Chapter Nineteen:

The Turning Tide

It was Frank who heard it first.

Lori who was fading in and out of consciousness had missed the odd, skittering noise carried through the excellent acoustics of the honeycomb caverns. As it was, the pilot was hard pressed to be aware of her surroundings at all. Blood loss was causing her to lapse into unconsciousness and he suspected the only reason she was still aware was out of some misguided need to prove that she was above injury, as if surrendering to it would be some sign of weakness.

The sound had also gone unnoticed by the children. Sam and Pip were huddled next to the woman, trying to give her comfort while at the same time, substituting her for the warm that Miranda would have provided if she were here. Sam’s arm was around Pip, holding his brother close so Pip would feel frightened surrounded by the oppressive darkness of the caves.

Frank had been pacing.

Despite telling Miranda to go and leave him behind with the children, he hated not being at her side, knowing that she would almost certainly be facing the Witch King when they reached Saeran’s castle. He'd reason that she'd fight better without having to worry about him and the children and Frank wanted Pip and Sam to nowhere near David Saeran. The odds against Miranda and the others were high with Saeran almost certainly expecting them. There was no element of surprise to be had here. Just the presence of a little girl whose body occupied by something far older than anyone of them.

Frank scanned the cavern they were in with a flashlight and saw nothing yet of the passages beyond their sanctuary. However, it was not just that he was looking for. It didn’t take him long to find what he needed, a fissure in the cave wall, probably from water erosion. It was very big, he’d never fit but two small children could be hidden there with some measure of safety. After what happened to Jason, telling them to run was not an option.

"Sam," Frank motioned his son. "Come here."

Sam's eyes flew open immediately, recognising the tone in the man's voice that indicated that there was something wrong. Since the first meeting with Elladan and Elrohir, he had come to recognise when his father was worried. Getting to his feet, Sam pulled away from Pip who had dozed off. When he reached Frank, his father placed his hand on his shoulder and said quietly. "See that crack, I want you to take Pip and hide in there until I tell you to come out. Okay?”

Sam nodded but he wasn’t about to obey unconditionally, not without a question or two answered first. "Why? What’s wrong dad?"

Frank knew Sam well enough to know lying would only delay the boy's obedience. "Can you hear it?"

Sam started to answer with a blank gaze when suddenly, his brow furrowed and his sharp hearing detected the same noises his father had. “I hear it...” he said raising his eyes to his father, "what is it?"

Frank left Sam's question unanswered, the urgency pressing hard against his spine, as the noises coming from the distant caverns neared them. "Sammy, do it now." He ordered sharply.

The tone left no room for argument and almost made Sam jump. Swallowing thickly, he turned away from his father and hurried over to his sleeping brother to shake Pip awake.

Predictably, Pip woke up with a start, looking about him as if he had to remember that he was in this terrible, dark place instead of his bed back on the pretty island, with elves and mum.

"What is it?" He whined at the worry he saw in Sam's face.

Like his father, Sam didn't answer because if he tried to explain, Pip would only have more questions. "Come on," Sam took his arm and tugged him gently to his feet.

Pip shuffled upright and caught a glimpse of his father tucking the small gun into the top of his trousers and loading the bigger gun that Uncle Bryan had left with him. His heart shrivelled in his tiny chest and he demanded with more anxiety. "What's happening Sammy?"

"You've got to be quiet Pip," Sam held a finger to his lips. "Come on, we've got to go."

Frank spared a glance at Sam and saw him managing his brother, feeling a surge of anguish that his young son had to be a grown up for his little brother. We should have left them in Valinor, he thought. However, he knew that was not an option. Valinor was no safer than anywhere else in the world right now.

Sam led Pip to the crack in the wall that was damp and dusty with cobwebs hanging over the mouth of it. Pip was reluctant to step inside so Sam waved an arm through the dark space, reassuring Pip it was safe. There was barely enough space for both of them to go into together so Sam made sure that Pip went in first. Whatever his dad was afraid of, would have to go through him first to get to Pip, he thought resolutely.

"You both stay in there," Frank stood outside the mouth of it when Sam and Pip had climbed inside. The fit was tight, he could see that Sam barely had enough room to turn his head and nod. However, the squeeze ensured nothing else could reach them either. "Whatever happens, you do not come out until I say it’s safe."

Pip's answer was a soft whimper that prompted Sam to reach for his brother's hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll be okay dad." Sam told his father.

Frank smiled at them and turned away, the flash light returning the crack to its former anonymity ensuring that no one would see it unless they were searching for it or rather he hoped that was the case.

*******

Lori awoke when she felt the sudden departure of the warm bodies next to her. She was still groggy from the painkillers he knew that Aaron had administered while he was patching up her leg. However, what remained of her faculties returned to full alertness when she caught the exchange between Frank and his children. The man was getting ready for a fight, she thought and her fingers instinctively tightened around the Glock in her hand. She played possum until he was done, unwilling to intrude on the moment until he'd stepped away from them.

"What's going on Doctor Jones?" She asked quietly.

Frank stopped short and looked down at her. He hadn't expected her to be awake. As it was, he had no idea how to protect. There was no way she would be able to fit in the fissure with Sam and Pip.

"Something's coming," he said grimly.

"What...?" She started to ask and then she became aware of the sound that was growing in tempo throughout the cavern. "What is that?" She forced herself to sit up straighter.

Frank didn't answer but by the expression on his face, she saw that he had suspicions. "Don't leave me in the dark, Doctor Jones. What's coming at us?"

"Keep it down," he hissed. "I'm not sure. I was at an excavation in South America, a few years ago. In an old Incan pyramid. It was full of secret chambers and when we broke into an undisturbed chamber, there was this sound coming out of an old air chute or something. It’s the same as this."

