Chapter
Eight
The
Grey Havens
With the rest of his crew, Captain
Isaiah Hill watched as the exodus from Aman.
For the rest of his life, he would be
hard pressed to find another occasion when he was similarly captivated by any
one image. As the fleet of ships sailed from the port city of
No one who saw this departure was
unaffected. In silent awe, his men watched the ships go by and without needing
to be convinced or cajoled into believing what they saw was real, they knew in
their hearts that this was no fantasy. This was something so old, so beyond the
hard rules of their existence, it almost bordered on faith. Unlike the
intangible promises of religion, these myths were flesh and blood and they were
real. Isaiah Hill found himself playing military escort to the fleet as it
journeyed towards
The days following his arrival at
Valinor had sped by like a whirlwind. Although the humans living on the island
were eager to move quickly, the elves were far more prudent and being a soldier
for most of his life, he respected their methodical approach to the campaign
they were about to embark. Ferrying the elf called Cirdan on board the
Connecticut to Tol Eressea, the ancient ship builder had rallied the remaining
vessels left that had not be stolen by the enemy the elves called Sauron.
Isaiah had found an odd kinship with Cirdan who was as fascinated by his boat
as Isaiah was about the elves. During the short journey to Avallone, Cirdan had
spent the voyage pummelling the
Despite his initial reservations
regarding the matter, Isaiah decided to accept the advice of the elf lord
Elrond and allow his men to meet and talk to the elves they had encountered on
the island. The days prior to the departure had been a time of great activity.
While a contingent of elves had chosen to remain in Valinor to distract the
balrogs so the rest of their warriors could leave to confront their master,
time was still of the essence. Though his men still had trouble believing that
an army of monsters was on its way to the civilized world to level it, they
could not ignore the urgency of the elves' preparation and thus were eager to
lend a hand. In retrospect, Isaiah could see Elrond's wisdom in allowing the
integration because men had to begin to accept that they were only the latest
masters of the world and a far older and clearly, far wiser people had preceded
them.
"They are beautiful are they
not?" Isaiah heard the question
asked of one of the
Turning to what could truly be
Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner; Isaiah could not disagree with Cirdan's comment.
The ship builder had insisted on making the journey on the Connecticut, desiring
to learn all he could about this newest form of sea travel.
"When I was a boy," Isaiah
said with a faint looking back at the fleet again, "I dreamed of being an
explorer crossing the seas to discover some unknown frontier like Columbus or
Marco Polo on ships like those."
"In a manner of speaking,"
Cirdan replied staring into the misty horizon, "you have discovered a new
world."
"I've discovered an old one,"
Isaiah answered, feeling genuine warmth towards the old seamen. Like himself,
Cirdan's love of the sea was great, if not greater than his own and Isaiah
found it difficult not to like anyone who appreciated it so much. "And I
don't know whether I really discovered it since other humans found it before I
did." There was no disappointment
in his voice as he said those words because the truth was; Isaiah knew that he
was on the cusp of a great change in the world. Everything would be different
after this. He knew it in his bones.
"You will be bringing us to your
world in a manner we have not dared to entertain before," Cirdan
countered, "it will be a new experience for us all."
"I don't doubt it," the
captain agreed and then looked at Cirdan thoughtfully. "What is it like to
be an immortal?"
All humans asked this question at some
point. Cirdan had in his keeping an
almost rehearsed response for the question but for reasons he could not
discern, he chose not to offer it to his man. "It is a difficult question
to answer though you might think it simple," the elf stroked his beard for
a brief time before he answered. "Perhaps my answer is best understood
with a question of my own. Do you know what it is like to love the sea, to
breathe it, to want nothing more than to chart it from one edge of the world to
another and find oneself confined interminably to an island that one cannot
leave? I have built so many ships in the last ten millennia and yet, I have not
experienced true joy until now, now that they are set free at last, like birds
finding the sky after being caught in a cage."
Isaiah stared and nodded. "I
understand."
The wind had started to pick up speed
again and soon the waves were sloshing against the sides of the boat. The men
had retreated beneath the hull to the comfort of shelter, leaving only himself
and Cirdan on deck. "Well," he said to the older man, "if I am
to bring you to the modern world, I suppose we should get underway. Come on
Dan, we need to get below before we can submerge."
"Do all your people have a desire
to abbreviate every name you come across?"
Cirdan asked as he started to follow the captain down the hatch.
"Are you going to be complaining
all the time you're on my boat?" Isaiah looked up at him with a grin.
"If it were truly a boat, there
would be a view of the ocean. What point is it to be submerged beneath the
waves if you do not even place a window to see it? “The elf retorted.
Isaiah rolled his eyes, “Bitch, bitch,
bitch...."
~~~~~~~~~~~
The London Area and Terminal Control Centre
West Drayton
England
Bernard Shaw despised the espresso
machine.
An Englishman to the core, he preferred
tea but this was due to his vintage rather than any personal choice. The truth
was that his mum had raised him on tea and jam scones. His wife drunk it by the
litre and it was sheer inundation that forced his own appreciation of the
beverage. Every morning, he would come into work, make himself a pot of Earl
Grey because that was the only tea for the morning and sit at his station and
begin his day. It was terribly predictable and frightfully comforting. Bernard
relied on this simple little sequence of events to gauge how the rest of the
day would go.
Today however, the espresso machine had
come.
