Gwaith i Innas Lain: Quenta Ambarmetto 7/10
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Chapter 6
Further Up and Further In
After a hurried leave-taking, the eight members of the team got back on the ship and set sail once more. And an hour or so later, as they approached the shining port of Alqualondë, Sam looked over at Dean and saw him nodding thoughtfully to himself, the tension in his jaw and shoulders easing as the ship drew toward the dock.
“Is this what you saw?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Dean replied quietly. “Yeah, this is the right place. He’ll be here.”
There wasn’t as big a crowd waiting for them when they arrived, but it was still big enough that the group got separated somewhat. Sam and Dean got sidelined chatting with Finrod Felagund and his brother Orodreth about the state of Middle-earth, and somehow Dean wandered off in the middle of the conversation without Sam realizing it.
But suddenly Sam heard Dean yell, “Darnit, Maglor, you are not supposed to look younger than me!”
Maglor’s laugh rang out louder and clearer than Sam had ever heard it. “Mae govannen, Dean!”
Sam craned to see through the crowd-he hadn’t felt this short since he was twelve!-and finally spotted Dean and made his way over to greet Maglor... who did, in fact, look younger and less shadowed than he had before his death and was currently hugging Dean. Maglor released Dean, turned to Sam, and bowed slightly, holding his right fist to the left side of his chest, then pulled Sam into a hug.
“Mae govannen, mellon-nin,” he breathed before letting Sam go. “I had no news of you for days before I was rehoused, and I feared the worst.”
“We missed you, too,” Sam returned, feeling a tear slip down his cheek.
A voice called something in Quenya that Sam didn’t quite catch, and Maglor turned and grinned at an even taller, red-haired Elf who was walking toward them. After another quick exchange in Quenya, Maglor put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and said in English, “Dean, Sam, this is my oldest brother, Maedhros.”
“Hey,” Dean nodded. “Ah, mae govannen.”
“Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo,” said Sam.
Maedhros smiled. “I am very pleased to meet you,” he replied carefully in English. “Maglor has spoken of you often.”
Dean blinked. “Wait, what do you mean, often? He’s only been dead for a week.”
Maglor laughed and translated when Maedhros frowned at him in confusion. “You must forgive Maedhros,” he continued in English. “He has not had as much practice with spoken English as have many of the Eldar you have met. And you will find, if you have not already, that the passage of time has little meaning here. But he is right to say ‘often’-your tale is both the most pleasant and the most urgent of the many I could tell, and by human standards, I have been long in the telling of it.”
Maedhros nodded. “He speaks of almost nothing else-but that is only right. The tidings are indeed urgent. From what I hear, even while he was in the Halls of Mandos, he was pestering the Maiar for news of you... one of them knows you by name?” he continued, frowning at Maglor.
Maglor nodded. “The one you call Tessa, I think.”
Dean blinked. “You gotta be kiddin’-Reapers are Maiar?”
“The people of Mandos have had many names. Reapers and Valkyries are ones you would recognize. But yes, they are still Maiar.”
“Huh.”
“We must not linger here,” said Cas, appearing at Dean’s side. “We need to get to Valmar as quickly as possible.”
Dean rounded on him as the rest of the team caught up. “We’re in a place where time has virtually no meaning, Cas. You can give me five minutes to catch up with Maglor, and you can forget about zapping us anywhere. I’ve been away from my baby way too long, and since Círdan went to the trouble of bringing her this far, I am not letting her just sit on the beach for who knows how long until we get back. We’re driving.”
Cas scowled and opened his mouth to object, but Ellen interrupted. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d really like to see the scenery. There’s no telling when we’ll get to come back this way once we’ve talked to the Valar.”
Jo and Ash nodded vigorously in agreement.
“You think we got enough gas to get over those mountains, son?” Bobby asked. “That road looks mighty steep.”
“We may be able to help you there,” said Maedhros. “Maglor has spoken much of your machine, and Finrod and I may be able to help it run better.”
Dean blanched. “Look, Maedhros, no offense....”
“Relax, Dean,” Maglor chuckled. “They will use no tools on her.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“As long as we can fit everyone in the car,” Sam interjected smoothly, “I think I’d rather drive, too. Like Ellen said, we may not get another chance to look at the scenery, and... y’know, all this... it’s kinda overwhelming. The Impala’s about the only piece of home we’ve got left.”
Cas sighed. “It seems I’m outvoted.”
Rinc nudged him. “C’mon, little brother. We can go ahead to Valmar; we wouldn’t fit in the car anyway.”
Dean glanced around at the team before nodding to Sam. “It’ll work. You, me, and Maglor in the front seat, everyone else in the back.”
“How you gonna get four of us in the back?” Bobby frowned.
“Jo can sit on Ash.”
“Oh, thanks, Dean,” the adopted siblings chorused.
“We’ll see you in Valmar,” Rinc said to Dean, then nudged Cas again, and the two Maiar vanished.
Maedhros called to Finrod, and they followed the rest of Team Free Will over to where the Teleri were just removing the last ropes from the Impala. The cousins circled the car, discussing it quietly in Sindarin and throwing a few questions to Maglor, and then they put their hands on the hood and... started talking to the car. They weren’t even really chanting, and Sam couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t sound much like a spell from where he stood. A glance at Dean showed that he wasn’t sure whether to be freaked out or relieved.
As they finished, Maglor and Sam helped Bobby into the back seat, and Dean stowed the wheelchair in the trunk. Then the Winchesters and Maglor thanked Maedhros and Finrod while the Roadhouse crew piled in beside Bobby (with Jo opting to sit on her mother’s lap instead of her foster brother’s); Men and Elf squeezed into the front seat; and they were off, roaring down the unpaved road toward the sheer-faced mountains of the Pelóri.
The trip wasn’t too eventful at first. Maglor brought them up to speed on what had been happening in Valinor since he arrived (short version: not much), and they brought him up to speed on their own news, such as there was. But as the car sped up the mountain road toward the Calacirya, the only pass, Sam kept glancing out the window and feeling like the view, glorious as it was, was somehow out of perspective.
Then, when they were about halfway up the mountain, he suddenly realized why. Aman and the sea surrounding it were flat; there was no curvature between them and Tol Eressëa, so of course the perspective looked wrong to eyes accustomed to living on a globe.
