Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's world, however Kim and Co. From the future do belong to me.

"Carrie: Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate. Without them, what would shape our lives? Perhaps if we never veered off course, we wouldn't fall in love, or have babies, or be who we are. After all, seasons change. So do cities. People come into your life and people go. But it's comforting to know the ones you love are always in your heart. And if you're very lucky, a plane ride away." – Sex and the City

Chapter 58 – Past Perfect, Future Uncertain

They appeared silently, fringing the top of the ridge like in some old Western movie where the wagons are camped in a circle uneasily awaiting the impending arrival of the Indians over the hills. The only difference between that and reality was the fact that the undisciplined masses of Orc, goblins and whatever other monstrosities Morgoth had managed to cobble together into an army were only loosely corralled by the massive and fearsome creatures of Shadow and Flame, the Balrog Captains.

The thick forestation of the top of the ridge and the fact that the sun could not penetrate through the gloom and dark cast by the proximity of Angband and Morgoth himself meant that the shining Host of the Valar were not as evident as they normally would have been. There was no sound, no rattle of a bridle not even the sound of hot breath blown out of equine nostrils already flaring for the heat of battle. Elven horses knew when to be silent, as did their riders.

Finarfin and Ingwion sat their steeds on the left of the Herald of Manwe, the Vala Tulcas sat on his massive white charger at his right-hand side. All three were looking at the Herald whose steed Hafrod stood quietly waiting for the signal from his beloved master to charge forth into the very bosom of the enemy.

Eonwe gave no sign that he was about to issue the order to charge. His expression was ruminative and only the flicker of light in the back of his dark blue eyes and the firm set of his mouth hinted at his eagerness to be done with this, the final battle in this War of Wrath. There before him lay as it always had, the River Sirion which divided Eastern and Western Beleriand and the last remnants of the forces of Morgoth. Although the entrenched orcs, Balrogs and what was left of the Easterlings of Hithlum who had descended from the north to attack the flanks of the Elves were at least two leagues distant, the sharp vision of Eldar and Maiar alike had no trouble seeing them quite clearly and the terrain between them.

Thirty years had passed since Eonwe had stood on one side of a portal to another time and watched his beloved led reluctantly through the rift by Chief Knowles and Jim taking his heart and his unborn child with her. His last sight of her before an impatient Maedhros had gripped his arm and told him in no uncertain terms that it was time to leave was of her tearstained face turned over her shoulder as she strained to keep him in sight until the very last moment. It had almost broken him in two. Olorin had taken a swift step forward as if to comfort him when the Feanorian firmly turned him to his horse and bade him mount.

"The sooner it is done Lord Eonwe, the sooner you will be reunited." The red-headed Elf's tone was grim and uncompromising and it brought Eonwe down to earth with a bump. He handed the reins of the Herald's horse to him.

Eonwe took the reins and gently quieted his horse by stroking his nose. For a moment he rested his head against Hafrod's neck breathing in the scent of sweat and leather and desperately swallowing back the hot salty tears, then he set his jaw and swung himself up into the saddle. Maedhros gave him a grim smile of approval and also mounted his horse.

The Herald gave one last look back just as the shimmering portal flared into brilliance and then winked out of existence. The path between two time dimensions was closed.

"You are right Lord Maedhros." The Herald's tone was husky but firm. "Let's do this thing. Hanging around here won't buy the baby a new bonnet."

"Huh?" Rion whispered to Noruthalion who, with Melannen, had formed part of the escort to the portal. "What in the name of the Valar is that supposed to mean?"

Noruthalion, ever the pragmatist, shrugged. "I have no idea; maybe he is referring to his child? It is probably some strange future mortal thing."

If the Herald heard the whispered interchange he gave no indication. Instead he reined his horse around and urged him into a swift canter. The escort party resolutely turned in the direction of the camp of the Host, now being struck in preparation for the march to the banks of the River Sirion, the remaining barrier between them and the Hosts of the North, Morgoth's army.

Both Olorin and Maedhros sensed that all was now in order in the world of Middle Earth in the Second Age. Whatever disruption had been caused by the appearance of the portal and the presence of mortals from the future was now gone. Whatever mischief Morgoth and his lieutenant had planned by using the modern weapons of the mortals and the mortals themselves was now lifted. It was simply business as normal. Balance had been achieved.

Now thirty years on and many battles fought and won with some heavy losses and the departure of many sons of Valinor to the Halls of Mandos here they were assembled near the ford at Eithel Sirion over which Morgoth's troops had withdrawn after being strongly pushed back by Ingwion and his valiant Vanyarin troops at the Battle of Eglarest. The orcs and balrogs had been pushed back and then even further back from the shores of the river as the shining Host of the Valar and their Commander forced their way through and thence across the Sirion where the Hosts of Morgoth retreated and had entrenched themselves.

For a long while a long and bitter battle for passage over the river was fought by the Host of the West and the Host of the North. Only when Morgoth's armies drew back far enough away to avoid the wrath of the West could the Host of the Valar now ford the river and press onwards to the north where Morgoth sat in his fortress.