"And...?" She stared at him. "What was causing it?"

Frank told her.

*******

Sam could hardly see out of the fissure because it was so dark but when the gunfire started, the muzzle flash lit up the cavern in bursts of light and what Sam saw almost made him scream. He forced himself to remain silent, terrified out of his mind and grateful that Pip couldn't see. Over the sound of gunfire, he told Pip to be quiet because if he could hear his little brother's frightened sobs, what was out there might be able to as well.

They moved so fast it was hard to tell one of them ended and another began. All he could see was a nightmarish vision of too many legs, fat furry bodies and bulbous compound eyes that that gleamed like fat blisters of blood. Sam doubted that he would ever have a good night's sleep ever again. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen the likes of these before but these ones were so much bigger than the ones that Sam saw weaving their webs in the corner of the garden.

Another burst of gunfire and he heard his father calling out for Lori who was somehow on her feet, her back against the wall to use it as a prop as she unleashed a murderous barrage of fire at the creature jumping towards her. Riddling its fat, turgid torso with bullets, black blood splattered across the floor as the creature fell to the ground, its end met with an indignant screech of agony.

Sam had been watching so intently, he hadn't seen the dark shape that suddenly appeared in from of him and Sam found himself staring in terror at a pair of blood red eyes fixed on him. He barely had enough time to pull back as a sharp, spindly leg jabbed at him inside the fissure. Despite his attempts not to, he couldn't hold back the scream that escaped his lips as the great spider discovered the soft, young meat concealed within the crack in the wall.

********

Lori never wanted to face the nightmare of Exeter again but as the spiders swarmed into the cavern at least she knew it would be the last time.

The grogginess she felt earlier was now gone. Adrenaline coursed through her with an awareness she did not wish for but needed nonetheless. With guns in either hand, the rough stone of the cave wall pressed against her back as she propped herself up to fight. Firing in the thick of the swarm, she knew they were honing in on the blood beneath her bandaged leg, the scent whipping them up into a ravenous frenzy. Deafened by the sound of exploding gunshots in such a confined space, Lori knew she would soon be running out of ammunition. Frank had stocked her up as much as he could but their supplies were finite and the others had taken the lion’s share of the arsenal when they had set out for Saeran's fortress. After all, neither she nor Frank had been expected to fight.

Then again, no one had anticipated this.

Fortunately, Frank had given her a warning as to what was going to be invading their sanctuary so Lori had time to brace herself against the horror of it all. Still, when the spiders had spilled into the cavern, crawling over walls, ceilings and across the ground, the effects on her was no less terrifying. They’d open fire almost immediately however, the roar of gunfire did little more than provoke the creatures into a more relentless attack. Fast and agile, they moved effortlessly through the dark with only the gleam of their red eyes to separate one from another. Only numbers in such a confined space gave Lori and Frank any kind of advantage but it was an advantage that was going to come to an abrupt halt when their bullets ran out. Lori almost considered leaving one shell for herself because she wasn’t going to die at the cruel mandibles of one these things.

The thought was abruptly silenced when Sam’s scream penetrated the roar of gunfire.

Whatever composure Frank still had until this point was shattered by that scream. The scream reached inside Frank, dug its fingers into the heart of him where something ancient and primeval lived. It fed on Frank’s memories of holding Sam in his hands for the first time, watching Sam’s first steps, carrying him on his shoulders as they walked across the savannah and every moment since. When Sam screamed, the ferocity of Frank’s reaction was like an exploding sun.

“SAM!” Frank roared and found himself lunging forward, throwing caution to the winds as he made a desperate attempt to reach his son. In all this darkness, he couldn’t even see where he was going, drawn only to the cry coming from the crack in the wall.

“Frank!” Lori shouted as she saw him break from the wall where they’d been fighting toe to toe. “Come back here!” She barked before another encroaching spider took her attention away again. Shit, she cursed as she watched him making a beeline towards his son, unaware that the only thing keeping them alive was the united front that they’d be putting up. Breaking ranks had killed whatever advantage they’d had.

Frank didn’t think, he only knew that his son needed him and that was enough to propel him forward. He had no more taken three steps forwards when a spider leapt at him from the side, he had just enough time to see it coming before he aimed his gun and fired. Bullets tore the creature apart but the distraction was enough to allow another spider to come at him, this time, front the front. Frank swung his gun around to shoot but the spider was upon him before he could get a chance to fire.

Lori watched in horror, unable to do anything to help as she saw the creature land heavily on Frank, driving him backwards so that he fell against the ground, landing hard on his back. As it was, the spiders were closing in on her and her count of rounds told her that she would have to reload with her last clip. Suddenly the reminder to save one bullet for herself did not seem as outrageous as she initially thought.

With snapping mandibles dripping with ooze inches from his face, Frank was locked in a life and death struggle with the spider on top of him. He could see others closing in, preparing to tear him apart and Frank knew he was about to die. The machine gun was all that was standing between him and the spider’s jaws in front of him and he wasn’t strong enough to shove the thing off him. Panic setting in, Frank’s struggles became harder but as he saw something moving over him, he knew he was done.

Except he was wrong.

The moment was suddenly punctuated by a loud pop that didn’t quite sound like a bullet.

Frank jumped at the sound before a sharp and silvery object rushed by his peripheral vision to impale the spider on top of him through the upper thorax. The spider uttered an eerie cry before reeling on its back legs in agony while its other limbs convulsed frantically. It took Frank a second or two to register what had happened after it rolled off him and crumpled to the ground on its back. The creature spasmed a final time before its limbs folded tightly against its body like a fist clenching and then moved no more.

