Gwaith i Innas Lain: Quenta Ambarmetto 2/10
Previous
Chapter 1
An Unexpected Party
A while, it turned out, was just over a year. There were a few urgent hunts that took them away for a couple of days now and then, but Sam was as glad as Dean was to have the chance to recover their strength and settle down for a time. Dean bought a truck and got a job at a construction firm while Sam took a position at the public library, which sufficed to keep them in a decent apartment and plenty of books and ammo. Sam took the opportunity to learn as much Elvish as he could and to do some genealogical research; the Winchesters, it turned out, were descended from the Princes of Dol Amroth, and the Campbells had blood ties of their own to the House of Telcontar even before Sir Niall Campbell married Mary Bruce. The brothers managed to save Agent Henricksen’s life during a demon attack and got the FBI off their backs; Gordon Walker turned up dead on a night when both Winchesters had alibis, which surprised exactly no one; and when a demon and an art thief each tried to worm their way into the boys’ lives with motives that didn’t pass the smell test, the Winchesters told them both to go to Hell-literally. And on the non-supernatural side of the ledger, Dean’s relationship with Ben and Lisa really took root and thrived, and Ben was thrilled to have not only a dad but also an uncle who were, in his estimation, practically superheroes.
Shortly after Ben’s ninth birthday, Lisa told Dean that the last year had been the best of her life, and both Dean and Sam were inclined to agree with her.
But on September 18, 2008, while Sam was in the middle of shelving books, he was surprised by a startled gasp and an oddly accented whisper of “Cousin Túrin?!”
Sam turned to see a tall, fair-haired, middle-aged man staring at him in astonishment, standing uncomfortably as if business casual were not his usual attire. And he wondered if this man might be one of their mother’s Campbell cousins, since he did look a little like the one picture of Mary Winchester that had survived the fire. But surely a Campbell would have gotten his name right... wouldn’t he?
The stranger took another deep breath. “No... no, you’re not Túrin. My apologies. And yet-you are very like him... of course, I saw him only once, and that was... a very long time ago.”
“My name’s Sam,” Sam offered.
The stranger’s eyes lit with recognition. “So I was not so wrong-you are the man I seek, and we are kin from afar. I was told I would find you here.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “My name is Tuor.”
Sam quickly thought through the tales from the Elder Days he’d studied and placed Tuor as the father of Eärendil and the only human ever granted the life of the Eldar. But he was supposed to be on an island somewhere off the coast of Aman, forbidden to mix with mortals!
His astonishment evidently showed on his face, because the stranger nodded. “Yes. I am that Tuor. The Valar have sent me to tell you to prepare for battle. We may have only a year before Morgoth returns.”
Sam swallowed hard and checked his watch. “I’m supposed to meet my brother for lunch in ten minutes. Will you join us?”
“Yes,” Tuor nodded. “That might be best.”
Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean was at that moment turning around from putting something in the toolbox on his pickup to run smack into a slightly more familiar figure in a tan trenchcoat.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean pulled back in surprise. “Castiel!”
“I must speak with you and Sam immediately.”
“We’re just about to meet for lunch. Hop in.”
Castiel disappeared and reappeared in the passenger seat. Dean shook his head and got in the truck. But the foreman, Sid, happened to walk outside just as Dean started the engine, so he waved Sid over.
“Hey,” he said when Sid reached him, “I’m probably gonna be late getting back from lunch. Got some unexpected company, may have some family business to take care of.”
Sid nodded. “That’s fine. We’re a week ahead of schedule, thanks to you. Go ahead and take the whole afternoon.”
Dean smiled. “Thanks, dude.”
Dean expected Sid to move on after that, but instead he caught sight of the figure in the passenger seat and asked, “Who’s your friend?”
“Ah, this is my cousin Cas. Cas, Sid.”
“Hi!”
“Hello,” said Castiel with a nod.
Sid patted the door. “Have a good rest of the day!”
“You, too,” Dean replied and pulled out before Sid could decide to chatter at them any further. At the end of the block, though, he glanced over at Castiel. “What, no rebuke for lying?”
“It was not a lie, simply imprecise. We may not be first cousins, but you are of the line of Lúthien, and Melian is among the greatest of my kin.”
“So did not need to know that,” Dean murmured.
Before the conversation could get any more awkward, Dean’s phone rang. “Hey,” said Sam when Dean answered, “change of plans-I’m pickin’ up Chinese. Meet me back at the apartment.”
“Why? What’s goin’ on?”
“Got a surprise for you.”
“Yeah? I’ve got one for you, too.” Dean held the phone away from his head for a moment. “Hey, Cas, you like Chinese food?”
Castiel shrugged. “I’ve never tried it.”
Dean nodded and spoke into the phone again. “Get me some moo goo gai pan and some beef and broccoli.”
Sam’s blink was almost audible. “You’re that hungry?”
“Trust me.”
“All right. See you in ten.”
Dean glanced at Castiel again as he hung up. “Do angels even eat?”
“We can if we so choose. But I believe I may need to do so more often now than I did when last we met.”
“Why? What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay, well, save it for lunch.”
The rest of the ride back to the apartment was silent; Castiel evidently wasn’t one for making small talk. But thanks to the difference in distances to their respective workplaces, Dean pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex just after Sam did, and he was surprised to see a fair-haired stranger in the front seat of the Impala. Sam got out with his arms full of take-out boxes and did a hilarious double-take when he saw who was in the passenger seat of the truck.
