Disclaimer: See Chapter 2. Thanks to those reviewers who reviewed anonymously and those who I didn't manage to reply to while I was in South Africa. I am now back home in the UK for a little while.

The direct use of force is such
a poor solution to any problem.
It is generally employed only by
small children and large nations.
- David Friedman

Chapter 48 - I'm from the government, I'm here to help you

Not a single rustle, clink of weapon or heavy tread disturbed the silent forest. Nor did the burnished sun create one runnel of sweat that left a trail by the unwary to be followed or detected by a perceived or unperceived enemy. Months and months of service in the steaming forests of Papua New Guinea and places like it had produced soldiers so inured to the climatic conditions that nothing phased them.

They whispered from tree to bush and back to tree, obeying silent hand signals instantly and without question, blending in with both shadow and sunshine. Perhaps only an Elf or a Maia could have detected them if either had been around to witness it. Again, perhaps not.

The only thing thatcould have indicated their presence was a soft green light on the locater held by the leader of these silent warriors. A light that would turn to orange and then red as they grew closer to their target.

They did not stop. Not even to take a sip from a canteen, nor for a rest. Whatever creatures still remained in this place – and there were not many now – either remained quiet in their hiding place until these silent beings passed, or swiftly moved forward on their long journey northwards and to safety.

Only the Valar watched in trepidation as the figures slipped like shades through the forest of Willows known as Nan Tathren and inexorably headed all points north towards where the Host of the West and Ereinion Gil-galad's small army lay.

Manwe sighed and closed his eyes. They are coming. He sent a weary message to Eonwe, Olorin and also to Tulkas. They are deadly, swift and silent warriors and will be upon you before even you know it. Be vigilant. Any sign of aggression from you will be met with deadly force. Olorin must be ready to release control of Chief Knowles as soon as they appear to you.

We will be vigilant. They promised.

ooOoo

A few leagues away from the Special Forces soldiers, Sauron aka Gorthaur the Cruel, first lieutenant of Morgoth, called a halt to the large force of orcs behind him.

They stopped dead with a great deal of snuffling and wheezing along with many hoarse grunts of complaint which were immediately silenced by the flat edge of heavy iron swords belonging to their commanders and sergeants.

Sauron sniffed the air and looked around him. His keen gaze pierced through forest and bush, through rock and across the now turgid rivers of a dying, staggering Beleriand already in the throes of impending doom. A swift blur of movement appeared across the periphery of his vision and his head turned, as swift as a striking snake, towards it. A hiss of frustration escaped him as his quarry seemed to disappear into thin air or at the very least a clump of bushes. He reached out a hand as if to part the bushes even from where he sat his horse, but even as his gaze penetrated the foliage, whatever had stopped there momentarily had either moved on or more than adequately concealed itself from him.

Was it Elf or mortal man? There was no way to tell, but Sauron had no time for the clumsy secondborn who could not possibly hope to escape his keen sight and long arm. So, definitely not mortal man. A decision he would ultimately come to regret.

Elf then. As much as he despised the Eldar, only one of the firstborn could move so swiftly and slip away unseen. His face beneath the dark helm he wore twisted into a silent snarl.

He shifted on the back of the black horse and directed his senses once again to the here and now. An Elven patrol from the armies of the West then. Soon, very soon, Morgoth would deal with them and Sauron would have his pick of the accursed Eldar to torture, maim and bend his will upon them until they knew themselves no more. For now he had more than enough to take on the warriors of Gil-galad and the High King himself. That particular thorn in their side would soon be nothing more than memory.

He straightened in the saddle and peremptorily signed for his party to ride on.

They crashed through the underbrush behind him, as noisy in their intent as the modern soldiers were utterly silent in theirs.

ooOoo

Eonwe stooped down and picked up the last of the assault rifles. It had been propped up outside the entrance of a shallow cave on the low reaches of a small mountain range, almost as though someone had placed it there for them to find easily.