"Keep your head down Edain!" Frank heard someone shout and Frank stayed down, recognising that the words were spoken with an odd accent that was not elvish. Who was out there?

There was no time to ponder the question as he heard more of those odd discharges that sounded like escaping gas, followed by spidery screeches of agony. One by one, he saw the creatures being felled, their furry, dark limbs twitching in the prelude to death, their bodies tumbling to the ground.

"There's another one!" He heard someone shout. "Get hit him Magrin!"

This was followed by the whirling of what Frank glimpsed to be an axe. A large double bladed axe that spun in the air and caught the dim light of a torch before embedding itself into the abdomen of the spider that had been trying to carve Sam and Pip out of their hiding place. The spider writhed in pain before falling away from the wall dead, much to Frank's relief. As he regained his composure, Frank got to his feet so he could get a look at their rescuers.

The cavern had flooded with light coming from gas lamps of type that Frank had never seen before. They were ornate with designs that looked oddly familiar, though he couldn't say why at the time. Lori had slid to the base of the wall she had been standing against, as if the arrival of the new players to the sage, gave her permission to rest. She met his gaze in astonishment, as if he could explain what they were seeing.

The new arrivals wasted no time finishing off the spiders. They moved fast and efficiently, wielding weapons that were a mix of ancient and new. The bolt of silver that had saved him had come from a weapon that resembled a Gatling gun, with a multiple rotating barrels that fired spikes instead of bullets.

With equalizing efficiency, the weapon allowed the spiders to be cut down with ruthless efficiency. However axes were also employed and these weren’t the intricately crafted things he’d seen fashioned by the elves. They closely resembled some of the battle axes of medieval times with ornate designs on the blade that made them look almost beautiful.

While their weapons might have been suspect, Frank recognised those wielding them immediately.

They were dwarves.

******

If anyone were to raise their eyes to the sky this day, they would have seen a sight that they’d likely never forget for the rest of their days.

They would have seen, sharing the same space above the clouds, the masters of the sky as they flew across the land to wage the battle to end all battles against the dark forces that had returned to Arda. Flying in concert with sleek, fighter jets that moved so fast across the sky, that only the trail of white smoke could be seen in their wake, were eagles so magnificent, the world had its breath at their passing.

Sharing in this incredible flight, Ariel finally understood what it was like to be Melia the Ranger.

Over the centuries she had cause to ponder the question in secret, whether or not her fëa or soul as the humans called it, really belonged to a human first before it had come to her. Truth be told, she felt nothing that spoke to a connection with Melia just the word of a husband who claimed he could not have loved her otherwise. Sometimes she feared that the happiest she had been were the days before she was told she carried Melia’s soul inside her. At least then, she was aware of her own self and not seeking out the reflection of a woman she could not see.

Sometimes she wondered how simple her life would be if not for Melia. She would have had children, shared her life with a man who did not see her as the ghost of his former great love, who did not expect her to live up to a memory because she was so clearly not the perfection reflection he’d expected her to be. It saddened and frustrated Ariel because she loved Legolas and him to be her soul mate but knew it would not be the same for him, he had not believed she was Melia incarnate.

However now that she had stepped out of Valinor’s protection to fight alongside her kinsman, she felt stirrings of the woman who lived through similar times and wondered if there was a little of Melia in her after all. Was this what it was like to be that ranger? To travel to distant lands when the world was filled with such darkness that the only choice was to pick a side or be destroyed? An overwhelming feeling of fear and responsibility came over her that had to be endured because the world was ablaze and there was nothing left but to do but fight and extinguish the fire of evil for all time.

As she clutched the feathers of the great eagle upon which she was borne, Ariel realised that now more than ever, she felt closer to Melia. Tragically, it was Legolas to whom she wished to tell and he was not here.

Ariel gazed down at the expanse of land below her and saw the chaos and destruction that followed Sauron’s army. They marched across the lands that were once part of the Reunified Kingdom, denizens of the Forbidden Vault for whom freedom was the panacea for centuries of pent up frustration and hunger. They moved across Arda like a scourge, burning and destroying anything in their path while at the same time, gathering other dark forces that had been lying in wait for centuries, until their had come.

The Uruk-hai bred in secret beneath the lands of Germany had been unleashed by the Nine and emerged in their thousands, quick to add their number to the armies of the Forbidden Vault as they raced to join their master in his ancient stronghold. Elsewhere, the drakes had come down from the north and were also conducting themselves with similar violence, turning cities and its people into sculptures of ice and death.

Fortunately, the result of this widespread destruction and fear was one Ariel was convinced Sauron hadn’t intended. The dark lord had undoubtedly wanted to spread fear and intimidation across the globe, to keep the race of man off balance by the sudden appearance of creatures they had no knowledge or ability to fight. His great strategy had been to keep them distracted while he set about his true plan, to frighten the Edain into using their most terrible weapons against him and inadvertently destroying themselves in the process. Instead, his actions had only served to unite them.

Even before the eagles had come, the authorities of England had chosen to ally themselves with the elves that had come to London in their grey ships. With the endorsement of Imrahil and Theoden’s incarnations, those in power realised that there was a greater threat spreading across the land requiring a suspension of disbelief. The men of Arda had no memory of Sauron and his dark forces but the danger they were seeing could not be denied and they submitted to the urgency of the situation after the ruin of Paris. The politics of recognising the elves as a sovereign nation would have to wait until after the crisis was over. For now, they needed each other to save Arda.

And once again, an alliance of man and elf would pursue the armies of Sauron to Mordor.

*****

If the elves had remained unchanged in Valinor for a hundred thousand years, then the same could not be said of the dwarves.

