into an ancient setting without acknowledging the obvious difficulties such as technological advances and language barriers. My way around these problems was to have the whole story revolve around each group primarily interacting among themselves and 'bumping' into each other and interacting only when the storyline demanded it. It's not an easy task, because I have to change my outlook on how a character will react to any given situation with each different group.
I think the comment made by one reviewer that she actually 'cared' what happened to the original characters is a very telling one and one that I particularly took as a great compliment. You have since reinforced that and for that I thank you!
I also write about Brits because I am a Brit. The military angle was a given for me because of my background. However I do have to remember to give a footnote explaining the Brit/Military terminology for the sake of other nationalities that might read the story.
Special note for Ellfine: I hope everything is getting back to normal after the damage to your house while you were away on vacation. Take your time, read when you can and review when you are able. Above all, take some time for yourself.
Note: To anyone who may have caught this before I re-uploaded it. I spotted mistakes and uploaded it to correct them.
Chapter 24 – Through a glass, darkly"The world has achieved brilliance without wisdom, power without conscience.
Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants.
We know more about war than we know about peace,
And more about killing than we know about living."
- Omar Bradley
"Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come."
- Carl Sandburg
"It is your move." The voice was soft, but underlain with immense power.
Chief Knowles looked up and directly into the depthless, yet compassionate eyes of his opponent. "You catch on quickly." He remarked as he turned his gaze back to the chessboard that sat on the carved ebony table between them. He regarded the move that the other had made and grinned. "I thought you'd never played chess before."
Namo, Lord of Mandos and the Doomsman of the Valar sat back in his high-backed, carved ebony chair. His black silk robes were softly draped around his person and his long blue-black hair was swept away from his handsome face and confined by means of warrior braids tied with an ebony clip behind his head.
"I have not." He said, and now there was a distinct twinkle in his usually sombre eyes. "This is a game of your time. Yet it is a game of strategy nevertheless and strategies rarely change, they merely develop as more people think of other things to improve them. It is still your move." He pointed out gently.
Chief stared down at the board and his expression was bemused. "Why did you choose these chess characters?" He asked curiously. "They seem to represent what's happening back there." He made a stabbing gesture with his finger towards the east and Middle-earth.
Namo laughed softly. "The pieces do not please you?"
"Well…they're nice enough and beautifully made. It's what they stand for that bothers me." The Chief shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He pointed at Namo's chess pieces. "See, those represent the Elves and my lot and you seem to have given me the enemy's pieces. I have the Orcs and the Balrogs, so every time I make a move I feel as though I'm making decisions against what is best for Gary and the others."
"Someone has to play the enemy side." Namo observed and the twinkle in his eyes turned into laughter. "Who better than someone who knows nothing of the Orc or the enemy and can therefore move them impartially?"
The Chief looked doubtful. "I'm not sure that I am impartial. After all, whatever move I make could result in potential disaster for the people I care about."
"Can you say that you have never made decisions that were potentially dangerous for those in your charge?" Namo countered.
Chief sat back and expelled a sigh, or at least it would have been a sigh had his body been real and not something manufactured to make him feel more comfortable about being incorporeal. His mind flew unbidden back in time, or forward depending on one's point of view.
The smell of death made him nauseous and acrid smoke stung his eyes, but that wasn't the only thing that was causing the tears to flow down his grimy cheeks. The path they took as they flowed down his cheek left clean tracks in the dirt and cam cream and trickled into his mouth leaving a salty taste on the tongue.
"Don't leave me Sarge." A voice, weakening by the second, caused him to glance down at the young man in his arms. "I'm scared." His young face twisted in momentary agony as his body tried to cope with the hideous wound he had received.
Sergeant Knowles, Royal Marine Commandos, pressed down on the mass of field dressings he was trying to use as a pressure bandage on a gut wound that he knew fine well would take this kid's life, no matter how hard he pressed or how many buckets of tears he cried. All he could do was sit and watch as a young life seeped slowly into the dusty, uncompromising ground.