“Surprise, Sammy,” Dean called as he stopped the engine.
Sam grinned. “Hey, Castiel!”
Castiel zapped out of the truck and appeared next to Sam to take the food from him. Dean waited until Sam’s passenger had gotten out before following suit, but he froze when the stranger turned to him and Dean was reminded a little-no, a lot-of Mary. And it seemed that the shock was mutual.
Sam spoke up from the other side of the car. “Tuor, this is my brother Dean. Dean, this is Tuor son of Huor.”
“T-” Dean’s eyes threatened to pop out of his head when he placed the name.
Tuor chuckled. “That was Sam’s reaction as well.”
Dean suddenly remembered his manners and offered Tuor his hand. “Good to meet you-what do I call you, Grandpa?”
Tuor laughed and shook hands. “For kin so distant, I think we need not be formal. Call me Tuor, if you will.”
“Okay. Tuor it is.”
Tuor then turned to look at Castiel, who bowed his head. “Mae govannen, hir-nin. Castiel of the people of Manwë at your service.”
“Mae govannen-Castiel? That’s....”
“Not Quenya,” Castiel interrupted, looking slightly embarrassed. “I believe it is Hebrew.”
Tuor inclined his head in understanding. “Well, I suppose we had better continue this conversation inside. That food smells marvelous, and I have not yet eaten today.”
Men and angel trooped inside and quickly settled around the Winchesters’ thrift-store kitchen table. Both Castiel and Tuor were new to the experience of Chinese food, so the first half of the meal was occupied mostly with small talk and exclamations over the quality of some of the dishes. But finally Dean got around to asking Tuor how long he’d been back in mortal lands.
“Some days,” Tuor replied. “My ship landed in... Iceland, I believe you call it, and though Lord Manwë had instructed me on how to find my way here, it still took more time than I had anticipated to obtain conveyance hither. Now that I know how these aeroplanes of yours work, however, the return journey should not take so long.”
“Oh, so you’re not staying?”
“No. I am only to deliver my message and offer passage West for anyone whose safety you wish to ensure for the moment. Valinor itself may not remain secure for long, but the Valar wish to extend this grace to you.”
“So why’d they send you? Why not, I dunno, some other Maia?”
“As a Man, I am less likely to attract attention, either from other Men or from spirits. Lord Manwë suspects that not all of the Maiar in Middle-earth remain reliable.”
“With good cause,” Castiel added. “And even were he mistaken about them, the Enemy’s spies are more prone to see through the disguise of an Elf or Maia.”
Dean nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. So, what’s the message?”
“War is coming,” said Tuor. “We may have only a year, perhaps a year and a half, before Morgoth is able to break through the Walls of the World and return to Arda for the Dagor Dagorath.”
Dean swallowed hard. “Is Manwë sure?”
“As sure as he can be, given that none of the Valar have any clear memory of the end of the Song. But this is not mere foretelling. Everywhere the Enemy is moving, preparing for his arrival. Demonic activity has spiked, and Lilith has returned.”
The Winchesters exchanged a look. “Lilith?” Dean repeated. “Like, mother of all demons Lilith?”
“Not precisely,” Castiel replied. “We believe she was the first of the Houseless whom Morgoth corrupted. There’s a slight chance she was also the mother of the first Orcs.”
Sam involuntarily shuddered.
“And as such,” Tuor continued, “she will seek to marshal not only an army of the Houseless and other evil spirits but also of monsters of every kind. Already the Orcs have begun to multiply in the old lands, and Wargs and giant spiders have appeared in the forests of Europe. I do not doubt that she will find and summon every remaining dragon and Balrog, should any still exist.”
“What for?” Dean pressed.
“Such information as Lord Manwë has gathered suggests that she intends to help Morgoth return from the Void.”
Both Winchesters swore.
“We do not know yet whether she has discovered the whole of the spell she will need to breach the Walls of the World. What is plain is that she seeks to have an army ready and waiting for Morgoth when he does return.”
“The army I was supposed to lead,” Sam sighed.
Tuor nodded. “We believe Morgoth instructed Azazel to find a special child and enspell him or her to be his lieutenant, perhaps even become Antichrist. And Lord Manwë further suspects that Morgoth specifically wanted you, though he could not give Azazel sufficient details to ensure that only you were ensnared.”
“Why Sam?” Dean frowned.
“Some among the Eldar have held that Túrin Turambar would return for the Dagor Dagorath, lead the armies of Manwë, and strike the blow to kill Morgoth, thus avenging the wrongs suffered by the children of Húrin. But Túrin’s fëa went to the Timeless Halls long ago, and if he is to return, it must be at the side of Yésu Hrísto Eruion, the Anointed One. But I confess to being shocked when I saw Sam in the archives earlier-both of you bear an uncanny resemblance to my lamented cousin. I thought briefly that Lord Manwë might have been mistaken and that Sam was indeed Túrin returned.”
“He is not,” Castiel stated flatly. “Nor has Túrin’s soul been divided.”
“No, that is plain to me now. But together, Sam and Dean, you form a unit that is so like Túrin that one might easily think your souls were twinned from his. And Lord Mandos believes that it is to fulfill his role that you were born.”
Dean leaned back in his chair. “So Morgoth was tryin’ to split us up, make us fight each other.”
“With me leading Hell’s army,” Sam added, “and Dean leading Valinor’s. Divide and conquer.”