It had to be said that Morgoth himself had not been idle. Pushed back his troops might well be, but he still had a few surprises up his sleeve as those Valinorean vermin would soon discover to their cost. For deep below in the fortress, massed behind the secret gates from which all of Morgoth's crack troops emerged were the winged dragons and their captain Ancalagon, his ace in the hole.

However for Eonwe and the Host of the West, the last leg of the War of Wrath was about to take place. Many had stood in awe and watched as their commander accompanied by the only Vala present in Middle Earth and in amongst the host slashed, hacked and fought his way alongside his troops. They had seen him weep for the slain, they had seen him use what power he had to comfort and help heal the injured but always his presence was a banner to rally to.

There had been times when Tulcas had watched him closely, especially in the immediate years after Kim's departure, but always he had blanked off that part of himself and thrown himself into the task at hand. That had worried all of the Valar and his commanders, but after a while they had realised that all her departure had done was to make their Herald determined to see the task done as quickly and with as few losses as possible. To comfort his hurt and grief he had turned to the thing he always did best as mightiest in arms among the Maiar, that of being a warrior. It gave him purpose.

Eonwe shook himself out of his careful consideration of the ground and river between his forces and those of the enemy. He turned to Ingwion and Finarfin. "Your scouts and forward troops are in position over the other side?"

Ingwion saluted. "Yes my Lord, they left with Lords Maedhros, Maglor and their troops late last night and forded the river with no trouble. They have taken out the watchposts and the task was done so silently and swiftly even now the commanders of Morgoth's hosts are unaware that they have no eyes there. Our troops will be able to ford the river unopposed."

A grim smile hovered around Eonwe's sculpted mouth. "That was well done."

A slight feeling of regret passed over him when he contemplated the notion of the Feanorians. As the Herald of Manwe and the Oathkeeper of Iluvator he was well aware that whatever happened over the last two sons of Feanor, it would not end well for them. No matter how valiantly they fought, part of their fervour was to do with keeping the oath they had made to their father as he lay dying, a misguided oath that Eonwe had been forced to record with great reluctance and one which had seen the demise of all but two of the sons of Feanor and Nerdanel. It was that oath that would be their ultimate undoing. Anything good that they did subsequently would be buried in the past and not remembered, therefore it was up to him to record and remember.

He became aware that his senior command officers and Tulcas were awaiting the signal to move out. The troubled look that had occupied his features cleared and he gave them all that blinding smile that signalled instant adoration and desire to follow him into the very pits of hell. "Very well gentlemen. I do believe the time has come. Let's cross that damn river and have at them."

He nodded to his commanders who then gave the order for the troops to move out and across the ford as swiftly as silently as they may. All along the ridge the archers remained. Along with Curunir and the other three Maiar of Aule, they would wait until last and if the forces crossing came under fire they would provide covering fire at strike co-ordinates already established by the forward team who had actually been in place among the enemy for at least two weeks giving back valuable intelligence of positions and strengths so that Eonwe and his commanders could plan their strategies. Once the main body of the army was over, only then would Eonwe lead the support arms, including healers and cooks, archers and the Maiar over the river to join the main body.

Lord Manwe Sulimo stood at his window to the east and summoned Thorondor, Captain of the Great Birds of Heaven.

The great eagle eyed his lord and dipped one huge wing in respect and greeting. "My eagles are ready and at your command O Lord of the Winds."

Manwe bowed his head and Varda came to his side in order to add her blessing to his as those winged troops began to form up in preparation for passage over the western seas thence to join the Host already crossing the Sirion on the last leg of their journey. This part of the war would decide all things and although Manwe despaired over his brother Melkor now fallen to dissipation, he had learned the most bitter lesson of all, he had learned to distrust him. Part of him knew that Melkor would have some parting shot and perhaps his last gift to his Herald and his valiant host was the mighty Eagles of the West.

Thorondor was rising into the air even as Manwe and Varda blessed them. With a final sweeping salute of one massive wing he spiralled off into the winds followed by his gallant troops. As he did so, Ilmare came to where Manwe and Varda stood watching the great birds dwindle smaller and smaller as they flew into the East. She waited respectfully for a few moments until Varda realised she was there.

"What is it Ilmare?" She smiled at her handmaiden who bowed her head.

"Earendil the Mariner is without my Lord, Lady, as was requested by you."

Manwe turned reluctantly from the window held his hand out to his lady and they proceeded to the marble seats they usually occupied in the audience chambers. He inclined his head towards Ilmare. "Then by all means child, do bid him enter."

Even as the tall figure of Earendil entered the audience chamber, Namo materialised by the side of the Lord and Lady. He nodded in respectful greeting to them and folded his hands inside the wide sleeves of his black velvet robes. In honour of the upcoming final battle and out of respect for the role he would play today, he was dressed all in black. He was not there as a fellow Vala, but as the Doomsman of the Valar and represented Iluvatar on this occasion.

