Disclaimer: See previous chapter

Disclaimer: See previous chapter

Note: Again, many thanks for reviews. This story has a way of writing itself so even when I sit down at the computer to pen a chapter I am often not entirely sure where it's going, who it will primarily involve or what will happen to them. I had originally intended to use the last chapter as a further sequence of events involving Eonwe, the end of the War of Wrath and therefore dragging Elrond, Elros and others up to date, but those dratted Feanorians had other ideas and Maglor clamoured to be heard. I guess this chapter will have to deal with the aftermath of the War and the happenings Eonwe and how he at least has been affected. I think you might be able to squeeze a few more chapters out of me before we get to the happy ending!

The quote below is a personal favourite of mine and I relate to it very strongly! I had my 40th birthday in the middle of the first Gulf War and it was just another day in the middle of nowhere!

"There are so many things I was sure I'd have in my life by now.

Every birthday reminds me of what's still not there. This just

turned out to be another day in the middle of nowhere."

-- Margaret 'Hotlips' Houlihan – MASH 4077

Chapter 62 – Truth is the first casualty of war

Halls of Lord Manwe Sulimo, Taniquetil, Valinor circa present day

Maglor was not the only one whose memory appeared to be failing him. Over the hills, far away and down the Straight Road, the memories of Eonwe, Herald of Manwe weren't doing terribly well either.

There were days when he went about his business with his usual calm, but a small furrow between his smooth and perfect brow could be seen, as though he was wrestling with some minor difficulty or perhaps he was having trouble getting a strand of venison from behind that pesky back molar. Whatever the problem was, the facial expression was the same. However he managed to overcome it all with his usual aplomb and grace.

Then there were the days when he knew damn well that he had forgotten something quite important. On those days, he could be seen wandering haphazardly when he would have otherwise strode calmly and decisively or stopping in the middle of his prescribed path with a distinctly panicky expression flitting over his perfect features.

It was on those days that Manwe would sigh deeply and a look of deep concern would flit across Varda's beautiful features. It wasn't that they thought for one minute that their faithful Herald was losing it; it was more the fact that they knew fine well what it was he had lost and in a way it had been their doing.

And those days were happening more and more often now.

After Eonwe's return with the remainder of the Army of the Valar and prior to him travelling to Numenor to teach the new inhabitants the art of civilization it had occurred to Manwe and the other Valar that expecting their Herald to spend the next however many thousands of years in contemplation of happiness with his wife and child was a trifle unreasonable.

Many discussions had raged in the Halls of the Valar, the only subject being "What to do with Eonwe?" Did they allow him to remember but try to distract him with tasks in the hopes that he wouldn't fret unduly? After all, he was a Maia and he was supposed to be imbued with boundless patience, happiness and love.

"Pshaw!" Was Ulmo's irascible comment. "If you expect the lad to just sit there and say 'Ho hum, only another fifty thousand years to go until I see my beloved wife and my daughter' and then trot around gaily doing everything you ask of him then you all have windmills in your brains. Would you do that if that was happening to you? I don't think so!"

"But if we give him tasks to occupy him…" Poor Manwe was struggling. On one hand he was delighted that his beloved Herald had found love. On the other he was cursing the day it had happened. What he wanted was everything back as normal. Eonwe mooning all over the place and longing for his wife and child would not be anywhere near normal.

"Tasks?" Ulmo's silvery-blue eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "What do you intend to do? Work him to death every minute of every yeni that happens from now until the day he is reunited with them? That's a load of codswallop Manwe and you know it.

Manwe sank back further into the cushions as if he hoped they would swallow him up. The whole thing had been so badly managed. They should have acted immediately and swept the modern mortals up and back to their own time without delay. All of this could have been avoided. Gary Matthews would still have existed and he would still have met and probably fallen in love with Kim but it would have been fine and smooth sailing in the right place and time. Not smack dab in the middle of the First Age and the War of Wrath.

Not for the first time in his existence he cursed his brother Melkor for the meddling fool he undoubtedly was…among other less salubrious things.