“Exactly,” said Tuor. “He has failed in that scheme, thanks to your ‘chance-meeting’ with Maglor. But Lord Mandos has seen that your doom is not so lightly to be set aside. If Lilith should succeed, Lord Manwë will need both of you to lead the forces of Men alongside the armies of the Eldar in fighting against Morgoth.”
Both brothers sighed, and the meal continued in momentary silence until Dean asked, “So, Cas, what brings you here? You have a message of your own?”
“Indeed. I have just returned from Aman myself.”
“Really?”
“I have been in the Halls of Mandos.”
Sam blinked. “You’re not-I mean....”
Castiel almost smiled. “No, Sam. I wasn’t dead, though I did find it more expedient to move as pure spirit. No, I was looking for information. Lady Vairë the Weaver, wife of Lord Mandos, records all of Arda’s history in her tapestries, which hang in those halls. I had reached the limit of what my sources here could tell me, and I knew I could find what I sought there.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. Unfortunately. Lady Nienna urged me to tell Lord Manwë everything, and I did so. He ordered me to return to aid you... with some... restrictions.”
“Restrictions?” Dean frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I am now bound to this form. And as I said, I am limited, though I do not have as many limits as were imposed on the Istari who came to Middle-earth in the Third Age. I am subject to hunger and thirst, and I believe it may be possible for me to be injured or slain. Nor am I able to fly as far or as swiftly as I once did.”
Sam placed the term Istari before Dean did and asked, “So... you’re like Gandalf, except you can still fly?”
“Nor am I what you would call a ‘wizard’-but yes, basically.”
Tuor looked puzzled. “Why did you not return with me? There was room enough on board the ship.”
“I didn’t have the information I needed until two days ago. It doesn’t change your message, only adds detail. Your son was kind enough to bring me close enough to Middle-earth that I could complete the journey alone.”
Tuor bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Sam cleared his throat. “So, Tuor, you... wanna tell us what’s going on with Morgoth and Lilith?”
“Gladly, Sam. Have you a map of your country?”
“Yeah, hang on a sec.” Sam went to his desk and retrieved a road map while Dean cleared the table, and together they spread it out for Tuor as he began again.
“Lord Manwë has set a mighty watch on the Walls of the World since the end of the First Age, and even now it has not relaxed or weakened. If Morgoth attempts to cross directly into Valinor through the Door of Night, he will be repulsed-and he knows this. However, because of the shocks resulting from the Breaking of the World, the Walls are not as strong on this side of Arda, and there are two particular weak points over the United States that Lilith may seek to exploit. Breaking through will still require an immense amount of power, but it will easier here than elsewhere.” Tuor scanned the map for a moment, then pointed. “The first potential breach is here, over Ilchester, Maryland. Specifically, we think, over an abandoned convent that appears to be where Azazel contacted Morgoth to receive instruction regarding the special child; some say it lies over a hellmouth, but that part is only rumor. This location is ideal for a quick takeover of the United States and for launching an armada toward Valinor, given its proximity to Washington and to the coast. Lord Manwë believes it will be Lilith’s first choice-but he fears that once she realizes that her plans are known, she will shift her tactics and attack the second point.
“That lies here: Carthage, Missouri. And it may in fact be easier for the spell to break the barrier there, since it was the site of a major battle with severe casualties during your Civil War. Our scouts have not been able to ascertain much about the exact spell Lilith will use, but it does appear to require great bloodshed. Whether or not that will also mean the slaughter of the town’s current residents, we do not yet know.”
Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, we could probably get someone to guard the convent, or at least keep an eye on it for us. A Civil War battlefield’s gonna be harder.”
“You said this was gonna take a year, maybe a year and a half,” Dean frowned. “Why is that? Are there, like, other seals that have to be broken first?”
“Not as such,” Castiel replied. “The passage of time may cause the Walls to thin further, but they will not be affected by anything Lilith does in the meantime. No, she will seek to build an army for Morgoth, and as Tuor said, even if she already knows the whole of the spell to summon him, it will require far more power than she currently has. She will need the time to gather her strength. And so will her allies.”
“Allies? What-what allies?”
Castiel looked depressed. “There are three Maiar who are known to have been working with Lilith: Alatar, Pallando... and Zachariah.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “Zachariah?” Sam asked. “Your superior?”
“Yes. Maglor was correct. He has betrayed us. Apparently he believes that Our Father has delayed the end too long and that we ought to force it to come now. Why he believes this is unclear, but perhaps he hopes to have mastery over Arda Remade. He has always been ambitious. I have recently heard him expressing contempt for the Secondborn, too, and my friend Uriel agreed. I have no idea how many others of my brethren Zachariah has corrupted or how many have followed blindly without realizing his error.”
“That is what you sought from Lady Vairë,” Tuor said thoughtfully. “To learn when that change began.”
Castiel nodded. “I had hoped it was only discontent with the present state of Arda.”
“So what’d you find?” Dean prompted.
“His treachery runs deeper than we knew,” Castiel stated grimly. “I suspect he ordered a cupid to ensure that your parents were attracted to one another, though I have no proof. I do know that he ordered us not to prevent your mother’s death, and I have learned that that order did not come from Lord Manwë. And I now know also that he appeared to your mother and her parents as a hunter who looked very much like Dean does now-indeed, he called himself Dean Van Halen. And it was through his subtle manipulation that Mary and her father crossed paths with Azazel.