It sat there in its corner, taking up
valuable tea making space, gurgling with vile thoughts. The younger lot were
thrilled and Bernard had found his normally sane workplace, turned into the
latest Starbucks as they crowed and cooed over the new espresso machine. Even
in the darkened room away from the tea room that would probably be called the
Espresso Room soon enough, Bernard was unable to ignore it, imaginary gurgles
of percolating coffee would filter through his imagination, trying to tempt him
with its aromatic flavour while at the same time driving him to distraction
with the ire of being seduced by something so new. A terrible sense of foreboding came over
Bernard that the rest of his day was going to be similarly bothersome.
Suddenly, within the darkness of the
control, his screen started flashing multiple signals. The man sat up and took a closer look, too
shocked at first at the possibility that something had managed to surprise him.
In this job, there was no such thing as surprises. A surprise was a BAD
THING. BAD THINGS for an air traffic
controller usually meant disaster. People died. No, this could not be a BAD
THING. He had not been so distracted that somehow it had gotten past him. Yet
there it was multiple blips on his screen and no data to accompany them. There
was no flight code. Its speed was nowhere the speed of a 747 that led Bernard
to leap to the awful conclusion that this could be a small private plane
venturing into ATZ by mistake. The other possibility and the one that made
Bernard wished he had that bloody cup of espresso after all was the nightmare
faced by New York air traffic controllers on that dark day on September 11th.
Multiple signals on approach, with no
call sign, no transponder or identification. The radar had detected it
travelling from a northeasterly direction through the Upper Airspace and was
rapidly approaching Land's End region. For a moment Bernard had the oddest
notion that he was watching birds in flight for the pattern looked like
migratory behaviour of geese travelling to a warmer climate. However, these
were simply too fast and too large to be considered anything of the like.
"Somebody get London on the damn
phone," Bernard demanded. "I've got multiple bleeps that have just
dropped out of Upper Airspace and heading towards the coast of Cornwell. No
identification whatsoever Find out if the bloody military is conducting
exercises or something and forgotten to tell us. If they have, tell whoever is
responsible to bend over and kiss his arse goodbye because he's not going to
have it at the end of the day."
~~~~~~~
Sennen Cove Harbour
Cornwall
The air was heavy with the salt of the
sea.
It rolled across the land the way the
tides surf to shore within the sheltered cove, breaking only at the three
islands of Cowloe, Big Bo and Little Bo before swirling humbly to shore. Though
framed by cliffs, the community of Sennen was accustomed to the vagaries of
living at the very edge of Europe. Beyond the cove was the great expanse of the
Atlantic Ocean and Sennen's minor claim to fame came from being the First and
Last Village in England. Not so big,
even with the advent of the commercial invasion inspired by the garish Land's
End amusement park or the hosting of the last terrestrial length of the
trans-Atlantic cable connecting England to America, Sennen managed to keep one foot
in provinciality while another poised on the tugging reach of progress.
It was a village rich in history where
folks still drank at the Success Inn, a quaint little tavern that had been
standing for more than a century where the only real evidence that time had not
stood still around it was the fact that parking was now available. During the
day Logan's Rock was the background to many a wedding picture while at night,
lovers huddled in the dark, whispering passionate hopes while faced with the
beauty of the shimmering sea. It was a place of power, of histories so deep,
that the truth of it had seeped into the hard rock its granite cliffs. All who
came here felt something of what it used to be, an echo of the past. From the
Saxons kings who dined at the Rock Table to the legend of Merlin who
prophesized that one day, greater kings would reach these shores. In the days
of Arda, those who came to Sennen Cove knew it by many names and it was a place
of reverence.
"Sennen Cove," Saeran stated
as he stared at the fishing village as the small armada of ships he commanded
finally saw land. "An appropriate beach head don’t you think?" He
asked, glancing at Eve. Blond hair blew through his hair as the dark coat he
wore billowed in the wind.
Eve looked at him in confusion, not
understanding the significance even though she had come to learn by now that
her captor had a rather odd sense of nostalgia. Confined to her cabin for most
of the journey, she was only allowed to see the deck of the ship in his company. The journey had allowed Eve to understand her
situation, that for the moment, she had to bide her time. Escape on the high
seas was impossible, especially when surrounded by Saeran's minions. Sharing
the same space with giant spiders, wargs and every other foul thing that the
dark lord had manage to unleash from Mandos dark vaults put her escape plans
into some perspective and Eve realized for the sake of her child, she would
have to endure the situation.
"Why?" She asked warily,
knowing only that his words were ominous, laced with some hidden malice she
could not fathom. "It’s barely a village."
"Oh it had a far more auspicious
history in the days of Middle earth," he said giving her a thoughtful
look, reminding himself that though she wore a coat of meat that resembled the
Evenstar and to his mind, the elf princess Luthien, she had no memories of
Arda. "In the old days, these waters were home to the elves, the remnants
of the Teleri built their ships here, the ones who were too proud to go to Aman
when the invitation was given. I believe that this was the last place they
stood in Arda before they left it forever."
Eve's eyes widened in understanding.
"The Grey Havens?" She asked trying to remember what she had read in
the Red Book of Westmarch, the copy transcribed from Bilbo Baggins' original
diary brought to Valinor by Legolas when he had left Middle earth so long ago.
"You really do need to brush up on
your elvish," Saeran retorted, "even if it is it to be a dead
language in a short time. Mithlond is its proper name, though I suppose,"
he cast his gaze across the cover, from its cliff faces to the grey canopy of
sky above, "it is appropriate."