The Elves, Olorin and Jim watched in silence as he cocked the weapon and made it safe. Despite the hard run journey it must have made, the moving parts moved silkily and snicked into place. Eonwe lifted it up and stared down the barrel. Good cleaning and oiling by the original armourer had kept the weapon in reasonable working order, although the outside was dusty and a little battered. Even the sling remained, although it was crusted with dirt and blood. He heaved a sigh and adjusted it so that he could wear it across his back.

Glorfindel and Erestor emerged from the cave and approached the High King, Eonwe and the main party.

"The orc is dead." The golden elf-lord said impassively. "His body lies within, he is not cold, yet already his body begins to decay."

Gil-galad started in surprise and he was not the only one. Only the bodies of the Eldar decayed so swiftly after death. He dismounted and gestured for Eonwe to follow him into the entrance of the cave.

It was indeed as Glorfindel had reported. The cold body of the orc known as Thadak lay curled up in the fetal position at the back of the cool cave. Both Gil-galad and Eonwe could see that it was already returning to the earth, almost as if whatever had inhabited it was long gone and left just an empty shell.

Gil-galad bent down and stared at the corpse more closely. He shivered slightly as a cool breath of wind passed by him and straightened up only to find Eonwe standing quietly with his eyes silvered over, a clear indication that he was in communion with someone. He waited patiently until the Herald's eyes had cleared once again and raised an eyebrow in query.

"The orc's fea has passed into the Halls of Waiting. Mandos has accepted it into his care."

Gil-galad's mouth dropped open in shock. "The orc's fea has passed into the halls?" He whispered, realising full well that he sounded just like an echo.

Eonwe nodded. "Yes."

"But..." Gil-galad floundered slightly. If he was being truly honest with himself he honestly hadn't really given too much thought as to where the fea of an orc went after death or indeed even if an orc had a fea to begin with.

The Herald smiled kindly at him. "Think you not that all creatures belong to Eru and that he would not care for them if they willingly answered the call of his servant?"

Gil-galad flushed slightly. "I had not given it too much coherent thought." He confessed readily. "They were always just the enemy, there to be killed. I was always taught that they were twisted creatures made by Morgoth and had no fea. It had not occurred to me that they too would receive the call to Mandos..."

His voice trailed away under the compassionate gaze of the Maia and in that moment he saw Eonwe in his true form. Fierce, lit from behind like a small sun, beautiful and yet filled with ancient knowledge and wisdom. He quailed slightly and staggered as though drunk. Eonwe reached out with a sympathetic smile, caught him and steadied him with one strong hand even as he tried to drop to his knees. The Herald shook his head and he softened the glow of his true form.

"You must not kneel to me child. Never to me." He said gently.

"I am sorry." Gil-galad whispered through dry lips. He had travelled many leagues with this bright being and had even shouted at him in anger and exasperation, but not once had he truly accepted who and what he was until now.

"For what?" The Herald seemed puzzled.

"For any disrespect I gave you." Gil-galad stammered. "I did not realise. I have yelled at you as though you were one of us and you are clearly not." He could have kicked himself for his incoherence. His words didn't even make sense to his ears never mind to a Maia's.

Eonwe threw back his head and his rich, melodious laughter echoed around the small cave. "And was I not one of you?" His tone was whimsical. His bright eyes shone with laughter. "Child, I have valued each and every hour spent with you and yours. Too keen was I to follow the orders of my Lords in the West when we landed. I pressed on when I should have stopped and spoken with those already here. I did not truly understand what any of you, whose home this is, felt about our presence in these lands and I have been justly reprimanded. Thus was I allowed to remain with you and learn the lessons that my other half has already learned in another time. You are, and will be, a fine High King, Ereinion Gil-galad and it has been my honour to know you and serve with you and your commanders. I salute all of you."

Gil-galad blushed furiously and would have answered had they not been interrupted by Celeborn who stood in the cave entrance with a grim look on his face.

Eonwe turned to him. "What is it?" Yet even as he asked the question he sensed the presence of another Maia. "Sauron." He said through tight lips. The brightness grew around him again, like a mantle of pure light.

