Stranger in a Strange Land

[baragund]

PROLOGUE

This was John Bates’ first vacation since high school and, at age 27, he was exhausted.

He had graduated from college with a degree in engineering five years earlier while holding down two jobs to help pay his tuition, and immediately entered a trainee program for NorCon, one of the top five international construction companies in the world. Thus began a routine of 70-80 hour workweeks, including most weekends, on the construction of a billion dollar oil refinery located on the Gulf coast of Mississippi. Fourteen-hour workdays, six days per week were the norm and much of his salary went to paying the student loans that put him through college. He slept in a plain one-bedroom apartment in an inexpensive part of town and his main source of diversion was his participation in various company-sponsored sports leagues like softball, soccer and flag football.

His was a work ethic marked by thoroughness and willingness to take on even the most mundane of tasks. He had an unobtrusive yet engaging personality that earned him friends among laborers and management alike. Soon he was marked in the company as an employee worth keeping and nurturing but at the same time wringing every last bit of production out of him before he “burned out”. Shortly after his third anniversary with NorCon, John was offered the opportunity to return to university for his MBA while continuing his work as a project engineer. He was being groomed for senior management. True to form he eagerly accepted and effectively doubled his workload by attending night school while maintaining his regular job responsibilities.

For the next two years, John’s life became an endlessly repeating cycle of work and study. Five hours of sleep on a given night was considered an unaffordable luxury. At times, he would ponder why he was subjecting himself to this but he reasoned a short time of crushing work was worth a lifetime in a secure and prosperous career. During this time, he met, fell in love and eventually became engaged to his classmate Jennifer Mullen, an ex debutante, a blueblood who saw in him the means to a continuing life of wealth and power, the wife of a bright young star with a promising career in one of the most powerful corporations in the country.

Somehow he got through the program. He successfully defended his thesis and graduated. Now, before beginning serious planning for their upcoming wedding, the young couple was on a two-week vacation in Bermuda. They booked a picturesque cabaña on a private beach shaded by palm trees and they spent their time swimming, snorkeling and relaxing on the beach.

One day John booked a daylong deep sea fishing trip, plying the waters west of the island. Jennifer had wanted to spend the day shopping; shopping was not one of John’s favorite activities so this arrangement was considered a “win-win” for both of them.

He set out at first light with Stan and Martin, residents of a neighboring cabana he had befriended and they soon arrived at the municipal docks. The boat they were hiring was on the small side, about forty feet, but it seemed serviceable enough. The captain was a gregarious Jamaican who had a broad smile, but a quiet air of competence that resulted from many years on the water. They stowed their fishing gear along with coolers full of cold beer and sandwiches and set off, heading west by southwest.

It was a hot, still, cloudless day and it wasn’t long before the men peeled off their shirts in the bright sun. The sea was calm, like a pond, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of a breeze. Still, the companions enjoyed themselves. Even though there was a curious lack of fish, they swapped stories, ate, drank and enjoyed each other’s company, as their boat made it’s way further out to sea.

They made their way thus for several hours. Shortly before noon, the western sky began to grow dark as if a bank of thunderstorms were approaching them. “Bloody weathermen,” cursed the Jamaican. “They said no rain today. Well, we’ll take a long slow turn an’ cruise home just ahead o’ the thunderheads. No loss though, you’d sooner catch a cold than catch a fish wi’ your luck!”

John didn’t mind. He was starting to get a headache from all the beer he drank in the hot sun, and he didn’t mind not catching anything. Being out on the open sea with good companions, no deadlines and no pressures was more than enough for him. He reclined in his seat, pulled the bill of his ball cap down and closed his eyes so he didn’t notice the look of concern that creased the captain’s face when he started to make his turn but his compass did not indicate any change in direction. From looking at the boat’s wake, the captain reasoned they should be headed more or less north but the compass still showed south by southeast. He began tapping the side of the compass, thinking it was stuck when the engine sputtered, coughed and died.

[baragund]

DEPARTURE

John sat up and looked around when the engine died. The black thunderheads were noticeably closer but it was still dead calm where their boat lay. The captain was now cursing a blue streak and the tone of his voice was starting to veer off from mere irritation to genuine concern as he removed the access panels to the engine and began searching for the cause of the breakdown. Stan was helping by producing a toolbox from the hold and shining a flashlight into the dark engine compartment. Martin sat down next to John and, while opening another bottle of beer, said in mock concern, “Well, we are in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle you know” and he started humming the theme song from “The Twilight Zone”.

“Shut up, Butthead,” John laughed, but he was starting to get worried. The thunderheads looked like it menacing and, judging from how hot and still it had been all morning, he did not want to be stuck on the open ocean on a drifting boat in what could be a nasty storm. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call his fiancée Jennifer and his eyes creased with concern when he discovered it was dead.