“The demon sensed the blood of Númenor in Mary and decided she would make a good mother for the special child. So Azazel possessed Samuel Campbell, then killed him and his wife Deanna and John Winchester but prevented the Reaper from carrying John into the West. And he offered Mary a deal: he would return John to life if Mary gave him leave to enter her house in ten years’ time for an undisclosed purpose.”
“Ten-” Dean cut himself short and shared a horrified look with Sam.
“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “The date was May 2, 1973. What Mary couldn’t know was that the permission was valid for the entire year following the ten-year mark. And Azazel’s spell had to be performed when the child was precisely six months old.”
Sam leaned his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.
“Why did Zachariah interfere?” Dean asked, sounding deceptively calm.
Castiel sighed. “I don’t know, Dean. Somehow he had seen the two of you in the future and felt compelled to ensure that that future would come to pass, by fair means or foul.”
The brothers cursed in quiet unison.
Tuor evidently decided that this news was better dealt with in private, because he changed the subject. “Alatar and Pallando are Istari, are they not?”
Castiel nodded. “They were known in the Third Age as the Blue Wizards. They disappeared into the East and were never heard from again. Olórin suspects that they are responsible for a number of false religions in the East, leading the Men of those lands astray with the promise of occult knowledge. Like Saruman, they may have begun by teaching truth, but eventually they themselves fell into error.”
Tuor scratched his beard thoughtfully. “They will be formidable adversaries, then-but perhaps not so formidable as they were in the Third Age. The habit of practicing evil diminishes the power of even the greatest spirit.”
“True, but they have also grown strong in sorcery and necromancy. And Zachariah will not have lost as much of his power as they have, since he arrived in Middle-earth only after the downfall of Sauron.”
Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Awesome. Must be Thursday. Aren’t there any other angels we can trust, Cas?”
“I am certain of only one other,” Castiel replied. “My brother Rincaro is also with us.”
“Rincaro? Who’s-”
“You rang?” asked a familiar voice from the living room.
Sam and Dean were on their feet in seconds, guns aimed at the brown-haired figure that had appeared on the couch.
“Hey,” said the newcomer, hands raised placatingly. “I’m on your side, honest.” And he manifested a white Stetson and waved it at them to prove his point.
“We killed you,” Sam frowned.
The newcomer scoffed and plopped the Stetson on his head at a silly angle. “Please. Like I’d let you mooks get the jump on me for real.”
Dean glanced at Castiel. “Your brother is the Trickster?!”
“He is of the people of Lórien,” Castiel explained. “His tricks are intended to teach, not to harm.”
“Except when people end up dead.”
Rincaro shrugged. “Omelets, eggs. Some assembly required.”
Sam huffed and put away his gun. Tuor didn’t quite manage to suppress a snicker.
“Why would you want to help us now?” Dean demanded.
Rincaro straightened his hat and leaned forward, deadly earnest. “Zachariah’s obsessed with the idea of you being Túrin reborn or whatever he thinks you are. He’ll do anything to make sure you can’t escape the role he believes you were destined to fulfill from the moment Dad gave Being to the Song. He’s wrong, but he’s powerful enough to be a dangerous enemy; even Castiel is no match for him. And he’s incredibly petty when he’s crossed. But I’m stronger, faster, and better. You need me-to run interference, if nothing else.”
“He’s serious, Dean,” Castiel stated. “He was the one who warned me not to trust Zachariah and urged me to contact you after Azazel’s death.”
Dean sighed and lowered his gun. “Fine. Go... run interference.”
Rincaro winked and vanished.
Dean righted the chair he’d knocked over in his haste and sat down heavily. “How in the world am I supposed to manage this mess by myself?!” he asked the room in general.
“Dean...” Sam began.
“Yeah, I know you’ve got my back, Sam, and you’ll help all you can. Thanks, and I do trust you. I can’t do it without you. You still know what I mean.”
Sam sighed. “Yeah. You’re the eldest; you’re in charge-Ike.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Does that make you Patton or Bradley?”
“I don’t wear a helmet to bed, Dean.”
“Yeah, and Bradley was a bean pole, too, from what I remember. Awesome. Just make sure you don’t turn into Montgomery on me.”
Sam snorted.
Tuor put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, you may be the closest thing this generation of Men has to the Heir of Isildur, but you are not Aragorn, never mind the Anointed One. None of us expect you to be! But even Aragorn did not labor alone forever. Without the Fellowship, neither he nor Mithrandir nor the Ring-bearers could have accomplished their task. Nor could the Nine have succeeded without the aid of many others-Radagast, Elrond, Galadriel, Gwaihir, Faramir, Théoden, Éomer, Éowyn, Fangorn, the list goes on and on. You and Sam together must take up the standard of the kings of old, your forefathers, fighting evil to the last, and together you must play the role that lore once gave to Túrin if the worst should happen; but you would both do well to keep about you such friends as are willing and able to assist. A sworn brotherhood, a fellowship.”
Dean nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I know which hunters we can count on.”
“What should we call ourselves?” Sam wondered. “I mean, we’ve already had the Fellowship of the Ring and the Last Alliance of Elves and Men-not that we’ve got more than one Elf right now.”
“No, but you have two Maiar,” noted Castiel.
“Zachariah’s tryin’ to sell this Apocalypse as destiny, right?” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “No choice, no escape, no reason to fight it. It’s inevitable.”
“It might prove so,” Tuor replied. “But he does seem to deny that there is any room at all for free will, save perhaps his own.”
Dean nodded. “So how about Team Free Will?”
“Fits on a T-shirt,” Sam shrugged and got slugged on the arm for his trouble.
