Chapter One:

A Change in the Weather

If Tory came home early she would kill him.

It was a sad state of affairs indeed when Bryan Miller who in his lifetime had killed numerous enemies during his time as an intelligence operative and had prevented a dark lord from wreaking Armageddon, was afraid of his girlfriend discovering what he done to her kitchen. He knew that when she had decided to take Fred and join Miranda on a picnic some hours away from here, that he would not have a better time to put into place the experiment he had been dying to attempt for some months now.

However, an experiment of this magnitude was simply not complete with compatriots to share the moment. He had asked Aaron Stone who promptly told him that he was man-child bordering on lunatic who needed a new hobby. Bryan supposed a doctor was not the person to ask to join him on this particular endeavor. Nor was it any use recruiting Frank who these days was so lost within the libraries of Tirion that he was no longer said to be sleeping but rather hanging upside down from the rafters when he needed the rest, like a bat in a belfry.

Thus he brought into this fellowship (and he had every right to use that word), Eric Rowan and Jason Merrick, two companions he was certain would share his enthusiasm for the project and was just as depleted as he at having to go without what they were trying to produce. Shortly after Tory and Fred had taken off with Miranda Miller, Bryan's sister-in-law, Bryan, Eric and Jason had sprung into action, commandeering the kitchen and waiting for the arrival of the final member of their quest. The elf arrived a short time later, bringing the final ingredients even though he was at something of a loss to explain why his human companions would need these particular items.

"This smells badly," Elrohir remarked to Bryan as the room filled with a light mist and the display of boiling pots, paddles, rubber stopper, fermenter lid and tubes.

"Keep stirring," Bryan barked at the elf who rolled his eyes and continued to swirl a wooden spoon in the concoction of malt syrup. "You don't want it to stick to the bottom of the pain."

"Are you sure this stuff is safe?" Jason looked dubiously at the yeast substance so vital for the final product. "It reeks."

"Well fermentation will do that," Bryan retorted. "You know if I knew you were going to complain like a bunch of hens, I would have done this myself."

"Oh lighten you cranky pom," Eric retorted opening a window, "I haven't a had drink in weeks either and I'm nowhere as tense as you."

"I'm not tense," Bryan gave Eric a look, "but if I have to drink anymore of this elf wine or whatever it is they call it, I'm going to be prancing around like a bloody fairy."

"I resent the implication," Elrohir threw back at Bryan with a look of annoyance on his face. "The faerie are a myth of your world, not of ours."

"Will you keep stirring?" Bryan declared pointing at the pot and putting the elf's mind on track. "You can't let it get all lumpy."

"You know," Jason grumbled, "it might be simpler just to sail back to England to get some beer instead of making it ourselves."

"Trust me," Bryan remarked, lovely visions of warm lager and vindaloo filing his consciousness, "I've thought of it."

"And I thought Legolas' obsession with coke was a problem," Eric shook his head.

"Legolas' obsession is a problem," Bryan said crisply, "mine is just fine as it is."

"So where did you shunt poor Lady Tory to in order to carry out this mischief," Elrohir inquired, wondering how he had become embroiled in this affair.

"Oh she and Miranda wanted to take the kids out for some fresh air and a picnic," Bryan said distracted as he continued to ensure that the tub and other equipment were in good working order for the fermentation process. "Fred's been acting a little strange lately. Her nightmares seem to be coming back." He paused long enough to meet their gazes to show all present that it was a source of concern to him even if he did not make deeper mention of it.

"Nightmares?" Eric looked at him. "She have them a lot?"

"Well when we first arrived here, all the time," Bryan said remembering those nights when he and Tory would have to run into her room following a piercing scream broken by a heart-wrenching sob. Bryan could never bear to hear that sound and would often stay with the child all night if it meant she could feel safe enough to close her eyes to sleep. "Of course, being a prisoner of Sauron would do that to anyone. After awhile they stopped and I thought she was over but in the last few weeks it has started again. I'm wondering if it has to do with it coming close to the anniversary of her mum and dad's death."

"Probably," Jason remarked, "children see a lot more than they let on."

"And in Fred's case it is especially true," Elrohir remarked. "She is after all a Ringbearer. Frodo's ordeal with the One Ring has left a mark upon his soul that carries from life to life."

Bryan did not comment on that because he often felt that it was unfair to have one soul burdened with the duty of ending great darkness. He supposed he saw her as a child and was unable to be so arbitrary when he thought of her place in the scheme of things. As Frodo, the Ringbearer had been forced to endure a terrible quest in order to save the world they knew and as Fred, she had been the focal point around which all forces had gathered in the destruction of David Saeran's bid for an empire borne of nuclear fire. Perhaps it was by cosmic design that it would be this particular soul that stood against great evil in any age. It was also why Bryan was so fiercely determined to protect her. The elves seemed to think that this was his penance as Boromir of Gondor, for failing the Ringbearer during the quest. Maybe it was that but he knew he loved her like his own child and in the face of that, it made prophecy and design unimportant by comparison.

"Well I hope it passes," Eric answered capable of seeing the real depth of concern, despite the Englishman's bravado. In the last five months, he and Bryan Miller had struck up a close friendship. Both men finding a lot in common in that they possessed the same laconic humor and general cynicism that Jason described as being 'two prats in a pod.'