"What are you going to do?" Eve
was almost afraid to ask. There was too much pleasure in his face for her to
believe that his purpose for coming to this particular place had some more
sinister purpose.
Saeran said nothing.
However, the wind around them suddenly
turned from a breeze to a stiff gale and Eve found herself clutching the
railing as the ship surged over the choppy waters towards the shore. Hair whipping her face while the cold air bit
into her skin, she squinted hard seeing the beach closing in on them.
"What are you doing?" She cried out, "You're going to drive the
ship right into the sand!"
"I have no need of these archaic
elven transports once I reach land," he said coolly, seemingly unaffected
by the tempest raging around him.
Behind the lead ship, the others were
similarly propelled by the sudden gale and on the deck, Eve could see Saeran's
minions howling and screeching in some sort of perverse pleasure. Overhead the
dragons circled the flotilla like carrion, their enormous shape obscured
vaguely by the clouds. The Watchers seemed unaffected by the uneasy sea and
Eve's stomach hollowed at the thought that very soon; these monstrosities would
be running rife throughout the modern world.
God help us.
"Brace yourself my dear,"
Saeran remarked as the swan ship of the Teleri cut through the waves, breaking
the blue sea into white foam as the keel began to scrape shore.
A tremendous groan of wood tore through
her ears as the bottom of the boat dug deeper into the sand, ploughing the
seafloor all the way up to the beach. The grey ship came to an abrupt halt,
snapping the mast in two and bringing down the sail. Eve dropped to the floor
from the sudden stop, covering her head for fear of being hit by falling
debris. The former lord of Mordor seemed unconcerned. His attention was
elsewhere.
The rest of the fleet arrived at Arda in
the same manner. Smashing through the
small collection of fishing boats moored along the shore, they were forced into
the sand by the powerful gale generated by the dark lord. The shoreline became
a debris field of wood and bodies for those who had not been able to leave
quickly enough. Blood turned the white sand red and in that brief moment of
silence when disaster had occurred and reaction to it had yet to occur, Eve
knew it was just the beginning.
When the shock of the destruction had faded away, the locals began reacting to
the calamity, emerging in their numbers to investigate what had been the cause.
Eve wanted to shout at them to stay back but knew that it was a pointless
exercise, already she could see Saeran's horde pouring over the decks of each
ship, making their way quickly to shore. It had been a long time since they fed
and it appeared this little village was going to break their long famine.
The shock of catastrophe soon faded into
screams of horror as the black spiders clambered over the railings of the
ships, landing on the soft sand, their arachnid bodies scattering throughout
the new feeding ground. The Watchers pushed out as far as the shore would take
them, their lengthy tentacles more than capable of snaring victims fleeing in
terror and disbelief at what they were seeing. Eve watched the carnage of blood
and screams, her eyes widening at the horror of the spiders trapping their
prey, the wargs running down Sennen Cove’s terrified victims, ending the chase
in a forceful snap of jaws and blood curdling screams that ended all too
abruptly.
Eve dropped to her knees, sick with
horror, retching all over the wooden deck as Saeran watched on, revelling in
the sight of his minions running rampant throughout the village, destroying and
pillaging. The air grew thick and heavy
with the scent of blood, profaning the salty air of the sea.
“You bastard,” Eve said unable to look,
her eyes frozen on the deck. She wanted to shut her ears, so the screams would
not reach her but there was no such escape.
However David Saeran, known once as Sauron, Lord of Mordor, was not listening
to his captive. Instead his eyes were fixed upon the grey sky, seeing not the
dragons that were circling the skies but other winged denizen in his service
who were finally making their appearance since he nurtured their creation deep
beneath the Carpathian Mountains.
“Perhaps you should go below,” Saeran
ordered, looking at her at last.
They were coming. He could sense them.
“What?” She asked almost panting,
exhausted. She was a victim trapped in a
nightmare and there was no escape. What did he intend by sending her below
deck? What did he think she could not see after all this?
“I think it is best that you go below,”
there was almost urgency in his request.
Eve would have complied but curiosity
got the better of her and she looked up at the sky to see what it was that had
captured his attention so. At first she thought they were the dragons but then
realized they were smaller but no less terrifying. With their long serpentine
necks and flapping wings, Eve felt her terror renew as she saw the cloaked
figures riding them.
“Oh my god,” she gasped as her eyes
widened in recognition.
A screech, sharp and piercing penetrated
her ears and Eve found herself crying out in pain as her hands flew to their
ears. As the dragons escorted the new arrivals to the shore, Eve was trembling
hard as she saw a new peril amidst the massacre taking place already. Another
followed the first bellow until all nine of the beasts had sounded same cry of
allegiance to their master as they landed on the sandy shore, their talons
digging into the sand. For a brief time all Eve could hear was the sound of
flapping wings.
Perched on their backs was the Nine.
No longer in their dark suits, the Nine
hid themselves within cloaks of black, billowing in the wind generated by the
flapping wings of their dark mounts. Through the shadows of their hoods, their
crimson eyes pierced the darkness like knives through flesh. One by one, they
climbed off the winged beasts and approached slowly, with the graceful air of a
predator about to pounce, towards their lord and master. Heads bowed reverently, they did not meet the
eye of their god but dropped to their knees instead on the sandy ground beneath
the bow of the boat.