Glossary | Next
Chapter 1
An Unexpected Party
A while, it turned out, was just over a year. There were a few urgent hunts that took them away for a couple of days now and then, but Sam was as glad as Dean was to have the chance to recover their strength and settle down for a time. Dean bought a truck and got a job at a construction firm while Sam took a position at the public library, which sufficed to keep them in a decent apartment and plenty of books and ammo. Sam took the opportunity to learn as much Elvish as he could and to do some genealogical research; the Winchesters, it turned out, were descended from the Princes of Dol Amroth, and the Campbells had blood ties of their own to the House of Telcontar even before Sir Niall Campbell married Mary Bruce. The brothers managed to save Agent Henricksen’s life during a demon attack and got the FBI off their backs; Gordon Walker turned up dead on a night when both Winchesters had alibis, which surprised exactly no one; and when a demon and an art thief each tried to worm their way into the boys’ lives with motives that didn’t pass the smell test, the Winchesters told them both to go to Hell-literally. And on the non-supernatural side of the ledger, Dean’s relationship with Ben and Lisa really took root and thrived, and Ben was thrilled to have not only a dad but also an uncle who were, in his estimation, practically superheroes.
Shortly after Ben’s ninth birthday, Lisa told Dean that the last year had been the best of her life, and both Dean and Sam were inclined to agree with her.
But on September 18, 2008, while Sam was in the middle of shelving books, he was surprised by a startled gasp and an oddly accented whisper of “Cousin Túrin?!”
Sam turned to see a tall, fair-haired, middle-aged man staring at him in astonishment, standing uncomfortably as if business casual were not his usual attire. And he wondered if this man might be one of their mother’s Campbell cousins, since he did look a little like the one picture of Mary Winchester that had survived the fire. But surely a Campbell would have gotten his name right... wouldn’t he?
The stranger took another deep breath. “No... no, you’re not Túrin. My apologies. And yet-you are very like him... of course, I saw him only once, and that was... a very long time ago.”
“My name’s Sam,” Sam offered.
The stranger’s eyes lit with recognition. “So I was not so wrong-you are the man I seek, and we are kin from afar. I was told I would find you here.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “My name is Tuor.”
Sam quickly thought through the tales from the Elder Days he’d studied and placed Tuor as the father of Eärendil and the only human ever granted the life of the Eldar. But he was supposed to be on an island somewhere off the coast of Aman, forbidden to mix with mortals!
His astonishment evidently showed on his face, because the stranger nodded. “Yes. I am that Tuor. The Valar have sent me to tell you to prepare for battle. We may have only a year before Morgoth returns.”
Sam swallowed hard and checked his watch. “I’m supposed to meet my brother for lunch in ten minutes. Will you join us?”
“Yes,” Tuor nodded. “That might be best.”
Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean was at that moment turning around from putting something in the toolbox on his pickup to run smack into a slightly more familiar figure in a tan trenchcoat.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean pulled back in surprise. “Castiel!”
“I must speak with you and Sam immediately.”
“We’re just about to meet for lunch. Hop in.”
Castiel disappeared and reappeared in the passenger seat. Dean shook his head and got in the truck. But the foreman, Sid, happened to walk outside just as Dean started the engine, so he waved Sid over.
“Hey,” he said when Sid reached him, “I’m probably gonna be late getting back from lunch. Got some unexpected company, may have some family business to take care of.”
Sid nodded. “That’s fine. We’re a week ahead of schedule, thanks to you. Go ahead and take the whole afternoon.”
Dean smiled. “Thanks, dude.”
Dean expected Sid to move on after that, but instead he caught sight of the figure in the passenger seat and asked, “Who’s your friend?”
“Ah, this is my cousin Cas. Cas, Sid.”
“Hi!”
“Hello,” said Castiel with a nod.
Sid patted the door. “Have a good rest of the day!”
“You, too,” Dean replied and pulled out before Sid could decide to chatter at them any further. At the end of the block, though, he glanced over at Castiel. “What, no rebuke for lying?”
“It was not a lie, simply imprecise. We may not be first cousins, but you are of the line of Lúthien, and Melian is among the greatest of my kin.”
“So did not need to know that,” Dean murmured.
Before the conversation could get any more awkward, Dean’s phone rang. “Hey,” said Sam when Dean answered, “change of plans-I’m pickin’ up Chinese. Meet me back at the apartment.”
“Why? What’s goin’ on?”
“Got a surprise for you.”
“Yeah? I’ve got one for you, too.” Dean held the phone away from his head for a moment. “Hey, Cas, you like Chinese food?”
Castiel shrugged. “I’ve never tried it.”
Dean nodded and spoke into the phone again. “Get me some moo goo gai pan and some beef and broccoli.”
Sam’s blink was almost audible. “You’re that hungry?”
“Trust me.”
“All right. See you in ten.”
Dean glanced at Castiel again as he hung up. “Do angels even eat?”
“We can if we so choose. But I believe I may need to do so more often now than I did when last we met.”
“Why? What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay, well, save it for lunch.”
The rest of the ride back to the apartment was silent; Castiel evidently wasn’t one for making small talk. But thanks to the difference in distances to their respective workplaces, Dean pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex just after Sam did, and he was surprised to see a fair-haired stranger in the front seat of the Impala. Sam got out with his arms full of take-out boxes and did a hilarious double-take when he saw who was in the passenger seat of the truck.
“Surprise, Sammy,” Dean called as he stopped the engine.