At about the same time, Dean glanced down at the gas gauge and muttered, “What the heck....”
Maglor only chuckled.
“Usin’ too much gas?” Bobby asked, worried.
“No,” Dean replied. “Needle’s barely moved at all.”
“Maedhros did say they could make it run better,” Sam observed.
“Yeah, but they talked to her, Sam! What kind of spell is this?”
Maglor chuckled a little louder. “Welcome to Valinor, Dean.”
Sam looked out at the hood then and added, “And why is the paint sparkling all of a sudden?”
“Diamond dust,” said Maglor mildly.
“Diamond dust?” the humans echoed incredulously.
“I thought the streets were paved with gold,” said Jo.
“In the Timeless Halls, perhaps,” Maglor returned. “We have other uses for it here. But diamonds indeed are the least of the jewels my people have wrought, and the dust thereof is not like the dust of wood, which is subject to decay. So why should we not use it upon the roads?”
Dean just shook his head and pressed down on the gas pedal.
The view really was worth the drive, though, especially once they got through Tirion-upon-Túna, which was even more amazing than Sam had imagined it to be. Once they were on the downhill side of the Pelóri, everything seemed... brighter, more vibrant, more alive. It was like being in a Technicolor movie. Birds and wildlife of types he’d never seen startled away from the car as it sped through mallorn forests and meadows of flowers that looked like living jewels, past crystal-clear streams and grass so green it barely seemed real.
As much as he loved America, Sam wasn’t sure he could go back now, even if the Valar would allow it.
Dean had lost all sense of time and speed by the time they finally approached the gates of Valmar. Valinor was awesome, but as glad as he was to be driving and as much as he didn’t regret not going with Cas and Rinc, he couldn’t suppress his need to get there, to go further up and further in. He didn’t even know what it felt like he was flying from or what he was flying to. He just drove and drove... until finally they were there, and he slowed down enough to realize he needed directions from Maglor.
And then he realized he was still doing 80.
Shaking his head to clear it, he slowed the Impala down to 35 and followed Maglor’s directions to the western gate of Valmar. And when they got there, there were Cas and Rinc... and Rinc.
Wait.
Cas and Rinc and someone who looked exactly like Rinc, except taller and more impressive, and he wasn’t wearing modern clothes.
Dean blinked a couple of times while Maglor slapped a hand over his eyes. “What the....”
“I’d forgotten Eönwë had a sense of humor,” Maglor groaned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Wait,” Sam interrupted. “Are you saying that that-the tall one-is Eönwë, the herald of the Valar? As in the archangel Gabriel?!”
Maglor sighed. “Yes, Sam. It had not occurred to me that he and Rincaro are brothers-all but twins, really. I have not seen him in this guise before.”
Dean frowned. “Then how did we end up with the rebel?”
“Rincaro is no rebel, Dean. He loves the Children of Eru as much as any Maia I have known, and he is as passionate about delivering messages of justice as is Eönwë. His methods are simply more... questionable.”
“Understatement,” muttered Bobby.
No sooner had Dean shut off the engine than Cas walked over to get Bobby’s wheelchair out of the trunk. He and Dean helped Bobby into it while Sam held the chair still.
“Such strange devices,” Dean heard Eönwë murmur to Rinc; he could tell which Maia it was only from the accent. “And you say these are common in Middle-earth now?”
“What,” Rinc returned, “the car or the wheelchair?”
“Wheeled chairs were known in Númenor, I deem, but the-car, you called it? That is new to me.”
“You need to get out more, Eönwë. Those have been around for almost a yén already. And don’t get me started on what’s still in the trunk.”
By that point, Bobby was situated and everyone else was out of the car, so Dean turned around. “Hey.”
“Hail, Dean Winchester,” Eönwë began.
But Rinc whacked Eönwë on the chest with the back of his hand. “Skip the speech, brother. He’s had enough welcome speeches today to last a year.”
Dean laughed in spite of himself, and the unfamiliar weight of the Elendilmir pressed slightly against his forehead, reminding him exactly how overwhelming a day it had been. “Thanks, Rinc. We’re gettin’ one from Manwë, too, right?”
Eönwë shook his head in amusement but said, “Indeed so. But you are all indeed most welcome, though the tidings you bring are not. Come. We should not tarry.”
The team followed Eönwë through the gate toward a low green hill, where stood two dead and blackened trees, and Dean heard Maglor’s breath catch a little. Some of the images from Maglor’s songs came to mind unbidden, and Dean realized that those had been the Trees, the ones that had given light to all Valinor before Morgoth had them destroyed. He reached up and squeezed Maglor’s shoulder in silent compassion.
Maglor smiled down at him sadly and whispered, “Le hannon, mellon-nin.”
But their actual destination was not the hill but the circle of what looked like giant statues that stood in front of the hill. As they got closer, Dean could see that they were huge thrones, and all but two of them were filled with humanoid figures, although some-like the veiled figure in grey and the male figure whose skin was a sea-foam green-were less obviously human than the others. And it seemed like there was a crowd around the thrones, though he couldn’t see it as much as he could feel it; he guessed those were mostly Maiar who didn’t want to take visible form. There was an air of solemn stillness about the place, too-not unfriendly, but not exactly warm, either.
And then, as the team walked into the circle, Dean saw the giants’ eyes move, and he realized that they weren’t statues at all. He’d known they were meeting the Valar, but he didn’t expect them to be waiting... and he really didn’t expect them to look like that.
He swallowed hard, and Maglor returned the shoulder squeeze.
Finally, once they’d gotten to the middle of the circle and stopped facing the two empty thrones, there was a sound like rushing wind and a bright flash of light... and the thrones weren’t empty anymore. In one sat a male figure robed in blue with an eagle on his shoulder, and in the other sat the most beautiful woman Dean had ever seen, dressed in white and shining as if lit from within. And Dean almost forgot to breathe.
“My lords,” said Eönwe, and his voice suddenly grounded Dean in a way he didn’t even know he needed. “The heralds we have long awaited have arrived. I present i Gwaith i Innas Lain.”