"It will," Elrohir said confidently, "the soul of the Ringbearer is if nothing, resilient."

"I am surprised that Aaron isn't here," Jason remarked, aware that Bryan and Aaron were extremely close even though the two men were as different as night and day.

"You know doctors," Bryan grumbled. "Said something about having no interest to corrupting paradise with the evils of alcohol and having no desire to start AA meetings in Valinor. This is what happens when you get married."

Elrohir paused long enough to swat Bryan on the shoulder, "it is my sister that you speak of?" Elrohir gave him a look.

"And yet you've never been married," Bryan pointed out with a grin.

"That is by choice," Elrohir replied and then added with a smile of mischief, "and by the appearance of it, a wise one as well."

"I thought so," Bryan retorted smugly.

**************

This was all because of that damned sword.

It sat there on his mantle piece staring back at him, issuing challenge even though he knew it was perfect ludicrous to assume that he could wield it like its former master but the gauntlet was nevertheless thrown. In days of old, the weapon had ridden into battle with a king, it was a symbol of his sovereignty and power, Excalibur to Arthur and a rallying point for thousands to fight against ultimate evil. To wield it in battle was to realize the potential in himself, the man he once was and the man he could be.

Which was now why he was in the position of having his ass continuously kicked by a smirking elf.

Aaron Stone stared at Legolas Greenleaf who was standing over him with his own sword, smiling as he tripped over in what was at least the dozen time in the last hour. Anduril lay sprawled at his feet, staring at him judgmentally for putting it through this embarrassment. Aaron was sure that if the weapon could talk, it would be telling him to forget this idea and just return it to the mantle piece. However, Aaron was not about to give up, he was not about to give up because was determined, he was resolute and at the very least, aiming to wipe that smug grin off Legolas' face.

"Come Aaron," Legolas offered him a hand to help him up. "We should try again. You must learn to evade my blade a little better. Your skill requires a little more practice."

"You're enjoying this," Aaron stared at him as he stood up begrudgingly and picked up Anduril once more.

"Enjoy seeing my best friend beaten and demoralized?" Legolas looked at him with an expression of hurt on his refined feature before bursting into a grin. "It is the most enjoyment I have experienced in centuries."

"Were you ever able to beat Aragorn?" Aaron asked as they stood outside the grassy knoll near his and Eve's home that had become their practice floor since he had decided to learn sword craft seriously. He brushed the bits of grass and dust that had attached itself to his clothes since this session had begun.

"Not always," Legolas answered honestly. "He was the best swordsman of his day, he learnt to wield a blade fighting elves and so among men, this made him exceptionally swift. I have seen him thrust into battle with great numbers to emerge victorious with many around him dead. The man had no equal in battle," Legolas replied thinking of the adventures he had shared with Aragorn, the times they had lived through together. Despite the passage of so much time, Legolas had yet to know so heady a moment as his race across Rohan tracking the hobbits with Aragorn and Gimli.

"Yeah," Aaron turned away, "he was quite the guy."

Legolas sensed something in the human's voice at that moment, a tension that was not there before. "Aaron, I have upset you."

"No," Aaron shook his head, telling himself that this was foolishness. He was a psychiatrist for Christ's sake; he shouldn't be feeling this inadequacy. "It's nothing."

"We have known each other too long for you attempt to deceive me," he looked at Aaron critically.

"That's just it Legolas," he met the elf's eyes. "We don't know each other all that long. You knew Aragorn. I'm not him."

"I am aware of that in every way, Aaron," Legolas placed a hand on his shoulder, revealing his great age and wisdom at that moment. "I mourn Aragorn and there is not a day that I do not miss the times we have shared but I am grateful for the new adventures you and I have seen through. I know you are not he. You are my friend because you are Aaron who is a great healer, who has more strength than you know, who brought home to us Olorin and the Evenstar and cannot wield a blade to save his own skin," Legolas added with a grin.

Aaron met his gaze with a look, "your people are meant to be serene and soothing. What happened to you?"

"My father blames it on my friendship with humans and dwarves," Legolas retorted with mischief. "It has ruined me."

"Tell me," Aaron replied feeling a little better after Legolas' words, "did Aragorn have the urge to beat the crap out of you for being such a smart ass?"

"Constantly," Legolas smirked, "however, he knew better than to try."

Which was not at all true because Legolas could remember instances when Aragorn had been angry enough to make him account for his actions. While they had never come to a real match, he knew that Aragorn had been fast enough to take him if the king had so desired.

"Well," Aaron said with an evil gleam in his eyes, "it was probably because you're so pretty."

Legolas' face darkened. "That is not amusing."

"Oh but it is," Aaron continued to tease, " it must be the long hair."

"I warn you," Legolas bristled. "I may not kill you but I know how to leave you a scar for good measure."

"Hey I'm armed too," Aaron gestured to Anduril as they started to head back towards the house.

"Please," Legolas snorted. "I am in more danger from a hobbit with a rock than you at this moment."

"Right here buddy," the human snorted completed with hand gesture that Legolas recognized from his time in modern day Arda as being not at all courteous.