He could feel their joy, as much as
Nazgul could feel such things that is, their genuine pleasure at knowing that
he had returned to them. Not only had he returned to them, he had done so with
far more power than they had ever imagined he possessed. Their reunion did not
only see his restoration but theirs as well and once again, they had
opportunity to correct the failures of the Third Age. This time, there would be
no defeat.
“Rise, my servants,” Saeran ordered, a
small smile of pleasure crossing his lips as he took a moment to savour the
sweet taste of triumph he felt at seeing Mithlond reduced to this mindless
destruction. The creatures he had freed from the vault were rampaging through
this tiny community and soon they would spread out across the globe, infesting
Arda like a pestilence that no one could stop until the world was breathed in
flame.
“What orders my lord?” Morgul spoke, his
malevolent voice sending shivers through Eve’s skin. The Witch King’s hood
shifted slightly and Eve knew that he was staring at her.
“We go home to Mordor,” Saeran answered,
“and see to it that if prophecy comes to pass as the elves predict than the
world shall be destroyed along with us. This time, we fight not to win but for
revenge. Can anything be sweeter?”
“No my master,” Morgul hissed in answer,
a chorus of similarly sinister voices agreed in turn.
“Then we push on for Mordor,” Saeran
declared turning to Eve. His
outstretched hand like the handshake of soul stealing deal with the devil.
Eve almost spat at him but she
remembered what he could do to her or worse yet, to the baby oblivious to the
hell she was presently enduring, safe with her belly. For her child, she had to
survive this and though bile rose in her throat as she regarded his hand, she
had no choice but to take it.
“We might civilize you yet,” he smiled,
his triumph achieving a new level of height.
“Go to hell,” she bit back, allowing herself
that much defiance.
“I think I rather bring it to me,” he
smiled.
“Master,” Morgul spoke up, never
understanding his lord’s taste for human flesh but kept that thought to
himself. “What of this?” he looked back at what was once Sennen Cove.
Saeran stared coldly at the village whose inhabitants were proving to be a poor
meal to satiate the ravenous hunger of his hordes. The dragons were circling
above, waiting for him to tell them what to do.
They had been snatching fleeing villagers and snacking since their
arrival but now Saeran would put them to real
work. With the Nine here at last, the conflagration of Arda could begin in
earnest.
“When the last of them have seen inside
of our minions innards,” he said icily, “burn it down. Burn it all down.”
~~~~~~~~~
"Confirmed Station," Captain
Richard Wilson said as he charted the progress of the objects on his radar,
"the bandits have disappeared off my bloody screen. I'm wondering if
they're crabbing about below range…"
No more than twenty minutes earlier,
Captain Richard Wilson had been ordered to his Tornado F3 following a report
from the LATCC boys at West Drayton that nine unidentified crafts had entered
English air space and making their way across Britain. With the state of world
politics these days and the shadow of September 11 still looming large over the
civilised world, nine planes of undetermined origins or flight plan for that
matter had such an enormous potential for disaster that the Tornadoes were
deployed immediately.
“They could have landed,” Lieutenant Wallace Green suggested through
Wilson’s headset.
“We would have seen it,” the RAF captain
retorted, disliking the possibility that nine bandits could simply vanish under
his watch. Losing them meant at this moment, those bandits could be on their
way to dive bombing a bus full of nuns or something similarly heinous.
“We would still seen some sign of
descent,” Wilson insisted. A cloudbank approached and though it was unlikely,
the pilot took his bird towards it, just in case the buggers were playing pussy
in the clouds. “Let’s keep at it until we find those kites, they can’t bee too
far away.”
It was a false hope but Wilson was
determined not to give up. They were here somewhere, possibly possessing some
form of stealth. Maybe it was the Yanks conducting some kind of exercise but
even so, there were jurisdictional clearances that could not be ignored, no
matter how big those bastard had gotten for their boots lately.
The Tornado disappeared into the clouds
with the sky around the sleek fighter plane vanishing in place of thick
cumulus. With only radar to guide him, Wilson’s instruments told him his fool’s
errand into the cloudbank was as fruitless as he had suspected. There was
nothing here. Frowning behind his facemask, the RAF captain came to the
conclusion that there was little left to do but return to station. Suddenly, his radar came so quickly to life
that it startled Wilson in his seat.
“I’ve got something…” he started to say
when a shadow descended over the cockpit. The pilot looked up just in time to
see something impossibly large, with the wingspan that seemed to block out the
sun, swoop down on him.
“JESUS CHRIST!” He cried out.
The beast landed squarely on top of the
fighter, its weight dipping the nose of the craft violently. In his grasp, the
controls struggled with protest as the plane began to enter a dangerous
tailspin. Unfortunately, Captain Wilkins was in no position to notice it or rectify
the situation. His eyes were staring wide through his visor at the serpentine
features of the thing that was staring at him with crimson eyes through the
glass bubble of the cockpit cover. Covered in scales, the thing was huge and it
seemed to grin, pulling back what passed for lips to reveal a mouth full of
serrated teeth as long as his forearm.
Through his headset he could hear Green
screaming, “Bloody hell! It’s a fucking monster! It’s tearing through the…” the
voice went dead with silence.
Wilkins was in little position to offer
comment as the creature firmly latched on to his plane was at this time
slamming its long tail against the metal, trying to crack it open like a shell.
The plane spiralled downwards even more precariously, its descent creating a
corkscrew of exhaust fumes and cloud trails. Frantically, the man struggled to
regain control of the Tornado. The creature was bigger and the weight dragged
the plane towards the earth as if it were tied to a large rock, flung into the
depths.
