Gwaith i Innas Lain: Quenta Ambarmetto 9/10
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Chapter 8
Dagor Dagorath
“Zombies?!”
Sam nodded. “Zombies in Eldamar. Some kind of cave.”
Dean looked at Maedhros, who nodded grimly. “The Cave of the Forgotten. Ar-Pharazôn and his invasion force were buried there when the world was broken. It is said they remain until their master, Morgoth, shall return.”
Dean frowned. “Wait, I thought the Breaking of the World happened after Morgoth got kicked out.”
“It did,” said Elrond. “But long ago, when Men first awoke, Morgoth corrupted them to his worship, and it is said that whatever Man’s fate was intended to be at the first, this fall into darkness was punished by mortality. When Sauron was taken captive by Ar-Pharazôn, he induced the Númenóreans who had not remained faithful to Eru to begin anew their worship of the Darkness and of Morgoth. Thus they owned Morgoth as their master openly and held the Valar to be their enemies.”
Dean shook his head. “Great. Satanist zombies. Must be Thursday.”
The other humans laughed quietly.
“Sammy, you get anything more than that?”
Sam shook his head. “Just looked like a Romero movie. Standard zombie apocalypse.”
“Timeframe?”
“No. If I had to guess... couple weeks, maybe a month. Maybe two, if it takes modern ships as long to get here as it did for Ar-Pharazôn.”
“I’ll go check MTAC,” said Ash, “see if there’s anything in the news. ’Less I miss my guess, somethin’ like this, Morgoth’ll want a big media splash.”
Dean nodded. “Thanks, Ash.”
“I shall assist,” Maedhros added. “I doubt that I shall be able to sleep this night and wish to be of use.”
“Thanks, dude.”
Ash smiled crookedly up at Maedhros. “C’mon, Rusty. Let’s do this.”
Maedhros laughed and followed him out of the room.
Dean turned his attention back to Sam. “You gonna be okay, Sam?”
Sam nodded wearily. “Better bring me my journal, ’case it happens again.”
“I’ll get it, Uncle Sam,” offered Ben, and he did so.
Sam gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Let us rest,” Elrond told the others. “I am sure we shall all have much to do tomorrow.”
After some murmured good nights, the rest of the group left. And after some silent conversation with Lisa, Dean crawled in bed with Sam to help keep the nightmares at bay.
Both Winchesters spent much of the next week on Taniquetil, conferring with Manwë and the Elven kings-including Thranduil, who had in fact hitched a ride on White Rose. None of the other human Resistance leaders were allowed on the mainland yet, but Cas and Rinc and a few other Maiar were constantly carrying messages to both White Rose and Eressëa, where Ash and Maedhros were having no luck cutting through Crowley’s propaganda to get real news about the impending invasion. Sam’s visions got longer, more detailed, and more frequent, and although Dean worried about him, the visions did contribute valuable information to the strategy discussions.
Then suddenly, just as Sam seemed to be coming out of a pretty deep vision-trance, he started screaming as if in terrible agony.
“Sammy?!” cried Dean, grabbing Sam by the shoulders. The Elessar, which he’d taken to wearing pinned over his heart, blazed like a small green sun as he tried to connect to Sam’s mind, to find out what was troubling him, but something seemed to be blocking Dean’s power. When two attempts failed and Sam kept screaming, Dean yelled, “Manwë, HELP!”
Manwë’s hand landed on Dean’s back, and Dean was almost blinded by the power that surged through him and into Sam. The blockade broke, and Sam toppled forward into Dean’s arms, sobbing.
“Miruvor,” Manwë ordered, and Olwë filled two goblets with the clear, fragrant cordial and brought them over to the brothers, standing ready for when they would be able to drink it.
Dean was too out of breath to do more than look up at Manwë and nod his thanks.
Manwë rubbed Dean’s back gently. “Sam? Can you speak?”
Sam took a couple of gulps of air before shakily raising his head to look at Manwë. “’S Morgoth. He’s coming.”
And a split second later, Cas popped in. “Ash has intercepted a transmission,” he said gravely. “A press conference has been scheduled for tomorrow at 7 p.m. Eastern Time. We believe Delebfaer will announce the invasion then.”
Dean nodded slowly. “Okay,” he finally said. “State of the Union always has an opposition rebuttal, right?”
Sam looked at him oddly. “You serious?”
“Can’t hurt to offer one last challenge, right? Give people one last chance to do the right thing?”
Sam blinked, then smiled a little. “Yeah. Can’t hurt.”
Manwë gave Dean’s shoulder the barest squeeze of approval. Then he turned to Cas. “Make ready for the broadcast.”
Cas bowed and left.
“Here,” said Olwë kindly, handing each brother a goblet. “This shall restore your strength. And you shall need it if you are to prepare a speech ere you retire this night.”
They nodded their thanks and drank.
Sam and Ben camped out in the Impala that night to let Dean and Lisa have the bedroom to themselves. Elrond had offered them a room in another part of the house, but Sam declined, saying he really needed a piece of home right then. And in fact he slept as well as he ever did in the car. He woke early, though, as did Dean, and after breakfast they went for a short walk through the gardens.
Neither said much until Dean looked up at Sam and asked, “You okay?”
Sam sighed. “Yeah. Kinda nervous.”
“Not the speech. What happened yesterday.”
Sam shrugged.
“Sam.”
He sighed again. “Morgoth found me. I don’t know how; he just... turned up right at the end of the vision. Hurt me pretty bad. I could tell you were reaching for me, but he just laughed, said I’d never get away. Guess that was when you called Manwë.”
“You should have said something, dude. If you needed me....”
“Dean, I’m fine now. I slept just fine. And you needed some time for yourself; it’s not like you haven’t been pushing yourself as hard as everyone else.”
“Yeah, but... this is you, Sammy.”