“Welcome, friends,” said the Vala who had to be Manwë. “Dean, Samuel, Maglor, Castiel, Rincaro, Robert, Ellen, Joanna, Ashton. You have done valiantly the task that we have set for you, and though I sent no summons, Dean, you did well to heed the summons in your heart to seek our counsel face to face. I am only sorry that we meet thus now, in the last measures of the Song. And we shall have need of your valor and your ingenuity again ere the final chord sounds.”
None of them knew quite what to say to that, so they didn’t say anything.
Manwë looked around the circle then and introduced the various Valar. “You will have time to know us better hereafter,” he concluded. “And we will have time to speak of strategy when Melkor’s plans become clearer. For now, though, take your ease and let your hearts forget their troubles for a time. The very end is yet to come, and you shall all need your strength.”
Bobby evidently grimaced or something, because the Vala who’d been introduced as Estë said gently, “Yes, Robert, even thee. Thou shalt abide in Lórien for a time, and I shall restore thee fully.”
Dean looked over at Bobby, who looked shocked. “Fully? Y’mean....”
“Yes. Thou shalt walk again.”
Bobby swallowed hard a couple of times before he managed to whisper, “Le hannon, hiril-nin.”
She smiled kindly. “I ’ell nîn.”
“I would speak further with Dean and Samuel,” said Manwë. “Eönwë, please show the others back to their carriage.”
Eönwë bowed low, then turned and motioned for the others to follow. Ellen and Jo each hugged the Winchesters before they left, and Maglor gave them each a pat on the back. Then they walked away, and Sam and Dean were left looking at each other, not sure whether to panic or fall on their faces in reverence or try to brazen their way out of the jam-if it was one.
“Oh, children,” Manwë sighed. “Zachariah has done you great harm in trying to cast you as Túrin divided against himself, or even as Melkor and myself. Only by the grace of Eru and your own great love one for another have you escaped a doom that should never have threatened you to begin with. But your true doom is scarce less heavy now that Melkor has returned. And I am no less grieved by that than is Nienna.”
Suddenly no longer tongue-tied or unsure of himself, Dean surged forward. “Then why didn’t you help us stop this?”
Manwë shook his head sadly. “We would have done far more damage to your land than you know-Beleriand was all but annihilated when we returned to Middle-earth for the War of Wrath. We were not prepared to take that risk. Yet were all of us together to have appeared in Carthage, we could not have prevented Morgoth’s return.”
“Why not?!”
“Dean. Arda was marred from the moment of my brother’s rebellion. That damage goes deep, to the foundations of Eä, to the very Song itself, and he has poured much of his considerable power into warping the whole fabric of Arda. Though Eru will not allow Morgoth’s mischief to endure, the marring cannot be healed easily, and it is not within the power of the Valar to do so. Sauron’s power was broken with the destruction of the One Ring, but all of Middle-earth is Morgoth’s ring. To end his threat to us forever, this Song must end, and Arda must be unmade so that it can be remade aright. The timing of that end lies in Eru’s control alone; naught that any created being could do can change it. But you made the right choices, all of you. You did exactly what we asked of you. Had it not been time for Morgoth to return, you would have succeeded in stopping Lilith, even without our help. You have done well. Take comfort in that.”
“You could have warned us!”
“The message I sent through Tuor was the only message I was able to send. Not even I know all that lies within the Song or within the mind of Eru. We did not see this Age when Eru gave us the vision of the Song before Time began. Even on the day itself, I could not know with certainty what was to occur, only that the attempt would be made.”
“Wait,” Sam frowned as he stepped up beside Dean. “Are you saying our choices made no difference at all?”
“No freely-made choice is without consequence,” said Mandos gravely. “And it is no small thing to be blameless in the face of evil that you could not prevent. Had you done ill, our conversation now would not be so cordial.”
That gave Dean pause. If this was Mandos when he was cordial, there was no way Dean wanted to see him disappointed, never mind angry.
Manwë leaned forward. “Sam, Dean... you came to us for help, but in truth, it is we who need your help. Those who were most faithful to Eru in this life are now gone, but some who remain have turned back to the truth. If they are to fight for us, with us, someone must summon them-and we cannot. We have not been inactive all these years, but we have hidden ourselves from Men for too long. They have forgotten our names. And were we to reach out to them now, to call them to join us against Morgoth, they would not respond. Yet they will answer to you, for you are Isildur’s heirs. To you alone is appointed the authority to lead Men in the final combat.”
The brothers exchanged a look, then looked back at Manwë and chorused, “How?”
When at last the Winchesters returned from the Máhanaxar, Bobby was blown away by how powerful and regal they looked... and yet they somehow seemed to be even more themselves than they ever had been. Gone were the petulant Sam who tried too hard to be normal and the cocky Dean who tried too hard to be cool. In their place were strong, competent, responsible men, scarred but unbroken by a lifetime of fighting evil. Hunters. Generals. Kings.
“Well?” Ellen asked.
Dean looked down at Bobby first. “Melian’s gonna come take you to Lórien here in a few minutes. Estë thinks Zach put some kind of curse on your back, and it might take some study for her to figure out how to break it. But as soon as she can, she will.”
“A curse?” Bobby repeated. “It ain’t physical?”
Dean shook his head. “Said I probably coulda healed it if it was.”
“Just as well I didn’t let you try.”
He got a wry smile in response.
“They want us to find a way to gather an army of humans, like a resistance movement,” Sam stated. “But they don’t want us to leave unless we absolutely have to. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s gonna be possible, even if we do go back. I mean, it’s not like anybody knows who we are, and pretty much all communication’s been wiped out except radio and maybe analog TV. And it’s gonna be even harder trying to do it from here, since we’re not even on the same planet.”
“Not much of a Resistance out there yet, either,” Dean noted. “It’s only been, like, a week. But as soon as Morgoth starts makin’ moves on Washington....”
Ash rubbed his chin. “You could always John Connor this thing. Y’know, radio broadcasts or something-even TV, maybe.”
Dean looked at him. “You’re thinking....”
“Use the Eressëa palantír to hack a satellite,” Ash replied. “We need to get back to Avalon.”
“Avállonë,” Sam corrected.
“’Swhat I said.”
Dean laughed and clapped Ash on the shoulder. “Only you, Buchholz. Only you.”