“Hey, let me use your phone. Mine’s dead,” he said to Martin, now listening with greater attention as Stan and the captain continued working, unsuccessfully, on the engine. “I want to give Jen a heads up.”

“Oh you are so whipped already”, Martin joked. “Have to call Mom at the drop of a hat.” John mouthed an expletive in reply. His joking stopped when he retrieved his own telephone from his backpack and discovered it too was dead.

“What the hell…” he murmured. “I charged this thing this morning.

“Hey Stan,” he now called. “John’s and my phones just crapped out. Let me see yours.”

Stan tossed his phone to his friend while the captain tried unsuccessfully turning over the engine. The starter motor started cranking slower and slower and, finally, stopped altogether. A quick look revealed that Stan’s telephone was just as dead as the other two. A breeze began to pick up and the boat started rocking gently as the thunderheads blotted out the noon sun.

“I’m a-callin’ for help,” the captain announced. He reached for the radio that was located next to the steering wheel and discovered it worked no better than any other mechanical device on the boat. “What the f--- is going on?” he cursed. “How can everything stop working at…”

He stopped in mid-sentence and stared in disbelief at the compass. Whereas before it was stuck in one direction, now it was rotating at a steady pace of about a revolution per second even though the boat was still motionless.

The captain looked up at the three men with a look of real fear etched on his face. “You best get your life-jackets on, an’ get ready for anything”, he said in a sober tone.

The first puffs of wind and raindrops arrived as they donned their gear and within the next minute, it escalated to a gale and a torrent. Powerless and adrift, it would not be long before the boat would be swamped. Already, the waves had turned the boat athwart and each subsequent wave made the boat rock more dangerously. The fishing boat was too small to have its own life raft but too large to maneuver with oars. All they could do was pray that the storm would play out before they were sunk.

But it was not to be so. The storm rose in intensity to the point where it looked like the sea was boiling. A wave came that rose half again as high as the top of the cabin. It crashed over the boat, capsizing it. The men were tossed into the sea and separated. As he was being tossed, John’s knee hit the gunwale hard and stars flashed in front of him from the pain. Fortunately, he was a strong swimmer so he had no trouble getting away from the boat as it foundered and sank. A large white ice chest that was to be used for their catch bobbed by and he grabbed onto it. He called out to his companions but there was not response. It was dark as a deep dusk so he could not see clearly more than twenty or thirty feet and he saw no one.

A couple of bungee chords were attached to the handles of the ice chest. These he managed to wrap around his arms at the armpits to secure himself better to his makeshift life raft. Even though it was full of water, it floated well enough to support him.

So this was how he rode the storm. Each time a wall of water would crash on him, his ice chest brought him back to the surface. He did not know how long this lasted, for his Rolex watch also stopped working, but he guessed it had to have been a couple of hours.

But the storm did stop. The clouds broke, revealing a brilliant sun low over the western sky. The earlier hazy, hot, humid weather was now replaced by a crystal clear blue sky with a fresh breezed out of the west. It was noticeably cooler now and John began to shiver, for all he wore were shorts and a golf shirt. His sneakers he kicked off so to swim better. The pain in his knee gave way to a dull throb but he could feel the swelling and he knew he could not bend it very well.

He looked about him and there was not a trace of the boat or his companions. There was not even a trace of debris or an oil slick from the fuel tanks. But he had never smelled air as fresh as he did when the clouds broke and the late afternoon sun shone down on him.

[baragund]

John took stock of his situation. Although he was trim and a decent athlete, he realized he did not have a lot of time before thirst and weariness would overcome him. Also, cold was becoming a major concern. He noticed the water temperature was significantly lower after the storm than before, and the temperature was dropping noticeably as the sun set. The ice chest to which he clung was made of white plastic so, he reasoned, any aircraft searching for his party should be able to spot him. Fortunately, the sea was not too rough despite the stiff breeze out the west and this enabled him to somewhat climb on top of the chest. Also, he was grateful that the skin around his knee was not broken even though it hurt like hell. He knew that any bleeding into the water would attract every shark for miles around.

So a cloudless night fell with John half lying, half clinging to his ice chest. And it was the longest night of his life. The air became quite chilly and he was soon shivering violently. His limbs were stiff and sore but he could only move with the utmost care or he would tumble off of the chest into the cold water. Agonizing cramps alternated with excruciating numbness. To pass the time he sang out loud in a croaking voice every song he could think of. Rock and roll, country and western, show tune, even Christmas carols. When he exhausted everything, he looked at his watch it only read 11:00 PM. He cursed in despair and wondered if he would get through the night. In his gloom, he took to simply watching the second hand sweeping around the dial of his watch; minute after minute after minute.