When Frank had first learned of their existence from the stories of Middle Earth, he'd become fascinated by them because unlike the elves, the dwarves had remained in Arda. As an archaeologist who was versed in the history of mankind from his supposed beginnings to the current age, the absence of the dwarves from the historical stage was a mystery that demanded resolution. If they had shared Arda with men, then what had become of them? Surely a race as developed as the dwarves could not simply have vanished? There should have been some traces of them in the historical record beyond vague fairy tales and myths.

And yet now, he found himself standing in front of a group of dwarves, with so many questions in his head, he did not know where to start.

“Hullo there!” The leader of them came up to Frank and slapped him on the shoulder in greeting. “Are you alright? You look a little out of sorts. You’re not hurt are you?”

He was the tallest of the five dwarves that stood in front of Frank. With a helmet on his head that looked curiously similar to those worn by German aviators during World War I, the goggles were pushed up along his forehead. He wore a thick, well trimmed beard and clothes that were fashioned from leather and thick, wool fabrics. Unlike the dwarves, the fashion of these dwarves was not medieval. In fact, if Frank had to put a name to the design, he would have actually called it Victorian. There was an almost steam punk quality to their clothing.

They were all dressed in similar fashion, leather and heavy fabrics, with long coats and cloaks covering tunics and trousers, not to mention heavy boots that were made for walking. Their headgear was an assortment of helmets, some resembling the aviator type worn by their leaders and others wore more traditional dwarf helmets which made for an interesting contrast in period.

Their weapons were a similar amalgamation of past and present. While some carried beautifully finished axes whose handles and blades bore ornate designs, others carried weapons that looked like the gun Franks seen used on many of the spiders now lying dead on the ground. It was clear that the dwarves, wherever they had been since the Third Age, had changed with the times and even developed more sophisticated weaponry to over the ages.

“No...” Frank found his voice, “how are you here?” He finally managed to ask.

The dwarves looked at each other and laughed.

“Oh this poor boy’s had a tough time by the looks of him,” the leader declared to his companions before turning back to Frank. “Its a long story and we can talk on the way. I’m Barra, that there is Finnan, Gwere, Baldor, and Magrin. We need to get a move on if we’re going to join the others.”

When help had come, Lori had taken the opportunity to catch her breath and recoup her strength. Despite their assistance with the spiders, she had no idea whether these new arrivals were friend or foe and now that she had recovered somewhat, stood up shakily, using the wall behind her as a prop to make herself heard.

“Who the hell are these guys?” She demanded since it appeared Frank had some idea who they were.

Six heads turned to her and started chattering excitedly.

"Is that one of their women?"

"She's hurt!"

"Where's her beard?"

"Settle down!" Barra barked at them and then looked at Lori. “Hullo Miss, we don’t mean to frighten you. We’re dwarves and we’re on our way to fight the dark lord. We know he’s been making a right mess of your world and we’ve come to help.”

Lori stared at Frank in bewilderment. “Dwarves? There are dwarves now?”

“They’re allies,” Frank said quickly, trying to calm her down, aware that this might have been too much for her to take. In the last few days, her entire world had been turned upside down with dragons, dark lords, elves, giant spiders and now it appeared dwarves. He could understand if she reached the limits of her belief. “Look they’re here to help and we need all we can get. I’m sorry,” Frank turned his attention to Barra. “This is all a little overwhelming.”

“No kidding,” Lori grumbled as the other dwarves converged on her, gaping at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“I suppose it is a bit of a surprise,” the one called Magrin replied. “We've been keeping an eye on you lot above for centuries now, since the Awakening."

He was wide in girth, with unruly blond hair and cheeks that were barely concealed by his beard. He wore a traditional helmet with wings on either side. Kind of like Thor, Frank thought to himself.

“The Awakening?” Frank stared at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve been asleep for a long time and three hundred years ago, we woke up,” Magrin explained. “Aule told us that we had to sleep until we were needed. When we woke up, we knew something terrible was coming back to the world and we’ve been preparing for it ever since.”

“You guys have been around for three hundred years?” Lori asked as she saw two of them closing in on her and eyed them suspiciously. “Why haven’t we seen you?”

“Because we didn’t want to be seen,” Barra retorted as if he were talking to a child. “We come up sometimes, make a little trade and disappear. Your lot hardly notice and we only get what we need."

“Is that how you can speak English?” Frank asked.

“Oh yes,” a younger dwarf who was quite svelte in comparison to the others, paused and looked over his shoulder away from Lori. “We like your music and your television. It took us awhile to learn how it all worked but eventually we got it going.”

Frank had to admit that the dwarves moving about in the modern world would not raise as much suspicion as elves. After all, they looked as if they knew how to assimilate and there were such things as dwarves among humans. No one would be able to tell the difference if actual dwarves were to walk among them.

“Hello,” the young dwarf named Baldur said approaching Lori. “That leg of yours doesn’t look very good. It will need dressing before we can go on.”

Before Lori could respond, a sudden cry tore shrilly through the cavern.

"DAD!"

Frank spun around to see his son practically fall out of the fissure in his eagerness to escape it. Frank had been so busy talking to the dwarves, he’d forgotten about Sam and Pip still hiding in the crack. Sam emerged from his hiding place, still looking pale with fright after taking the brunt of the spider’s attempts to reach him and his brother. He leapt into his father’s arms and clung to Frank tight, burying his face in his father’s shoulder.

"Hey its okay,” Frank ran a comforting hand over his head, wishing Miranda was here because there was some hurts that only a mother could soothe. Hearing his tears told Frank just how frightened Sam had been because Sam always tried to be strong for his younger brother. Frank hated to see Sam that afraid. "We're alright Sammy,” Frank whispered gently in his ear.