Sam grinned. “Hey, Castiel!”
Castiel zapped out of the truck and appeared next to Sam to take the food from him. Dean waited until Sam’s passenger had gotten out before following suit, but he froze when the stranger turned to him and Dean was reminded a little-no, a lot-of Mary. And it seemed that the shock was mutual.
Sam spoke up from the other side of the car. “Tuor, this is my brother Dean. Dean, this is Tuor son of Huor.”
“T-” Dean’s eyes threatened to pop out of his head when he placed the name.
Tuor chuckled. “That was Sam’s reaction as well.”
Dean suddenly remembered his manners and offered Tuor his hand. “Good to meet you-what do I call you, Grandpa?”
Tuor laughed and shook hands. “For kin so distant, I think we need not be formal. Call me Tuor, if you will.”
“Okay. Tuor it is.”
Tuor then turned to look at Castiel, who bowed his head. “Mae govannen, hir-nin. Castiel of the people of Manwë at your service.”
“Mae govannen-Castiel? That’s....”
“Not Quenya,” Castiel interrupted, looking slightly embarrassed. “I believe it is Hebrew.”
Tuor inclined his head in understanding. “Well, I suppose we had better continue this conversation inside. That food smells marvelous, and I have not yet eaten today.”
Men and angel trooped inside and quickly settled around the Winchesters’ thrift-store kitchen table. Both Castiel and Tuor were new to the experience of Chinese food, so the first half of the meal was occupied mostly with small talk and exclamations over the quality of some of the dishes. But finally Dean got around to asking Tuor how long he’d been back in mortal lands.
“Some days,” Tuor replied. “My ship landed in... Iceland, I believe you call it, and though Lord Manwë had instructed me on how to find my way here, it still took more time than I had anticipated to obtain conveyance hither. Now that I know how these aeroplanes of yours work, however, the return journey should not take so long.”
“Oh, so you’re not staying?”
“No. I am only to deliver my message and offer passage West for anyone whose safety you wish to ensure for the moment. Valinor itself may not remain secure for long, but the Valar wish to extend this grace to you.”
“So why’d they send you? Why not, I dunno, some other Maia?”
“As a Man, I am less likely to attract attention, either from other Men or from spirits. Lord Manwë suspects that not all of the Maiar in Middle-earth remain reliable.”
“With good cause,” Castiel added. “And even were he mistaken about them, the Enemy’s spies are more prone to see through the disguise of an Elf or Maia.”
Dean nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. So, what’s the message?”
“War is coming,” said Tuor. “We may have only a year, perhaps a year and a half, before Morgoth is able to break through the Walls of the World and return to Arda for the Dagor Dagorath.”
Dean swallowed hard. “Is Manwë sure?”
“As sure as he can be, given that none of the Valar have any clear memory of the end of the Song. But this is not mere foretelling. Everywhere the Enemy is moving, preparing for his arrival. Demonic activity has spiked, and Lilith has returned.”
The Winchesters exchanged a look. “Lilith?” Dean repeated. “Like, mother of all demons Lilith?”
“Not precisely,” Castiel replied. “We believe she was the first of the Houseless whom Morgoth corrupted. There’s a slight chance she was also the mother of the first Orcs.”
Sam involuntarily shuddered.
“And as such,” Tuor continued, “she will seek to marshal not only an army of the Houseless and other evil spirits but also of monsters of every kind. Already the Orcs have begun to multiply in the old lands, and Wargs and giant spiders have appeared in the forests of Europe. I do not doubt that she will find and summon every remaining dragon and Balrog, should any still exist.”
“What for?” Dean pressed.
“Such information as Lord Manwë has gathered suggests that she intends to help Morgoth return from the Void.”
Both Winchesters swore.
“We do not know yet whether she has discovered the whole of the spell she will need to breach the Walls of the World. What is plain is that she seeks to have an army ready and waiting for Morgoth when he does return.”
“The army I was supposed to lead,” Sam sighed.
Tuor nodded. “We believe Morgoth instructed Azazel to find a special child and enspell him or her to be his lieutenant, perhaps even become Antichrist. And Lord Manwë further suspects that Morgoth specifically wanted you, though he could not give Azazel sufficient details to ensure that only you were ensnared.”
“Why Sam?” Dean frowned.
“Some among the Eldar have held that Túrin Turambar would return for the Dagor Dagorath, lead the armies of Manwë, and strike the blow to kill Morgoth, thus avenging the wrongs suffered by the children of Húrin. But Túrin’s fëa went to the Timeless Halls long ago, and if he is to return, it must be at the side of Yésu Hrísto Eruion, the Anointed One. But I confess to being shocked when I saw Sam in the archives earlier-both of you bear an uncanny resemblance to my lamented cousin. I thought briefly that Lord Manwë might have been mistaken and that Sam was indeed Túrin returned.”
“He is not,” Castiel stated flatly. “Nor has Túrin’s soul been divided.”
“No, that is plain to me now. But together, Sam and Dean, you form a unit that is so like Túrin that one might easily think your souls were twinned from his. And Lord Mandos believes that it is to fulfill his role that you were born.”
Dean leaned back in his chair. “So Morgoth was tryin’ to split us up, make us fight each other.”
“With me leading Hell’s army,” Sam added, “and Dean leading Valinor’s. Divide and conquer.”