As his spirit wallowed, thoughts of ending his suffering crept into his mind. It would be so easy to just unfasten the bungee chords, let go of the chest, take off his life preserver and sink below the waves. He checked the time: 2:00 AM. So long until dawn and the warming sun and so easy to just let go…

But now an odd thought popped into his mind. When he checked the time again, he noticed how bright it was that night. He picked his head up and saw, for the first time, how the stars blazed as if, well, as if they were closer or as if they were brand new. It was as light as if there would have been a full moon but there was no moon that night. John puzzled over this. In his first days with Norcon, he worked as a roustabout on oilrigs in the Gulf of Mexico, so he was familiar with how bright the stars can be on a clear night far from the lights of any town but this was something different. He turned himself as best he could to study the sky better.

He took an astronomy class in college and now he tried to pass time by identifying individual stars, planets and constellations. This is better than seeing them through the telescope at the university, he thought. As he gazed he noticed a constellation far in the north he did not remember. It had seven stars and it was sickle shaped. “What is that?” he wondered aloud. He went through all the stars and constellations he could remember from his class again and again but he could not recall what it was. But as he continued looking at them, the desire to slip into the sea that had been growing in his mind somehow faded and went away.

[chrysophalax]

Cuivienen...creation, awakening.

The distant sound of horn and hoof...these were Nilme's first memories. A great being, born on a great steed led them Westward and as they travelled...he met a kinsman, a kinsman who would become his master...for a time.

They discovered that they were named...Quendi, People of the Stars and the great being, who called himself Orome, loved them. Many feared him, yet Nilme was among those who followed.

Long years passed and in that time, kingdoms were established, and the Elves flourished in all things. Doriath was one of those kingdoms and there he came under the apprenticeship of Eol. He admired Eol's independence and so, when Eol chafed at being within the Girdle of Melian, he took with him a small band of willing servants, each cunning and skilled in their own endeavours. Nilme's strength lay in attention to detail and his love for birds of prey. Eol made him steward to his household and thus it remained...until the Lady came.

Nilme winced at the memory even as he sat on a hillside, looking out over a harbour he knew not the name of. He sighed heavily as he remembered his lord's anger at finding the Lady and his son gone. He and the other servants were forgotten and many left to go their own way, but he had waited, until at last word came to him that all, all of the house of Eol were slain. Grief took him and he began wandering he cared not where.

His birds, ever faithful, stayed with him. Aran and Tari, a mated pair of peregrines and Alcarin, his pride. She was a beautiful falcon, much larger than the pair, her feather pattern beautiful bars of black and brilliant white. As he sat, she settled on his shoulder and began preening. Nilme ruffled her chest feathers lightly and her black eye fixed him with a haughty stare. High above, the pair glided effortlessly, no doubt hunting the evening meal.

Sadness filled him as the thought of yet another friendless night made itself known. Never very open, Nilme nevertheless enjoyed the companionable feeling of having someone there, someone to converse with. Regrets, Nilme? You? When did you ever need anyone or anything? You..always so self-relaint and strong? He grimaced at his inner voice, then rose and began walking, this time down to the harbour, hoping to drown the voice inthe rushing noise of the surf below.

[baragund]

ARRIVAL

5:00 AM. Another hour before sunrise and John was struggling to stay awake. But he had to stay awake. If he dosed, he would loosen his hold on the chords and slip beneath the waves. So he began banging his head against the hard plastic of the ice chest to introduce a new and different source of pain. And he recited aloud anything he could think of: children’s stories, letters he had written, the Declaration of Independence, anything. With maddening slowness the time passed.

The slightest hint of pink and orange appeared in the east. He stared at it, not yet daring to believe that daylight was finally coming, but the colors grew and the night stars began to blend in with the morning sky. Morning had come. Normally he was not the spiritual sort, but this morning John uttered a prayer of thanks.

At the earliest light there appeared to be a bank of cloud on the eastern horizon, but as the light grew and gave definition to the shapes, he realized that was not cloud but land! Beyond his wildest hope the western breeze that blew all night and the previous afternoon brought him back to the shores of Bermuda.

Or was it? As the sun broke the horizon, he saw this was not the low-lying tropical island coastline he left the day before. This was a great land, with rugged bluffs tumbling down to white beaches. And the hills were clad in mixed forests that mark a temperate climate, with broadleaf trees and pines, not the palm trees and other tropical plants he was expecting. Absent also were the towns, resorts, watercraft and other signs of human habitation. It was completely empty. “What is this place,” he wondered. “This is too big to be Bermuda, and the climate’s all wrong.”

He figured he must have somehow entered the Gulf Stream and was blown north as well as west. But where? He went through the possibilities in his mind: The Canary Islands? The Azores? Good God this can’t be the Portuguese coast! No, all those places were hundreds of miles away and he was adrift for less than 24 hours.