Returning to the house at the edge of Tirion, Legolas still could not become accustomed to the small, provincial home that Aaron and Eve had chosen for themselves. Though it was furnished with all the necessary comforts, Legolas thought it was too small for a daughter of Elrond to inhabit. If anything, it reminded him a little of Bag End in its quaint manner. However, he noted that many of the humans arriving in Valinor in recent times preferred residences such as this. For elves, who liked the comfort of communal dwelling, this seemed rather isolationist. Still humankind had changed over the last hundred thousand years and they had to be forgiven for their eccentricities.

"If it soothes you any better," Legolas added as they came through the door way, "you are improving."

"Really?" Aaron looked at him skeptically, "I am becoming better than just awful?"

"Now stop feeling sorry for yourself," Legolas retorted. "At least you are learning. My effort to teach Bryan has been met with some remark about pigs taking flight."

Aaron cracked a grin, "well you know Bryan," he shrugged. "If it doesn't have things going boom spectacularly, he's not all the interested. Although if he screws up at home with what he's presently doing, I'm selling tickets when Tory finds out."

"Ah his brewing of ale you mean," Legolas nodded. "He intended to gain my participation in this affair but I was not interested. I believe Elrohir is helping him however. I do not imbibe spirits well."

"Yeah," Aaron grinned as he went into the kitchen for some coffee, "I heard about that poem you recited at your first wedding. The one about the young lady from Minas Tirith whose body was shaped like a..."

"I do not believe you need to recite the whole thing," Legolas cut him off, his expressed scrunched into chagrin as he remembered the incident where he had been so inebriated that he had made a complete and utter spectacle of himself during his wedding to Melia. Fortunately when it was time to take his oaths of marriage to Ariel, he had learnt better.

Aaron laughed, "well just for that, I won't tell you the one about the preacher, the rabbi and the Buddhist..."

***********

Frank Miller was in heaven.

All right not actually heaven but as close to heaven as an archaeologist could manage. He was surrounded by books so old that they were almost living history in itself, beyond the data recorded within him. In the great elvish library of Tirion, Frank had been throwing himself into the business of learning everything there was to know about this new world he had stumbled into. It was ironic. When he had first learnt of elves and Middle-earth, he had been certain that his entire life's pursuit had been one big fallacy but now that he had arrived in Valinor, he was learning otherwise. Everything was new again, a fresh page that he could not tear his eyes away from no matter how much he tried. He knew he was being obsessed and was neglecting his family somewhat but they were accustomed to his academic episodes where he was buried in study for weeks on end.

At first Frank had required the use of a translator to read most of the texts but then he got tired of having to tax poor Elladan's time and so he began to learn how to speak it. It was not difficult for Frank whose IQ point were high into genius level to grasp the finer points of Quenya and Sindarin. It was all in the alphabet he had said and if he could learn to read Sanskrit and Cuneiform, then this though complex, was not impossible. He had poured through most of the First Age texts, learning the history of the Simarils whose end history he had played a small part. He learnt that despite their seemingly placid and idyllic appearance, the elves could be most warlike and capable of rampaging violence just like any other race.

What fascinated him however, were the dwarves. It sounded odd to the hearing but it was the truth.

The history books, those he had read beyond the First Age spoke of the dwarves and the part they played in the affairs of Middle earth. Their fates were closely intertwined with the races of men and elves through the ages even if he read them as being somewhat isolationist. They were largely concerned with their own affairs, natural miners and craftsman who produced some of the most exquisite objects to have ever emerged from the mind of an artist, a fascinating study Frank found. However, beyond the Fourth Age, little was known of their fates. The elf Legolas, whom Frank found to be a kindred spirit in his appreciation of the dwarf culture, had told him much about what he knew personally and Frank had not missed the intense sadness in the elven prince's eyes when he spoke about the dwarf Gimli. Frank had the sense that Legolas felt it somewhat unfair that while his human friends had been reincarnated, there was of yet not an appearance from his old friend Gimli in a new form.

The old wizard Gandalf, who came to see him on numerous occasions and found it enormously funny that he should find Frank in a library surrounded by books and maddeningly would not tell him why, remarked that the spirit of dwarves go to the depths of the earth in death. There, they awaited for the End of Days to be called by their creator Aule to aid in the remaking of the world in the aftermath of typical Armageddon like events. However, what intrigued Frank was not so much where they would be when that day arose but rather where they had been since. They had no Valinor to hide themselves and the modern world had no recollection of dwarves other than in fairy tales.

So what had happened to them?

He was pondering the question, surrounded by books played across the table in an unruly fashion with notes all over the place. Miranda said she had never seen him happier than when he had a puzzle to unravel and this was a challenging as they came. He wanted to go back to the places where their strongholds had been, explore the caves where they mined Mithril and learnt what happened to make their entire race vanish off the face of the earth for the past one hundred thousand years. When things were not so dangerous back in the real world, what Frank deemed the life before Valinor, he intended to go back and explore that question more fully.

"I can see why Sorunme is so vexed," Elladan paused at the door way to the little annex that Frank had claimed as his own. "Have you every book in the library here?" He asked surveying the collection on the table as he entered.