Namo had been quiet up to that point. He didn't normally get in the middle of the various discussions mainly because he was the Doomsman of the Valar and therefore when he did have something to say people generally sat up with their ears pricked up and were goggling with attention because it was usually a life or death, doom or disaster declaration. However on this occasion he cleared his throat quietly in the hopes of slipping in his comments casually. It was a vain hope and Namo recognised the futility of it even as seven pairs of eyes immediately and expectantly swiveled to him. He took a step back under the onslaught and sought comfort in the sympathetic smile and presence of his wife Vaire.

"It is my understanding from Atar..." He began, only to be interrupted immediately by Manwe.

"You have spoken with Atar on this? When? What did he say?"

Namo turned to Manwe with a rapidly darkening expression. "If you would let me actually get more than a couple of words out at a time I might actually get a chance to tell you." He said sarcastically, reducing the Elder King to the position of slumping back gloomily and muttering under his breath like a sulky schoolboy. Namo drew in another breath, cleared his throat again and fixed his dark forbidding gaze on the Elder King who, after being poked in the arm by his wife, subsided in his mutterings.

"Atar has given the matter much thought. Melkor's actions are as they have always been, solely devised to please his own idea of his importance in the grand scheme of things. Thankfully, with his capture, we can now perhaps see our way to easing some of the more pressing problems he has landed us all with. As we all know in the very far future Eonwe is sent back to Middle Earth in the form of a human, although he retained all of the attributes of a Maia, including immortality. Outwardly he looked like any other mortal human. Atar's reasons for doing so have not been revealed in their entirety and I am not permitted to tell what I do know. Melkor's meddling caused that state of affairs to be halted and the human version of Eonwe was thrust back into Middle Earth in the past along with his Maia alter ego."

"Yes, yes we know all of that." Ulmo interrupted irritably. His temper was not being improved by the reiteration of facts that he already knew and he hated being summoned from the deeps for anything, no matter how important. "For Eru's sake get on with it man!" He also then subsided into the deep cushions of his own chair, muttering something under his breath about people liking the sound of their own voices.

"You would think that after all the years of our existence since we sprang forth from the blessed Music that the art of patience would have been foremost on the learning curve. For the Ainur." Namo replied severely to which Ulmo snorted in derision and poured himself another glass of wine. "At any rate, in something like ten thousand years into the future of Middle Earth we will be at a point in time where Eonwe would have began his Middle Earth adventure, however because of recent events this cannot now happen and as Eonwe was not in a position to leave the command of the Host of the Valar in the hands of another commander he could not go back with his wife and just take his place there with the only change being that he was now a married man with a family on the way. The War of Wrath was not at a stage where this could have been achieved, so he had to stay. Now Eonwe is left with the aftermath of having to cope with knowing about his future wife and child for the next ten thousand years and the paradox is that he cannot join them now because neither of them exist at this point in time. They won't exist for another ten thousand or so years."

"I think I have a headache." Aule complained. "So… the upshot is that Eonwe will just moon around for the next ten thousand mortal years until he catches up with events?"

Namo nodded safely. "Essentially that is the situation and Atar, despite all seeming evidence to the contrary, does understand that this is not a good situation, not for us or for Eonwe, therefore he has decided to mute the memories of all concerned with regard to the extraordinary events leading up to and beyond the period of time that the modern mortals were in a timeline not their own."

Varda had gone a little pale. "Everyone's memories? Does that include us?"

"No. We alone will retain full memory of all events. And Atar of course, who forgets nothing. As the timeline for these events grows nearer, however, the veil put on the memories of all of those involved will grow thinner and they will start to remember."

"Eonwe has a very strong personality so I am not sure how effective this will be for him, but I admit that I am concerned with how the current situation will affect him in the long term if we allow it to continue." Irmo mused. "Therefore I agree that he certainly cannot carry on the way he is doing and be effective in his service to us. More importantly the strain on his wellbeing would be hideous, the child could not live with that for any length of time."

Namo sighed. "No indeed, which is why Atar has now decided not to just mute his memories but to remove them altogether. Not forever, but until such times as the time is right for him to have them back. It has still not been decided how he will rejoin Kim and his child, but in the meantime we will have our Herald back. In time as the memories return it will seem to us that he is struggling to remember an important event and when that happens we will just have to be patient with him. Hopefully by that time Atar will have decided on the manner of his return to Middle Earth.