He was also aware that his platoon was involved in some kind of firefight further on. He could hear the shouts and he knew that he needed to be with them. "Try to hang on son." He said gently. "The medics will be here soon and you'll be as right as rain."
The young man's eyes flickered open and he stared into Chief's eyes. "I'm going to die aren't I?" He asked with the sudden foresight of one who was already slipping away.
Knowles bit his lip. "Of course not." He managed to force a jovial tone despite the chaos, death and mayhem around him. "They'll fix you up good and proper."
The dying soldier found the strength from somewhere to reach up and grab a handful of Knowles' combat jacket. He coughed and a thick trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. "If I don't make it Sarge, I need you to tell my mum…" He gasped as the pain hit him again, but rallied a moment later. "Tell my mum that I love her. You'll do that won't you? Please?"
The tears blotted out Knowles' vision. "Of course I will, but you're not going to die." His voice was thick and ragged with emotion. "I'm sorry lad. I'm sorry. Oh god."
The young man managed a smile that was more reminiscent of a grimace of pain than anything humorous. "Stop it Sarge. You did what was best. We had to get away from the vehicles. You took a chance and I was just unlucky."
The effort of speaking that many sentences proved too much for him and he finally slumped into merciful unconsciousness. His fingers released their hold on the jacket and his hand dropped bonelessly down by his side. Knowles gently eased his head back down onto his rolled up jacket and slid away from him. He got to his feet cautiously, glancing around him.
As he made his way from cover to cover to reach the remainder of his platoon, he heard a vehicle and turned around, hand tightening on his assault rifle just in case. He needn't have worried. It was a British Army land rover with a red cross and a red crescent (1) painted on the side that lurched and bounced across the rough terrain and stopped beside the wounded man. The last thing he saw before resolutely turning away and heading towards the rest of the lads was the young man being lifted onto the back of the vehicle.
His next memory was of a cold grey day in a cemetery in North Yorkshire. The honour guard had been dismissed after the ceremony and it was only family and friends that now surrounded the grave. He seemed to be standing outside himself as he watched the grief stricken mother accept the folded Union Jack from the officer in charge. He wanted to go and speak to her and he knew he would eventually have to, but somehow he couldn't get his feet to move or his mouth to say the words that he had been charged to deliver by a dying man.
He stood in silent misery, head hung down, until the mother came to stand in front of him. "You were with my son when…" Her voice cracked with misery and all he could do was nod mutely.
"H...he..." Was all he could stutter as he stared into the tear washed eyes of the woman.
She put her hand on his arm. "I know." She said softly. "He told you to tell me that he loves me. I knew my son very well Sergeant Knowles, as all mothers do, I know he loves me and he'll always be with me." She put her hand over her heart. "In here. You did the best you could do and he admired you. He often mentioned you in his letters home."
He swallowed back the tears and stood straighter. "He was a fine soldier and you should be proud of him."
For the first time that day she smiled through her tears. "We are."
Somehow her courage was all he needed to get through the rest of the day.
"A difficult thing to do, to make a decision that may not benefit all." Namo interrupted the flow of memories gently. "You knew there was a chance that not all may survive yet you served the needs of the majority, as any warrior who is in charge must needs do."
Chief blinked away the hot tears. "Yes, but it finished me off. I was no more good after that. When I got back home from Afghanistan I applied to re-badge. Parents should never outlive their children and I was tired of seeing death all around me." He gave a rueful smile. "And now look at me. Back in the front line with death around every corner, only this time it's me who got wounded." He reached out and took firm hold of the Orc chess piece that he knew fine well represented the one who had stalked them and now carried the weapons to his master. He moved the piece so that it stood between the main body of Orcs and Balrogs and the advancing Elven warriors.
Namo bent closer to the board and then looked up with a smile. "A very interesting move." He commented. "You place Thadak on his own and have not advanced him to join with the rest of the Orcs. Would his journey not be easier in a larger group of his own kind for protection?"
"Thadak?"
Namo's expression was inscrutable. "Thadak is his name, but then there is no reason why you would have known that."