The unspoken You’re my brother; I’d do anything for you hung between them until Sam pulled Dean into a rough hug. Dean was startled briefly, but then he hugged Sam back.
“Dude,” Sam finally said as he let Dean go, “you’re sweaty.”
A smirk and a waggle of the eyebrows were Dean’s only reply. Sam huffed and rolled his eyes.
Dean laughed and slapped Sam on the back. “C’mon. Let’s go get cleaned up, play king for the day.”
Sam huffed again, this time with a grin, and fell in step with Dean as they walked back to the house.
‘Playing king,’ however, was a classic case of Dean trying to relieve tension by cheapening the occasion. They got back inside to find that the servants had not only prepared baths (complete with scented soaps, which always provoked a grumble from Dean even though they didn’t smell girly at all) but had also laid out clothes for them-the finest Elven styles in rich fabrics that would be horribly expensive in Middle-earth, all of it tailor-made for each of them. Their jewelry was all laid out, too, including a new gold chain for Dean’s amulet.
Dean ran a hand over his nose and mouth and proceeded to vent his discomfort by cursing about the soap more vehemently than usual. Sam rolled his eyes and herded Dean into the tub without interrupting the tirade.
The clothes were comfortable, though, when the brothers finally worked up the nerve to get dressed after shaving. The colors suited them and were neither too dark nor too pale for television-Sam’s were a clear kelly green, while Dean’s were a bright royal blue, and both had red and gold trim.
Dean laughed when Sam got his tunic on. “Hey, Sammy Claus.”
“Shut up, jerk,” Sam shot back, trying not to laugh himself. “At least we don’t have to wear those stupid boiled-wool hose like they had in Robin Hood’s day.”
Dean launched into an off-key version of the theme from Robin Hood: Men in Tights, which made Sam laugh more than it probably should have.
After they got their hair done-and Dean reluctantly decided not to gel his hair-they helped each other with their jewelry. Elrond had found Sam a pendant with a clear white gem that Arwen had once given to Frodo, so Dean fastened it on him while he got the amulet transferred to its new chain. While Dean put on the amulet, Sam pinned the Elessar on his tunic low enough that the two pieces wouldn’t collide. Then they put the Elendilmiri on each other... and stared at themselves in the mirror for a long moment.
“Spiders, Sam,” Dean finally whispered. “I dunno if I can do this.”
Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “You can. We can.”
“The whole world is going to see us. Like... like this.”
“Beats seein’ us dead and blamed for a ton of serial killings, though, right?”
Sam had meant it as a joke, but Dean cursed again. “I forgot about that. And you know Meg’ll run with it. What are we doin’, Sam?”
“Dean. Someone has to voice the other side. You said so yourself. If getting dressed up like this is what it takes....”
Dean sighed. “I know. I know. It’s just... four billion people.”
“Most of whom don’t know us and won’t care.”
“They’re gonna laugh.”
“Dude, we could be wearing Armani and they’d laugh. We’re saying what they don’t want to hear.”
Dean was still considering this point when they heard Lisa gasp from the doorway. “Dean?!”
They turned, and Dean smiled wryly. “Hey, Lis.”
Lisa tried several times to say something, but nothing came out. Finally, she slumped against the doorframe, fanning herself. And she very clearly was not fighting laughter.
Dean brightened and straightened. “Really?”
“Uhhh,” was all Lisa could say as she nodded, still staring.
“Mom?” Ben called from the bedroom. “Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
Ben came to the door to check on Lisa, and his mouth fell open when he saw Sam and Dean. “Whoa...” he breathed.
Dean beamed at Sam and grabbed his sword, on loan from Erestor. Sam rolled his eyes and reached for Andúril.
There were more appreciative curses from Bobby, Jo, and Ellen as the boys made their way down to the car. The Henricksens just stared, and Pamela just about fainted.
And Missouri just shook her head, chuckled, and said, “Boys, if your daddy could see you now... mm.”
“You look wonderful,” said Celebrían, giving them each a motherly hug. “You’ll make us proud, I’m sure.”
And then they were off to MTAC, where Ash greeted them with a low whistle and a slow “Dadgum. Good morning, Your Majesties.”
“Knock it off, Ash,” Dean grumbled, but he was clearly both pleased and embarrassed.
“I’m serious, dude. You look the part. Don’t they, Rusty?”
Maglor and Maedhros were standing by the palantír grinning at each other. “Indeed so,” Maedhros said. “I can only imagine what... Zachariah, was it? would say could he see the pair of you now-you certainly favor the Peredhil far more than Túrin in this guise.”
Both brothers felt better to hear that.
“Come,” said Maglor. “Let us show you the set with Daernaneth’s standard, and then you should rehearse and eat. Delebfaer’s broadcast will begin at noon; we cannot tell how long it will go, but Ash is set to start ours within minutes of its end.”
Dean nodded, suddenly all business. “Lead the way.”
Míriel Serindë had hand-embroidered a standard that Ash had set up for the background, a black field with seven silver stars and a silver-and-gold crown above a white tree. The stars each had a gemstone set in the center that seemed to glow of its own accord.
“Naneth made those,” Maglor confided in a whisper, “with light from Eärendil’s Silmaril.”
Ash sighed. “We’d better be careful, my friends. Two o’ you against that? Gonna melt the satellite.”
Sam couldn’t help it. He laughed until he cried.
Brady had always wanted to live in the White House. Not as President, just... part of the family, maybe. And now here he was, more or less president of the whole world, getting to give a speech from the Oval Office. Even if he weren’t permanently buzzed from being joined with Delebfaer, he’d be giddy.
And what a speech! Father had explained that the secret of eternal youth and every other good thing could be found in a dimension called the Undying Lands that was currently guarded by some stupid, jealous lesser gods, and the time had finally come for the people of Earth to take what was rightfully theirs. Delebfaer had written the speech himself, but Brady delivered it with all the fire and conviction he could muster. It didn’t really matter if he believed it himself, of course, because everybody believed him. And rightly so, ’cause he was a god. But it happened that this time he did believe it. They were going to conquer those other stupid gods and make everything bad go away.