“Exactly,” said Tuor. “He has failed in that scheme, thanks to your ‘chance-meeting’ with Maglor. But Lord Mandos has seen that your doom is not so lightly to be set aside. If Lilith should succeed, Lord Manwë will need both of you to lead the forces of Men alongside the armies of the Eldar in fighting against Morgoth.”
Both brothers sighed, and the meal continued in momentary silence until Dean asked, “So, Cas, what brings you here? You have a message of your own?”
“Indeed. I have just returned from Aman myself.”
“Really?”
“I have been in the Halls of Mandos.”
Sam blinked. “You’re not-I mean....”
Castiel almost smiled. “No, Sam. I wasn’t dead, though I did find it more expedient to move as pure spirit. No, I was looking for information. Lady Vairë the Weaver, wife of Lord Mandos, records all of Arda’s history in her tapestries, which hang in those halls. I had reached the limit of what my sources here could tell me, and I knew I could find what I sought there.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. Unfortunately. Lady Nienna urged me to tell Lord Manwë everything, and I did so. He ordered me to return to aid you... with some... restrictions.”
“Restrictions?” Dean frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I am now bound to this form. And as I said, I am limited, though I do not have as many limits as were imposed on the Istari who came to Middle-earth in the Third Age. I am subject to hunger and thirst, and I believe it may be possible for me to be injured or slain. Nor am I able to fly as far or as swiftly as I once did.”
Sam placed the term Istari before Dean did and asked, “So... you’re like Gandalf, except you can still fly?”
“Nor am I what you would call a ‘wizard’-but yes, basically.”
Tuor looked puzzled. “Why did you not return with me? There was room enough on board the ship.”
“I didn’t have the information I needed until two days ago. It doesn’t change your message, only adds detail. Your son was kind enough to bring me close enough to Middle-earth that I could complete the journey alone.”
Tuor bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Sam cleared his throat. “So, Tuor, you... wanna tell us what’s going on with Morgoth and Lilith?”
“Gladly, Sam. Have you a map of your country?”
“Yeah, hang on a sec.” Sam went to his desk and retrieved a road map while Dean cleared the table, and together they spread it out for Tuor as he began again.
“Lord Manwë has set a mighty watch on the Walls of the World since the end of the First Age, and even now it has not relaxed or weakened. If Morgoth attempts to cross directly into Valinor through the Door of Night, he will be repulsed-and he knows this. However, because of the shocks resulting from the Breaking of the World, the Walls are not as strong on this side of Arda, and there are two particular weak points over the United States that Lilith may seek to exploit. Breaking through will still require an immense amount of power, but it will easier here than elsewhere.” Tuor scanned the map for a moment, then pointed. “The first potential breach is here, over Ilchester, Maryland. Specifically, we think, over an abandoned convent that appears to be where Azazel contacted Morgoth to receive instruction regarding the special child; some say it lies over a hellmouth, but that part is only rumor. This location is ideal for a quick takeover of the United States and for launching an armada toward Valinor, given its proximity to Washington and to the coast. Lord Manwë believes it will be Lilith’s first choice-but he fears that once she realizes that her plans are known, she will shift her tactics and attack the second point.
“That lies here: Carthage, Missouri. And it may in fact be easier for the spell to break the barrier there, since it was the site of a major battle with severe casualties during your Civil War. Our scouts have not been able to ascertain much about the exact spell Lilith will use, but it does appear to require great bloodshed. Whether or not that will also mean the slaughter of the town’s current residents, we do not yet know.”
Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, we could probably get someone to guard the convent, or at least keep an eye on it for us. A Civil War battlefield’s gonna be harder.”
“You said this was gonna take a year, maybe a year and a half,” Dean frowned. “Why is that? Are there, like, other seals that have to be broken first?”
“Not as such,” Castiel replied. “The passage of time may cause the Walls to thin further, but they will not be affected by anything Lilith does in the meantime. No, she will seek to build an army for Morgoth, and as Tuor said, even if she already knows the whole of the spell to summon him, it will require far more power than she currently has. She will need the time to gather her strength. And so will her allies.”
“Allies? What-what allies?”
Castiel looked depressed. “There are three Maiar who are known to have been working with Lilith: Alatar, Pallando... and Zachariah.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “Zachariah?” Sam asked. “Your superior?”
“Yes. Maglor was correct. He has betrayed us. Apparently he believes that Our Father has delayed the end too long and that we ought to force it to come now. Why he believes this is unclear, but perhaps he hopes to have mastery over Arda Remade. He has always been ambitious. I have recently heard him expressing contempt for the Secondborn, too, and my friend Uriel agreed. I have no idea how many others of my brethren Zachariah has corrupted or how many have followed blindly without realizing his error.”
“That is what you sought from Lady Vairë,” Tuor said thoughtfully. “To learn when that change began.”
Castiel nodded. “I had hoped it was only discontent with the present state of Arda.”
“So what’d you find?” Dean prompted.
“His treachery runs deeper than we knew,” Castiel stated grimly. “I suspect he ordered a cupid to ensure that your parents were attracted to one another, though I have no proof. I do know that he ordered us not to prevent your mother’s death, and I have learned that that order did not come from Lord Manwë. And I now know also that he appeared to your mother and her parents as a hunter who looked very much like Dean does now-indeed, he called himself Dean Van Halen. And it was through his subtle manipulation that Mary and her father crossed paths with Azazel.
“The demon sensed the blood of Númenor in Mary and decided she would make a good mother for the special child. So Azazel possessed Samuel Campbell, then killed him and his wife Deanna and John Winchester but prevented the Reaper from carrying John into the West. And he offered Mary a deal: he would return John to life if Mary gave him leave to enter her house in ten years’ time for an undisclosed purpose.”