Earendil strode into the chamber, stopped in front of the three Valar and bowed. The gleam from the single Silmaril set into the mithril fillet on his brow gleamed with a pure and incandescent light and was only just outshone by the shimmering power of the three Valar before him, especially that of the Lady crowned with starlight.

Manwe gestured to the Mariner who immediately dropped to his knees. The Elder King placed his hand on top of his head. "Hear ye O Mariner, child of the Eldar and of the Secondborn, to thou hast been granted the life of the Eldar and their fate to be bound to Arda until the end of days. This thou knowest as dost thou also know thine appointed task. However there is one more task that Iluvator and the Valar do ask of thou. Wilt thou hear Namo, Doomsman of the Valar and bear this task willingly?"

Earendil looked up eagerly at Manwe who smiled benevolently at him and held his hand out for the Mariner to stand. "I will indeed my Lord." He fervently clasped the Elder King's hand before releasing it and turning to the waiting Namo.

Namo stood silently for a moment and all was silent in the chamber. The Lord and Lady had resumed their seats and seemed in no hurry to chivvy the Lord of Mandos to speak. Earendil also waited, but for him it seemed that the time passed very slowly indeed and just when he was about to wonder whether anyone could speak at all, the Doomsman of the Valar spoke.

"Earendil, child of Tuor and Idril, thy ship Vingilot that which thou callest Foam Flower awaits thee. It has been hallowed by all of the Valar and given the blessings of Iluvator and will hereafter sail the airs and thou wilt guard the Door of Night. This thou knowest. However before thou commence thy journeys through the heavens we have a task for thee. Thee and thy ship will arise in the west. This thou also knowest. The light from the Silmaril bound upon thy brow will shine as a brilliant star in the heavens to give hope to those in a shattered world and let them know that the Valar have not deserted them. All those who see thee shall call thee Gil-Estel, Star of High Hope. Thy appearance will signal the beginning of the last battle of the War of Wrath. Yet even as the battle wages and those in the Outer Lands gain hope from thy appearance in the skies, thou and Thorondor will be called upon to perform the actions that will decide the battle for good or evil. Thee must be prepared, already the Eages have taken flight. Dost thou accept this charge?"

Earendil's heart nearly burst with pride. He knelt down one more time and bowed his head. "I will, gladly." He said simply and then looked up at the stern face of the Doomsman. "What of our children, the sons of Elwing and myself?"

Namo glanced at Manwe and Varda before answering. "Knowest thou that thy sons, Elrond and Elros have already been taken under the charge of the High King of the Noldor in Exile, Ereinion Gil-galad. They will not fight in the final battle with Morgoth, but will bear witness to it. At the end they will be given the same choice as any of the Noldor or those who remain in the Outer Lands, that of sailing to Valinor. However they have been granted an additional choice by Iluvator, that of choosing who they wish to stand with, the Secondborn or the Eldar. Our beloved Eonwe Herald of Manwe has been given the authority to proclaim this choice over them on our behalf." Earendil opened his mouth to speak, but the Doomsman stopped him before he could ask his question. "You will ask me of their choice and I will tell you this, Iluvator already knows what is in the hearts of his children but it is not for us to speak that choice out loud, it is for your sons, as Peredhil, alone to speak this for themselves and on their own account. Whatever choice is made, knowest thou that it has always been a theme of the Great Music from which we all spring."

Earendil felt the tears spring to his eyes. Deep in his heart he knew that his two boys would not make the same choice and his heart already ached for the one who would be left behind. He would know the bitterness of partings. The other would make the choice that Earendil himself would have made had it not been for Elwing. Yet even as the tears stung behind his eyes, he bowed his head in assent once more. "I understand." He whispered. At least he would be able to see them in his journeys across the skies and he and Elwing would be reunited with at least one of their sons in future times.

Manwe spoke. "Then you have our leave to depart child of Tuor and Idril and you take our blessings and those of the rest of the Valar and all of Valinor with you."

Earendil rose to his feet and gazed in astonishment, for as he had kneeled, all of the Valar with the obvious exception of Tulcas had materialised and the chamber was bright with their light. In amongst all of this brilliant purity of light, the Silmaril gleamed and was not dimmed.

He bowed to the Valar and left the chamber. His ship and his task awaited him.

At least he wasn't going to be totally left out of the fun!

Vingilot:

"Now when first Vingilot was set to sail in the seas of heaven, it rose unlooked for, glittering and bright; and the people of Middle-earth beheld it from afar and wondered, and they took it for a sign, and called it Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope." – J R R Tolkien, The Silmarillion.

Eonwe as Oathkeeper

The idea of Eonwe as the Oathkeeper of Iluvator was taken from Fiondil and the many wonderful stories written by this author. It appealed to me because it gave another facet to an otherwise unfinished character of Tolkien's works, of which there were many! So all credit given to Fiondil for this and I hope my apologies for a slight plagiarism are accepted as it is meant sincerely.