He said it much more eloquently and soberly than that, of course.
And then, when the speech was over and everybody, especially Crowley, told him what a great job he’d done, he went to start listening to the commentaries-
“People of Earth! Stop this madness!”
The sudden proclamation caught everyone’s attention. It was said with such authority... but who... who were these two men who weren’t supposed to be on TV now? They were dressed up like somebody out of Lord of the Rings.
Then Brady looked closer at the one in green and gasped. He’d changed since college, but... that... that was Sam Winchester.
Brady was too stunned to pay attention to what Sam and the other man, who had to be Sam’s brother, were actually saying apart from the fact that they thought he was wrong. Sam was his best friend. Why was he doing this? How was he doing this, and from where, and why was he dressed up like that?
And why did some not-so-tiny part of him want to do exactly what Sam said and go beg his forgiveness, not just for the invasion idea, but for killing Jess?
Delebfaer was furious-so much so that Brady actually blacked out for the first time in a long time. When he came to, however, Crowley assured him that everything would be taken care of and that the pre-invasion party was getting ready to kick off.
That was good. Brady gladly left Crowley in charge and went off to have some fun.
The party lasted for a couple of days, interrupted now and then for some ritual sacrifices to Father that Brady didn’t pay much attention to and almost resented for taking him away from the harem he’d built up since Detroit. But when it was finally over and Brady stepped outside on one of the balconies for a joint, he was startled to see a demure dark-haired woman in a grey suit standing nearby, as if she were waiting for him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Tessa,” she said quietly.
“How did you get out here? The public’s not allowed in this part of the White House.”
She smiled. “There are very few ways to bar me from going where I need to go, Brady.”
He suddenly felt uneasy. “Don’t call me that. Nobody gets to call me that except Father.”
“He’s not your father. Nor is he the Father of All. Only the Father of Lies.”
“You get out of here. Don’t say things like that to me, or I’ll... I’ll....”
She held out her hand. “It’s time, Brady.”
And suddenly there was a weird tearing sensation as Delebfaer stepped away from him, and he found himself staring at his own face smirking coldly. “Thank you, my dear,” Delebfaer said to Tessa.
“I do not serve you, Abomination,” Tessa returned sternly.
Brady stared in shock. “But... Delebfaer... what....”
The smirk grew. “You’ve served your purpose, mortal. We have no more use for you. Your body is mine, but your soul?” Delebfaer waved dismissively. “Go with the Reaper to whatever awaits.” And he walked back inside, leaving Brady dumbfounded.
“It’s time, Brady,” Tessa repeated gently. “My lord Mandos is waiting.”
He turned to her. “I’m... I’m dead?”
“I’m afraid so. Come on.”
Reeling from the betrayal, he took her hand.
“Did you talk to him?” Sam asked.
Rinc shrugged. “Tried to. He’s pretty disoriented. Plugged into a spirit like Delebfaer that long, it’s a wonder he remembers anything of the last seven months; he was pretty well stoned out of his gourd from all that power. And apparently Morgoth didn’t trust him enough to let him in on many of the actual invasion plans. But he was coherent enough to give me one message for you.”
Sam swallowed hard. “What?”
“He’s truly sorry about Jess.”
Sam bit his lip. “Thanks, Rinc.”
Rinc nodded once and left. And Dean held Sam as he cried.
The way West had never been completely blocked to mortal vessels, and Morgoth intended to exploit that fact and use all of the world’s navies to assail Aman. But the invasion began well behind schedule, thanks to the handful of people who took the final Resistance broadcast to heart and engaged in as much sabotage as they possibly could and to Ulmo and Ossë, whose storms scuppered many of the ships initially gathered for the armada.
Ash lost the signal from the satellite as soon as the first wave launched, however. And no matter what he and Maedhros and Maglor tried, they couldn’t get the signal back, nor would the palantír respond on its own.
Dean took that as his cue. He ordered the inhabitants of the islands to evacuate to the mainland and sent all the children from White Rose, along with any women or seasoned citizens who didn’t plan to fight or couldn’t fight, deep into Valinor. The Vanyar had set up a small village on the far western coast, near Nienna’s house, with all the supplies and medical care necessary to sustain the non-combatants for a year or two, along with a small arsenal for self-defense. In a worst-case scenario, that village would be the very last to see any combat at all.
Ben was not pleased to be sent with the other children, but when Dean charged him with keeping the others safe, he accepted it more graciously. Lisa went with him, arguing that as a former yoga instructor, she’d be more useful helping to take care of the elders who were too sick to fight. And Dean sent the Impala with them as well.
The Noldor had been busily making explosives since Team Free Will’s arrival, and now Dean gave instructions for their deployment. The Teleri mined the entire Bay of Eldamar, from the Enchanted Isles to the coastline, while the Noldor set claymores outside the Cave of the Forgotten and landmines along the road to Tirion that would be detonated remotely if and when Eldamar had to be abandoned. Olwë had protested this destructive strategy when Dean first proposed it, but Dean had noted that if the entire universe was about to be remade, it didn’t matter so much what got blown up in the short term, and even Manwë had to concede the point.
Troops, too, they deployed in defensive rings that would still allow as easy a retreat as possible should the battle go ill. Celeborn took a battalion to guard the Cave of the Forgotten, while Fingolfin oversaw the coastal defenses. There were archers and missile platoons stationed wherever possible along the Pelóri, and a full division guarded the walls of Tirion. Similar lines stood between Tirion and Valmar.
And as they waited and watched upon Taniquetil, Sam and Dean both prayed that it would be enough.