Now firmly ensconced in Meadow Brook Hall in Rochester, Michigan, Melkor was deep in conversation with one of the oldest and most trusted of his incorporeal lieutenants when a crossroads demon appeared and bowed low before him. “Well?” Melkor demanded.
“We have tried absolutely everything, my lord,” replied the demon. “Sam Winchester cannot be found. But I have found someone who I hope will serve as an acceptable substitute.”
“Very well. Bring him.”
The demon vanished and returned moments later with two others supporting a young Man who was, to put it bluntly, a mess. In better health he would probably be quite attractive, but now his blond hair was stringy, his eyes bloodshot and pupils blown, his face wan and pale, and his body wracked with the tremors of withdrawal.
“Azazel found him useful,” the crossroads demon explained in the Black Speech so that the Man would not understand what was said. “Sam Winchester was his best friend at Stanford, so one of Azazel’s children took him as a host. But the demon has left him in case you wish to speak with him directly.”
Melkor drew the darkness about himself more closely and studied the Man, reading his memories of dreams shattered by possession, the torment of watching the death of Jessica Moore and of the intoxicants and the sex and all the other ways the demon had abused his host. Those abuses had stopped after Sam left Stanford, apparently, but their full effect was only now evident in the host’s condition... and the host felt terrible. There was about him a deep sense of despair, a longing for the release of death. And Melkor smiled to himself. Yes, this one might be an acceptable substitute after all.
“Bring him closer,” Melkor ordered, and the demons complied, bringing the Man to the foot of the throne.
Melkor had never cared much for the arts of healing, and his powers in that regard had diminished greatly over the Ages. But they were not altogether lost, and now Melkor put forth such power as he still had to heal the Man who trembled before him. The Man gasped as illness fled and strength returned, and he searched the darkness for the face of his benefactor.
“What is your name, child?” Melkor asked as kindly as he knew how.
“Brady, sir,” the Man replied. “Please, I-”
Melkor didn’t give him a chance to continue. “Brady, you will be our guest for a few days. Make him comfortable, and give him anything he wants,” he ordered, and the demons took Brady away.
After a week of allowing Brady to live in luxury, Melkor summoned him back to the throne room. The Man had taken full advantage of the time, by all reports, and now he was well tanned and clean-shaven, his hair clean and cut in what Men of this time would consider an attractive style, and he looked as healthy and well fed as if he had never been possessed. The camera would love this Man, and so would the masses.
Yes, he was no Sam Winchester, but he would do nicely.
“I’m here,” Brady began when Melkor did not speak. “And I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me. It’s been... kind of a rough few years.”
“I can imagine,” Melkor replied, smiling to himself in the darkness.
“Um... I hate to ask, but... who are you?”
“I am the Giver of Gifts, Master of the Fates of Arda, the god your fathers served in the East, long Ages past. The powers of this world were jealous of me and kept me away for many years, but their might is failing. I have returned. And I am in need of someone who will be my voice, my representative to the people of this Age.”
Brady swallowed hard. “So you weren’t just being nice. You’re trying to use me.”
“No! I wish only to aid your kind, and I sent my servants to find someone whom I could help, who could then bear witness that I mean no harm. This world is in chaos, Brady. I have brought order to your life; I can bring order to everyone.”
Brady muttered something about “Der Führer’s Face.”
“Oh, come now, Brady. Have I been anything but good to you?”
“I’ve only been here a week,” Brady noted.
“And could you have recovered so well in a week anywhere else?”
“I... no.”
“Well, then.”
“But you’ve never even let me see your face.”
“I cannot. Very few have seen my true form and lived. You are mortal, Brady; I would not risk your life by showing you aught that you cannot bear.”
“Well, how do you expect me to be a spokesman for something I haven’t directly experienced?”
“I will endow you with my beloved spirit, so that you will always know what to say.”
Brady shook his head. “No spirits. I’ve been possessed once.”
“Ah, but my spirit is not like that spirit. It will only make you bolder, stronger, and wiser, enlightening you and showing you my will. And there will be... other rewards as well.”
The spirit in question, a fallen Maia little less in strength than Sauron had been, sped down from Melkor’s side and began to circle Brady, dancing, flirting, caressing, enticing with brief touches of power-a far cry from the brute force generally employed by the Houseless in this Age, much more artistic and seductive. Brady began to waver as old addictions surfaced and morphed into a craving for the false sweetness the spirit offered.
“Shall I give you a taste?”
“Ummm....”
“A vision,” Melkor ordered, and the spirit embraced Brady, whose eyes rolled back as he began to moan and shake in ecstasy. Having watched the mortals touched by the Secret Fire for yéni since the advent of that confounded meddler Yésu, Melkor knew how to counterfeit the experience, and this was a very good counterfeit indeed.
After a minute or so, the spirit released Brady, who collapsed at the foot of Melkor’s throne. “That... that was awesome,” Brady panted.
“Was it acceptable?”
Brady let out a groan of pleasure and rolled onto his back. “Better than sex. Over way too soon, though. I was just getting to the good part.”
“Ah, but that was just a taste. I cannot let you drink your fill unless you are willing to remain by the fountain.”
Brady made a visible effort not to whine, but the high was clearly wearing off quickly, and he knew the pain of withdrawal all too well. “Please... I can’t... I need... I mean, I’d like to go deeper if I may.”
Melkor smiled. “Do you consent to receive my spirit, to become my spokesman?”
“Oh, heck, yes.” Brady couldn’t control the desperation any longer. “I’ll do anything.”
The spirit entered Brady quickly and, after a brief struggle, asserted control over the hroa and picked itself up off the dais. “I suppose I’ll have to keep him occupied for the first few days,” it said, walking over to a table hidden from mortal view and rolling up Brady’s shirt sleeves.
“Whatever it takes to keep him compliant,” Melkor replied. “Evict him if you must, though it would look better if he could speak for himself from time to time-at least in America.”
“Yes, I don’t think he speaks any languages other than Spanish and English. Could be a problem in the Middle East.” It picked up a heated soldering iron.
“Don’t worry. When you appear in Jerusalem, all Arda will listen and hear whatever they wish to hear in your words... my Anointed One.”
The Antichrist smirked and began to burn a binding sigil on Brady’s left arm.