"Unfortunately," Frank peered over his glasses, "you people have yet to discover the benefits of a PC or a databases so I have to find some way of having all the information I need at my finger tips."

"Your people rely too much on your devices," Elladan remarked coming to sit down, "picking up one of the text and musing over it.

"Says the man who spends most of his time on Aaron's boat watching the Xena box set that Cirdan brought from England," Frank retorted sarcastically.

"I shall cross the sea to this land where she dwells and meet her," Elladan said seriously, "I am told by Jason that it is very beautiful."

"New Zealand," Frank rolled his eyes, "where men are men, women are women and sheep are nervous."

"What?" Elladan stared at him. "What does sheep to do with it?"

"Never mind," Frank shrugged, "so did you come here for any particular reason or do you miss my singular wit?"

"Your wit is singular," Elladan retorted and Frank had the sense that it was not a compliment. "However, you are correct, I was wondering whether you have given any thoughts as to going with me to Formenos. It is the ancient stronghold of Feanor, the creator of the Silmarils."

Frank looked up with interest and could not deny that he would like to see the legendary home of Feanor, the elf who by all accounts was responsible for the great wars of the First Age. He also wanted to know the mind that had crafted the Silmarils and sometimes, the place where the master craftsman had conducted his work was more telling than all the books in the library. "I'm all yours," Frank replied with a grin and then paused a moment, "I'd like to bring Miranda and the kids with me as well. I've been dreadfully neglectful of them since I arrived and I should like to make it up to them."

"Well you have been behaving like a hermit," Elladan pointed out. "If it were not for the crumbs left on your plate when meals were brought to you and this continually growing mountain of books and scrolls, we would not even know you were alive."

"Very droll," Frank gave him a look. "It just so happens, I am attempting to unravel a mystery."

"A mystery?" Elladan's brow arched. "I do not believe that there are any left in Valinor. One hundred thousand years on this island has ensured that we know everything that has ever transpired."

"I'm not surprised," Frank replied, unable to imagine such a thing as a culture being trapped in stasis for so long. The evolution of the elves had been slight and he could well understand why so many of them were leaving these shores to explore the world outside after being hidden away for so long. Frank had no doubt that this would inspire a new age for them as well as provoke a burst of creative and technological advancement that was long overdue in his opinion. A race had to evolve or it would grow stagnant. Nature despised a vacuum.

"Actually," he met Elladan's gaze, "I was trying to learn what happened to the dwarves."

"The dwarves?" Elladan exclaimed in surprise. "We assumed they retreated to their mines deep in the earth."

"My people have never seen them," Frank declared. "We have no record of them on any level. There are stories about dwarves like there are of elves but they are fairy tales, not based on any tangible fact. I can't believe they had simply disappeared without a trace. These texts indicate they played a big part in the events of the first three ages, something must have become of them after that."

Elladan did not know how to answer but were certain that the answers that Frank sought out were not to be found on Valinor. The Eldar and Durin's folk had never enjoyed harmonious relations despite the rare instances of camaraderie that existed like that of Legolas and Gimli. After the last of his people had left the world of Middle earth behind, there was scarcely a thought pondered as to what had become of the dwarves. Like the rest of the elves, Elladan assumed they had confined themselves to their mountain enclaves or deep beneath the earth, in the mines they loved so much.

"I cannot offer you the answers you seek," Elladan confessed, "perhaps if we see Olorin, he may be able to inquire of Aule what has happened to his children."

Frank was momentarily satisfied by the possibility although the truth was he had suspicions of his own regarding the fate of the dwarves and despite the fact that the elves seemed to believe they may have faded into time, Frank believed that the dwarves were not as diminished as everyone thought. In fact, he was almost certain that they existed and were waiting for the right time to emerge, whenever that might be.

And lately for reasons Frank could not discern, he felt as if that time was approaching fast.

***********

There were moments when Ariel, wife of Legolas wondered whom he had truly married.

While she could not deny his love for her, that was apart of her that always wondered who it was he saw when he looked at her. For most part, there was no doubt in her mind that when Legolas looked upon her, it was Ariel that he saw, Ariel who had been his wife these hundred millennia, who had never bore him sons or daughters because he had claimed they were happy enough without children. Then there were other moments, quiet, haunting times when she saw a flicker of something else in his clear blue eyes, a glimmer that was alien as it was familiar. It was those instances when she was certain that their life together was merely to him an extension of the one he had shared with the wife whose soul he believed she possessed.

Ariel did not remember Melia, daughter of Hezare though she was spoken fondly by both Gimli when he was alive and Haldir. She knew that Legolas believed her to be the incarnation of Melia's parted mortal soul, given life in an elven body and returned to him. He had known this the moment he laid eyes upon her and learnt that she had been born on the day that his beloved Melia had passed. She tried to remember that other life, that woman who had captured Legolas' heart so, who wore that dress, a faded blue thing little more than a scrap of cloth now, kept preserved in the chest that even she was forbidden to touch. If she remembered Melia, it would be easier to bear but she did not and each year, her doubt grew just a little more until it had become a gaping hole inside of her she dared not confess to him.