Chief gave a short bark of laughter. "Oh well, now you've gone and done it haven't you?" He said ruefully.
A look of puzzlement slid over Namo's face. "Done it? What have I done?"
Chief picked up the Thadak piece and stared at it before putting it back down on the board, back in the same place he had placed it earlier. "You've given him a name. That's fatal. The enemy don't have names, it makes it more personal and them harder to kill." He stared critically at Thadak and then at the other pieces. "I think he'll be faster and safer alone. He travels fastest who travels alone. He needs to get his burden to the Boss Macoulah safely. From what I've seen of his fellow Orcs, there's less chance of that happening if he joins up with them."
"You have given him an advantage then, against your own people." Came Namo's sly reply.
Chief shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. He'd be harder to track in a group. On his own, well that's a different story. Whatever he does he'll have to slow his journey now because he's between the devil and the deep blue sea. Orcs who are not necessarily his friends on one side and the Elves, who are definitely not his friends, on the other. I wouldn't be in his shoes for all the tea in China."
He cheerfully whistled a few bars of the old hit song 'Stuck in the middle' and Namo chuckled. The Lord of Mandos moved one of his pieces, the one that represented Lord Ereinion Gil-galad and his battle group, directly in the path of the advancing Orcs and sat back with a smug smile on his face.
The Chief frowned and then laughed. "Oh now, that's just plain nasty."
The Lord of Mandos gave him an inscrutable smile. "Yet it is only a game, is it not?" He enquired cryptically.
Thadak squatted down at the summit of a small hill that was topped with some rough bushes and some gnarled weather-beaten trees. It seemed that no matter which way he looked, he had enemies, both immediate and potential. A few leagues to the west of him stood the army of shining Elves from across the big water with their commander who shone so brightly it made him want to vomit. Accompanying him was one of their gods, whose face Thadak would not be able to look upon without being instantly blinded. Or so he had been told.
A couple of leagues to the east of him towards the ruined Elven city of Nargothrond lay the camp of yet more shining Elves, although these Elves were vastly different to their counterparts from across the big water. Oh they shone, rightly enough, but with a different light and whilst both were formidable, fierce warriors, the Elves who came from the shores of Middle-earth were greater foes than the others for the plain and simple reason that they had more experience with fighting Orcs. Their wisdom came from hard battles and even harder defeats. The wisdom of those from across the big water came from the Gods themselves, yet that alone would not be enough to make them victorious.
Rumour abounded among the Orcs and lesser minions of the Great Enemy that the commander of the host had forbidden the Elves of Middle-earth to join in the War, yet this was not what Thadak was seeing. Every day more small units of Elven warriors tagged along at the back of the main army. Just two moons ago Thadak himself had seen the small army of an Elf well known to the Orcs as Red-Hair. He had seen for himself how the other Elves shunned Red-Hair and his clan. They called them 'Kinslayers' and seemed horrified and disgusted by them. Red-Hair neither seemed to care nor be interested in what his fellow Elves thought of him but he fought with a fierceness and efficiency that Thadak could appreciate.
He smiled a terrible smile. Red-Hair would have made a formidable ally, but despite being shunned by the others, he did not seem the type to be a turncoat. Instead, even to Thadak's ignorant eye, he and the dark-haired one with the beautiful voice who rode with him seemed driven by some other deeper and darker force than a desire to overcome the Great Enemy in Thangorodrim.
With them and their warriors rode two identical youngsters, no more than striplings even, who carried the light of the gods in their grey eyes and the mark of the second born on their faces despite their gracefully pointed ears. Brothers, Thadak surmised. Possibly kin of Red-Hair and the other one.
He grunted softly to himself and clicked his tongue in exasperation. No matter how hard he searched the fastest road was blocked. He could run to the west, but would be slowed down by having to elude the many relentless scouting parties of the huge army of the Gods. His plan had initially been to head straight north, but now a large war party of Orcs and Wargs was heading south directly down that road having managed to avoid travelling near the forest where army of the Gods was camped. Directly in their path lay the battle camp of the King from the mouth of the river that flowed into the big water, that which the Elves called the Mouth of Sirion. Sooner or later both groups would meet and there would be a battle.