Manwe's brow cleared. He rubbed his hands together. "Splendid, we get our Herald back, he gets some peace for a little while. As for his memories gradually returning, well we will cross that bridge when we come to it.

That was back then and now the bridge was looming. Eonwe's memories of his wife and unborn child were slowly but surely filtering back. Not in a flood, but more like a thin trickling stream. However the floodgates would eventually open and the Valar knew full well that the time was approaching when they would have to deal with the situation.

Iluvator knew that he would have to return the Herald to Middle Earth and in a way that would not cause any ripples in the prescribed events of the time. His plans were now finally reaching fruition. All the players were now moving into position in the playing field of Middle Earth and once they were all in place the act of bringing all the loose threads together could begin.

In the meantime Eonwe just felt as though he had left something somewhere and that it was vaguely important that he remember where and how to get it back. He had a niggling feeling that whatever it was, it had something to do with the events of the bygone First Age, most notably the War of Wrath. He just couldn't recall what and it was frustrating him beyond belief.

Anfauglith, Beleriand Year 587 First Age

Four times they regrouped and pushed forward, four times the dragons which had emerged from the very bowels of Morgoth's stronghold pushed them back. Billows of smoke and tongues of fire spewed in wide arcs and Eonwe could not help but compare them to a modern flamethrower, albeit a flamethrower with an attitude.

Not a one among the Host was not covered in soot and singed to some degree. Eonwe's golden armour was scorched with massive patches of blackened metal and he thanked Eru that he had the foresight to bind up his hair that day. More than one wounded warrior had been taken into the healers with raw patches of scalp showing where their hair had been burnt away.

This was a different kind of torture that they had to go through, but go through it they must. If they stopped pushing the enemy back they were lost, although he could tell that his troops were starting to lose heart. All around them were the cries of those burned beyond help and the smell of burning flesh and hair was almost unbearable. This brief lull in the dragons assault was heaven sent, but Eonwe knew that it was just a short respite. When they made their next assault his troops would probably fall.

"I need to rally them somehow." He said despairingly to Tulcas who was in as bad a state as Eonwe was, the ends of his thick golden braids were singed black. "The trouble is that they have the better of us in that they attack from the air. We are like sitting ducks. It's like shooting fish in a barrel."

Tulcas glanced over at where the dragon's massive black Captain, Ancalagon, strutted up and down marshalling his troops for the next assault. It was easy to see from the jaunty strutting of the creature that he and his black Master believed that it was all over for the now exhausted Host of the Valar. "I do not think that fishing is primarily on that evil abomination's mind Eonwe and unless we suddenly grow wings I cannot see how we can match airborne fighting. The archers are the best bet, their weapons are long range and can at least wing the creatures to bring them down to the ground."

"Fire." Said Eonwe suddenly. "Fight fire with fire. The native Americans in the Wild West did it all the time with oil soaked arrows, fireballs in the catapults. We must bring them down to earth, down to our level. We cannot fight them in the air. If we can bring their Captain down it might demoralise the others and bring them down too."

He turned to look for Curunir, but as he did so, the ground began to rumble and he almost cried out in despair only stopping himself at the last minute. He would not allow his warriors to see his despair. The dragons were making their final charge, the very earth would tremble under their combined weight knocking warriors off their feet. Once they were airborne it would be all over. There was no time left.

He gave Tulcas one last desperate look and the Valar winked and hefted his huge sword. This was their last stand and they would go down fighting until the end.

"I cannot stay here like a lamb awaiting the slaughter." Whispered Eonwe. With that he raised his sword over his head and his golden tones rang out over the shrieks and growls of the oncoming horde. "CRY GOD FOR ENGLAND, HARRY AND ST GEORGE!"

The strange battle cry and the sight of the tall Herald tearing onto the dusty plain to meet the oncoming foe energised and inspired all who saw him. Tulcas sprang after him after only a split second and the Maia warriors present with the Host followed him. Then the whole Host, those who could, were moving. It was a sight in the best tradition of a Hollywood battle scene and would have brought a tear to Peter Jackson's eye.