When she had met Eve McCaughley for the first time, Ariel had met a kindred spirit. Someone who understood all too well what it was like to exist in a world where those around her remembered clearly who she had been, especially when she herself did not. Surrounded by a family and friends who had met the Evenstar and knew that Eve was her incarnation in mortal flesh, Eve had had been just as overwhelmed and it had been Ariel's pleasure to offer her friendship. They had become fast friends since Eve's arrival and spent much time together when their husband were off rediscovering exploits of their own.

"I think he has never wanted a child of mine," Ariel said one day as they sat on the deck of the Anemone looking out into the Bay of Eldamar."

"What?" Eve looked at Ariel in shock. "Don't be insane," she refuted. "Leggy adores you."

"He adores Melia," Ariel said with a sad expression as she stared at the dance of light across the water's surface, "and he already had children with her."

"I think you're wrong," Eve said quickly, hating to think that Legolas could be capable of being so short sighted. "I think he just wants you all to himself."

"I wonder if that is true," she replied, shifting her gaze to Eve. "Your father and mother consider you theirs even though you are mortal. You are not Undomiel and they see that and know this is the truth. They know you have your own path to walk and sometimes path is filled with danger and chance. I do not think Legolas feels the same about me."

Eve wanted to deny it but she could not because Legolas was extremely over protective of Ariel and one had to wonder how much of it had to do with his being afraid for her safety as he was afraid for losing the love of his life yet again. Elves mated only once it seemed and when they lost a mate, the pining did not cease with time. In the days of old before the elves lived with danger in Middle earth, before they removed to the safety of Valinor, elves that lost their mates could pine to death. Legolas had lost his precious Melia a mere fifty years after their marriage, a single drop in the endless pool of elven mortality.

"You know," Eve said giving her a look, "if I knew this was going to depress you so much, I wouldn't have told you about the baby."

"Oh I am sorry," Ariel said automatically as she saw Eve's hand resting on her belly. "I did not mean to dampen your spirits. I am terribly grateful you chose to confide in me about the babe."

"Well Aaron didn't want to make a big deal of it just yet," Eve smiled radiantly, filling with pride and happiness at the life swelling inside of her, the life that had been given form by her love and Aaron's. "You people have a celebration for everything and I can't just imagine the fanfare that will come about if Elrond and Celebrian find out they're going to be grandparents. They feel cheated as is since it's highly improbable that either of the twins will ever get married. We're just going to savor it a little before we make the announcement."

"They are merely happy to see their family grow," Ariel answered, grateful for Eve's companionship and understanding. "I shall be a wonderful aunt to your daughter."

"Daughter?" Eve crooked a brow, "your keen elf sense telling you something that I don't know about?"

"Well after repeated hearing of the tales of Thelma and Louise," Ariel said with a smile of mischief, "a daughter can be as full of possibility as a boy child so I should hope a girl since I have wealth of new found wisdom to impart to her."

"Well power to you sister," Eve laughed.

*********

He had waited.

He could have emerged at any time but he chose to wait.

Patience had been his greatest virtue. In truth, it was his only virtue. Though he had more than enough power to tear a ragged hole through this world, he had bided his time, ensuring that his strength returned to him in all its fullness. Strength that he had stolen from his mentor and then used to hide the evidence of his crime, deep in the pit of that abyss he had found Melkor entombed. He had slipped out unnoticed, drawing away all of the dark one's power, tricking Melkor into believing that he could be trusted, all the while planning the fallen Valar's final end. Melkor had been so surprised when he had realised the truth, that he had fashioned a servant whose ambition and ruthlessness outstrip anything he had ever imagined himself capable.

Sauron, former dark lord of Mordor, relished that surprise more than he relished snuffing out Melkor's existence forever.

Once he had taken all he could from Melkor, he had concealed his crime because it was not yet time for him to emerge. The body in which he had been trapped, flesh injured and vacant needed healing. He needed the casing of meat to move about in the world he would soon assume as his own. Odd how he had become so attached to the thing after three hundred years of existence as a human. As his mind began the slow process of repair, neurons finding connection in the broken soup of neural pathways, other things became clear. He sought out his minions, whispered softly in their ears, allowing the shadows to acts as his heralds.

He allowed Namo to go about his business, maintaining the Halls of Mandos while he traveled its less frequented paths. Moved through the craggy passages that took him away from the hallowed places where the elves were consecrated upon death, he followed the dark paths to the dungeons where the demons were kept under lock and key. Demons who died had souls too and though theirs were dark and terrible, they could not be vanquished for their souls were the property of Eru and the Valar were not allowed to affect it. It was only the souls of men that the Valar could not restrain for they had a higher plan under Eru's gaze. However, the dark things, the creatures of Melkor twisted hatred, slain through the ages, lingered in the deepest, most innermost dungeon that Namo could design in the halls of Mandos.

There they waited the eternity in darkness, scrambling for escape but finding none and turning upon each other in the futility of their despair. He found them, the balrogs, the urloki and the watchers. Evil dark things whose life force was commended to this prison like Pandora's box awaiting opening a new. Except it would be no woman who would unleashed them by her curiosity. This time, it would be he. He spoke to them, whispered his promises of life beyond death of an existence of exquisite pleasure, a world above where the feasting was good and the victims were in the billions, they listened in the dark swearing their allegiance and waiting for the moment to act.