Most of the ships in the first wave sank before they even reached the Enchanted Isles, thanks to Ossë. Those that got through foundered in the minefield, since Finrod had found a way to make the mines invisible to radar. The second and third waves of ships met similar fates or simply collided with previous wrecks. The fourth wave made it past the Enchanted Isles but not to Eressëa.
It made Dean sick to think of the lives being lost. But this wasn’t just a normal hunt anymore. This was war. And the Enemy didn’t care how many people died as long as he won.
One ship from the tenth wave finally made it to shore, but its commander surrendered, so Fingolfin set the crew to guard White Rose. After that, though, they were out of luck. A handful of ships from the eleventh wave got through, and as soon as their troops-including Orcs and Wargs-disembarked, the Cave of the Forgotten opened and the battle began in earnest. The twelfth wave contained aircraft carriers, which meant the eagles had their hands full keeping bombers from reaching the coast. And the waves that followed held as many, if not more, monsters and demons as humans.
As the fighting continued, the wounded were evacuated to Tirion, and Sam and Dean went down to help as much as they could. There were plenty of other healers there, of course, not least of whom was Elrond, but Dean still used his healing powers to help the cursed, barely remembering to eat or sleep, until he collapsed from exhaustion and Sam had to call Cas to take them back to Taniquetil. Estë put him into a healing sleep... and he woke to the news that although Celeborn had been able to hold off the zombies, Eldamar had been overrun.
Even with the road destroyed, sheer persistence meant that the siege of Tirion lasted for a month of bloody fighting before Tulkas and Aulë ordered the defenders out of the city and pulled down a rockslide to block the pass. It took two months for the invaders to figure out a new plan for crossing the mountains, and another two months after that for the various factions to stop fighting among themselves and attempt it. Yavanna had withdrawn her power from Eldamar when the retreat to Tirion began, so food was in short supply, and Ulmo and Manwë sent raging blizzards to make the Pelóri even more forbidding and to prevent aircraft from being used to simply bomb a passage or airlift troops across the barrier. The quarrelling among the invaders grew to such a pitch that the better part of a company was turned by the vampires, werewolves, and skinwalkers, and not a few other humans became food for the more desperate predators. But finally Delebfaer came himself, and though he could do nothing about the weather or the supplies, he ordered the assault, and his troops dared not refuse. Once more, only the repeated onslaught of wave after wave of attackers allowed any to get through.
The Elves still showed mercy on any humans who surrendered in good faith. But by now a good number were half-mad from starvation and abuse, bewitched by Delebfaer and his demons, or just bad people and would not be stopped by anything but death.
Christmas came and went, and still only the barest handfuls of invaders managed to survive the weather, the height, and the rockfalls to cross the Pelóri. Dean was tempted to hope that the mountains would hold their own indefinitely, but he knew better. And indeed, shortly after the new year, Morgoth finally grew impatient enough to come to Aman himself.
“The guy can’t walk,” Bobby noted. “How is he gonna get across the mountains?”
“He found Grond,” said Eönwë grimly. “If he cannot get over the Pelóri, he will batter his way through them.”
Sure enough, a few days later, the assault on the eastern side of the mountains stopped, and Morgoth took his hammer to the Calacirya. His troops poured through the gap as soon as he gave them leave, humans and monsters of every kind, and all of them shouting the challenge that Manwë should come forth if he were not the coward that history had shown Morgoth to be.
Then Manwë at last came down from Taniquetil, with the kings of Elves and Men in his vanguard and the whole host of Valinor behind. And the Dagor Dagorath began.
Days stretched into weeks, though with Tilion, Arien, and Eärendil engaged in the battle, there was almost no way of marking time anymore. Those defenders who had guns used them until they ran out of ammunition, and Vala, Maia, Elf, and Man alike fought valiantly and well. But Morgoth kept bringing more and more reinforcements, many of them once-human monsters, newly turned and wild with bloodlust. And by dint of numbers alone, he slowly forced the Valinoreans back.
Then a company of Wargs, trolls, and skinwalkers smashed a hole in the northern flank, and the defenders found themselves surrounded. Manwë ordered the whole host to retreat to Valmar.
But confusion reigned, not least because of the chaotic methods of the Enemy’s hordes. “Elendil!” ceased to be a rallying cry that the human defenders recognized. And neither Sam nor Dean nor Manwë himself could simply end the fighting by killing Morgoth; at least a million troops stood in the way.
Finally, when things looked blackest, after a last desperate glance at one another, Sam and Dean raised their bloodied swords once more and cried, “ADONAI!”
And then-ah, but what tongue may tell the whole of what next befell?
For the sky was split, and Yésu Hrísto returned from the Timeless Halls, and with Him all the mortal heroes of all the Ages, men and women alike: Beren and Lúthien, Elros and Elendil, Aragorn and the Fellowship and all their allies, Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, Arthur and Alfred and Richard the Lionhearted; and many millions more beside, from the greatest to the least, all whose hearts were ever faithful to Eru. The hosts of Manwë cried aloud for joy and were renewed, and the hosts of Morgoth cried aloud for fear and were destroyed, and Morgoth himself was taken captive and cast for ever into the fires that Ilúvatar had prepared for him since his first rebellion, in the Everlasting Dark whence there can be no escape.
Then Ilúvatar Himself came down from the Timeless Halls, and earth and sky fled before Him, and Eä was shaken to its foundations and Arda was unmade. The fëar of Men and Elves and Ainur were laid bare before Him and were judged by Yésu according to their deeds, and those on whom His judgment fell were cast into the Everlasting Dark with Morgoth their master, whether they owned him in life or no.
But when all who remained were assembled and the three Silmarils stood finally before Him Whose glory their sacred light reflected, Ilúvatar propounded anew to His Children the Great Music, and it was at long last sung aright, and to it He gave once more Being and gave His Children leave to enter, led indeed no more by Manwë but by Yésu Himself. Thus was Arda remade, free from stain, and it is good in His sight, to Whom be glory and honor forever.
