Gwaith i Innas Lain: Quenta Ambarmetto 6/10
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Chapter 5
Into the West
Henricksen had to call in every marker he had to get a jet and the necessary clearance, and Cas had to render Dean unconscious to keep him calm, but the surviving members and human allies of Team Free Will (and the Impala, her trunk loaded with all the spare fuel they could find) found themselves in Keflavik, Iceland, early on the morning of November 18. Apart from a route to the Straight Road, Dean didn’t know what he expected to find when they got there.
The white-haired, bearded Elf who was waiting for them at the gate to the harbor was definitely a surprise, though.
“Mae govannen, Valandili,” said the Elf with a slight bow when Sam and Dean got out to talk to him, leaving Cas, Rinc, and Bobby in the car. “Lord Manwë and Lord Ulmo bade me give you greetings. My name is Círdan, and I am your captain. Your ship awaits.”
Dean stepped forward warily. “Two questions, Círdan. One, you got accommodations for Bobby? Wheelchairs aren’t exactly boat-friendly.”
“Have no fear. His cabin has been carefully prepared, and I have ordered one of my crew to attend him.”
“Okay. Two...” Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You got room for my baby?”
Círdan laughed. “Lord Oromë said you would ask! Yes, there is space enough for your steed in our hold.”
Dean turned to look at the Impala and tried to picture her as a mighty warhorse... and ended up laughing in spite of himself. “Awesome. Thanks.”
Círdan gave them directions to the dock and walked away while the Winchesters got back into the car. Dean drove around to the right spot, and Ellen, who was behind them in a rented van with Jo, Ash, Rufus, Henricksen and his family, and a hunting friend of Bobby’s named Pamela Barnes, followed. They found a host of Elves, their ears carefully hidden, working busily on the dock to load a beautiful three-masted ship made of silvery-grey wood and carved to look like a swan. The Elves made quick work of loading the luggage and the car onto the ship, but although they spoke to the humans, it was mostly in their own language, in a dialect that only Cas and Rinc could understand. The Maiar ended up translating until Círdan came to tell them it was time to board.
“My apologies,” Círdan said. “Very few of us have had cause to learn English, and even then, we have only begun in the last few sun-years. I daresay, however, that you will find many more English-speakers on Tol Eressëa-Dean’s son and his mother have been good conversation partners, and many of the Elves there have been curious to learn of the state of Middle-earth from them.”
Dean perked up at that. “Lisa and Ben? Are they okay?”
“They are very well. In fact, there is a long letter from each of them in your cabin.”
Dean heaved a sigh of relief, and Sam squeezed his shoulder.
Círdan smiled kindly. “Come. We will be departing soon.”
Sam clapped Dean on the back and grabbed the handles on Bobby’s wheelchair, and together they led the team onto the boat. Then Ellen and Pamela took charge of getting Bobby to his cabin, and the Winchesters waited on deck while the others finished boarding. Círdan waited on the dock, apparently counting heads, and once everyone was up the gangplank, he followed, frowning slightly.
“Is there a problem?” Sam asked.
Círdan looked at him. “Where is Maglor? I understood that he would be coming with you.”
Dean shook his head. “Nah. He’s way ahead of us. Probably already in Mandos by now.”
“What happened?”
“Hellhounds,” the Winchesters chorused.
Círdan nodded sadly. “I am sorry. But mourn not overmuch. I was to tell him that his pardon is assured. You will see him again.”
Dean sighed. “Círdan, this... this rehousing thing. How long does it take?”
“It varies. Ordinarily, for one of Fëanor’s sons, it might take an Age, perhaps more. But since the end of all things as we know them is so nigh... it would not surprise me if he is released from Mandos ere we arrive.”
“And how long will that take?”
“No more than seven days, more likely only five.”
Sam blinked. “Seriously? I mean, I thought it took over a month to get there from Númenor.”
“Geek,” Dean muttered affectionately.
Círdan chuckled. “Ar-Pharazôn had many more obstacles to overcome than we shall, and this ship is far swifter than were his. Moreover, once we reach the Straight Road, we shall have a strong current to speed us.”
Sam nodded. “Great. We’ve never done much sailing, so we weren’t really looking forward to spending a whole month on the boat.”
Círdan clapped him on the shoulder and led the passengers to their cabins. And the first thing Dean did once he and Sam were settled in their shared cabin was to sit down and read the letters from Ben and Lisa, catching up on their news from the last year.
The journey itself was unremarkable. The only reason Dean knew they’d left the normal world behind was that Círdan called him on deck when they were far enough along the Straight Road to be able to see the curvature of the earth falling away from it, below the surface of the waves. But the ship’s path didn’t feel precarious at all, the way the flight path of an airplane usually did. The Straight Road itself was close to a mile wide, and within a day it wasn’t obvious that the sea had changed at all. It was just water, water everywhere and only wine to drink-at least at dinner.