Glossary | Next
Chapter 6
Further Up and Further In
After a hurried leave-taking, the eight members of the team got back on the ship and set sail once more. And an hour or so later, as they approached the shining port of Alqualondë, Sam looked over at Dean and saw him nodding thoughtfully to himself, the tension in his jaw and shoulders easing as the ship drew toward the dock.
“Is this what you saw?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Dean replied quietly. “Yeah, this is the right place. He’ll be here.”
There wasn’t as big a crowd waiting for them when they arrived, but it was still big enough that the group got separated somewhat. Sam and Dean got sidelined chatting with Finrod Felagund and his brother Orodreth about the state of Middle-earth, and somehow Dean wandered off in the middle of the conversation without Sam realizing it.
But suddenly Sam heard Dean yell, “Darnit, Maglor, you are not supposed to look younger than me!”
Maglor’s laugh rang out louder and clearer than Sam had ever heard it. “Mae govannen, Dean!”
Sam craned to see through the crowd-he hadn’t felt this short since he was twelve!-and finally spotted Dean and made his way over to greet Maglor... who did, in fact, look younger and less shadowed than he had before his death and was currently hugging Dean. Maglor released Dean, turned to Sam, and bowed slightly, holding his right fist to the left side of his chest, then pulled Sam into a hug.
“Mae govannen, mellon-nin,” he breathed before letting Sam go. “I had no news of you for days before I was rehoused, and I feared the worst.”
“We missed you, too,” Sam returned, feeling a tear slip down his cheek.
A voice called something in Quenya that Sam didn’t quite catch, and Maglor turned and grinned at an even taller, red-haired Elf who was walking toward them. After another quick exchange in Quenya, Maglor put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and said in English, “Dean, Sam, this is my oldest brother, Maedhros.”
“Hey,” Dean nodded. “Ah, mae govannen.”
“Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo,” said Sam.
Maedhros smiled. “I am very pleased to meet you,” he replied carefully in English. “Maglor has spoken of you often.”
Dean blinked. “Wait, what do you mean, often? He’s only been dead for a week.”
Maglor laughed and translated when Maedhros frowned at him in confusion. “You must forgive Maedhros,” he continued in English. “He has not had as much practice with spoken English as have many of the Eldar you have met. And you will find, if you have not already, that the passage of time has little meaning here. But he is right to say ‘often’-your tale is both the most pleasant and the most urgent of the many I could tell, and by human standards, I have been long in the telling of it.”
Maedhros nodded. “He speaks of almost nothing else-but that is only right. The tidings are indeed urgent. From what I hear, even while he was in the Halls of Mandos, he was pestering the Maiar for news of you... one of them knows you by name?” he continued, frowning at Maglor.
Maglor nodded. “The one you call Tessa, I think.”
Dean blinked. “You gotta be kiddin’-Reapers are Maiar?”
“The people of Mandos have had many names. Reapers and Valkyries are ones you would recognize. But yes, they are still Maiar.”
“Huh.”
“We must not linger here,” said Cas, appearing at Dean’s side. “We need to get to Valmar as quickly as possible.”
Dean rounded on him as the rest of the team caught up. “We’re in a place where time has virtually no meaning, Cas. You can give me five minutes to catch up with Maglor, and you can forget about zapping us anywhere. I’ve been away from my baby way too long, and since Círdan went to the trouble of bringing her this far, I am not letting her just sit on the beach for who knows how long until we get back. We’re driving.”
Cas scowled and opened his mouth to object, but Ellen interrupted. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d really like to see the scenery. There’s no telling when we’ll get to come back this way once we’ve talked to the Valar.”
Jo and Ash nodded vigorously in agreement.
“You think we got enough gas to get over those mountains, son?” Bobby asked. “That road looks mighty steep.”
“We may be able to help you there,” said Maedhros. “Maglor has spoken much of your machine, and Finrod and I may be able to help it run better.”
Dean blanched. “Look, Maedhros, no offense....”
“Relax, Dean,” Maglor chuckled. “They will use no tools on her.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“As long as we can fit everyone in the car,” Sam interjected smoothly, “I think I’d rather drive, too. Like Ellen said, we may not get another chance to look at the scenery, and... y’know, all this... it’s kinda overwhelming. The Impala’s about the only piece of home we’ve got left.”
Cas sighed. “It seems I’m outvoted.”
Rinc nudged him. “C’mon, little brother. We can go ahead to Valmar; we wouldn’t fit in the car anyway.”
Dean glanced around at the team before nodding to Sam. “It’ll work. You, me, and Maglor in the front seat, everyone else in the back.”
“How you gonna get four of us in the back?” Bobby frowned.
“Jo can sit on Ash.”
“Oh, thanks, Dean,” the adopted siblings chorused.
“We’ll see you in Valmar,” Rinc said to Dean, then nudged Cas again, and the two Maiar vanished.
Maedhros called to Finrod, and they followed the rest of Team Free Will over to where the Teleri were just removing the last ropes from the Impala. The cousins circled the car, discussing it quietly in Sindarin and throwing a few questions to Maglor, and then they put their hands on the hood and... started talking to the car. They weren’t even really chanting, and Sam couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t sound much like a spell from where he stood. A glance at Dean showed that he wasn’t sure whether to be freaked out or relieved.
As they finished, Maglor and Sam helped Bobby into the back seat, and Dean stowed the wheelchair in the trunk. Then the Winchesters and Maglor thanked Maedhros and Finrod while the Roadhouse crew piled in beside Bobby (with Jo opting to sit on her mother’s lap instead of her foster brother’s); Men and Elf squeezed into the front seat; and they were off, roaring down the unpaved road toward the sheer-faced mountains of the Pelóri.
The trip wasn’t too eventful at first. Maglor brought them up to speed on what had been happening in Valinor since he arrived (short version: not much), and they brought him up to speed on their own news, such as there was. But as the car sped up the mountain road toward the Calacirya, the only pass, Sam kept glancing out the window and feeling like the view, glorious as it was, was somehow out of perspective.
Then, when they were about halfway up the mountain, he suddenly realized why. Aman and the sea surrounding it were flat; there was no curvature between them and Tol Eressëa, so of course the perspective looked wrong to eyes accustomed to living on a globe.