Meanwhile Barra had stepped forward to greet Pip who had climbed out after Sam. Sam’s body had kept him from seeing the spiders and because of that, he wasn’t as shaken as his brother.

"Hullo there," Barra greeted Pip. "My name is Barra. What's yours?"

Pip's eyes widened at the sight of the dwarves. "I’m Pip,” he said with wonder and then asked, “Are you a dwarf?"

"Yes I am,” Barra grinned. “Now come along lad. We’ve got to get going. Lots to do today.”

"We'll have to carry this one," Gwere declared as he joined Baldur near Lori. The other dwarves were standing around the wounded female, staring at her in curiosity as well as amusement. "She's a bit feisty even if she's hurt."

"Nobody's carrying me anywhere!" Lori snapped, waving her gun at the dwarves surrounding her. “I can damn well walk.”

“No you can’t,” Baldor insisted. “Your leg’s no good. You’ll slow us down or die in the process.”

Lori was about to protest when Frank spoke up, “Lori, you know they’re right. We’ve had this conversation already.”

Damn, Lori cursed under her breath. She knew he was right but she hadn’t wanted to admit it and they did have this same argument when Eric and the others had left for the fortress.

“Alright then, Barra spoke up, sensing victory. “We’ll take the lady back to the Worm. The children too. Then we'll continue to the fortress.”

Frank stared at Barra, “the Worm?”

Barra’s answer was a grin.

******

FRANCIS E WARREN AIR FORCE BASE

CHEYENNE, WYOMING

He knew he didn’t have long.

The instant Colonel Latimer realised that he wasn’t driving up to main building, they would be searching for him. While they might not suspected the level of danger he represented yet, they would nevertheless begin asking questions, perhaps even putting in a call to the Pentagon. Dennis knew the window of opportunity he had to act was narrowing and so he drove to a non-descript building at the far end of the complex that was barely mentioned in the maps or guides. The only place that its existence was acknowledged at all was in classified documents stored at the Pentagon.

Despite its anonymity, it was nonetheless the most secured building in the entire base.

Guards were not posted outside its main doors. That would have been too obvious. Instead, its importance was given away by the number of security cameras that were deployed around the structure and the bars around the windows. There was no way anyone could approach the building without first being seen and Dennis wanted to avoid provoking a lockdown if necessary. However, he had no doubt that his every step was carefully monitored as he climbed out of the car and approach the front doors. At the moment, his rank afforded him some measure of access but that would not last for long.

As he approached the doors, he saw the security cameras following him with scrutiny until he stepped through. Once inside, the guards that he expected to see where standing at the entrance to short corridor that ended with a plain wooden door. They stood near a security station where an African-American lieutenant had been monitoring the numerous security displays until the arrival of a General had prompted him to his feet to offer a snappy salute. Despite this however, Dennis noticed the two Marines had their hands on their respective sidearm, watching him closely.

“General,” the lieutenant greeted, stepping out from behind the station, his expression a mixture of caution and puzzlement. “Isn’t Colonel Latimer expecting you Sir?” He asked, remarkably able to ask the question without any hint of suspicion.

"I wasn't under the impression that a general had to explain anything to a lieutenant or a colonel for that matter." Dennis retorted smoothly.

The young man was unfazed however by the rebuke. He knew his job well and there were protocols that had to be followed, without exception. Even for the top brass. To his credit, Dennis thought the young man maintained an air of diplomacy as he tried to navigate the situation. "General, I apologise if this sounds like insubordination but you know as well as I do that this area is restricted to everyone except authorized personnel. Anything else would require official notification from Colonel Latimer first. He hasn’t cleared you to be here.”

Dennis was coming to the conclusion that he needed more direct action when suddenly; something shrill tore through his ears. It felt like a scream in his mind and for a few seconds, he was disorientated as he clutched his ears to block it out. He let out a cry of pain, staggered in reaction before he realised that however badly this strange phenomena was affecting him, it was nowhere as terrible as what was happening to the others in the room with him. The sound died but as the silence fell he saw something else. A swirling mist of black had appeared and was moving of its own accord through the trio, insidiously coiling around their legs, snaking up their bodies and entering their noses and mouths.

He blinked, trying to understand what it was he was seeing but he could not comprehend until he saw them double over in pain as they tried to scream their soundless cries of agony. They clutched their stomachs as they writhed against the floor, gripped by some nameless terror he could explain. For the first time, he felt panic at what was happening, not only with these men but also in what he planned to do. Suddenly, he began to realise that what was happening in Europe may already be on American soil.

He actually began to reconsider what he was about to do when suddenly, the voice that had driven him here so far, chose to speak again and with far more clarity than before.

Go, the way is clear for you now.

Like the scream a moment ago, this wasn’t something he was hearing with his ears. No, it was a voice inside his mind, not a stray random thought or subconscious desire. What was speaking to him had a will of its own, he could feel its power and the command it held over him. Looking around the room with new eyes, he no longer saw the three soldiers completely incapacitated by forces they did not understand. Instead, he sought out the guardian angel that was helping him save his country and everything he had sworn to protect all his life.

While Dennis could not see his angel, he felt it nonetheless and with this realisation that he was being guided by a higher power, all the doubts that surfaced briefly a moment ago were now silenced again. He had never been a religious man. As a soldier, God could either strengthen or cripple a man in the field. For it him, it was the latter. However at this moment, he believed. Only God could be responsible for this deliverance. Only God could intervene to put a halt to the supernatural horrors that were now plaguing the Earth and in doing so had sent him a guardian angel to help him in his cause by clearing the path of all obstacles.

It was almost symmetry in its perfection.