It was good wine, though. Dean had to give the Elves that. Even for a blue-collar palate used to cheap beer and Jack Daniels, the stuff was tasty. And strong, too-he and Sam got smashed the first night without meaning to, and the next morning they both had a vague memory of stumbling back to their cabin and having a humiliatingly tearful heart-to-heart about everything and nothing and falling asleep in the same bed, fully clothed, cuddled together like their lives depended on it. Like they had when they were kids.
“Normal people wouldn’t have had to get drunk to talk to each other like that,” Sam complained.
“Shuddup,” Dean retorted into his pillow.
The food was good, too. Not at all what Dean normally liked; even the fried fish wasn’t breaded, and he was reasonably sure the cook had never even heard of potatoes. But it wasn’t weird, heavy gourmet stuff, either, mostly fresh-caught fish or chicken with sauces light enough to be easy on a stomach that wasn’t used to being on a boat, and all of it flavored with spices Dean was quite sure he’d never heard of but could learn to love in a hurry. The first meal was almost too pretty to eat, according to Jo, but Dean tackled it without hesitation and found it to be far more satisfying than he’d feared. There were even enough vegetarian dishes to please Sam, and they were seasoned nicely enough that Dean could eat enough to be polite and not feel like he was choking down rabbit food.
And there was pie. And apple fritters, and cherry pudding, and tarts of fruits he’d only read about in books, and candies and cakes so wonderful he understood why Rinc had such a sweet tooth. Sam kept teasing him about putting on weight from eating so much sweet stuff, but Dean finally reasoned that if you were sailing on the Good Ship Lollipop, you’d have to be crazy not to eat some of the candy. And Sam didn’t really have a good comeback to that.
The only other sign that this wasn’t a normal cruise was the fact that the weather kept getting warmer, even though it had been freezing when they left Iceland and Sam didn’t think the latitude was changing all that much. By the fifth day, the weather was positively balmy, and Jo was lamenting that she hadn’t brought lighter-weight shirts. Well, and Dean had no clue whether human sailors normally sang as much as these Elves did.
The fact that the trip was uneventful didn’t mean that it was boring, however. Rinc’s presence alone would have ensured that, but the humans had ways of making their own fun. They swapped stories, cleaned weapons, made up tall tales, played poker, and (in the case of Dean and Ash) sang classic rock loudly and off-key. The Winchesters even took the time to have a good long talk with Henricksen, and at the end of it, all three men felt like they’d not only cleared the air but strengthened an alliance into a real friendship.
All the same, Dean was ready to be there after about two days. And more than once Sam found him napping in the Impala when he couldn’t stand not being in control of the destination any longer. Sam even joined him a couple of times.
After breakfast the sixth morning, Sam and Dean took Bobby up on deck to get some fresh air. It was raining a little, just enough to be refreshing rather than miserable, and the air smelled sweet in a way Dean couldn’t quite place.
Then he took a deep breath and realized it wasn’t the rain he was smelling, nor was the music in the air coming from the crew. And suddenly he was desperately homesick for a place he’d never been.
“We’re almost there,” Sam breathed.
“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Yeah, we are.”
Bobby looked from one Winchester to the other. “You boys see anything?”
Sam looked out into the mist and shook his head. “No, not yet. I feel it, though.” He paused, frowning a little, then added, “Seems like I had a dream like this a few months ago... didn’t think it was a vision at the time.”
“I didn’t see this part,” Dean confessed. “Just getting there.”
Sam blinked. “You did? When?”
“Carthage.”
Sam started to ask, then realized the moment Dean must have been talking about and nodded.
The other passengers slowly joined the Winchesters on deck; Dean wasn’t sure whether Pamela had alerted them that the ship was getting close to land or whether they could sense it as surely as he and Sam could. And shortly after the last of them arrived, the mist seemed to roll back like a curtain, and the humans let out a collective gasp.
The continent of Aman stretched before them in the bright sunshine... and it was gorgeous.
Immediately in front of the ship was a decent-sized island that appeared to be inhabited, but Dean’s eyes skipped over it entirely. Instead they were drawn to the mainland-white beaches, green plains, and massive mountains that beckoned to him at a soul-deep level. The longing he’d felt trebled, and somehow he knew that he needed to go there.
But the ship, it became rapidly apparent, was headed for the island.
“We shall arrive in Avállonë within the hour, friends,” Círdan announced.
“Avállonë?” Jo asked. “Where’s that?”
