+++VALINOR+++

The trees of Lorien were memorable indeed. They were like proud oaks tall and strong with great trunks and glistening gold bark, and their silver leaves did not block light but reflected and refracted it so that even in midnight there was sufficient illumination to easily find one's way. Around them in the garden were great bushes and ferns on which the morning dew shone like the stars of Varda, larger than any that could be found on Endor. The trees bore fruit in all seasons which never went overripe or grew bad, and the fruit of the trees was a balm to any afflicted spirit; but also a curse to any who would take them for selfish gain, for only evil could come of that.

Upon the ground diamonds and rubies and nuggets of gold and shining silver lay like common pebbles, but one would not think to disturb them, never mind to take them from what seemed such a perfect garden.

Silvery mists flowed through the forest, and the wind in the trees produced music like the soft tinkling of a thousand bells at once. Sweet waters flowed in streams and brooks, or pooled in small lakes; and the music of the flowing water added to the music of the trees, both increasing the splendour of the other; so that with the two in harmony the soul was soothed and even the most burdened heart could find comfort.

Eventually all the flowing waters found rest in a central lake surrounded by trees. The lake was like a crystal mirror which could never be disturbed, in which even the most forcefully thrown boulder would not leave the slightest ripple. In this lake the dreams of all Arda were born - in this lake all hopes and dreams for the future rested, in this lake all good dreams and great passions were born from its infinite depths. All hope, all joy, all rest - all came from this place and ultimately from Illuvatar.

On an island in the centre what looked like a young man and woman lay asleep in the knot of a tree greater than all the others, whose scent put a drowsiness in motion that made it easy to sleep - and after sleeping in its shadow one was always refreshed, healed of old wounds and scars and the memory of past torments.

One would not easily suppose that the lake, the man and the tree were all one and the same - Irmo the Vala. His spouse Este slept beside him, hands held with her husband.

Ancalimon had left the fortress being built to the east on special dispensation and would return soon to the war that would be begun on Morgoth. Resting on a mat of leaves and rushes which was bearing him across the clear waters to the island, he let the forest sink into him and cool his soul until it laid down on the island's shore.

Gingerly he set his feet down on the pearl sands - like the beaches of Eldamar but in miniature, each grain of sand was a single brilliant pearl - and walked towards the tree. In a hollow some water had pooled, and it was like molten silver. He glanced briefly in the pool. In it was displayed the face of his soulmate - of the one his heart would be bonded to in marriage and ever after belong to completely.

It was a youthful face, with golden hair and features so beautiful it almost stunned him to behold. It seemed carefree and innocent beyond measure, wishing no malevolence to anything. It had certainly never known evil or wickedness, not even in stories such as the ones he had been told in his youth.

He knew certainly that whoever possessed that face would not be born in Valinor - the rate of births had slowed to a crawl over the long Ages, the last handful were certainly taking place soon or even now. But how? After the Doom and the undoing of Arda, what would be left of the Eldar? How could it-

He looked to his right and a figure shining with light stood at his side. His face was gentle and happy to be here, glad and filled with good humour. One of the Holy Ones, to be sure.

"Who are you, O Holy One in the Eyes of Illuvatar?" Ancalimon asked. "For I do not know your name."

"Name?" the Maia said in answer. "I have used many in the past. In the Third Age of the Sun I was called Gandalf to Men, Mithrandir to Elves, Tharkun to the Dwarves. From the Fifth Age thereon, in Endor I have been called Raphael - for some times I have been abroad there on the instruction of Illuvatar. There also they have called my kin many names - Manwë they have called Michael, many others have been deluded about the Powers and worshipped them as gods in their own right. But Olorin will do for just now."

"So, Olorin, what is the meaning of that which I see before me?"

"To Illuvatar only is given the authority to open the seal upon the scroll of the future. We of the Ainur were given only the faintest scraps of what would come after the Third Age. You should trust in Him to see that things work out for the best - hold faith in His power and benevolence, have hope for the future and keep in mind that He knows better than you in many things."

"Thank you, Master Olorin."

"It has been a pleasure. Now, should you not be back preparing for the Battle to come?"

+++CAMP ALPHA, MAY 28 MORNING+++

Bradley woke up well-rested. Stephanie had already left, presumably to shower and put on the military clothes she ought to be wearing today. The red dress she'd been wearing that evening (until he'd divested her of it, along with her bra and panties) was also gone, presumably it was wherever she kept it. By the nightstand she'd left a note.

Thaddeus Bradley,

I never realised how much I loved you until tonight.

You are the light of my life and I will never leave you ever. You have claimed me forever as yours. You have amazed me beyond my wildest dreams and I cannot say any other man has marked me so much as you have tonight. I am yours forever.

Do you feel the same?

If you do, I would like to meet you at dinner tomorrow in the Prancing Pony

Stephanie Danvers

Bradley could not voice any objection. He had been with women more than a few times before Steph, but those had been one night stands or short flings, brief outbursts of passion that quickly burned themselves out and guttered away, forgotten. With her, he felt this incredible connection, this perfect union, almost at the level of their own souls. She was more than pretty or attractive - she was beautiful.

He found a pen and scrawled below his answer to her challenge: yes.

The following day was routine - swordsmanship practice, marksmanship training. martial arts sparring and bouts of recreation at the on-site leisure centre. By evening he went to the Prancing Pony - a local village pub which claimed to be descended from a Medieval tavern and before that an Anglo-Saxon feasthall, both of the same name and location - also known as the place where he and Stephanie had spoken to each other after the battle underground where she had claimed Anduril.

He easily found her (in a sky-blue dress this time) and showed her his message, the answer to her question, her challenge to him that he loved her.

"Bradley...uh, wow," she said. "I can't imagine - is it real? Do you truly love me?"

"Yes," he replied, the answer he gave so natural he barely noticed it. "Yes, my love."

She took his head in her hands and softly, sweetly kissed him on the mouth.

Love was all that existed for them in that moment.