"What? Where?" Gil-galad looked around him wildly, as if he expected to see the dark lieutenant of Morgoth casually leaning against the wall.

"Our scouts say that he and a large force of orc are but only a short distance away, my Lord." Celeborn said, his eyes were now warily watching as Eonwe transformed again into a Lord of the West. "Do we go now or fight?" His question was aimed at the Herald and not Gil-galad and the light of battle was in his silver-grey eyes.

"They are here for the weapon." Eonwe said grimly. "And Sauron will not give it up without a battle. If we leave, they will follow. We must find a place to make our stand. Bring him to us, on our chosen ground, rather than allow him to engage us on his."

Gil-galad had gone deathly pale. "We cannot fight Sauron, Lord Eonwe. He is too powerful, my warriors are brave and able, but not for this foe."

Eonwe's smile was tight. "Indeed you cannot, but I can." He resolutely stepped from the cave.

ooOoo

The small light on the locater had grown orange and thence to a dull red. "Alpha to Charlie One. Are you receiving me, over?" Billy van Breda, known affectionately among his men as 'Dutch', broke radio silence and spoke softly into his radio.

"Charlie One to Alpha, receiving you loud and clear, over." His second in command, a seasoned SAS trooper and laconic joker of the group called David Flaherty and known as 'Irish' despite the fact that he was as Welsh as Cardiff Castle, crackled over the airwaves.

"Our target is in range and appears to be engaged with enemy, over." Even as Dutch took his finger off the switch he knew that the sounds of the clash of battle would be clear to all of the small troop.

There was a brief silence and then a click. "No shit, Sherlock." Came Irish's grim but humorous reply. "Do we assist?"

Dutch's eyes narrowed as he peered through his night vision goggles which also combined as a strong set of field glasses during daylight. The rest of the troop, including Rob Norman were now concealed in thick shrubbery around him. Beyond them and straight in front there was a gentle slope which spread out towards a fairly flat and rocky area about a quarter of a mile away from their hiding place.

There, in the middle of the rocky area, a battle had been joined. The kind of face to face firefight that no longer occurred too often in modern warfare, but the kind of fight that made modern warriors twitch uncontrollably to join in. Some kind of subliminal call to arms inbred into each human being as part of an ancient survival mechanism.

"Negative." He said softly. "Our orders are to retrieve, not to get involved. However, if our people are down there and things go tits up we may have to. We wait and watch what goes down."

Both men had forgone radio protocol in their conversation, but now the silent order went to each of them to stay concealed and stay silent was being obeyed.

"What's going on Tom?" Rob Norman whispered to his SAS companion and babysitter.

Tom's eyes gleamed and his teeth glittered through the cam cream in a huge grin. "This is when you find out that adrenalin is dark brown, very runny and smells something horrible, Professor." He winked at the young scientist.

Rob Norman clasped his arms around his knees in an effort to stop himself from shaking. His stomach had roiled up to somewhere just above mid-oesophagus and he could taste a metallic bitterness in the back of his throat. Now he understood authors when they wrote the phrase 'he could taste the fear' in their novels. He had always mocked the idea that fear was a taste and not just a feeling, but now he knew that fear did actually have a taste. Aptly enough, given the situation, it tasted like blood.

He groaned inwardly. Dear god, how had he got himself into this mess? What in the name of god had possessed him? He was no soldier. These men around him exulted in their profession. Fighting, violence and bloodshed were like meat and drink to them, second nature so to speak. He was a complete pacifist...okay, well, not that what he did for a living wasn't actually to further modern warfare. Hardly a pacifistic stance really, but when he got back, he was going to change his damn job. Join something peaceful, like whale research...no perhaps not that, because then he would have to engage with whaling ships and that was a whole other set of violence.

Bird watching! That was it! He could do something really really quiet, like save the hedgerows or something. Anything other than this death and violence.

All he had to do now was survive this self-inflicted situation he was in.

ooOoo