Círdan pointed, and they all saw the bustling port city directly in front of them. “It is the destination for all who are newly come from Middle-earth-though there have been few of those for many yéni. And it appears word has spread of your arrival,” he added with an amused smile. “I see a great many Eldar waiting to welcome you.”
Everybody else seemed excited by this news... but it felt wrong to Dean, like that wasn’t where Maglor had promised to meet them.
Ash nudged him and shot a questioning glance toward the mountains on the mainland. “You seein’ something, compadre?”
“Not now,” Dean confessed, “just... a feeling.”
Ash nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you ain’t been wrong yet.”
Dean smiled in spite of himself. “Thanks, Ash.”
The feeling didn’t diminish as they got closer, though. Instead, the more clearly Dean could see the city, the more confused he became. It didn’t look familiar at all.
Sam frowned at him. “What?”
“This is wrong,” Dean whispered. “This isn’t what I saw. We’re in the wrong port.”
“Maybe we’ll go to the right one later.”
It was a sensible suggestion, and Dean nodded his agreement. He still felt uncomfortable, though.
But he forgot that feeling a moment later when he caught sight of Lisa and Ben standing on the dock.
Lisa was wearing a flowing silvery-white dress that looked striking against her sun-darkened skin, and her dark hair was pulled back from her face with some kind of jeweled combs. She was stunning and radiant, and Dean realized anew just how much he’d missed her over the last (long) fourteen months. Ben had evidently hit a growth spurt because he was almost as tall as Lisa’s shoulder. It was odd to see him in Elven garb rather than the jeans and T-shirts he’d favored before they left, but he looked happy and healthy. And Dean knew he’d done the right thing in sending them here.
Ben was bouncing on the balls of his feet for about five minutes before the ship actually pulled up to the dock, and he scarcely managed to wait until the gangplank was down before racing up it with a cry of “DAD!” and throwing himself into Dean’s arms.
Dean laughed in spite of himself and returned the hug. “Hey, short stuff!”
“Has it been a whole year already?”
“Yeah. Longer.”
“I keep losing track. It’s not like it’s boring; time just... doesn’t really seem to matter here.”
Dean nodded.
Ben pulled back and ran over to Sam for another hug. “Granna Idril and Granpa Tuor came with us,” he continued afterward, “and there’s lots of other Elves who want to meet everybody.”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Shoot, Ben... feel kinda underdressed.”
“It’s cool, Dad, really. C’mon!” He grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him toward the gangplank.
Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, who shrugged and began pushing Bobby after him.
There weren’t many familiar faces in the crowd, only Lisa, Ben, and Tuor. Maglor was nowhere to be seen, and Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. Tuor introduced him and Sam to Idril, who also looked a lot like Mary Winchester, and Sam took care of introducing everyone else. And it was at about that point that Dean looked again at the crowd and suddenly felt very, very... short.
Feeling young, he was used to. But apparently Maglor hadn’t been abnormally tall.
He was about ready to bolt back to the ship when Tuor pulled him and Sam forward. “I doubt that there are many present whose names you would know now, but here are a few people I think you will recognize by name if not by face.”
The first person he presented them to was an old man with flowing white hair, beard, and robes and a white walking stick. Dean frowned a little, since it seemed incongruous for someone who looked that old to be in a place like this-but then it clicked, and he heard Sam gasp at about the same moment as he figured it out himself.
“Gandalf?!” they chorused.
The wizard chuckled and tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Mae govannen, elvellyn. It’s been a long time since anyone called me by that name-in fact, I believe young Ben was the first in over an Age, and the only reason I recognized it was that it sounded the same in Anglo-Saxon. And I see you’ve found two of my scapegrace brothers,” he added, looking past the Winchesters to Cas and Rinc with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“I resemble that remark,” Rinc shot back with a grin. “Hello, Olórin.”
But Cas just looked confused. “I’m not....”
“It’s a joke, dude,” Sam and Rinc said at the same time, which made Ellen laugh and Bobby shake his head.
Gandalf laughed, too. “You’ve done well, Castiel. I know Lord Manwë will be pleased.”
Cas bowed his head in thanks.
More introductions followed-Galadriel and Celeborn, Haldir (who was very pleased to hear news of his brother Rúmil), other Elves from Lothlórien, and several from Rivendell like Lindir, Glorfindel, and Erestor. And then they got to one figure who looked startlingly like John Winchester.
“My grandson Elrond,” Tuor explained before pointing out the Elves around him. “His wife Celebrían, and their sons Elladan and Elrohir. Arwen’s fate, of course, you already know.”
“Mae govannen,” Sam said with a nod.
“Hey,” Dean managed.