Thadak could not afford to be distracted by a battle and if he joined up with the war party he would be forced to abandon his precious burden and fight. If he explained what his mission was to the Orcs in the war party he knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that he wouldn't live to complete it. It would be a simple thing for one of them to kill him in the heat of battle and then claim the mission, and the reward, for himself
The insidious warning that he should keep to himself and take no counsel with others kept niggling at the back of his small brain.
Especially not those of his own kind.
Thadak slumped morosely down and rested his back against one of the trees. He was trapped and could have kicked himself for taking a detour from the path that would have led him away and then back to his northerly route, thereby skirting both the Orcs and the Elves from Sirion. He had no idea why he did it even, it just seemed that for a moment his thoughts were clouded and when he saw clearly again he was between two hostile forces.
Now what was he to do?
The camp of Ereinion Gil-galad somewhere north of Nargothrond, Beleriand, First Age
Kim hummed happily under her breath as she sauntered back from the river with the Elven woman who had accompanied her. Life felt better. So okay there was no tampax, but her belly wasn't as sore and the flow was light. The woman with her whose name she couldn't even begin to pronounce had supplied her with some cloths and a makeshift sanitary belt. She had also showed her how to get them clean. It was a pain in the bum to have to mess around like that, but Kim felt she could live with it, for a while at least. At least it only happens once a month. She comforted herself.
She felt less happy and sure about Gary Matthews. On one hand his eyes told her that he wanted her and this made her stomach feel fluttery and turned her knees to jelly. On the other hand, he seemed utterly determined to impose his rank over everything that she did, even to the point of demanding to know where she was going when she headed to the river to wash up.
Kim had, of course, drawn herself up to her full height, which was five foot nothing on a stick, and given him an icy glare which was meant to tell him that it was female stuff and he should mind his own damn business. However, Kim's full height didn't seem to impress him much, especially considering that the top of her head didn't even reach his elbow. The icy glare was directed somewhere in the area of his lower chest which lessened its effect somewhat.
Despite the considerable language difficulties, it was the healer who smiled and gave Gary an explanation using a few words of Elvish and many hand gestures. Once he got the gist of what she was trying to say, Gary had flushed to the roots of his hair, bowed courteously to both of them and backed away with an apologetic smile.
Even though every nerve in her body was screaming at her to accept the apology with a smile and mature understanding, another part of her obstinate brain insisted on making her sniff haughtily, give him a glance that would have withered Morgoth where he stood and marched off towards the river without a backward glance.
The healer laughed that silvery, bell-like laugh that all the Elves, male and female, seemed to have, gave Gary a merry, but speaking glance, and hurried after her.
In spite of the fact that Gary had just been given the brush off by the woman he wanted more than anything to impress, he couldn't help smiling ruefully at the situation. Embarrassment swiftly followed amusement when he realised that practically everyone in the camp must know about his feelings for her. They had to be written all over his face every time he spoke to or looked at her.
The trouble was that instead of this making him more amenable and pliable, it was having the effect of making him more stiff-necked and stubborn – a character trait that he had in plenty and one which had ultimately led to the ending of the disastrous relationship between his past self and Arien. It therefore went without saying that the problem with both of the protagonists in this deepening relationship was that they were both fiercely stubborn and proud which resulted in a supreme head-butting act every time they came into contact with each other.
However, despite the momentary clash with the man she was falling deeply in love with, Kim felt quite happy. The air in this place was sweet and enervating and the company of the Elves and their merry ways uplifted her soul in ways she couldn't even begin to understand. Unlike most of the mortals of Middle-earth, she didn't feel particularly daunted by them and the Elves happily responded in kind.
The Elven woman touched her arm and indicated towards the general campfire where everyone was congregating for the first meal of the morning. Kim scowled slightly when she saw Gary deep in conversation with Jim and the dark eyed Elf he called Erestor.