At about the same time, Dean glanced down at the gas gauge and muttered, “What the heck....”
Maglor only chuckled.
“Usin’ too much gas?” Bobby asked, worried.
“No,” Dean replied. “Needle’s barely moved at all.”
“Maedhros did say they could make it run better,” Sam observed.
“Yeah, but they talked to her, Sam! What kind of spell is this?”
Maglor chuckled a little louder. “Welcome to Valinor, Dean.”
Sam looked out at the hood then and added, “And why is the paint sparkling all of a sudden?”
“Diamond dust,” said Maglor mildly.
“Diamond dust?” the humans echoed incredulously.
“I thought the streets were paved with gold,” said Jo.
“In the Timeless Halls, perhaps,” Maglor returned. “We have other uses for it here. But diamonds indeed are the least of the jewels my people have wrought, and the dust thereof is not like the dust of wood, which is subject to decay. So why should we not use it upon the roads?”
Dean just shook his head and pressed down on the gas pedal.
The view really was worth the drive, though, especially once they got through Tirion-upon-Túna, which was even more amazing than Sam had imagined it to be. Once they were on the downhill side of the Pelóri, everything seemed... brighter, more vibrant, more alive. It was like being in a Technicolor movie. Birds and wildlife of types he’d never seen startled away from the car as it sped through mallorn forests and meadows of flowers that looked like living jewels, past crystal-clear streams and grass so green it barely seemed real.
As much as he loved America, Sam wasn’t sure he could go back now, even if the Valar would allow it.
Dean had lost all sense of time and speed by the time they finally approached the gates of Valmar. Valinor was awesome, but as glad as he was to be driving and as much as he didn’t regret not going with Cas and Rinc, he couldn’t suppress his need to get there, to go further up and further in. He didn’t even know what it felt like he was flying from or what he was flying to. He just drove and drove... until finally they were there, and he slowed down enough to realize he needed directions from Maglor.
And then he realized he was still doing 80.
Shaking his head to clear it, he slowed the Impala down to 35 and followed Maglor’s directions to the western gate of Valmar. And when they got there, there were Cas and Rinc... and Rinc.
Wait.
Cas and Rinc and someone who looked exactly like Rinc, except taller and more impressive, and he wasn’t wearing modern clothes.
Dean blinked a couple of times while Maglor slapped a hand over his eyes. “What the....”
“I’d forgotten Eönwë had a sense of humor,” Maglor groaned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Wait,” Sam interrupted. “Are you saying that that-the tall one-is Eönwë, the herald of the Valar? As in the archangel Gabriel?!”
Maglor sighed. “Yes, Sam. It had not occurred to me that he and Rincaro are brothers-all but twins, really. I have not seen him in this guise before.”
Dean frowned. “Then how did we end up with the rebel?”
“Rincaro is no rebel, Dean. He loves the Children of Eru as much as any Maia I have known, and he is as passionate about delivering messages of justice as is Eönwë. His methods are simply more... questionable.”
“Understatement,” muttered Bobby.
No sooner had Dean shut off the engine than Cas walked over to get Bobby’s wheelchair out of the trunk. He and Dean helped Bobby into it while Sam held the chair still.
“Such strange devices,” Dean heard Eönwë murmur to Rinc; he could tell which Maia it was only from the accent. “And you say these are common in Middle-earth now?”
“What,” Rinc returned, “the car or the wheelchair?”
“Wheeled chairs were known in Númenor, I deem, but the-car, you called it? That is new to me.”
“You need to get out more, Eönwë. Those have been around for almost a yén already. And don’t get me started on what’s still in the trunk.”
By that point, Bobby was situated and everyone else was out of the car, so Dean turned around. “Hey.”
“Hail, Dean Winchester,” Eönwë began.
But Rinc whacked Eönwë on the chest with the back of his hand. “Skip the speech, brother. He’s had enough welcome speeches today to last a year.”
Dean laughed in spite of himself, and the unfamiliar weight of the Elendilmir pressed slightly against his forehead, reminding him exactly how overwhelming a day it had been. “Thanks, Rinc. We’re gettin’ one from Manwë, too, right?”
Eönwë shook his head in amusement but said, “Indeed so. But you are all indeed most welcome, though the tidings you bring are not. Come. We should not tarry.”
The team followed Eönwë through the gate toward a low green hill, where stood two dead and blackened trees, and Dean heard Maglor’s breath catch a little. Some of the images from Maglor’s songs came to mind unbidden, and Dean realized that those had been the Trees, the ones that had given light to all Valinor before Morgoth had them destroyed. He reached up and squeezed Maglor’s shoulder in silent compassion.
Maglor smiled down at him sadly and whispered, “Le hannon, mellon-nin.”
But their actual destination was not the hill but the circle of what looked like giant statues that stood in front of the hill. As they got closer, Dean could see that they were huge thrones, and all but two of them were filled with humanoid figures, although some-like the veiled figure in grey and the male figure whose skin was a sea-foam green-were less obviously human than the others. And it seemed like there was a crowd around the thrones, though he couldn’t see it as much as he could feel it; he guessed those were mostly Maiar who didn’t want to take visible form. There was an air of solemn stillness about the place, too-not unfriendly, but not exactly warm, either.
And then, as the team walked into the circle, Dean saw the giants’ eyes move, and he realized that they weren’t statues at all. He’d known they were meeting the Valar, but he didn’t expect them to be waiting... and he really didn’t expect them to look like that.
He swallowed hard, and Maglor returned the shoulder squeeze.
Finally, once they’d gotten to the middle of the circle and stopped facing the two empty thrones, there was a sound like rushing wind and a bright flash of light... and the thrones weren’t empty anymore. In one sat a male figure robed in blue with an eagle on his shoulder, and in the other sat the most beautiful woman Dean had ever seen, dressed in white and shining as if lit from within. And Dean almost forgot to breathe.
“My lords,” said Eönwe, and his voice suddenly grounded Dean in a way he didn’t even know he needed. “The heralds we have long awaited have arrived. I present i Gwaith i Innas Lain.”