“Ten-” Dean cut himself short and shared a horrified look with Sam.
“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “The date was May 2, 1973. What Mary couldn’t know was that the permission was valid for the entire year following the ten-year mark. And Azazel’s spell had to be performed when the child was precisely six months old.”
Sam leaned his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.
“Why did Zachariah interfere?” Dean asked, sounding deceptively calm.
Castiel sighed. “I don’t know, Dean. Somehow he had seen the two of you in the future and felt compelled to ensure that that future would come to pass, by fair means or foul.”
The brothers cursed in quiet unison.
Tuor evidently decided that this news was better dealt with in private, because he changed the subject. “Alatar and Pallando are Istari, are they not?”
Castiel nodded. “They were known in the Third Age as the Blue Wizards. They disappeared into the East and were never heard from again. Olórin suspects that they are responsible for a number of false religions in the East, leading the Men of those lands astray with the promise of occult knowledge. Like Saruman, they may have begun by teaching truth, but eventually they themselves fell into error.”
Tuor scratched his beard thoughtfully. “They will be formidable adversaries, then-but perhaps not so formidable as they were in the Third Age. The habit of practicing evil diminishes the power of even the greatest spirit.”
“True, but they have also grown strong in sorcery and necromancy. And Zachariah will not have lost as much of his power as they have, since he arrived in Middle-earth only after the downfall of Sauron.”
Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Awesome. Must be Thursday. Aren’t there any other angels we can trust, Cas?”
“I am certain of only one other,” Castiel replied. “My brother Rincaro is also with us.”
“Rincaro? Who’s-”
“You rang?” asked a familiar voice from the living room.
Sam and Dean were on their feet in seconds, guns aimed at the brown-haired figure that had appeared on the couch.
“Hey,” said the newcomer, hands raised placatingly. “I’m on your side, honest.” And he manifested a white Stetson and waved it at them to prove his point.
“We killed you,” Sam frowned.
The newcomer scoffed and plopped the Stetson on his head at a silly angle. “Please. Like I’d let you mooks get the jump on me for real.”
Dean glanced at Castiel. “Your brother is the Trickster?!”
“He is of the people of Lórien,” Castiel explained. “His tricks are intended to teach, not to harm.”
“Except when people end up dead.”
Rincaro shrugged. “Omelets, eggs. Some assembly required.”
Sam huffed and put away his gun. Tuor didn’t quite manage to suppress a snicker.
“Why would you want to help us now?” Dean demanded.
Rincaro straightened his hat and leaned forward, deadly earnest. “Zachariah’s obsessed with the idea of you being Túrin reborn or whatever he thinks you are. He’ll do anything to make sure you can’t escape the role he believes you were destined to fulfill from the moment Dad gave Being to the Song. He’s wrong, but he’s powerful enough to be a dangerous enemy; even Castiel is no match for him. And he’s incredibly petty when he’s crossed. But I’m stronger, faster, and better. You need me-to run interference, if nothing else.”
“He’s serious, Dean,” Castiel stated. “He was the one who warned me not to trust Zachariah and urged me to contact you after Azazel’s death.”
Dean sighed and lowered his gun. “Fine. Go... run interference.”
Rincaro winked and vanished.
Dean righted the chair he’d knocked over in his haste and sat down heavily. “How in the world am I supposed to manage this mess by myself?!” he asked the room in general.
“Dean...” Sam began.
“Yeah, I know you’ve got my back, Sam, and you’ll help all you can. Thanks, and I do trust you. I can’t do it without you. You still know what I mean.”
Sam sighed. “Yeah. You’re the eldest; you’re in charge-Ike.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Does that make you Patton or Bradley?”
“I don’t wear a helmet to bed, Dean.”
“Yeah, and Bradley was a bean pole, too, from what I remember. Awesome. Just make sure you don’t turn into Montgomery on me.”
Sam snorted.
Tuor put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, you may be the closest thing this generation of Men has to the Heir of Isildur, but you are not Aragorn, never mind the Anointed One. None of us expect you to be! But even Aragorn did not labor alone forever. Without the Fellowship, neither he nor Mithrandir nor the Ring-bearers could have accomplished their task. Nor could the Nine have succeeded without the aid of many others-Radagast, Elrond, Galadriel, Gwaihir, Faramir, Théoden, Éomer, Éowyn, Fangorn, the list goes on and on. You and Sam together must take up the standard of the kings of old, your forefathers, fighting evil to the last, and together you must play the role that lore once gave to Túrin if the worst should happen; but you would both do well to keep about you such friends as are willing and able to assist. A sworn brotherhood, a fellowship.”
Dean nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I know which hunters we can count on.”
“What should we call ourselves?” Sam wondered. “I mean, we’ve already had the Fellowship of the Ring and the Last Alliance of Elves and Men-not that we’ve got more than one Elf right now.”
“No, but you have two Maiar,” noted Castiel.
“Zachariah’s tryin’ to sell this Apocalypse as destiny, right?” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “No choice, no escape, no reason to fight it. It’s inevitable.”
“It might prove so,” Tuor replied. “But he does seem to deny that there is any room at all for free will, save perhaps his own.”
Dean nodded. “So how about Team Free Will?”
“Fits on a T-shirt,” Sam shrugged and got slugged on the arm for his trouble.
Glossary | Next