Her happy mood plunged slightly when Gary looked up and beckoned to her. With a sinking heart she started to walk towards them. What had she done now? Was he going to yell at her for glaring at him or reprimand her for not being polite to an officer? Her gut began to churn slightly and she discovered an extreme reluctance to join them.
Her dilemma was broken abruptly by the sound of a large number of hoof beats. She stopped dead as a group of horsemen trotted into the camp in between her and the campfire and effectively cutting her off from Gary and the others.
It was six and two threes as to who was more startled, her or the tall, slender silver haired Elf who led the group and who swung down from his horse and nearly collided with her. As it was he inadvertently trod on her foot and turned with a look of apology and dismay on his finely drawn features. He bowed and smiled faintly, then let loose a stream of rapid Elvish. In turn, she gaped stupidly at this gorgeous silver creature and then mentally kicked herself for acting like the local village idiot. By this time the healer had joined her and, seeing the questioning look that Lord Celeborn had on his face, launched into yet another burst of explanations.
The healer gracefully gestured at the dumbstruck Kim who heard her name, or rather the Elves version of her name being bandied around. The Elven woman then turned to Kim and indicated the silver Elf. "Hir Celeborn." She said softly by way of introduction.
"Keleborn?" Kim asked as she finally found her voice and a soft wash of colour flooded her cheeks.
Celeborn bowed courteously to her and she bobbed her head awkwardly in response. When she finally found the nerve to look into his amused ancient eyes, she discovered that they were such a shining light grey that they almost appeared to be the same colour as his hair. Any further words died in her throat as she took in the finely drawn beauty of this Elf with the wisdom of ages etched clearly in his eyes.
At this point Celeborn's attention was drawn away by the appearance of the High King himself who strode into the middle of the introduction calling out a greeting to him and smiling in welcome. He and the silver Elf clasped arms in greeting and the High King drew the new arrival away from Kim and the healer. Kim could see the earnest conversation being held between them as they went towards the King's tent. It was obvious to her that Celeborn was briefing Gil-galad on something.
This place was crammed full of beautiful men and while the looks of most of them struck her speechless, there was a deep knowledge inside her that she would much rather gaze into certain warm dark-blue eyes, even if they were laced with disapproval a lot of the time. The Elven men were gorgeous without a doubt, but even on a good day it was unlikely that a mortal woman would get their attention and even if she had, they were immortal and she was mortal and there could never be any kind of real relationship between the two.
A gentle hand on her arm brought her back to the moment. The healer smiled at her and led her over towards Gary and Jim who were now sitting on the ground eating. She reluctantly bid farewell to the healer and sat down on the ground beside them. Jim grinned at her and winked, Gary said nothing at all as he handed her a plate of food.
The whole meal would have been devoured amidst this ghastly silence if it hadn't been for Jim heroically wading into the breach and engaging Kim in a ridiculous conversation that had her giggling in the space of quarter of an hour.
Gary sat silently, stolidly chewing and swallowing down bread and some sort of soft cheese, and all the while mentally berating himself for clamming up and turning into an officer the moment she came into his presence. He listened to her exchanging mutual abuse with Jim and cursed himself for being unable to treat her the same way. Yet, in the middle of the affectionate wrangling and just as he looked up from his meal, he caught her candid gaze upon him. Their eyes met and as they did so, their souls decided to take a little hand in the whole sordid affair.
In one split second they acknowledged the growing feelings of love between them. Their gazes held until Erestor interrupted them by coming to tell Gary that the High King would hold his meeting with him now.
It was with great reluctance that Gary dragged his eyes away from Kim's. She blushed bright red and looked down at the plate in her lap, he controlled his features with difficulty, stood up and followed Erestor to the tent. He felt light-headed and ridiculously happy.
Kim was left with her senses soaring and her heart thumping so violently that it threatened to jump right out of her chest.
The main battle camp of the Host of the Valar, Forest of Brethil, Beleriand, First Age.