“Welcome, friends,” said the Vala who had to be Manwë. “Dean, Samuel, Maglor, Castiel, Rincaro, Robert, Ellen, Joanna, Ashton. You have done valiantly the task that we have set for you, and though I sent no summons, Dean, you did well to heed the summons in your heart to seek our counsel face to face. I am only sorry that we meet thus now, in the last measures of the Song. And we shall have need of your valor and your ingenuity again ere the final chord sounds.”
None of them knew quite what to say to that, so they didn’t say anything.
Manwë looked around the circle then and introduced the various Valar. “You will have time to know us better hereafter,” he concluded. “And we will have time to speak of strategy when Melkor’s plans become clearer. For now, though, take your ease and let your hearts forget their troubles for a time. The very end is yet to come, and you shall all need your strength.”
Bobby evidently grimaced or something, because the Vala who’d been introduced as Estë said gently, “Yes, Robert, even thee. Thou shalt abide in Lórien for a time, and I shall restore thee fully.”
Dean looked over at Bobby, who looked shocked. “Fully? Y’mean....”
“Yes. Thou shalt walk again.”
Bobby swallowed hard a couple of times before he managed to whisper, “Le hannon, hiril-nin.”
She smiled kindly. “I ’ell nîn.”
“I would speak further with Dean and Samuel,” said Manwë. “Eönwë, please show the others back to their carriage.”
Eönwë bowed low, then turned and motioned for the others to follow. Ellen and Jo each hugged the Winchesters before they left, and Maglor gave them each a pat on the back. Then they walked away, and Sam and Dean were left looking at each other, not sure whether to panic or fall on their faces in reverence or try to brazen their way out of the jam-if it was one.
“Oh, children,” Manwë sighed. “Zachariah has done you great harm in trying to cast you as Túrin divided against himself, or even as Melkor and myself. Only by the grace of Eru and your own great love one for another have you escaped a doom that should never have threatened you to begin with. But your true doom is scarce less heavy now that Melkor has returned. And I am no less grieved by that than is Nienna.”
Suddenly no longer tongue-tied or unsure of himself, Dean surged forward. “Then why didn’t you help us stop this?”
Manwë shook his head sadly. “We would have done far more damage to your land than you know-Beleriand was all but annihilated when we returned to Middle-earth for the War of Wrath. We were not prepared to take that risk. Yet were all of us together to have appeared in Carthage, we could not have prevented Morgoth’s return.”
“Why not?!”
“Dean. Arda was marred from the moment of my brother’s rebellion. That damage goes deep, to the foundations of Eä, to the very Song itself, and he has poured much of his considerable power into warping the whole fabric of Arda. Though Eru will not allow Morgoth’s mischief to endure, the marring cannot be healed easily, and it is not within the power of the Valar to do so. Sauron’s power was broken with the destruction of the One Ring, but all of Middle-earth is Morgoth’s ring. To end his threat to us forever, this Song must end, and Arda must be unmade so that it can be remade aright. The timing of that end lies in Eru’s control alone; naught that any created being could do can change it. But you made the right choices, all of you. You did exactly what we asked of you. Had it not been time for Morgoth to return, you would have succeeded in stopping Lilith, even without our help. You have done well. Take comfort in that.”
“You could have warned us!”
“The message I sent through Tuor was the only message I was able to send. Not even I know all that lies within the Song or within the mind of Eru. We did not see this Age when Eru gave us the vision of the Song before Time began. Even on the day itself, I could not know with certainty what was to occur, only that the attempt would be made.”
“Wait,” Sam frowned as he stepped up beside Dean. “Are you saying our choices made no difference at all?”
“No freely-made choice is without consequence,” said Mandos gravely. “And it is no small thing to be blameless in the face of evil that you could not prevent. Had you done ill, our conversation now would not be so cordial.”
That gave Dean pause. If this was Mandos when he was cordial, there was no way Dean wanted to see him disappointed, never mind angry.
Manwë leaned forward. “Sam, Dean... you came to us for help, but in truth, it is we who need your help. Those who were most faithful to Eru in this life are now gone, but some who remain have turned back to the truth. If they are to fight for us, with us, someone must summon them-and we cannot. We have not been inactive all these years, but we have hidden ourselves from Men for too long. They have forgotten our names. And were we to reach out to them now, to call them to join us against Morgoth, they would not respond. Yet they will answer to you, for you are Isildur’s heirs. To you alone is appointed the authority to lead Men in the final combat.”
The brothers exchanged a look, then looked back at Manwë and chorused, “How?”
When at last the Winchesters returned from the Máhanaxar, Bobby was blown away by how powerful and regal they looked... and yet they somehow seemed to be even more themselves than they ever had been. Gone were the petulant Sam who tried too hard to be normal and the cocky Dean who tried too hard to be cool. In their place were strong, competent, responsible men, scarred but unbroken by a lifetime of fighting evil. Hunters. Generals. Kings.
“Well?” Ellen asked.
Dean looked down at Bobby first. “Melian’s gonna come take you to Lórien here in a few minutes. Estë thinks Zach put some kind of curse on your back, and it might take some study for her to figure out how to break it. But as soon as she can, she will.”
“A curse?” Bobby repeated. “It ain’t physical?”
Dean shook his head. “Said I probably coulda healed it if it was.”
“Just as well I didn’t let you try.”
He got a wry smile in response.
“They want us to find a way to gather an army of humans, like a resistance movement,” Sam stated. “But they don’t want us to leave unless we absolutely have to. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s gonna be possible, even if we do go back. I mean, it’s not like anybody knows who we are, and pretty much all communication’s been wiped out except radio and maybe analog TV. And it’s gonna be even harder trying to do it from here, since we’re not even on the same planet.”
“Not much of a Resistance out there yet, either,” Dean noted. “It’s only been, like, a week. But as soon as Morgoth starts makin’ moves on Washington....”
Ash rubbed his chin. “You could always John Connor this thing. Y’know, radio broadcasts or something-even TV, maybe.”
Dean looked at him. “You’re thinking....”
“Use the Eressëa palantír to hack a satellite,” Ash replied. “We need to get back to Avalon.”
“Avállonë,” Sam corrected.
“’Swhat I said.”
Dean laughed and clapped Ash on the shoulder. “Only you, Buchholz. Only you.”