“Sam, Dean,” said Elrond. “I understand that you have already found the few remaining heirlooms of your house that were in Middle-earth. There are others, however, that have remained in my keeping for many years. I believe the time has come for me to pass them on to you.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a startled glance. “Wow,” said Sam. “Uh, thanks.”
Elrond motioned to Erestor, who handed him a small chest that looked like it was made of ebony and bound with silver. Given the odds that it had been on this island for six thousand years, though, it was probably some other now-extinct dark wood bound with mithril. Elrond then opened the box and reached into it. “Of the two of you, I deem, Dean is the healer.”
Dean swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
Elrond nodded. “This, then, is for you.” He lifted out a silver brooch shaped like an eagle, in the center of which sat a huge green stone.
Dean’s eyes went huge. “No way. You... you’re giving me the Elessar?”
“Indeed so. I do not know whether it will aid you in the war to come, but none other has as much right to bear it as do you.” And he handed it to Dean.
Dean just stared at the brooch, unable to move past the knowledge that before him, only Idril, Eärendil, Galadriel, Celebrían, Arwen, and Aragorn had worn it. Finally, Lisa took it from him gently and pinned it across his overshirt while Sam quickly shortened the cord of the amulet. The Elessar didn’t feel as heavy against his chest as he’d expected it to... but beyond that, he was just too overwhelmed to process much of anything.
Finally, though, he managed to look back up at Elrond and choke out a “Le hannon.”
Elrond smiled and glanced over his shoulder at one of the twins, who looked so much alike Dean couldn’t remember which was which. Twin A nodded to Twin B, and they both stepped up beside their father.
“I have often wondered,” Elrond began, “precisely why it chanced that this next heirloom should have survived in two copies. It seems to me now that the reason was so that you each could have one. For Bilbo’s rhyme did not apply only to Aragorn; the crownless shall indeed again be king.”
“Whoa, wait,” Sam replied, holding up his hands with a huff of a nervous chuckle. “We’re American citizens; we can’t accept that kind of title-Article I, Section 9-”
“Sam,” Galadriel interrupted gently, “do you truly think your nation will last long enough for the question to matter? And the Elendilmir does not confer any title upon you, only identifies you as the heirs of Isildur, a fact already made plain by Dean’s wearing of the Ring of Barahir.”
Sam gulped and looked at Dean, who shrugged helplessly.
“Just take it, ya idjits,” Bobby rumbled. “Ain’t like there’s much chance of us goin’ back now.”
Elrond handed something that didn’t look much like a crown to each of the twins, who then stepped up to each of the brothers. When Twin A stopped in front of him, Dean could see that it looked a lot more like a necklace, a single white gem-pretty good-sized-on a silver, or maybe mithril, chain. But Twin A didn’t put it around Dean’s neck; instead, he fastened it on Dean’s head so that the stone sat right around the middle of his forehead. And when Dean looked over at Sam and saw his gem sitting in about the same place, he was suddenly reminded of that moment in John’s storage unit when Sam had strapped on Andúril and a white flame had seemingly flared for a moment right where the gem now was.
Dean didn’t know what to say. Neither, apparently, did any of the other humans.
But then Dean looked around and saw that the sailor Elves were getting ready to unload the cargo. Knowing that the Impala had been the last thing in, he nearly panicked-until Círdan shouted for them to stop.
A week wasn’t enough time for any of the humans, except maybe Sam and Bobby, to have picked up more than a smattering of Telerin. But Dean had heard the sailor Elves talking about the car often enough to know what terms they used to describe it, and Círdan was clearly telling them not to unload it. Dean couldn’t figure out why, though, until Círdan said something that sounded like Alqualondë, and the name struck a resonant chord in Dean’s mind, a place name that had come up in Maglor’s stories or songs or something.
He turned to Sam. “You gettin’ any of that?”
Sam frowned. “The car goes on to Swan-haven. That’s all-they’re talking too fast, and it’s too different from both Quenya and Sindarin.”
Dean returned the frown. “So if the car goes on... you think maybe we....”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”
Moments later Círdan came over to them. “My apologies, my lords. There had been some miscommunication. This is not to be your final destination today; I have orders to take you on to Alqualondë.”
Dean suddenly felt a whole lot better about a whole lot of things.
Pamela sighed in disappointment. “I just got my land legs back.”
“Your pardon, Lady Pamela,” Círdan returned, “but you need not travel further. Only the Gwaith may continue to the mainland at this time. The Valar wish to speak to them.”
Dean frowned. “The who?”
“I Gwaith i Innas Lain.”
Dean looked at Sam, who thought hard for a moment. “The Fellowship of....” Then he burst out laughing. “The Fellowship of the Free Will. Team Free Will!”
“I like it better in English,” Bobby grumbled, and everyone laughed.