Dennis no longer heard the sirens he could hear distantly or the voices barking orders at each other beyond the walls of the building. With a sense of calm, he walked down the corridor, this time, his sidearm exposed, the safety flicked off in readiness to clear his way of anyone or anything in his way. The nature of this building ensured that there was always a minimal complement of men guarding the place. Any more might raise attention and that was precisely what the authorities did not want.

Khamul and Dwaw continued to follow the human in stealth, unaware that he'd deemed them agents of the creator, though they would have found it amusing if they’d known. The incarnate of Denethor had seen their power but not questioned it which was fortunate since it an unnecessary complication so close to their goal. The man had done exactly what they needed him to do; bring them to this place where they could unleash the full force of the mankind’s paranoia and destructive ability upon themselves.

The perfect end to weak race that had no right to claim Arda for their own.

Leaving the main hall behind him, he continued down the corridor, his eyes fixed on the simple wooden door at the end of it. When he was half way there, someone stepped through the door of an adjoining room which turned out to be the men's room. A janitor, wearing a grey maintenance uniform, with hunched shoulders and a thick white moustache, stared with Dennis in shock and puzzlement as he carried his bucket full of cleaning bottles and brushes.

"Uh..hello." he greeted dumbfounded and then noticed the weapon in the General's hand.

"Get out of here,” Dennis ordered simply, gesturing to the main doors with a quick glance to tell the man his window of escape was narrowing and he'd better not waste it. Dennis' hand tightened around the gun to emphasize his point.

The old man did not argue and hurried past, pausing only to gape at the bodies on the floor before continuing his hasty exist out of the building.

There was no reason to kill the him, Dennis decided. He was an instrument of God and he would not kill the innocent if it could be avoided. Besides, he thought as he reached the end of the hall, at this point there was very little the old man could do to change was going to happen.

The wooden door was just a simple door. A twist of the knob and it swung open. What it then revealed was a set of blast doors. Four inches thick, computer controlled, it led to an elevator that descended down a shaft 30 feet below the building to the launch control centre. Everything else had lacked sophistication but the electronic panel that activated opened the blast doors was state of the art. Dennis slid in the master key he had 'liberated' from the Pentagon and waited for the panel to issue its next command in its feminine monotone.

"Voice recognition pattern and retina scan required."

Dennis stepped up and spoke clearly into mouthpiece. "Etherton, Dennis James. Rank General. Serial No. O-9109904."

"Voice pattern recognised. Proceed to retina scan."

Raising his chin to the scanner, he stared straight ahead as the light probe ran over his open eye.

"Retina scan confirmed."

Everything he had done had been because of this verification. As far as the system was concerned, he was still an upstanding member of the Joint Chiefs. His accesses and permissions had yet to be rescinded. All that would change the instant Colonel Latimer put a call in to the Pentagon and learned that he was not only here without authorisation but that his clearance level gave him access to launch codes that were only available to the Secretary of Defence and the President in he event of war. Of course they’d be able to remove his access quickly enough but not in time to keep him from doing what he had to.

The blast doors slid open without fanfare after his permissions had been confirmed. He stepped into the elevator car that was constructed with double layers of titanium and reached for the button that would take him to its only destination. He paused a moment and swept his gaze from left to the right, trying to decide if his guardian angel was still with him, trying to sense its presence but he felt nothing.

The voices he could hear barking orders outside the building were drawing closer and now accompanied by pounding footsteps that echoed down the hall. Pushing the button that would take him down, he leaned back against the far wall of the elevator and watched the soldiers running towards him. They were desperately trying to outrun the pace of the sliding doors but failed to reach it before he was sealed inside.

They were too late and he was on his way to meet his destiny.

********

It was a sight that Glorfindel never wanted to see.

Covered in ash and dirt, he took a moment as he stood at the edge of the glade that gave him a view of the destruction before him. It was disheartening enough that Mount Taniquetil had vanished from their sight, sent through the insidious devices of Sauron to that other realm where Valinor had existed peacefully for so long. However, the sight of the great tower of Mindon Eldaliéva ablaze, its grand edifice cracking under the heat, was like an arrow to the heart. The lantern that had brought Eärendil from across the sea was consumed by the flame of the balrogs Sauron had unleashed upon them.

The great city of Tirion, the home of the Noldor, was in ruins. Its tall spires, the tallest of each was the tower, pierced the skies like jagged teeth that had been broken in battle. The white marble of which much of the city was constructed was black with soot and what had escaped the flame instead lay across the once pristine sand in piles of shattered stone and rubble. The balrogs had not simply set out to kill elves and destroy their city, each cruel lash of fire sought to carve out a little more of their spirit.

Glorfindel stared at the wreckage of Tirion until he could not bear to look and he turned away from scene, hiding his despair as he faced those who had fought bravely at his sight from the beginning of this calamity. As his gaze moved across their rag tag encampment, he saw that he was not alone in his disconsolate state. His comrades were similarly afflicted. Many were still in shock from the loss of friends and family. Existence in Valinor had made them forget what it was like to watch loved ones perish through violence. After so many ages without knowing death, its sudden return was taking its toll upon their spirit.

Yet despite their despair, they had united and faced the enemy with courage. They were from every family of elf, Vanyar, Silvan, Noldor and Sindar, choosing to remain behind and defend their lands against the enemy, holding the line while others were able to escape to safety. What remained of Teleri ships that had not been stolen by Sauron or used by Elrond had been used to ferry the rest of the elves to the far side of the island where the evil had not reached. Tirion was no longer safe for anyone until Sauron was defeated once and for all.