Lord Eonwe, Herald of Manwe, Commander of the Host was coming to the end of a battle strategy meeting with his senior commanders. Lords Ingwion and Finarfin were present representing the Vanyar and the Noldorin sections of the army and also the odds and sods of Elven units who had joined as the army marched.
The erstwhile commander, for want of a better title, of the mortal men element of the Host whose name was Beohtir, was also present along with the leaders of three of the clans who owed their allegiance to him, their names were Godgifede, Stàn and Metodic. Also present were, of course, Lord Tulcas Astaldo and the Maia Curunir.
The only senior commanders who were not present were the Feanorians, Lords Maedhros and Maglor. It was not so much that Eonwe had failed to invite them, but more that he preferred to brief them separately since the Kin slaying was still a very painful reality for many of the other Elves who had come from Aman. The Herald would visit them later that evening and all the time he was in their company he would be uncomfortably aware that their reason for joining the Host in this war was not entirely because they wanted Middle-earth to be rid of Morgoth, although it certainly would be of benefit to them.
Theirs was a different primary agenda entirely since Morgoth held two of the Silmarils in his crown, which the Feanorians coveted in the name of their father and the oath that they swore.
Gary Matthews would have called the meeting an 'Orders Group' and this would have been a familiar concept to most modern military since it is the time honoured way for orders to be disseminated from the highest level to the lowest in order that everyone knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to do.
The Host was due to strike camp and continue their inexorable march northwards towards Thangorodrim within the next forty-eight hours. The scouting parties sent out to spy the lay of the land, numbers and positions of the enemy had all returned and reported in. It had become clear to both Eonwe and Tulcas that a number of human settlements, ranging from tiny to quite large lay in their path. Many of them had limited defensive, and practically no offensive, capabilities. Large Orc war parties rampaged virtually unhindered around the countryside, killing, raping, pillaging and feasting wherever they went.
One of the scouting parties had reported having come across one such tiny hamlet being besieged by Orcs in this manner. They had soundly routed the Orcs and persuaded the inhabitants to pack up and come with them once some of the warriors had pursued the remainder of the war party and despatched them. They had not taken much persuading and even now were on their way to the northern coast to the very spot that Lady Galadriel was currently relocating everyone she could find. A group of Elven warriors were accompanying them to ensure their safe passage.
Just as Eonwe finished his briefing and had folded up the main map, a burst of vision seared through his head. His jaws clamped together painfully as a series of pictures and feelings shot through him. He clenched his teeth and briefly closed his eyes against the contact and managed to support himself by leaning over the table. An alarmed Tulcas saw the expression on his face and tactfully jumped up to usher the commanders from the tent in order to allow Eonwe a few moments to compose himself.
Tulcas' jovial tones as he ended the meeting and accompanied the generals out of the tent sounded far away to Eonwe. His arms resting on the table, which were the only things supporting him, were trembling with the effort and he blanched as yet another wave of strong emotions hit him.
At first he didn't recognise them for what they were. It had been so long since he had acknowledged love for anyone that the shared vision of Gary's rush of love and desire took him completely by surprise. Through Gary's eyes he saw the answering love in her eyes and it wrenched the very heart out of him. He gasped with the raw pain of it and tears sprang to his eyes, but as quickly as the emotions hit him, they dissipated and left him breathless with legs that would hardly support him. Every breath he drew hurt him.
He reached blindly behind him for the chair that he knew stood not far way, but it was the strong hand of his mentor that gripped him firmly and pulled him into a strong embrace.
"Steady my child. I am here." Tulcas whispered softly in his ear.
The tears overcame him then. All the misery that he had stored up and not been able to show after Arien came pouring out. The silent admission of love between his alter ego and the mortal woman Kim had unlocked the floodgates of emotions dammed up for far too long.
Eonwe leant against Tulcas' chest and wept as he had not been able weep over the loneliness and emptiness he had felt over Arien's rejection of him centuries earlier.
(1) Red Crescent - The Middle-Eastern equivalent of the Red Cross symbol