Glossary | Next
Chapter 5
Into the West
Henricksen had to call in every marker he had to get a jet and the necessary clearance, and Cas had to render Dean unconscious to keep him calm, but the surviving members and human allies of Team Free Will (and the Impala, her trunk loaded with all the spare fuel they could find) found themselves in Keflavik, Iceland, early on the morning of November 18. Apart from a route to the Straight Road, Dean didn’t know what he expected to find when they got there.
The white-haired, bearded Elf who was waiting for them at the gate to the harbor was definitely a surprise, though.
“Mae govannen, Valandili,” said the Elf with a slight bow when Sam and Dean got out to talk to him, leaving Cas, Rinc, and Bobby in the car. “Lord Manwë and Lord Ulmo bade me give you greetings. My name is Círdan, and I am your captain. Your ship awaits.”
Dean stepped forward warily. “Two questions, Círdan. One, you got accommodations for Bobby? Wheelchairs aren’t exactly boat-friendly.”
“Have no fear. His cabin has been carefully prepared, and I have ordered one of my crew to attend him.”
“Okay. Two...” Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You got room for my baby?”
Círdan laughed. “Lord Oromë said you would ask! Yes, there is space enough for your steed in our hold.”
Dean turned to look at the Impala and tried to picture her as a mighty warhorse... and ended up laughing in spite of himself. “Awesome. Thanks.”
Círdan gave them directions to the dock and walked away while the Winchesters got back into the car. Dean drove around to the right spot, and Ellen, who was behind them in a rented van with Jo, Ash, Rufus, Henricksen and his family, and a hunting friend of Bobby’s named Pamela Barnes, followed. They found a host of Elves, their ears carefully hidden, working busily on the dock to load a beautiful three-masted ship made of silvery-grey wood and carved to look like a swan. The Elves made quick work of loading the luggage and the car onto the ship, but although they spoke to the humans, it was mostly in their own language, in a dialect that only Cas and Rinc could understand. The Maiar ended up translating until Círdan came to tell them it was time to board.
“My apologies,” Círdan said. “Very few of us have had cause to learn English, and even then, we have only begun in the last few sun-years. I daresay, however, that you will find many more English-speakers on Tol Eressëa-Dean’s son and his mother have been good conversation partners, and many of the Elves there have been curious to learn of the state of Middle-earth from them.”
Dean perked up at that. “Lisa and Ben? Are they okay?”
“They are very well. In fact, there is a long letter from each of them in your cabin.”
Dean heaved a sigh of relief, and Sam squeezed his shoulder.
Círdan smiled kindly. “Come. We will be departing soon.”
Sam clapped Dean on the back and grabbed the handles on Bobby’s wheelchair, and together they led the team onto the boat. Then Ellen and Pamela took charge of getting Bobby to his cabin, and the Winchesters waited on deck while the others finished boarding. Círdan waited on the dock, apparently counting heads, and once everyone was up the gangplank, he followed, frowning slightly.
“Is there a problem?” Sam asked.
Círdan looked at him. “Where is Maglor? I understood that he would be coming with you.”
Dean shook his head. “Nah. He’s way ahead of us. Probably already in Mandos by now.”
“What happened?”
“Hellhounds,” the Winchesters chorused.
Círdan nodded sadly. “I am sorry. But mourn not overmuch. I was to tell him that his pardon is assured. You will see him again.”
Dean sighed. “Círdan, this... this rehousing thing. How long does it take?”
“It varies. Ordinarily, for one of Fëanor’s sons, it might take an Age, perhaps more. But since the end of all things as we know them is so nigh... it would not surprise me if he is released from Mandos ere we arrive.”
“And how long will that take?”
“No more than seven days, more likely only five.”
Sam blinked. “Seriously? I mean, I thought it took over a month to get there from Númenor.”
“Geek,” Dean muttered affectionately.
Círdan chuckled. “Ar-Pharazôn had many more obstacles to overcome than we shall, and this ship is far swifter than were his. Moreover, once we reach the Straight Road, we shall have a strong current to speed us.”
Sam nodded. “Great. We’ve never done much sailing, so we weren’t really looking forward to spending a whole month on the boat.”
Círdan clapped him on the shoulder and led the passengers to their cabins. And the first thing Dean did once he and Sam were settled in their shared cabin was to sit down and read the letters from Ben and Lisa, catching up on their news from the last year.
The journey itself was unremarkable. The only reason Dean knew they’d left the normal world behind was that Círdan called him on deck when they were far enough along the Straight Road to be able to see the curvature of the earth falling away from it, below the surface of the waves. But the ship’s path didn’t feel precarious at all, the way the flight path of an airplane usually did. The Straight Road itself was close to a mile wide, and within a day it wasn’t obvious that the sea had changed at all. It was just water, water everywhere and only wine to drink-at least at dinner.