Once long ago, Glorfindel had crossed the sea to fight in Arda but this time, he refused to abandon his home and was prepared to defend it to death. They'd fought the balrogs for more days and night then he could count but as many as they had felled, they had also lost. Amongst the ruin debris of Tirion, there were also bodies buried under the broken marble. Their strategy had been to attack at night for the enemy were more easily seen. Creatures of shadow and flame were harder to hide in the darkness and their pyrrhic had only been achieved by surprise attacks.

"My lord."

Glorfindel heard the greeting of a familiar approaching him and offered a nod of acknowledgement to the younger Silvan elf who had fought tirelessly at his side through all this madness. "Are they rested?” He asked. “They are hiding in the tower. They are trying to draw us in, knowing that we cannot offer as strong and offensive if we are in close quarters. We must draw them out, its the only place they are truly vulnerable.”

“Yes,” Haldir nodded. “I believe you are right. Lord Celeborn sends the message that we are ready to move at dusk.”

“Good,” Glorfindel nodded, retrieving the sword that had lay against log near where he was standing. “We have much work to do....”

His words were cut short by a sudden outcry in the camp.

Both Glorfindel and Haldir turned sharply to the collection of campfires that lit the forest they had taken refuge in. The cry became a rising crescendo of anxious voices as Glorfindel took up his sword, gripped with the thought that the balrogs had changed their practice of attack and had tried to catch them by surprise for a change. Thus far, the creatures had been satisfied with razing elven cities and had not pursued them beyond Tirion. As he hurried away from the glade, he was joined by Haldir who had also unsheathed his sword and keeping pace with him as they returned to their comrades.

However, they arrived at the cusp of a blinding white light in the middle of the encampment that eclipsed all the campfires. This was not the glow of shadow and flame, Glorfindel realised because as excited as the voices where, it was devoid of the fear and urgency that would have been present if it were a balrog rampaging through their camp. No one was fleeing, no was panicking. No, whatever had caused this sudden flash of brilliance, it had gone as quickly as it appear and the evening settled into its former state of descending twilight. Glorfindel did not however discount that Sauron, with his new found power, hadn’t found some way to visit upon them a new horror, one who artifices were unlike the devastating brutality and efficiency than the balrogs.

Instead when he joined the others, he and Haldir had to fight through a crowd that seemed contented to hold their place, gawking at something or someone who had taken up position in the middle of their encampment. He realised as he walked past his kinsmen that their expressions was not of panic and fear and all but more akin to wonder and shock. He hoped against hope that perhaps the spell that had trapped the Valar had been released and they had made themselves known. However as he pushed his way to the front, he found that the elves were not staring at the Valar but a large group of warriors who had suddenly appeared before them.

When Glorfindel laid his eyes upon them, he stopped in his tracks, the blade in his hand dropping limply to his side. Eyes widening in astonishment, he saw that their armour was untarnished by days of battle as his and his comrades had been. The standard of their shields, their armours, gleamed in the diminishing light of the day. He suspected that they were only a handful among them who would recognise the warriors before the. His eyes fixed on their leader and there was doubt he was their leader.

Even if it was not in his countenance or the way the others seemed to stand in his presence. The raven dark hair and the piercing eyes whose intensity could bore into Melkor himself, Glorfindel’s first impulse upon seeing him was to drop to his knees and offer fealty, to give him command of this war and ask him to lead them to reclaim Tirion and then Valinor.

Glorfindel approached him with head bowed in respect, recognising the blade clutched by the new arrival. The blade that was one of eight, that had no name despite its owner’s legend, crafted in the Secret Forge. In a moment, Glorfindel remembered the dark when the treachery of Morgoth had been uncovered and the chaos that had been caused after he and Ungoliant fled across the Helcaraxë. He remembered the Oath made by a son whose rage who would tear the elven world apart and cause a war which would turn the Eldar against each other. The son who stood before him now, larger than life, the greatest of them all and perhaps the most tragic.

Feanor.

“How are you here Feanor?” Glorfindel whispered.

Feanor’s eyes flashed and where once there had been nothing but madness and rage, there was humility and temperance of spirit. “I do not know,” he whispered. “We were in the halls of Mandos, all of us.” He gazed at the warriors with him and Glorfindel stared at their faces and recognised them too. They were the sons of Feanor. Maedhros the Tall, Celegorm the Fair, Caranthir the Dark, the twins Amrod and Amras, all were there save Maglor whose fate no one knew. “And suddenly we were here.”

“I do not understand,” Glorfindel said honestly, “nor do I care. We have need of you Feanor, we have need of your strength. Valinor is under siege and Morgoth’s servants has taken Arda. If you are here then it is truly the End of Days.”

“But not as it should have been,” Feanor declared. “The prophecy of Dagor Dagorath has changed. It is not transpiring as it should be.”

Glorfindel agreed. “Yes, it should be Morgoth who is here but it is not. It is his servant Sauron. I do not know how but he has usurped Morgoth’s power for his own and rewritten the prophecy.”

“Sauron...” Feanor mused, recalling the maiar lieutenant who seemed far more capable of strategy than Morgoth had been during their war. “I remember.”

“But you are here now,” Glorfindel spoke with great relief, feeling his own spirit rekindle in the presence of the Finwe’s son. “We need your help Feanor. Tirion is besieged with balrogs and other fell creatures released from the Forbidden Vaults. ”

Feanor straightened up, dispelling thoughts of the past that did not serve him in the present. He had been in his time many things, teacher, craftsman, king and warrior. The latter was never equal to the former but to his dismay, it was always what he was almost most remembered. Time was a great teacher and through the centuries, he had much time to consider his actions in life. The oath that he had made, that brought such utter ruin to his entire line, perhaps to the world even and the ages spent in Mandos, had forced him to look into himself. He had more than one occasion to wonder if Morgoth’s worst sin was stealing the simarils and killing Finwe or wounding Feanor’s pride.