And there were others, beyond Mandos, waiting in the shadow world for direction, waiting for him to come back. He called to them, told them to prepare and make ready for war that was coming and this time, he knew how to win and it would have nothing to do with a ring or power. It had to do with chaos. Unadulterated, simple, pure, beatific chaos. He would spread it across the globe like ball of fire. He wold see it all burn to ashes and those who had chose to defy him would live just long enough to see all that they held dear turn into a cinder spark of fire.

He called to them in the waking world, to those who lived closed to the core of the world that had been driven there by the machinery of change, of a world infested by the pestilence of humanity. They remained hidden in the earth, in the dark crevasses where neither man, elf nor beast walked. They waited slumbering in the bottom of cold waters, far away from the surface and the light. He spoke to them, commanded them and reminded them that he was not dead, that he was very much alive no matter what the Valar might think. It was time for them to emerge from their hiding places, to lift their heads once more and join him in a fight that would cover the world in darkness and give them dominion over it once again.

As it was when Melkor first left the Timeless Halls far ahead of the others who had remained afraid by the possibilities of what lay beyond, when the world was dark and the feeding was good.

And would be again when he had led them to their dark victory.

********

He who was Namo, lord of Mandos sensed a shift he could not explain.

In Halls of Waiting where the souls of men and elves came to wait before passing into what was beyond, the Doorsman of the Valar could feel a tremor in his heart he could not explain. It was a strange sensation and had he been mortal or elf, he would have recognized it as uneasiness but for one who was eternal and had stood in the presence of Eru, it was merely a curiosity he could not define. His mate Vaire sensed it too and had paused in her weaving in the Halls of Dead to comment about the shift but neither could say what it was exactly that had give them this odd feeling.

He found himself moving through the corridors of his fortress, his eyes sweeping across the desolate grey of the Encircling Sea. The waves seemed to churn with some unspoken menace and all of it, like a sky that was suddenly covered by cloud, felt wrong. He moved through the halls of the dead, studied the histories of the world, help in memory by the crafty hands of his wife's weaving. He saw the tapestries that depicted the birth of the world, the destruction of the lamps and the War of the Wrath. She was weaving new tapestries now, recording all that had come to pass in recent times, for these days were are watershed days and in the ages to come, would be revered by the generations yet to be born.

He traveled through the halls where only men now seemed to come for it had been many leagues since and elf had passed this way. He left the safety of these known places and took the winding staircase that seemed to corkscrew deep into the earth where his most dangerous prisoner was trapped in cage of useless flesh. He was not the only visitor who took this dark path since the arrival of his latest prisoner. Aule too had made this journey even though Namo had warned against it. It would serve nothing, he had warned but Aule was stubborn as he was determined.

After all, Sauron had been his servant.

Namo suspected that there was a part of Aule that never quite recovered from the shock of what Sauron had become. The craft that Aule had taught his servant had been used to serve Melkor and to forge the rings of power that had brought so much grief across the lands of Middle earth. Some could not be saved, Namo had said to him on numerous occasions and particularly of late when he chose to torment himself by trying to understand how he had failed Sauron so spectacularly as a mentor and was powerless to stop his servant's terrible ruin.

Descending into the shadows where others did not venture willingly, Namo journeyed to the depths were Sauron, former lord of Mordor and disciple of Melkor was incarcerated. The air began to chill from the warmth of Valinor's heat. Though the temperatures were always cool in the Halls of the Dead, it was never icy. The dead seemed to absorb heat the way no living mind could comprehend, but there was a design to it that only Namo understood. However, as he made his way to Sauron, the cold deepened further away from the cool he was accustomed, becoming sharp and invasive.

Something was a foot that he could not understand and though good sense would have him returning to the surface and asking Vaire to join him for there was prudence in such reasoning, Namo continued to Sauron's cell nonetheless. The door at which the steps emptied against stood tall and high, made of iron and stone. It was a cruel looking thing that towered over the heads of men and elf. Thick heavy gears and long bolts of steel held it in place and only Ainur was capable of opening it.

The door opened without Namo having to exert any physical strength. It simply knew that the master of its domain had arrived and slowly, it creaked open until the creak moved into the heavy grounding of metal against the stone floor. He paused when he saw wisps of vapor exuding from the widening cracks and as he touched the walls, felt his hand shrink back as if it were made of ice for it was cold enough to be discerned as such. Alarmed as much as an immortal god could be, Namo entered the cell that had been Sauron's prison since his return to Valinor.

The innards of the room were little more than a hollow carved in the rock. A large stone platform lay in the center of the room where the mortal body of Sauron was stretched in silent repose. As Namo approached him, the Valar's gaze shifted over the ice particles forming against the stone walls and even on the floor. A think layer of mist swirled around his waist as he moved and through this fog, he saw Sauron lying comfortably where he had been since his arrival, eyes closed unaware of anything. Namo came to a pause before him and stared at the mortal face of David Saeran as he was known to the world of men.

"What mischief does your slumbering mind conjure Lord of Mordor?" Namo asked as he swept his consciousness through the room, trying to discern what force had caused these aberrant phenomena

Saeran opened his eyes and replied.