It was good wine, though. Dean had to give the Elves that. Even for a blue-collar palate used to cheap beer and Jack Daniels, the stuff was tasty. And strong, too-he and Sam got smashed the first night without meaning to, and the next morning they both had a vague memory of stumbling back to their cabin and having a humiliatingly tearful heart-to-heart about everything and nothing and falling asleep in the same bed, fully clothed, cuddled together like their lives depended on it. Like they had when they were kids.
“Normal people wouldn’t have had to get drunk to talk to each other like that,” Sam complained.
“Shuddup,” Dean retorted into his pillow.
The food was good, too. Not at all what Dean normally liked; even the fried fish wasn’t breaded, and he was reasonably sure the cook had never even heard of potatoes. But it wasn’t weird, heavy gourmet stuff, either, mostly fresh-caught fish or chicken with sauces light enough to be easy on a stomach that wasn’t used to being on a boat, and all of it flavored with spices Dean was quite sure he’d never heard of but could learn to love in a hurry. The first meal was almost too pretty to eat, according to Jo, but Dean tackled it without hesitation and found it to be far more satisfying than he’d feared. There were even enough vegetarian dishes to please Sam, and they were seasoned nicely enough that Dean could eat enough to be polite and not feel like he was choking down rabbit food.
And there was pie. And apple fritters, and cherry pudding, and tarts of fruits he’d only read about in books, and candies and cakes so wonderful he understood why Rinc had such a sweet tooth. Sam kept teasing him about putting on weight from eating so much sweet stuff, but Dean finally reasoned that if you were sailing on the Good Ship Lollipop, you’d have to be crazy not to eat some of the candy. And Sam didn’t really have a good comeback to that.
The only other sign that this wasn’t a normal cruise was the fact that the weather kept getting warmer, even though it had been freezing when they left Iceland and Sam didn’t think the latitude was changing all that much. By the fifth day, the weather was positively balmy, and Jo was lamenting that she hadn’t brought lighter-weight shirts. Well, and Dean had no clue whether human sailors normally sang as much as these Elves did.
The fact that the trip was uneventful didn’t mean that it was boring, however. Rinc’s presence alone would have ensured that, but the humans had ways of making their own fun. They swapped stories, cleaned weapons, made up tall tales, played poker, and (in the case of Dean and Ash) sang classic rock loudly and off-key. The Winchesters even took the time to have a good long talk with Henricksen, and at the end of it, all three men felt like they’d not only cleared the air but strengthened an alliance into a real friendship.
All the same, Dean was ready to be there after about two days. And more than once Sam found him napping in the Impala when he couldn’t stand not being in control of the destination any longer. Sam even joined him a couple of times.
After breakfast the sixth morning, Sam and Dean took Bobby up on deck to get some fresh air. It was raining a little, just enough to be refreshing rather than miserable, and the air smelled sweet in a way Dean couldn’t quite place.
Then he took a deep breath and realized it wasn’t the rain he was smelling, nor was the music in the air coming from the crew. And suddenly he was desperately homesick for a place he’d never been.
“We’re almost there,” Sam breathed.
“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Yeah, we are.”
Bobby looked from one Winchester to the other. “You boys see anything?”
Sam looked out into the mist and shook his head. “No, not yet. I feel it, though.” He paused, frowning a little, then added, “Seems like I had a dream like this a few months ago... didn’t think it was a vision at the time.”
“I didn’t see this part,” Dean confessed. “Just getting there.”
Sam blinked. “You did? When?”
“Carthage.”
Sam started to ask, then realized the moment Dean must have been talking about and nodded.
The other passengers slowly joined the Winchesters on deck; Dean wasn’t sure whether Pamela had alerted them that the ship was getting close to land or whether they could sense it as surely as he and Sam could. And shortly after the last of them arrived, the mist seemed to roll back like a curtain, and the humans let out a collective gasp.
The continent of Aman stretched before them in the bright sunshine... and it was gorgeous.
Immediately in front of the ship was a decent-sized island that appeared to be inhabited, but Dean’s eyes skipped over it entirely. Instead they were drawn to the mainland-white beaches, green plains, and massive mountains that beckoned to him at a soul-deep level. The longing he’d felt trebled, and somehow he knew that he needed to go there.
But the ship, it became rapidly apparent, was headed for the island.
“We shall arrive in Avállonë within the hour, friends,” Círdan announced.
“Avállonë?” Jo asked. “Where’s that?”