Now firmly ensconced in Meadow Brook Hall in Rochester, Michigan, Melkor was deep in conversation with one of the oldest and most trusted of his incorporeal lieutenants when a crossroads demon appeared and bowed low before him. “Well?” Melkor demanded.
“We have tried absolutely everything, my lord,” replied the demon. “Sam Winchester cannot be found. But I have found someone who I hope will serve as an acceptable substitute.”
“Very well. Bring him.”
The demon vanished and returned moments later with two others supporting a young Man who was, to put it bluntly, a mess. In better health he would probably be quite attractive, but now his blond hair was stringy, his eyes bloodshot and pupils blown, his face wan and pale, and his body wracked with the tremors of withdrawal.
“Azazel found him useful,” the crossroads demon explained in the Black Speech so that the Man would not understand what was said. “Sam Winchester was his best friend at Stanford, so one of Azazel’s children took him as a host. But the demon has left him in case you wish to speak with him directly.”
Melkor drew the darkness about himself more closely and studied the Man, reading his memories of dreams shattered by possession, the torment of watching the death of Jessica Moore and of the intoxicants and the sex and all the other ways the demon had abused his host. Those abuses had stopped after Sam left Stanford, apparently, but their full effect was only now evident in the host’s condition... and the host felt terrible. There was about him a deep sense of despair, a longing for the release of death. And Melkor smiled to himself. Yes, this one might be an acceptable substitute after all.
“Bring him closer,” Melkor ordered, and the demons complied, bringing the Man to the foot of the throne.
Melkor had never cared much for the arts of healing, and his powers in that regard had diminished greatly over the Ages. But they were not altogether lost, and now Melkor put forth such power as he still had to heal the Man who trembled before him. The Man gasped as illness fled and strength returned, and he searched the darkness for the face of his benefactor.
“What is your name, child?” Melkor asked as kindly as he knew how.
“Brady, sir,” the Man replied. “Please, I-”
Melkor didn’t give him a chance to continue. “Brady, you will be our guest for a few days. Make him comfortable, and give him anything he wants,” he ordered, and the demons took Brady away.
After a week of allowing Brady to live in luxury, Melkor summoned him back to the throne room. The Man had taken full advantage of the time, by all reports, and now he was well tanned and clean-shaven, his hair clean and cut in what Men of this time would consider an attractive style, and he looked as healthy and well fed as if he had never been possessed. The camera would love this Man, and so would the masses.
Yes, he was no Sam Winchester, but he would do nicely.
“I’m here,” Brady began when Melkor did not speak. “And I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me. It’s been... kind of a rough few years.”
“I can imagine,” Melkor replied, smiling to himself in the darkness.
“Um... I hate to ask, but... who are you?”
“I am the Giver of Gifts, Master of the Fates of Arda, the god your fathers served in the East, long Ages past. The powers of this world were jealous of me and kept me away for many years, but their might is failing. I have returned. And I am in need of someone who will be my voice, my representative to the people of this Age.”
Brady swallowed hard. “So you weren’t just being nice. You’re trying to use me.”
“No! I wish only to aid your kind, and I sent my servants to find someone whom I could help, who could then bear witness that I mean no harm. This world is in chaos, Brady. I have brought order to your life; I can bring order to everyone.”
Brady muttered something about “Der Führer’s Face.”
“Oh, come now, Brady. Have I been anything but good to you?”
“I’ve only been here a week,” Brady noted.
“And could you have recovered so well in a week anywhere else?”
“I... no.”
“Well, then.”
“But you’ve never even let me see your face.”
“I cannot. Very few have seen my true form and lived. You are mortal, Brady; I would not risk your life by showing you aught that you cannot bear.”
“Well, how do you expect me to be a spokesman for something I haven’t directly experienced?”
“I will endow you with my beloved spirit, so that you will always know what to say.”
Brady shook his head. “No spirits. I’ve been possessed once.”
“Ah, but my spirit is not like that spirit. It will only make you bolder, stronger, and wiser, enlightening you and showing you my will. And there will be... other rewards as well.”
The spirit in question, a fallen Maia little less in strength than Sauron had been, sped down from Melkor’s side and began to circle Brady, dancing, flirting, caressing, enticing with brief touches of power-a far cry from the brute force generally employed by the Houseless in this Age, much more artistic and seductive. Brady began to waver as old addictions surfaced and morphed into a craving for the false sweetness the spirit offered.
“Shall I give you a taste?”
“Ummm....”
“A vision,” Melkor ordered, and the spirit embraced Brady, whose eyes rolled back as he began to moan and shake in ecstasy. Having watched the mortals touched by the Secret Fire for yéni since the advent of that confounded meddler Yésu, Melkor knew how to counterfeit the experience, and this was a very good counterfeit indeed.
After a minute or so, the spirit released Brady, who collapsed at the foot of Melkor’s throne. “That... that was awesome,” Brady panted.
“Was it acceptable?”
Brady let out a groan of pleasure and rolled onto his back. “Better than sex. Over way too soon, though. I was just getting to the good part.”
“Ah, but that was just a taste. I cannot let you drink your fill unless you are willing to remain by the fountain.”
Brady made a visible effort not to whine, but the high was clearly wearing off quickly, and he knew the pain of withdrawal all too well. “Please... I can’t... I need... I mean, I’d like to go deeper if I may.”
Melkor smiled. “Do you consent to receive my spirit, to become my spokesman?”
“Oh, heck, yes.” Brady couldn’t control the desperation any longer. “I’ll do anything.”
The spirit entered Brady quickly and, after a brief struggle, asserted control over the hroa and picked itself up off the dais. “I suppose I’ll have to keep him occupied for the first few days,” it said, walking over to a table hidden from mortal view and rolling up Brady’s shirt sleeves.
“Whatever it takes to keep him compliant,” Melkor replied. “Evict him if you must, though it would look better if he could speak for himself from time to time-at least in America.”
“Yes, I don’t think he speaks any languages other than Spanish and English. Could be a problem in the Middle East.” It picked up a heated soldering iron.
“Don’t worry. When you appear in Jerusalem, all Arda will listen and hear whatever they wish to hear in your words... my Anointed One.”
The Antichrist smirked and began to burn a binding sigil on Brady’s left arm.
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