His inability to decide was in itself an answer.

“I am at your service,” he said quietly. “Like you, I have accounts to settle with the balrogs of Morgoth.”

Glorfindel didn’t not doubt that.

*******

Frank Miller had seen a lot of odd things since two elves decided to knock on his door one evening.

He had fought creatures beyond comprehension, travelled to a magical realm of elves and learned that the world was far more complex than he’d ever imagined and everything he knew about his craft was in essence wrong. He’d accepted this with the mind of a scholar, always willing to learn because knowledge was a path to enlightenment. However, as he carried one son in his arms while holding the hand of another, he had to confess he never imagined he’d be marching through the caverns, led by six dwarves about to face off a dark lord in his fortress.

It was all very Snow White.

Leaving the cavern behind, they took the path that the spiders had used to launch their arachnid attack and Frank followed these dwarves, listening to them speak and realising that the race was far more aware of men than the latter had been of their existence. Once again, Frank felt embarrassed for modern man, who went stomping through the world, without actually seeing what was going on in it. Dwarves had been living right under their noses for as long as history had been recorded and mankind had never even seen it. They never gave dwarves any more thought than the fact that such individuals were the result of genetic deformity or it was possible to shoot them out of cannons to great effect.

After the disintegration of the Reunified Kingdom and the descent of man into a dark age, the dwarves had decided to retreat entirely from their affairs. From their mountain stronghold, they continued to mine the earth and build new cities in the deep places of the world where none had been since the First Age. As man begin to grow in number and the memory of the all that came before dark time faded, the dwarves as a whole decided to abandon their mountain domains and retreat to these underground cities.

Not long after this, the Valar Aule came to the dwarves and told that their time was past. When the world was remade, they would have a place in it but until then he would put them into a deep slumber, where they would wait out the ages in peaceful sleep until their time came again. He would waken them when Eru returned and created the song of the Second Great Music.

Their awakening came a scant three centuries earlier than the present day. Aule had roused them in secret with the revelation that evil had returned to the world of men and that preparations needed to begin for the coming of Dagor Dagorath. Thus they emerged into the realm of men once more but their tentative reconnaissance revealed that Arda was changed beyond all recognition. Furthermore, man had invaded every corner of it while slaughtering each other in wars propelled by greed and conquest that made Sauron’s efforts seem tame in comparison. Even worse, they had no memory of Middle Earth or any of the races that had lived there.

It became evidently clear that for the moment, they would keep their presence a secret. Mankind was not yet ready to receive them.

Meanwhile, they continued their preparations until the day Aule’s voice no longer spoke to them and the Forbidden Vaults were flung open to unleash every dark creature that had been trapped behind its doors. As Sauron returned to Arda bringing with him his dark army, every creature still hidden in the forgotten places of the world stirred to answer their master’s call to arms. With the rising chaos that was sweeping across the globe, the dwarves had mobilized quickly, aware that Sauron would wage his final battle in his former kingdom, whatever its name now.

Barra and his group of dwarves were an advance scouting party, the first of many that would soon follow.

*******

Despite her complaints, Lori had settled down and allowed herself to be carried by four of the dwarves who were surprisingly strong. Frank suspected that much of her protests had more to do with her feminist pride then the inconvenience but the dwarves, particularly Baldor was surprisingly charming and they brushed her whining aside with good humour.

“Where are we going dad?” Sam asked, almost back to his old self now as he walked alongside his father.

“Somewhere safe,” he lied because he knew they almost certainly heading towards Saeran’s fortress after a short detour at what Barra had called the ‘Worm’.

Excellent acoustics in the cavern allowed Barra to hear the question and the dwarf with his loud, booming baritone voice replied, “We’re going to get to Sauron’s fortress on foot as we got closer but it wouldn’t be right taking wee ones like on such a perilous journey. Then again, we can’t leave you alone either can we?”

“Right tasty morsels you are for them I’d say,” Magrin, who appeared older than Barra with his greying beard that was braided around his face and looked like a Viking with his horned helmet, declared gruffly. “You should be home with your mother, the pair of you.”

Frank rolled his eyes and retorted, “well you haven’t met his mother yet and I’m more afraid of her than I am of spiders.”

The remark produced a burst of laughter from all the dwarves including his sons and the subject was tabled once for all. Not that Frank didn’t disagree, this was not a safe place for either child but the truth was, they’d have tried sending Sam and Pip to safety and that had ended tragically. Poor Jason, Frank thought, taking a moment to grieve the young Kiwi who had given his life for his children.

“We’re here!” Barra announced as they passed through the threshold from another narrow tunnel into a large cavern. There was light coming from the cavern, Frank thought, wondering what was generating it. There was a steadiness to the radiance that was unlike the flickering dance of flames from their torches.

When he stepped into the cavern, he realised he had underestimated his assessment of how far the dwarves had evolved since their awakening three centuries ago.

The ‘Worm’ was roughly the size of a school bus. Its outer hull was black steel, with a flawless machine finish. Frank could barely see the joins. There were port holes running along one side and he supposed it was the same on the other side as well. Exhaust ports behind and beneath the craft was the only indication of the engine he could not see. The scientist in him longed to ask them what kind of power source it used.

Mounted on the nose of the craft was a corkscrew drill that Frank knew just by looking at it, was made of mithril. It was harder than any substance in the world and if the Worm was subterranean drilling vehicle, which Frank was certain it was; then it could cut through rock, stone and maybe iron with ease. It resembled something that Jules Verne might have conjured up in his writings but Frank knew without a doubt that this was far more superior.

“This is the Worm?” He looked at Barra.

“One of them yes,” Barra nodded with pride. “We have hundred of these and right now, they’re all on their way here.”

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