Círdan pointed, and they all saw the bustling port city directly in front of them. “It is the destination for all who are newly come from Middle-earth-though there have been few of those for many yéni. And it appears word has spread of your arrival,” he added with an amused smile. “I see a great many Eldar waiting to welcome you.”
Everybody else seemed excited by this news... but it felt wrong to Dean, like that wasn’t where Maglor had promised to meet them.
Ash nudged him and shot a questioning glance toward the mountains on the mainland. “You seein’ something, compadre?”
“Not now,” Dean confessed, “just... a feeling.”
Ash nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you ain’t been wrong yet.”
Dean smiled in spite of himself. “Thanks, Ash.”
The feeling didn’t diminish as they got closer, though. Instead, the more clearly Dean could see the city, the more confused he became. It didn’t look familiar at all.
Sam frowned at him. “What?”
“This is wrong,” Dean whispered. “This isn’t what I saw. We’re in the wrong port.”
“Maybe we’ll go to the right one later.”
It was a sensible suggestion, and Dean nodded his agreement. He still felt uncomfortable, though.
But he forgot that feeling a moment later when he caught sight of Lisa and Ben standing on the dock.
Lisa was wearing a flowing silvery-white dress that looked striking against her sun-darkened skin, and her dark hair was pulled back from her face with some kind of jeweled combs. She was stunning and radiant, and Dean realized anew just how much he’d missed her over the last (long) fourteen months. Ben had evidently hit a growth spurt because he was almost as tall as Lisa’s shoulder. It was odd to see him in Elven garb rather than the jeans and T-shirts he’d favored before they left, but he looked happy and healthy. And Dean knew he’d done the right thing in sending them here.
Ben was bouncing on the balls of his feet for about five minutes before the ship actually pulled up to the dock, and he scarcely managed to wait until the gangplank was down before racing up it with a cry of “DAD!” and throwing himself into Dean’s arms.
Dean laughed in spite of himself and returned the hug. “Hey, short stuff!”
“Has it been a whole year already?”
“Yeah. Longer.”
“I keep losing track. It’s not like it’s boring; time just... doesn’t really seem to matter here.”
Dean nodded.
Ben pulled back and ran over to Sam for another hug. “Granna Idril and Granpa Tuor came with us,” he continued afterward, “and there’s lots of other Elves who want to meet everybody.”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Shoot, Ben... feel kinda underdressed.”
“It’s cool, Dad, really. C’mon!” He grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him toward the gangplank.
Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, who shrugged and began pushing Bobby after him.
There weren’t many familiar faces in the crowd, only Lisa, Ben, and Tuor. Maglor was nowhere to be seen, and Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. Tuor introduced him and Sam to Idril, who also looked a lot like Mary Winchester, and Sam took care of introducing everyone else. And it was at about that point that Dean looked again at the crowd and suddenly felt very, very... short.
Feeling young, he was used to. But apparently Maglor hadn’t been abnormally tall.
He was about ready to bolt back to the ship when Tuor pulled him and Sam forward. “I doubt that there are many present whose names you would know now, but here are a few people I think you will recognize by name if not by face.”
The first person he presented them to was an old man with flowing white hair, beard, and robes and a white walking stick. Dean frowned a little, since it seemed incongruous for someone who looked that old to be in a place like this-but then it clicked, and he heard Sam gasp at about the same moment as he figured it out himself.
“Gandalf?!” they chorused.
The wizard chuckled and tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Mae govannen, elvellyn. It’s been a long time since anyone called me by that name-in fact, I believe young Ben was the first in over an Age, and the only reason I recognized it was that it sounded the same in Anglo-Saxon. And I see you’ve found two of my scapegrace brothers,” he added, looking past the Winchesters to Cas and Rinc with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“I resemble that remark,” Rinc shot back with a grin. “Hello, Olórin.”
But Cas just looked confused. “I’m not....”
“It’s a joke, dude,” Sam and Rinc said at the same time, which made Ellen laugh and Bobby shake his head.
Gandalf laughed, too. “You’ve done well, Castiel. I know Lord Manwë will be pleased.”
Cas bowed his head in thanks.
More introductions followed-Galadriel and Celeborn, Haldir (who was very pleased to hear news of his brother Rúmil), other Elves from Lothlórien, and several from Rivendell like Lindir, Glorfindel, and Erestor. And then they got to one figure who looked startlingly like John Winchester.
“My grandson Elrond,” Tuor explained before pointing out the Elves around him. “His wife Celebrían, and their sons Elladan and Elrohir. Arwen’s fate, of course, you already know.”
“Mae govannen,” Sam said with a nod.
“Hey,” Dean managed.