For one brief moment as the two bodies moved towards each other through the pall of smoke there was a lull in the noise and each side seemed to be performing a deadly dance in silent, slow motion but seconds later the screaming, shrieks of dragonkin and battlecries rushed back in cresting on a wave of sound and nearly deafened Eonwe, but far in the background he heard a tiny voice.

"The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming!"

And Eonwe nearly burst into tears on the spot as he turned his head and saw a flotilla of the giant Eagles of Manwe, with their Captain, Thorondor, at the head of the V formation. The sound from those giant wings whooshed over the host and for the first time since their release from Angband, the dragons faltered.

"They are grounded." Yelled Eonwe. "We have them..." And he charged into the fray hacking and slashing, knowing that his loyal warriors were right there in the thick of it with them.

Rion and Noruthalion were fighting alongside a tall slender but deadly warrior who fought with only one hand, his red braid flying around his face. His laughter rang out as he plunged his sword deep into the dragon they were busy killing and the hot acidic black blood of the creature spurted out in huge gouts which sizzled as they landed on the metal and mail Elven armour.

The Eagles swooped, ripped and tore with their talons and as the injured dragons fell to the ground the warriors finished them off.

In the meantime Ancalagon the Black, on seeing that a large number of his dragons were grounded and being killed had risen into the air to beat off the Eagles' deadly onslaught. Eonwe caught the movement of the dragon Captain as he rose into the air out of the corner of one eye and his heart sank a little until he saw a bright shining object, shaped like a ship in the midst of the eagles heading straight for the hideous creature.

"Vingilot!" He whispered and Tulcas broke into laughter. "Gil Estel indeed!"

Others with keen Elven eyesight fighting on the outside of the main battle area also saw the shining ship of Earendil as it smoothly ploughed through the air with its captain, Silmaril bound to his brow, at the prow.

Tears sprang to Gil-galad's eyes and he stood with the twins for a moment as their father fought Ancalagon, hand to hand.

It was a long and bloody battle Ancalagon swooped and tore at the Mariner and was answered constantly and relentlessly by long cold steel. Far below them Eonwe, seeing that the other dragons were dead and that the field was finally theirs, ordered a sweep up of any and all remaining fleeing soldiers of Morgoth. They were not to be killed, but rounded up and kept under guard. The stronghold of Morgoth containing its Lord and Master and his Lieutenant, Sauron, was still to be breached.

Even as that thought occurred to Eonwe, Earendil made the killing blow and the massive body of the dragon Captain, which could no longer maintain him in the air, came crashing down.

The cry went out from Eonwe and was carried on by the various Heralds for the troops to move away but it was crystal clear where the dragon's now limp body was heading. It seemed to take forever to fall and did so in an almost graceful fashion. When it did finally land, square on top of the stronghold, the whole building exploded outwards and the shockwave from the impact nearly flattened all who stood nearest.

They all watched in appalled silence as Angband, long the impenetrable fortess of the enemy broke apart like a wooden toy fort and the ground trembled. Massive cracks runnelled out from the base of the mountain that the stronghold was built into. They sped outwards and widened into chasms forcing the Host to move even further back. Eonwe watched in fascination as one such crack opened up under a small group of orcs. They were simply there one minute and gone the next.

He became aware of Ingwion and Finarfin standing in front of him, sheer joy and euphoria all over their fair faces. He blinked as they spoke to him and only heard the last part of a sentence. He realised that they were asking what his next orders were. He smiled grimly.

"Now we go for Morgoth." He said, in a tone so soft, yet so deadly, that his commanders and all who stood near him shivered. "But that part of this is not for you. I have other tasks for you. Only myself, Lord Tulcas and the Maiar with us will go into the deeps of Thangorodrim. This is our task as ordered by my Lord and I will not risk any of you children in this."

Finarfin opened his mouth to protest, but Ingwion gripped his arm and shook his head, so instead the High King of the Noldor bowed his head.

"What are your orders my Lord Herald?"

ooOoo