“Mayday!” Wilkins cried out helplessly
into his headset. “Mayday, I can’t get it off!”
Suddenly the smashing against the side
of the plane came to a stop and Wilkins gathered his wits long enough to look
through the cockpit to see the creature…. the dragon…his mind was telling him
even though he couldn’t bring himself to believe it yet, rearing its long head
backward, the crest that ran along the ridge of its nose down its long neck,
flared. There was a moment of clarity where Wilkins watched in horrific
fascination at what the thing was about to do. Those teeth gleamed as its mouth
opened and without a warning a gust of fire exploded out of its throat.
Crikey Dick, you’re going to be the
first pilot in RAF history to be killed by a real life fire-breathing dragon.
The heat impacted against the glass,
turning it black almost immediately. The jets of flame did not cease and inside
the cockpit, the hapless pilot felt the temperature rising.
“Mayday!” He shouted as he felt his air
become even more heated. The torrent of fire continued until the cockpit glass
was completely obscured and he could see nothing above. Unfortunately, there
was no reprieve as the Tornado continued its deadly tailspin. Fleetingly, he
saw the gauges on the instrument panel, showing how quickly he was approaching
ground. Perhaps, he could eject. The propulsion might give him enough velocity
for the cockpit to dislodge the damn thing. Realising he had little choice, he
resigned that it was his one chance of surviving.
It was a chance dashed with the sound of
glass cracking.
Under the intense heat, the glass began
to fissure and he was the cracks crisscross across the cockpit bubble. One
after the other, they appeared, like spidery webs spreading out even further
and further across. In a desperate attempt to keep the bubble from shattering,
Wilkins placed a gloved palm against the glass, making a feeble effort to brace
it. Even through the leather, he could feel the heat and as he saw the altitude
gauge crying out that the ground was coming nearer and nearer, he wondered
which death was preferable.
When the glass shattered and Captain
Richard Wilkins went to meet his maker with a final burst of flame that
consumed him whole, he realised belatedly that there really was no difference.
~~~~~~
She was going to be sick.
She was going to be sick and it had
little to do with the nausea associated with her pregnancy. This sensation of
disgust, that hollowed out her insides like a flesh of a fruit being scooped
out with a spoon was the result of something far removed from the sanctity of
growing life. This was a malignancy that found its root in cruelty and horror.
Eve did not want to look but closing her eyes and shutting out the images could
not stop the screams, the terrible, agonized screams of the massacred
inhabitants of Sennen Cove. In the end, she had sank to her knees on the soft
sand of the shore, her hands covering her ears because she could bear it no
more.
As a former police woman, she was used
to blood. She was used to seeing the
very depths of human ugliness. Crack addicts, serial killers, drive by killers,
rapists, molesters and murderers, she had seen the very worst of humanity’s
sins and managed somehow, to retain the hope that people were good that the
world was a place of light.
Tonight, however, had changed all
that.
Never again would her world be that
secure. Tonight, she had caught a glimpse of true evil and knew that the memory
of it would never leave her.
Tonight she had seen it in David
Saeran’s face.
The Lord of Mordor did not move from his
place in the sand, standing like a god who had shaped the world in seven days
and had come to the conclusion that he liked not what he had created and set
about to destroy it all. Sennen Cove was
that ruined tapestry now, a mosaic of broken bodies, of flaming buildings and
screaming victims, struggling to escape and unaware that their killers were
merely offering them a brief respite before the tearing resumed.
After all, what animal did not like to
play with its food?
She knew what he was doing of course. He
had explained it to her almost with relish, perfectly aware that with each
clarification, he was sealing her own fate with words of steel. Each answer was
a rivet in the cage he was building around her, showing her how inescapable her
prison was as he revealed to her in bloody horror, the consequences of any
attempt to escape. Even sheathed in her womb, her baby was not safe from him.
Saeran wanted Eve stripped of all sense of power and cursing him inwardly, Eve
knew that he was succeeding.
She was beyond horror now.
Her only hope for salvation lay in
Aaron’s and the elves ability to defeat Saeran as they had before and even so,
that hope was slim. What he had done Sennen Cove showed her just how far he was
willing to go, just how much power lay at his disposal. He had wanted to take
revenge on the last place the elves had called their own before taking the
Straight Road, the last place in Arda they had been seen. He hadn’t just
avenged himself on the elves that left here, he had salted the earth so that
they could never again set foot on Mithlond without sensing the atrocity that
had been carried out here.
“We should go,” Saeran said to her,
surveying the destruction with a pleased destruction. A small hint of a smile
formed when he saw a young girl having somehow survived, emerging from her
hiding place only to be set upon by a dozen spiders. Her screams as she was
torn to shreds by their sharp talons warmed his ears like music and noted that
Eve had heard too, for she was sobbing louder.
“You bastard…” she somehow managed to
curse through her tears..
“Still coherent,” he met her gaze with a
smirk, “how resilient of you. No matter, there will be plenty of time for that
to change my dear Eve. I am about to recreate the world and I won’t take seven
days.”
“You’re no God!” She hissed. “You’re
insane!”
“Absolutely,” he said motioning the
Nazgul who had been standing by him like an honour guard. “However, I do
believe we are done here. It’s time to fly Eve.”
“What?” She stared at him, still trying
to grasp what fresh horror he intended on inflicting on her. She noticed the
Nazgul approaching her and scrambled away. As if there were somewhere she could
even go, she thought sardonically when Eve gave up her attempt and allowed the
creature’s gloved hand to wrap around her arm. It felt like ice against the
skin.