Amen.
Glossary | Next
Chapter 8
Dagor Dagorath
“Zombies?!”
Sam nodded. “Zombies in Eldamar. Some kind of cave.”
Dean looked at Maedhros, who nodded grimly. “The Cave of the Forgotten. Ar-Pharazôn and his invasion force were buried there when the world was broken. It is said they remain until their master, Morgoth, shall return.”
Dean frowned. “Wait, I thought the Breaking of the World happened after Morgoth got kicked out.”
“It did,” said Elrond. “But long ago, when Men first awoke, Morgoth corrupted them to his worship, and it is said that whatever Man’s fate was intended to be at the first, this fall into darkness was punished by mortality. When Sauron was taken captive by Ar-Pharazôn, he induced the Númenóreans who had not remained faithful to Eru to begin anew their worship of the Darkness and of Morgoth. Thus they owned Morgoth as their master openly and held the Valar to be their enemies.”
Dean shook his head. “Great. Satanist zombies. Must be Thursday.”
The other humans laughed quietly.
“Sammy, you get anything more than that?”
Sam shook his head. “Just looked like a Romero movie. Standard zombie apocalypse.”
“Timeframe?”
“No. If I had to guess... couple weeks, maybe a month. Maybe two, if it takes modern ships as long to get here as it did for Ar-Pharazôn.”
“I’ll go check MTAC,” said Ash, “see if there’s anything in the news. ’Less I miss my guess, somethin’ like this, Morgoth’ll want a big media splash.”
Dean nodded. “Thanks, Ash.”
“I shall assist,” Maedhros added. “I doubt that I shall be able to sleep this night and wish to be of use.”
“Thanks, dude.”
Ash smiled crookedly up at Maedhros. “C’mon, Rusty. Let’s do this.”
Maedhros laughed and followed him out of the room.
Dean turned his attention back to Sam. “You gonna be okay, Sam?”
Sam nodded wearily. “Better bring me my journal, ’case it happens again.”
“I’ll get it, Uncle Sam,” offered Ben, and he did so.
Sam gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Let us rest,” Elrond told the others. “I am sure we shall all have much to do tomorrow.”
After some murmured good nights, the rest of the group left. And after some silent conversation with Lisa, Dean crawled in bed with Sam to help keep the nightmares at bay.
Both Winchesters spent much of the next week on Taniquetil, conferring with Manwë and the Elven kings-including Thranduil, who had in fact hitched a ride on White Rose. None of the other human Resistance leaders were allowed on the mainland yet, but Cas and Rinc and a few other Maiar were constantly carrying messages to both White Rose and Eressëa, where Ash and Maedhros were having no luck cutting through Crowley’s propaganda to get real news about the impending invasion. Sam’s visions got longer, more detailed, and more frequent, and although Dean worried about him, the visions did contribute valuable information to the strategy discussions.
Then suddenly, just as Sam seemed to be coming out of a pretty deep vision-trance, he started screaming as if in terrible agony.
“Sammy?!” cried Dean, grabbing Sam by the shoulders. The Elessar, which he’d taken to wearing pinned over his heart, blazed like a small green sun as he tried to connect to Sam’s mind, to find out what was troubling him, but something seemed to be blocking Dean’s power. When two attempts failed and Sam kept screaming, Dean yelled, “Manwë, HELP!”
Manwë’s hand landed on Dean’s back, and Dean was almost blinded by the power that surged through him and into Sam. The blockade broke, and Sam toppled forward into Dean’s arms, sobbing.
“Miruvor,” Manwë ordered, and Olwë filled two goblets with the clear, fragrant cordial and brought them over to the brothers, standing ready for when they would be able to drink it.
Dean was too out of breath to do more than look up at Manwë and nod his thanks.
Manwë rubbed Dean’s back gently. “Sam? Can you speak?”
Sam took a couple of gulps of air before shakily raising his head to look at Manwë. “’S Morgoth. He’s coming.”
And a split second later, Cas popped in. “Ash has intercepted a transmission,” he said gravely. “A press conference has been scheduled for tomorrow at 7 p.m. Eastern Time. We believe Delebfaer will announce the invasion then.”
Dean nodded slowly. “Okay,” he finally said. “State of the Union always has an opposition rebuttal, right?”
Sam looked at him oddly. “You serious?”
“Can’t hurt to offer one last challenge, right? Give people one last chance to do the right thing?”
Sam blinked, then smiled a little. “Yeah. Can’t hurt.”
Manwë gave Dean’s shoulder the barest squeeze of approval. Then he turned to Cas. “Make ready for the broadcast.”
Cas bowed and left.
“Here,” said Olwë kindly, handing each brother a goblet. “This shall restore your strength. And you shall need it if you are to prepare a speech ere you retire this night.”
They nodded their thanks and drank.
Sam and Ben camped out in the Impala that night to let Dean and Lisa have the bedroom to themselves. Elrond had offered them a room in another part of the house, but Sam declined, saying he really needed a piece of home right then. And in fact he slept as well as he ever did in the car. He woke early, though, as did Dean, and after breakfast they went for a short walk through the gardens.
Neither said much until Dean looked up at Sam and asked, “You okay?”
Sam sighed. “Yeah. Kinda nervous.”
“Not the speech. What happened yesterday.”
Sam shrugged.
“Sam.”
He sighed again. “Morgoth found me. I don’t know how; he just... turned up right at the end of the vision. Hurt me pretty bad. I could tell you were reaching for me, but he just laughed, said I’d never get away. Guess that was when you called Manwë.”
“You should have said something, dude. If you needed me....”
“Dean, I’m fine now. I slept just fine. And you needed some time for yourself; it’s not like you haven’t been pushing yourself as hard as everyone else.”
“Yeah, but... this is you, Sammy.”
The unspoken You’re my brother; I’d do anything for you hung between them until Sam pulled Dean into a rough hug. Dean was startled briefly, but then he hugged Sam back.