"No mischief," he replied, "just a lure."

Namo's eyes widened in surprise, "how long have you been conscious?" In truth, the question in his mind was how long had Sauron been conscious and concealing it?

"Longer than you know," Saeran sat up and swung his feet over his hard bed to land on the floor, fully upright. The Valar towered over him as they often did among lesser creatures but Saeran was no longer afraid. What he had done to Melkor ensured he would never be afraid of any Valar again, merely cautious. "You are wondering how I managed it."

As he spoke, the great door slammed shut with a thunderous roar that would not penetrate the depths to give away what was happened. Namo did not know yet but he slipped into a juncture between realities, like the small space between sheets of glass lying face down upon each other. Namo turned to the sound and then faced Sauron, comprehension dawning upon him that he had more to fear than he knew. He prepared himself to fight but his enemy had been waiting a long time for this moment and struck first.

The burst of energy swept him off his feet and slammed him against the wall, hard. Namo who had not been called to do battle in almost a hundred thousand years had forgotten what it was like to engage in such a physical display of force, particularly with one of the Ainur. The power that assaulted him was unbelievable. Namo had not felt the like since Manwe had led the others to Arda in the War of the Wrath. Sauron was Ainur but he was not Valar, he should not have this kind of strength.

Namo was reeling from the attack and gripped with confusion. He was probably trying to discern where all this power had come from, Saeran thought as he approached the Valar god of the Underworld. "You Valar were always so gullible," he shook his head in disgust as he began to invoke the spell that had been carefully prepared for the purpose. "You let Melkor roam loose in Valinor even after all the destruction he caused in Arda, gave him free reign to bring Ungoliant into this land and steal the Simarils. Always with you it is half measures that result in a recurrence of the same problem. I am happy to say that I will not be so foolish."

Namo looked up at him and saw that Sauron was chanting and prepared to act when suddenly, he found he could not move. His form remained frozen in place. The cold that had been travelling through his body was almost complete now. Namo had thought it was because of the ice but now it was dawning on him that there was more at work here then he possibly knew. He prepared to exert himself to break free of these invisible bonds but he could not. Frustrated, he tried to change to shape, to turn himself into something less tangible when the cold vapors that had been swirling around the room rushed around him to keep him in place.

"What have you done?"

"Just a minor spell of binding," Saeran said unsurprised by what was occurring since it was by his design. "You may have forgotten but I was also called the Necromancer in my time. For years, I collected all these wonderful spells to use against the Valar should they ever turn their attention to me but I never had the power to make any of it possible. I lived in fear that the Valar would come seek me out and deal retribution as you had done to Melkor. I even plotted my escape from the void, an escape it appeared served my former master well. However, things have changed now. I more than I ever was and this time, I do have the power to ensure that none of you interfere with my plans."

"Your conjuring may prevent me for stopping you but you do not have any power over all of us combined," Namo hissed at he felt the ice forming over his body, trapping him. "Manwe will smash you into nothingness!"

"He is welcomed to try," Saeran smiled as he stood back and sensed that Namo was using the last of his strength, not yet frozen by his spell of binding to call Vaire who was even now looking up from her latest tapestry in concern. Her first impulse would be to come to her husband's aide. While she made her way down here, Saeran would be busy elsewhere. He looked at Namo and saw the ice travelling up the Valar lord's neck, his body like a crude statue. He was struggling but the ice was symbolic of a spell that he could not break, one that Saeran had fashioned specifically for the Valar. Like the spell that held Melkor in place, this one used the Valars' own power to create their own prison.

"Goodbye my Lord Namo," Saeran said with a smile as he proceeded out of the room. "I thank you for your hospitality and hope that we meet under better circumstances Now if you excuse me," he met the Valar lord's eyes with a glint of menace, "your lady and I have business to attend."

"NO!" Namo struggled as the ice encased his lips and the word because frozen like the rest of him would soon be.

************

"Look Sam!" Fred Bailey giggled as she pointed out another wriggling jellyfish struggling against the surf to return to the sea.

"You're not supposed to touch it!" Sam said reproachfully as he saw Fred and Pip kneeling next to the creature, trying to resist the urge to prod the thing as it lay against the sandy ground.

"Don't be such a spoilsport Sammie," Pip returned as he stuck his finger at the jellyfish and touched it experimentally. The creature squirmed a little at the boy's touch and tried desperately to move away, shuddering forward with what little musculature that afforded it mobility.

"I'm telling mum," Sam replied pulling his hand away before he got stung or worse. "You know what she said."

"You wouldn't," Pip looked at him with distaste and then glanced at the shore where mum and Aunt Tory was sitting around talking while they played.

"If you get stung I'll be in trouble," Sam insisted then turned to Fred and explained, "big brothers always do."

"It's okay Pip," Fred smiled, having played mediator to both brothers numerous times since her arrival here. "I don't think it likes us touching it anyway."

Fred saw Sam flashing her a grateful smile and she knew that their relationship was almost as close to the one he shared with Pip. Their friendship was closer than blood. It was powerful stuff that she did not understand but relied upon. She knew that no matter what happened, what darkness came upon them, he would be at her side because that's how it was supposed to be. She did not always understand its power but she knew it to be the truth. Sometimes, she saw the adults in her life understood this as well, particularly Gandalf and Legolas. Since his arrival in Valinor, they were near inseparable and it was no coincidence that Sam's home was built near hers.