“Come….” The wraith ordered, pulling her
roughly to her feet. Over head, the
flapping of wings could be heard and Eve looked up at the dark sky to see the
winged beasts the Nazgul had used for their transport descending towards the
ground.
“NO!” She protested.
“Don’t be tiresome Eve,” Saeran replied,
enjoying her terror so very much. “We
have to leave. I have business to attend elsewhere.”
“Let me go!” She struggled as the wraith
dragged to the animal that had set down on the shore a few feet away. “I’m not
getting on that thing!”
Saeran nodded at his servant, who
promptly silenced her with a backhanded blow across the face. Eve saw it coming
but couldn’t react fast enough to avoid being hit. The cold hand struck her
hard enough to force the air out of her lungs and consciousness from her mind.
With a stunted gasp, the world went dark around her and she knew no more.
The Nazgul swept the unconscious woman
into his cold arms as his master mounted the winged beast, moving with a brutal
grace that kept her from touching the ground and borne away like a lifeless rag
doll. Saeran took the leather reins of the winged beast’s harness and regarded
the rest of his sentinels, who were waiting for his order as they themselves
prepared to fly.
“The word is sent I take it?” He
regarded Morgul.
“Yes my master,” Morgul nodded, his eyes
looking subserviently at the ground instead of at his lord. “They sensed your
presence immediately after you departed the Eldar prison. They have awoken in
every corner of the world and are drawing to your seat of power.”
“Good,” Saeran said with a smile, “and
the Uruks?”
“They are all awakened my lord,”
Morgul answered again, “they are hungry for man flesh and the locals we have
been providing them are growing inadequate to sate their stomachs.”
“Naturally,” Saeran replied. “That’s the
way it is with pets. You’ve never had a goldfish Morgul so you don’t know.”
“I wasn’t aware that you had one either
Master,” Morgul could not resist returning.
“I was born into this body as an infant
Morgul. It amused Melkor to buy me one when it was eight years old,” Saeran
snorted as he dug his heels into his mount, causing the beast’s wings to
flapped dramatically in reaction, “for that alone, I was happy to kill him.”
********
Aaron found him on the deck, staring
into the darkness of the ocean that surrounded them. The boat was continuing
through the waves without pause, keeping pace with the second flotilla of ships
to leave Aman this day. There had not been much chance to talk, what with
Saeran’s escape and all the consequences that followed. However now that they
had a brief minute to catch breath, Aaron found his thoughts centred on the
only other person who could possibly understand what he was enduring by Eve’s
abduction.
“Bryan?” He called out to the MI6 man
who had said little since they had got underway.
“Yeah,” Bryan turned his head slightly
in response.
“Are you alright?”
His shoulders dropped with a sigh, “I’ll
live.”
“That’s not the same as being alright,”
Aaron interjected.
“Spare me the analysis,” Bryan said
shortly. “I just want to bloody left alone for awhile.”
“I understand,” the psychiatrist nodded
starting to withdraw. One thing Aaron had come to learn about Bryan during
their acquaintance, was the man’s aversion to psychiatrists.
“I just wanted to see if you were
alright.”
Another sigh escaped into the air like
trapped gas. “Thanks mate,” he said
quietly, “but I’m not ready to talk about I feel. We’ve got bigger things to
worry about at the moment, getting Eve back for instance.”
Aaron stiffened as Bryan inadvertently
turned the tables on him and he felt the groundswell of fear and worry for his
wife surface with surprising ease through all his conscious efforts to ignore
it.
“Yeah, if she’s still alive.” Aaron
could not keep himself from saying under his breath. He could imagine no reason
why Saeran would keep her alive and every reason for the man to want her dead.
What greater act of vengeance could there be than to take the life of his
enemy’s wife and child?
:
“She’s alive.” Bryan spoke with a voice
ground up with glass, sharp and biting. “He did Tory too quick. There was no
chance to make me twist in the wind, wondering if she’s still alive or not. He
wants more than revenge, he wants to make you pay a hundred times before he
actually kills her. He’s going to let her live just long enough for you think
that you might get her back and then kill her.”
Bryan did not need to see the shudder in
Aaron’s being to know it occurred. Bryan knew evil men and while Saeran seemed
destined to occupy a level all on his own, Bryan had seen enough of torture and
villainy to know exactly what the dark lord had planned for Aaron. “But he’s
underestimated us this time, he thinks we’re coming alone. No Valar or Gandalf,
just us and the elves.” Bryan was staring into the sea, his mind formulating
plans upon plans, the realisation that was clear to him now that he had time to
think about it. His grief for Tory was locked away and when he could, he would
mourn her but not right now. Ever the soldier, he kept aside his personal
feelings for the job that needed to be done.
“What do you mean?” Aaron inquired, not
quite following because unlike Bryan, he did not know how to segregate his
feelings as efficiently as the former MI6 agent.
“Fred,” Bryan said firmly, having placed
a considerable amount of the voyage into trying to determine what was Fred’s
role in all this was. The little girl, who was the only other person in the
world who meant as much to him as Tory, was not alone in her young body. Something
else was in there with her. Something unexpected. It was a wildcard he was
certain not even Saeran had expected.
“Fred?” Aaron spoke up and then let the
implication set in. Yes, Fred. “Who do you think is in there with her? One of
the Valar?”