“Dude,” Sam finally said as he let Dean go, “you’re sweaty.”
A smirk and a waggle of the eyebrows were Dean’s only reply. Sam huffed and rolled his eyes.
Dean laughed and slapped Sam on the back. “C’mon. Let’s go get cleaned up, play king for the day.”
Sam huffed again, this time with a grin, and fell in step with Dean as they walked back to the house.
‘Playing king,’ however, was a classic case of Dean trying to relieve tension by cheapening the occasion. They got back inside to find that the servants had not only prepared baths (complete with scented soaps, which always provoked a grumble from Dean even though they didn’t smell girly at all) but had also laid out clothes for them-the finest Elven styles in rich fabrics that would be horribly expensive in Middle-earth, all of it tailor-made for each of them. Their jewelry was all laid out, too, including a new gold chain for Dean’s amulet.
Dean ran a hand over his nose and mouth and proceeded to vent his discomfort by cursing about the soap more vehemently than usual. Sam rolled his eyes and herded Dean into the tub without interrupting the tirade.
The clothes were comfortable, though, when the brothers finally worked up the nerve to get dressed after shaving. The colors suited them and were neither too dark nor too pale for television-Sam’s were a clear kelly green, while Dean’s were a bright royal blue, and both had red and gold trim.
Dean laughed when Sam got his tunic on. “Hey, Sammy Claus.”
“Shut up, jerk,” Sam shot back, trying not to laugh himself. “At least we don’t have to wear those stupid boiled-wool hose like they had in Robin Hood’s day.”
Dean launched into an off-key version of the theme from Robin Hood: Men in Tights, which made Sam laugh more than it probably should have.
After they got their hair done-and Dean reluctantly decided not to gel his hair-they helped each other with their jewelry. Elrond had found Sam a pendant with a clear white gem that Arwen had once given to Frodo, so Dean fastened it on him while he got the amulet transferred to its new chain. While Dean put on the amulet, Sam pinned the Elessar on his tunic low enough that the two pieces wouldn’t collide. Then they put the Elendilmiri on each other... and stared at themselves in the mirror for a long moment.
“Spiders, Sam,” Dean finally whispered. “I dunno if I can do this.”
Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “You can. We can.”
“The whole world is going to see us. Like... like this.”
“Beats seein’ us dead and blamed for a ton of serial killings, though, right?”
Sam had meant it as a joke, but Dean cursed again. “I forgot about that. And you know Meg’ll run with it. What are we doin’, Sam?”
“Dean. Someone has to voice the other side. You said so yourself. If getting dressed up like this is what it takes....”
Dean sighed. “I know. I know. It’s just... four billion people.”
“Most of whom don’t know us and won’t care.”
“They’re gonna laugh.”
“Dude, we could be wearing Armani and they’d laugh. We’re saying what they don’t want to hear.”
Dean was still considering this point when they heard Lisa gasp from the doorway. “Dean?!”
They turned, and Dean smiled wryly. “Hey, Lis.”
Lisa tried several times to say something, but nothing came out. Finally, she slumped against the doorframe, fanning herself. And she very clearly was not fighting laughter.
Dean brightened and straightened. “Really?”
“Uhhh,” was all Lisa could say as she nodded, still staring.
“Mom?” Ben called from the bedroom. “Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
Ben came to the door to check on Lisa, and his mouth fell open when he saw Sam and Dean. “Whoa...” he breathed.
Dean beamed at Sam and grabbed his sword, on loan from Erestor. Sam rolled his eyes and reached for Andúril.
There were more appreciative curses from Bobby, Jo, and Ellen as the boys made their way down to the car. The Henricksens just stared, and Pamela just about fainted.
And Missouri just shook her head, chuckled, and said, “Boys, if your daddy could see you now... mm.”
“You look wonderful,” said Celebrían, giving them each a motherly hug. “You’ll make us proud, I’m sure.”
And then they were off to MTAC, where Ash greeted them with a low whistle and a slow “Dadgum. Good morning, Your Majesties.”
“Knock it off, Ash,” Dean grumbled, but he was clearly both pleased and embarrassed.
“I’m serious, dude. You look the part. Don’t they, Rusty?”
Maglor and Maedhros were standing by the palantír grinning at each other. “Indeed so,” Maedhros said. “I can only imagine what... Zachariah, was it? would say could he see the pair of you now-you certainly favor the Peredhil far more than Túrin in this guise.”
Both brothers felt better to hear that.
“Come,” said Maglor. “Let us show you the set with Daernaneth’s standard, and then you should rehearse and eat. Delebfaer’s broadcast will begin at noon; we cannot tell how long it will go, but Ash is set to start ours within minutes of its end.”
Dean nodded, suddenly all business. “Lead the way.”
Míriel Serindë had hand-embroidered a standard that Ash had set up for the background, a black field with seven silver stars and a silver-and-gold crown above a white tree. The stars each had a gemstone set in the center that seemed to glow of its own accord.
“Naneth made those,” Maglor confided in a whisper, “with light from Eärendil’s Silmaril.”
Ash sighed. “We’d better be careful, my friends. Two o’ you against that? Gonna melt the satellite.”
Sam couldn’t help it. He laughed until he cried.
Brady had always wanted to live in the White House. Not as President, just... part of the family, maybe. And now here he was, more or less president of the whole world, getting to give a speech from the Oval Office. Even if he weren’t permanently buzzed from being joined with Delebfaer, he’d be giddy.
And what a speech! Father had explained that the secret of eternal youth and every other good thing could be found in a dimension called the Undying Lands that was currently guarded by some stupid, jealous lesser gods, and the time had finally come for the people of Earth to take what was rightfully theirs. Delebfaer had written the speech himself, but Brady delivered it with all the fire and conviction he could muster. It didn’t really matter if he believed it himself, of course, because everybody believed him. And rightly so, ’cause he was a god. But it happened that this time he did believe it. They were going to conquer those other stupid gods and make everything bad go away.