“Sam, Dean,” said Elrond. “I understand that you have already found the few remaining heirlooms of your house that were in Middle-earth. There are others, however, that have remained in my keeping for many years. I believe the time has come for me to pass them on to you.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a startled glance. “Wow,” said Sam. “Uh, thanks.”
Elrond motioned to Erestor, who handed him a small chest that looked like it was made of ebony and bound with silver. Given the odds that it had been on this island for six thousand years, though, it was probably some other now-extinct dark wood bound with mithril. Elrond then opened the box and reached into it. “Of the two of you, I deem, Dean is the healer.”
Dean swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
Elrond nodded. “This, then, is for you.” He lifted out a silver brooch shaped like an eagle, in the center of which sat a huge green stone.
Dean’s eyes went huge. “No way. You... you’re giving me the Elessar?”
“Indeed so. I do not know whether it will aid you in the war to come, but none other has as much right to bear it as do you.” And he handed it to Dean.
Dean just stared at the brooch, unable to move past the knowledge that before him, only Idril, Eärendil, Galadriel, Celebrían, Arwen, and Aragorn had worn it. Finally, Lisa took it from him gently and pinned it across his overshirt while Sam quickly shortened the cord of the amulet. The Elessar didn’t feel as heavy against his chest as he’d expected it to... but beyond that, he was just too overwhelmed to process much of anything.
Finally, though, he managed to look back up at Elrond and choke out a “Le hannon.”
Elrond smiled and glanced over his shoulder at one of the twins, who looked so much alike Dean couldn’t remember which was which. Twin A nodded to Twin B, and they both stepped up beside their father.
“I have often wondered,” Elrond began, “precisely why it chanced that this next heirloom should have survived in two copies. It seems to me now that the reason was so that you each could have one. For Bilbo’s rhyme did not apply only to Aragorn; the crownless shall indeed again be king.”
“Whoa, wait,” Sam replied, holding up his hands with a huff of a nervous chuckle. “We’re American citizens; we can’t accept that kind of title-Article I, Section 9-”
“Sam,” Galadriel interrupted gently, “do you truly think your nation will last long enough for the question to matter? And the Elendilmir does not confer any title upon you, only identifies you as the heirs of Isildur, a fact already made plain by Dean’s wearing of the Ring of Barahir.”
Sam gulped and looked at Dean, who shrugged helplessly.
“Just take it, ya idjits,” Bobby rumbled. “Ain’t like there’s much chance of us goin’ back now.”
Elrond handed something that didn’t look much like a crown to each of the twins, who then stepped up to each of the brothers. When Twin A stopped in front of him, Dean could see that it looked a lot more like a necklace, a single white gem-pretty good-sized-on a silver, or maybe mithril, chain. But Twin A didn’t put it around Dean’s neck; instead, he fastened it on Dean’s head so that the stone sat right around the middle of his forehead. And when Dean looked over at Sam and saw his gem sitting in about the same place, he was suddenly reminded of that moment in John’s storage unit when Sam had strapped on Andúril and a white flame had seemingly flared for a moment right where the gem now was.
Dean didn’t know what to say. Neither, apparently, did any of the other humans.
But then Dean looked around and saw that the sailor Elves were getting ready to unload the cargo. Knowing that the Impala had been the last thing in, he nearly panicked-until Círdan shouted for them to stop.
A week wasn’t enough time for any of the humans, except maybe Sam and Bobby, to have picked up more than a smattering of Telerin. But Dean had heard the sailor Elves talking about the car often enough to know what terms they used to describe it, and Círdan was clearly telling them not to unload it. Dean couldn’t figure out why, though, until Círdan said something that sounded like Alqualondë, and the name struck a resonant chord in Dean’s mind, a place name that had come up in Maglor’s stories or songs or something.
He turned to Sam. “You gettin’ any of that?”
Sam frowned. “The car goes on to Swan-haven. That’s all-they’re talking too fast, and it’s too different from both Quenya and Sindarin.”
Dean returned the frown. “So if the car goes on... you think maybe we....”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”
Moments later Círdan came over to them. “My apologies, my lords. There had been some miscommunication. This is not to be your final destination today; I have orders to take you on to Alqualondë.”
Dean suddenly felt a whole lot better about a whole lot of things.
Pamela sighed in disappointment. “I just got my land legs back.”
“Your pardon, Lady Pamela,” Círdan returned, “but you need not travel further. Only the Gwaith may continue to the mainland at this time. The Valar wish to speak to them.”
Dean frowned. “The who?”
“I Gwaith i Innas Lain.”
Dean looked at Sam, who thought hard for a moment. “The Fellowship of....” Then he burst out laughing. “The Fellowship of the Free Will. Team Free Will!”
“I like it better in English,” Bobby grumbled, and everyone laughed.
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