“No,” Bryan shook his head. “Whatever
Saeran did to play his get out of jail card, he had to make sure that the Valar
were out of the way. He’s found a way around them, left them trapped in that
dimension where Valinor used to be. If they could have gotten out, they’d done
it already when those balrog beasties went trampling over Tirion. No it’s
something else. I have a feeling that Galadriel knows what it is and maybe
Elrond too. I can’t see any reason why they’d be so quick to leave the island
and sail to our world unless they were told to do so by someone they couldn’t
refuse.”
“Well maybe the submarine had something
to do with it,” Aaron pointed out, however, he suspected that Bryan was right.
Fred was down below with Miranda and the kids but it was clear that she wasn’t
herself. It gave him some comfort to
know that despite the fact the world seemed hurtling forward towards
catastrophe, Miranda Miller was nevertheless still fixing dinner for her
children and Frank was putting them to bed as if it were any other day. Perhaps
that was the strength of families, he thought inwardly and prayed that he and
Eve would have a chance to find out.
“I’d love to see the report that Isaiah
bloke is going to be writing to Norfolk,” Bryan said finding a little humour in
the fact that their tiny armada was being accompanied by a Seawolf Class
nuclear submarine. Not exactly the best way for the human race to be introduced
to the ancients in their elegant swan ships, descending on the English
coastline.
“Could be worse,” Aaron replied. “The
guy could have considered us a threat and blown us to bits.”
“I highly doubt that,” Legolas Greenleaf
stepped on the wooden deck to interject.
“I hate it when you sneak up on us like
that,” Aaron threw the elf a look, always finding it disconcerting how the
Eldar could be so stealthy in their approach. “One of these days I’m getting
you a bell.”
Legolas smirked, accustomed to these
comment from the humans who still could not fathom their ability to move so
silently. “Captain Isaiah bears a striking resemblance to Imrahil.”
“Who?” Bryan turned around from the rail
and regarded the elf.
“Imrahil,” Legolas explained, “Prince of
Dol Amroth. The captain’s manner is much like the Prince. In the War of the
Ring, Imrahil was a great supporter of Aragorn in his claim to the throne.”
“Are we going to keep running into
people we knew from the past?” Bryan exclaimed, uncertain whether or not he
ought to be pleased that Captain Hill had some history with them. Bryan did not
relish having to tell the man that about a hundred thousand years ago, his
previous incarnation had been a lord of an ancient kingdom. It was not wise to
upset a man who had in his possession, several ICBMS.
“Eve said it’s a cosmic turntable,”
Aaron retorted, recalling the night she had made that statement and realising
that it was at that moment, that he had fallen completely in love with her, again. “We're destined to meet the same people even
if we were different in the past.”
“Bloody wonderful,” Bryan grumbled. “I’m
going to see how Fred or whoever she is, is doing.” Solitude was not something
he was not going to receive tonight, despite his fondness for his companions.
Neither Legolas or Aaron spoke until
Bryan had brushed past them, nothing the haunted veil over his eyes that not
even his formidable control could hide.
“I fear for him,” Legolas said a few
seconds after Bryan had departed. “His heart is broken even if he hides it
well.”
“He loved her,” Aaron shrugged, hearing
nothing new in Legolas’ words. “He can’t be any other way. I’m praying I don’t
find out what he is feeling first hand.”
Legolas reached for Aaron’s shoulder and
offered comfort with a light squeeze. “Sauron will not kill her, not until you
are there to see it. And when that moment comes, we will do everything we can
to stop him.”
Aaron nodded sombrely, “I hope you are
right, old friend.”
“Go and rest,” Legolas urged. “You are
no good to us exhausted and we will need all your strength if we are to
re-enter your world in numbers great as these,” he glanced at the ships sailing
around them.
“Alright,” Aaron conceded the request
since he was feeling somewhat drained and truth be known, he wouldn’t mind a
little sleep to forget the worries plaguing his waking hours. “Thank you
Legolas,” he said and turned to leave. As he neared the steps leading into the
cabin, he saw Ariel emerge from below. The lady was wrapped in a warm cloak,
her dark hair pulled behind her head in an efficient ponytail. Anyone who saw
her would know instantly that she was an elf as her delicately pointed ears
indicated. Still, Aaron thought that she appeared more faerie than elf.
“Your husband is sending me to bed,”
Aaron remarked as he passed her.
“He does display some wisdom on
occasion,” she said with a wry smile. “Sleep well Aaron, I am certain that
thing will appear better in the morning.”
Aaron didn’t believe her but he was
grateful for the encouragement. “I’m sure it will,” he said half- heartedly
before disappearing below.
“The mood is heavy on this vessel
tonight,” Ariel stated as she approached her husband.
“It is,” Legolas nodded in agreement.
Tory’s death, Sauron’s escape, their disconnection from the Valar and the
destruction of Tirion, all of it left a dark shadow of gloom over all of them.
There could be no denying what they faced when they returned to Arda. Not only
did they have to contend with Sauron’s agents but would also have to
reintroduce themselves to a race who believed their existence to be little more
than myths with no basis in fact.
“Husband,” Ariel looked at him with
purpose, “we must talk.”
Something in her tone drew Legolas’ gaze
away from the sea to sapphire pools of her eyes. A state of uneasiness shifted
free inside of him but he could not fathom why she would engender such a
feeling in him. “I thought that is what we were doing, my love.” He answered,
staring at her in puzzlement.