He said it much more eloquently and soberly than that, of course.
And then, when the speech was over and everybody, especially Crowley, told him what a great job he’d done, he went to start listening to the commentaries-
“People of Earth! Stop this madness!”
The sudden proclamation caught everyone’s attention. It was said with such authority... but who... who were these two men who weren’t supposed to be on TV now? They were dressed up like somebody out of Lord of the Rings.
Then Brady looked closer at the one in green and gasped. He’d changed since college, but... that... that was Sam Winchester.
Brady was too stunned to pay attention to what Sam and the other man, who had to be Sam’s brother, were actually saying apart from the fact that they thought he was wrong. Sam was his best friend. Why was he doing this? How was he doing this, and from where, and why was he dressed up like that?
And why did some not-so-tiny part of him want to do exactly what Sam said and go beg his forgiveness, not just for the invasion idea, but for killing Jess?
Delebfaer was furious-so much so that Brady actually blacked out for the first time in a long time. When he came to, however, Crowley assured him that everything would be taken care of and that the pre-invasion party was getting ready to kick off.
That was good. Brady gladly left Crowley in charge and went off to have some fun.
The party lasted for a couple of days, interrupted now and then for some ritual sacrifices to Father that Brady didn’t pay much attention to and almost resented for taking him away from the harem he’d built up since Detroit. But when it was finally over and Brady stepped outside on one of the balconies for a joint, he was startled to see a demure dark-haired woman in a grey suit standing nearby, as if she were waiting for him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Tessa,” she said quietly.
“How did you get out here? The public’s not allowed in this part of the White House.”
She smiled. “There are very few ways to bar me from going where I need to go, Brady.”
He suddenly felt uneasy. “Don’t call me that. Nobody gets to call me that except Father.”
“He’s not your father. Nor is he the Father of All. Only the Father of Lies.”
“You get out of here. Don’t say things like that to me, or I’ll... I’ll....”
She held out her hand. “It’s time, Brady.”
And suddenly there was a weird tearing sensation as Delebfaer stepped away from him, and he found himself staring at his own face smirking coldly. “Thank you, my dear,” Delebfaer said to Tessa.
“I do not serve you, Abomination,” Tessa returned sternly.
Brady stared in shock. “But... Delebfaer... what....”
The smirk grew. “You’ve served your purpose, mortal. We have no more use for you. Your body is mine, but your soul?” Delebfaer waved dismissively. “Go with the Reaper to whatever awaits.” And he walked back inside, leaving Brady dumbfounded.
“It’s time, Brady,” Tessa repeated gently. “My lord Mandos is waiting.”
He turned to her. “I’m... I’m dead?”
“I’m afraid so. Come on.”
Reeling from the betrayal, he took her hand.
“Did you talk to him?” Sam asked.
Rinc shrugged. “Tried to. He’s pretty disoriented. Plugged into a spirit like Delebfaer that long, it’s a wonder he remembers anything of the last seven months; he was pretty well stoned out of his gourd from all that power. And apparently Morgoth didn’t trust him enough to let him in on many of the actual invasion plans. But he was coherent enough to give me one message for you.”
Sam swallowed hard. “What?”
“He’s truly sorry about Jess.”
Sam bit his lip. “Thanks, Rinc.”
Rinc nodded once and left. And Dean held Sam as he cried.
The way West had never been completely blocked to mortal vessels, and Morgoth intended to exploit that fact and use all of the world’s navies to assail Aman. But the invasion began well behind schedule, thanks to the handful of people who took the final Resistance broadcast to heart and engaged in as much sabotage as they possibly could and to Ulmo and Ossë, whose storms scuppered many of the ships initially gathered for the armada.
Ash lost the signal from the satellite as soon as the first wave launched, however. And no matter what he and Maedhros and Maglor tried, they couldn’t get the signal back, nor would the palantír respond on its own.
Dean took that as his cue. He ordered the inhabitants of the islands to evacuate to the mainland and sent all the children from White Rose, along with any women or seasoned citizens who didn’t plan to fight or couldn’t fight, deep into Valinor. The Vanyar had set up a small village on the far western coast, near Nienna’s house, with all the supplies and medical care necessary to sustain the non-combatants for a year or two, along with a small arsenal for self-defense. In a worst-case scenario, that village would be the very last to see any combat at all.
Ben was not pleased to be sent with the other children, but when Dean charged him with keeping the others safe, he accepted it more graciously. Lisa went with him, arguing that as a former yoga instructor, she’d be more useful helping to take care of the elders who were too sick to fight. And Dean sent the Impala with them as well.
The Noldor had been busily making explosives since Team Free Will’s arrival, and now Dean gave instructions for their deployment. The Teleri mined the entire Bay of Eldamar, from the Enchanted Isles to the coastline, while the Noldor set claymores outside the Cave of the Forgotten and landmines along the road to Tirion that would be detonated remotely if and when Eldamar had to be abandoned. Olwë had protested this destructive strategy when Dean first proposed it, but Dean had noted that if the entire universe was about to be remade, it didn’t matter so much what got blown up in the short term, and even Manwë had to concede the point.
Troops, too, they deployed in defensive rings that would still allow as easy a retreat as possible should the battle go ill. Celeborn took a battalion to guard the Cave of the Forgotten, while Fingolfin oversaw the coastal defenses. There were archers and missile platoons stationed wherever possible along the Pelóri, and a full division guarded the walls of Tirion. Similar lines stood between Tirion and Valmar.
And as they waited and watched upon Taniquetil, Sam and Dean both prayed that it would be enough.