Bryan seemed very happy to have his brother and Fred liked Aunt Miranda very much. When she grew up, she wanted to be just like Sam's mum who was very brave and was afraid of nothing. She was also plenty fun and loved spending time with all three. It was a different kind of love than the one she had for Tory who was like her mum. Tory liked to hug and when Fred woke up frightened in the night, Tory would hold her until she went to sleep and make her hot chocolate. Tory wasn't like her mum but she helped Fred not miss her as much.

"Come on Pip," Fred took the younger boy by the hand and led him away from the jellyfish. "We can collect seashells."

"Okay," Pip nodded, thinking Fred to be terribly wonderful even if she was a girl. He liked her eyes. They looked like the sapphire ocean beyond the white shore. "Come on Sam!" He beckoned his brother.

Sam followed them as Fred and Pip ran along the shore, noticing the gaze of their mother following their movement. Miranda waved at him and Sam beamed happily at his mother, liking the way the sunshine made her golden hair glitter. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining high in the sky. In the distant horizon he could see peaks of Tol Eressea and the islands beyond it. It never rained in this place, not that Sam knew anyway. Everyday it was shining and bright, where the air smelt sweet and there were plenty of places to run and play.

Folk here were nicer too, not like the world they used to know. While he had found it easier to believe in elves, Sam was rather surprised by how mum and dad seemed to grasp this concept without too much difficulty. Adults were not known for their belief in such things and yet dad seemed to get along famously with Elladan and Uncle Bryan was always going off somewhere with Aaron and Legolas. However, it was Gandalf who was the children's favorite who often came to visit them with stories of dragons and great adventures, some that even seemed familiar to Sam though he was not sure why. Gandalf sometimes took them on long walks to the beach and explained to them true things which adults had difficulty expressing.

Suddenly, he saw Fred stopping in mid run.

For reasons, he could not understand, he felt a shiver of cold run down his spine as she stood there, the ocean surf swirling around her feet as she stared into nothingness, the wind whipping at her long dark hair. Her brow was knitted in an expression of concern, her lips parted in fear. Sam felt his entire being connected to her then, feeling her anxiety, feeling her fear. He was attuned to her in a way he did not understand but Gandalf had explained to him that this was a true thing he had to believe, that must never be questioned. Sam believed the wizard who knew more about them both then he cared to reveal.

"What is it?"

She did not speak, her eyes sweeping across the landscape, raking over him and Pip, moving past Miranda and Tory to the jagged peaks of the Pelori Mountain Ranges. The wind seemed to pick up speed as she made this journey of observation. Sam looked up and saw clouds being dragged across the sky like a dark curtain. Shadows began to appear all across the landscape and there was a noticeable shift in the weather. An ill wind seemed to have swept across the land, dragging with it a sense of ominous foreboding. The sea began to churn and suddenly the crystal blue water began to diminish in its brilliance.

"What's happening?" He hurried to her as the wind began to blow a gale, whistling loudly in their ears as she saw leaves and trees beginning to sway and bend.

"He's awake," she looked at him with fear. "He's awake!"

"He is?" Sam's blood ran cold. He knew who she was speaking of. She had told him when they had first met.

"Yes," she nodded and grabbed Pip's hand. "Come on!" She started running towards Miranda and Tory.

Sam followed Fred as she hurried towards the two women who were looking about in confusion, wondering what had happened to the bright, sunny day that was now tortured into such desolation.

Fred could hear him. She did not know how it was possible but she could feel him.

He was chanting words she did not understand, words laced with cruelty and malice. They sounded like curses not words and he continued to speak them, increasing in tempo as he continued his recital. She did not know where he was but Fred was certain he was close and he was unleashed from his prison. There was power in him too, power that was different than before. The words continued to echo in her head and as they grew louder, the sun became dim in the sky as more and more clouds rolled over the land.

"What's happening?" Miranda asked when the children reached her.

"I don't know," Tory answered, looking around with growing apprehension. In all the time she had been in Valinor, she had never seen the weather change so dramatically. In fact, she had never seen a day on this island that was anything but idyllic. Now it looked as if it were about to storm and not just storm if the intensity of the wind increased but hurricane.

His words were almost frenzied now and the clouds of grey covered all the sky and then sun disappeared entirely. A dark shadow fell upon them all as the sea became choppy and waves began to hurl themselves against the shore like tormented spirits. The wind roared in their eyes, chasing away the warmth of the sun and allowing the cold to sweep mercilessly over them. Its intensity was such that none were left effected and everyone was soon clutching themselves for heat. With this new peril, the words suddenly died down and yet the desolation remained.

"Oh no," Fred suddenly exclaimed as she looked at the distance and realised what had happened, "look" she sad in a hushed voice. All of them turned to where her terrified gaze was staring and knew instantly what was wrong, why suddenly Valinor was plunged into this darkness.

Mount Taniquetil, the home of Manwe, Varda and all the Valar for as long as Valinor had stood, was gone.

TO BE CONTINUED