“Am I husband?” She asked leaning on the
railing next to him. “Am I the one you love?”
Legolas blinked. “What in Eru’s name do
you mean?” He demanded. “Of course you are the one I love!”
“Think carefully on that question for we
both know that it is not as straight forward as it may seem,” Ariel returned
swiftly.
“Wife, I do not comprehend what you
mean…”
“You see Legolas,” she said looking at
the porthole of the cabin through which she could see some of their friends,
going about their business, unaware of the observation. “When Eve met Aaron,
she was not drawn immediately to him or the memory of what they once had. All
she had; was a feeling to tell her that she loved this man once and would do so
again. She remembered nothing of the man he had been, nothing of Aragorn
Elessar. It is the same for Miranda and
Frank, no memory of the people they had been, no knowledge of the past, merely
a feeling. They had the chance to know each other again, without expectation of
their past selves to hinder them.”
“I suppose,” Legolas stared at her hard,
determining by the intensity of her gaze and her voice that he was on the cusp
of something he should be wary of. “I
still do not see…”
“No you do not,” she said softly. “You
do not see very well at all. To you, I am your Melia, nothing else. One hundred
thousand years I have been at your side and not once do you see me as Ariel,
born in Tirion to Anais and Didriel of Aqualonde. You will not have children
with me because you have had them with her, when you cry out in passion, is it
my face you see or hers?”
Legolas was stunned.
“How can you even assume such a thing?”
He almost exploded. “Of course I see you and not Melia!”
However, even as he said it, he knew he
was not entirely sincere. Elves were not prone to untruths but this one he
could not bring himself to confess, even to himself. The enormity of it was too
much. Ariel had been reincarnation of his wife. His soul had known it the
instant he had laid eyes upon her. How else could they have married if she were
not Melia? Unlike humans who could discard their mates at will, elves chose
their mates only once and maintained that choice even if one half of that union
was dead. He had known what he risked when he chose Melia for his and though
fifty years with her was a mere shadow in the lifetime of an elf, he had been
content even if it meant going on without her. When he arrived at Valinor with
Gimli, he knew immediately that Melia was returned to him in the form of Ariel.
But the maid before him was not entirely
Melia was she? Just as Aaron Stone was not Aragorn Elessar as he had been when
he ruled Gondor, Ariel was not the Melia he remember and yet that had not
stopped him from seeing her that way, had it?
“When you fought the balrog, when you
were dazed, you did not call my name, you called hers.” Ariel accused.
“I did n….” but the words failed him
because his memory was as good as hers and he knew he had done just that. He
had called Ariel, Melia. “I am sorry,”
he said after a pause. “I did not mean to.”
Being proved right did not make her feel
any better and the truth was now laid before them both and he could not deny
it. Indeed, he was unable to deny it. “I am not Melia, I may share her soul but
I remember nothing of her. I know only that I, Ariel, love you. I always will
and if that comes from Melia I can live with that but I cannot live with you
seeing nothing else. I am a person who is deserving of her husband’s love as
much any woman, not merely the representative of his memory of someone who no
longer exists.”
“I will try,” he said feebly and knew
that it would not be enough. He thought of all the things he had said to her
over the years, the demands he had made upon her. Yes, he had denied her
children because as far as he had been concerned, his child rearing days were
behind him. He had shared that experience with Melia already, having raised a
son and daughter, Thalionhis and Annunmelian. There seemed no reason to revisit
it. He had assumed that Ariel would share this view since….
Oh sweet Eru.
How ill he had behaved! Legolas was reeling in mortification because he had
proven himself even guiltier of her accusation by the train of thought he had
just embarked upon. He had assumed that Ariel would share the same view because
Melia had raised a son and daughter with him.
“I do not know if I am willing to accept
that,” Ariel replied, sensing the pain he felt but could feel little empathy
because her own anger and frustration as bubbling to the surface after so many
years in suppression.
“What do you mean?” Legolas stared at
her sharply. “Will you not give me a chance to prove myself to you?”
“You have been unable to change in ten
millennia,” she pointed out. “What makes you believe that you will be able to
do so now?”
“This is not the time for such thoughts
Ariel,” Legolas implored, a deep sense of despair rising up from within his
stomach at the realisation that he might have lost his mate as surely as Bryan,
only he had no one to blame but himself. “These are the End of Days and neither
of us may survive it. Do you wish to embark upon this course now?”
”That I make this demand of you at this time, was not my intention. However, my
discontent has been growing more pronounced of late and today,” she blinked,
trying to hide the tears that wanted to come but supposed he knew to well not
to notice her anguish. “Today when you called her name not mine, you broke my
heart Legolas. You broke my heart and I did not deserve that. I have been a
good wife to you. I have played the role you wish me to play, hoping that in
time you would see me, not her. Perhaps that was my folly, that I allowed you
that when I should have been more forceful in the presentation of my own
identity. Whatever the cause of it, I do not wish the continuance of this
marriage under these circumstances.”
With that, Ariel brushed past him,
unable to trust herself to speak further on this. His grief would cave her
resolve and for once, Ariel was determined to remain strong. For once, she
would be selfish instead of selfless.
“We are not humans,” he protested,
grabbing her arm to stop her from leaving. “We do not break our vows to each
other so carelessly.”
“The vows you made were not to me,” she
said pulling her arm back, her eyes boring into him mercilessly. “They were
made to her.”
And Legolas could do nothing to stop her
as she left him because inside, he knew it was true.