Most of the ships in the first wave sank before they even reached the Enchanted Isles, thanks to Ossë. Those that got through foundered in the minefield, since Finrod had found a way to make the mines invisible to radar. The second and third waves of ships met similar fates or simply collided with previous wrecks. The fourth wave made it past the Enchanted Isles but not to Eressëa.
It made Dean sick to think of the lives being lost. But this wasn’t just a normal hunt anymore. This was war. And the Enemy didn’t care how many people died as long as he won.
One ship from the tenth wave finally made it to shore, but its commander surrendered, so Fingolfin set the crew to guard White Rose. After that, though, they were out of luck. A handful of ships from the eleventh wave got through, and as soon as their troops-including Orcs and Wargs-disembarked, the Cave of the Forgotten opened and the battle began in earnest. The twelfth wave contained aircraft carriers, which meant the eagles had their hands full keeping bombers from reaching the coast. And the waves that followed held as many, if not more, monsters and demons as humans.
As the fighting continued, the wounded were evacuated to Tirion, and Sam and Dean went down to help as much as they could. There were plenty of other healers there, of course, not least of whom was Elrond, but Dean still used his healing powers to help the cursed, barely remembering to eat or sleep, until he collapsed from exhaustion and Sam had to call Cas to take them back to Taniquetil. Estë put him into a healing sleep... and he woke to the news that although Celeborn had been able to hold off the zombies, Eldamar had been overrun.
Even with the road destroyed, sheer persistence meant that the siege of Tirion lasted for a month of bloody fighting before Tulkas and Aulë ordered the defenders out of the city and pulled down a rockslide to block the pass. It took two months for the invaders to figure out a new plan for crossing the mountains, and another two months after that for the various factions to stop fighting among themselves and attempt it. Yavanna had withdrawn her power from Eldamar when the retreat to Tirion began, so food was in short supply, and Ulmo and Manwë sent raging blizzards to make the Pelóri even more forbidding and to prevent aircraft from being used to simply bomb a passage or airlift troops across the barrier. The quarrelling among the invaders grew to such a pitch that the better part of a company was turned by the vampires, werewolves, and skinwalkers, and not a few other humans became food for the more desperate predators. But finally Delebfaer came himself, and though he could do nothing about the weather or the supplies, he ordered the assault, and his troops dared not refuse. Once more, only the repeated onslaught of wave after wave of attackers allowed any to get through.
The Elves still showed mercy on any humans who surrendered in good faith. But by now a good number were half-mad from starvation and abuse, bewitched by Delebfaer and his demons, or just bad people and would not be stopped by anything but death.
Christmas came and went, and still only the barest handfuls of invaders managed to survive the weather, the height, and the rockfalls to cross the Pelóri. Dean was tempted to hope that the mountains would hold their own indefinitely, but he knew better. And indeed, shortly after the new year, Morgoth finally grew impatient enough to come to Aman himself.
“The guy can’t walk,” Bobby noted. “How is he gonna get across the mountains?”
“He found Grond,” said Eönwë grimly. “If he cannot get over the Pelóri, he will batter his way through them.”
Sure enough, a few days later, the assault on the eastern side of the mountains stopped, and Morgoth took his hammer to the Calacirya. His troops poured through the gap as soon as he gave them leave, humans and monsters of every kind, and all of them shouting the challenge that Manwë should come forth if he were not the coward that history had shown Morgoth to be.
Then Manwë at last came down from Taniquetil, with the kings of Elves and Men in his vanguard and the whole host of Valinor behind. And the Dagor Dagorath began.
Days stretched into weeks, though with Tilion, Arien, and Eärendil engaged in the battle, there was almost no way of marking time anymore. Those defenders who had guns used them until they ran out of ammunition, and Vala, Maia, Elf, and Man alike fought valiantly and well. But Morgoth kept bringing more and more reinforcements, many of them once-human monsters, newly turned and wild with bloodlust. And by dint of numbers alone, he slowly forced the Valinoreans back.
Then a company of Wargs, trolls, and skinwalkers smashed a hole in the northern flank, and the defenders found themselves surrounded. Manwë ordered the whole host to retreat to Valmar.
But confusion reigned, not least because of the chaotic methods of the Enemy’s hordes. “Elendil!” ceased to be a rallying cry that the human defenders recognized. And neither Sam nor Dean nor Manwë himself could simply end the fighting by killing Morgoth; at least a million troops stood in the way.
Finally, when things looked blackest, after a last desperate glance at one another, Sam and Dean raised their bloodied swords once more and cried, “ADONAI!”
And then-ah, but what tongue may tell the whole of what next befell?
For the sky was split, and Yésu Hrísto returned from the Timeless Halls, and with Him all the mortal heroes of all the Ages, men and women alike: Beren and Lúthien, Elros and Elendil, Aragorn and the Fellowship and all their allies, Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, Arthur and Alfred and Richard the Lionhearted; and many millions more beside, from the greatest to the least, all whose hearts were ever faithful to Eru. The hosts of Manwë cried aloud for joy and were renewed, and the hosts of Morgoth cried aloud for fear and were destroyed, and Morgoth himself was taken captive and cast for ever into the fires that Ilúvatar had prepared for him since his first rebellion, in the Everlasting Dark whence there can be no escape.
Then Ilúvatar Himself came down from the Timeless Halls, and earth and sky fled before Him, and Eä was shaken to its foundations and Arda was unmade. The fëar of Men and Elves and Ainur were laid bare before Him and were judged by Yésu according to their deeds, and those on whom His judgment fell were cast into the Everlasting Dark with Morgoth their master, whether they owned him in life or no.
But when all who remained were assembled and the three Silmarils stood finally before Him Whose glory their sacred light reflected, Ilúvatar propounded anew to His Children the Great Music, and it was at long last sung aright, and to it He gave once more Being and gave His Children leave to enter, led indeed no more by Manwë but by Yésu Himself. Thus was Arda remade, free from stain, and it is good in His sight, to Whom be glory and honor forever.
Amen.
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