As he studied the shoreline trying to solve this puzzle and find some sign of human habitation, his eyes rested on a great promontory of land that jutted out into the sea away south. On this promontory there arose a great tower of stone. It was huge, at least as tall as the Washington Monument but more massive, with openings and ledges on multiple levels. It looked like it could serve as a lighthouse, but also as a medieval fortress. And its architecture indicated it was old, ancient even, but it looked like it was well restored, or even new. John wondered at the architecture and tried to place it but couldn’t: Moorish, Gothic, Romanesque? None he could think of quite fit but it had an organic quality that he found quite beautiful.

He started to try to swim toward the tower but quickly realized that the current was bearing him north. His disappointment turned to new hope as he now saw the opening of a large bay or harbor to the north and the current was taking him there. What’s more, it appeared the tide was going in. He guessed he was a couple of miles from shore and he wanted to make land before the tide turned. He had to swim to make it.

His muscles and joints, which had been locked in one position all night, resisted fiercely as he untied the chords, heaved himself off the ice chest and began to swim. Sharp stabs of pain coursed up his leg from his injured knee as he kicked his legs. Often he had to stop and rest, letting his life jacket hold him above the water, but slowly, the shore came closer.

The sun was almost at its zenith when John rode a wave to the beach and he touched the white sand. He had never been so spent in his life. He pulled himself up the beach as far as was needed to keep the surf from pulling him back out and there he lay for many minutes, chest heaving, staring at the clear blue sky. After a while, he gathered enough strength to try to get himself out of the water altogether. Slowly, painfully, he tried to stand, but his injured knee buckled under when he tried to put weight on it and he crumpled back into the surf. Spitting sand and salt water from his mouth, he half crawled half dragged himself past the surf line and onto dry sand. He stopped, letting the warm sun caress his back and, within a minute, he was fast asleep.

[chrysophalax]

Dawn found Nilme no less pensive than all the years in recent memory, however...this dawn had brought him at last to the sea.

The Sea!

Of all the songs orchestrated by Iluvatar, the most loved by the Teleri. His face lit by an unaccustomed smile, Nilme made his way down to the water's edge, his avian friends disdaining to share in his joy. They rode the currents of the air as he plucked several shells from the waves and turned them over and over in his hands.

A cry from above called his attention down the shore to where a figure lay in seeming sleep. Curious, he began to walk along the beach, tucking his newfound treasures in his pouch to inspect later. As he neared the prone figure, he halted. Something was very wrong about this person. For one thing, the clothing was very strange. He appeared to have a short vest of brilliant orange and very short breeches...and no boots. Why?

Nilme began to fear the Elf was dead and sorrow filled him. He ran the last short distance to the body and knelt beside it to see whether or not...Valar aid me! He thought as he recoiled. This was no Elf! His ears were rounded and he had hair on his face...what was this? Nilme retreated slowly lest he awaken whatever, whoever this was. Was it some form of Orc? Surely it was no Dwarf...he had seen and spoken with many of the Naugrim while in Eol's service. Hand on his dagger, he slowly paced a circle around the fallen figure and thought. It appears to be half-drowned, yet it lives and is possibly gravely injured. Should I aid it?

Many things caught his inquisitive eyes, such as the band on it's left wrist, the reddened skin that now bore blisters. He felt he should do something, but his distrustful nature nearly made him turn away. A groan made him glance reluctantly back over his shoulder, only to see he was being watched. Without conscious thought, he drew his dagger and waited.

[baragund]

MEETING


Three things caused John to wake up. First, the breeze freshened again and despite the warm sun, chilled him through his wet clothes. Second, his mouth was as dry as if it had been stuffed with cotton wadding. He had had nothing to drink in over 24 hours and he could not work up any saliva in his mouth no matter how hard he tried. Finally, hunger and thirst had given him a headache that could kill a mule.

Groaning, he lifted his head and looked in front of him. The beach was perhaps 30 yards to where the jagged bluffs tumbled down meeting it. At this spot they were around 100 feet high and they were topped by dense old-growth forest. It had to be old-growth for he had never seen trees of such a height or girth.

A feeling that he was being watched crept over him. He looked to one side and saw nothing. He looked to the other side and saw, standing not five paces from him, what he thought was a man. The stranger was white, youngish-looking, slender with long straight dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore clothing that John did not recognize and would not associate with beachwear. He wore a well-tailored shirt or tunic, tight-fitting knickers or breeches and supple boots that laced up to the knee. But what really got John’s attention was the knife in his hand and the crouching stance that showed this person was about to attack. “Oh great”, he thought. “After all this, some ***hole wants to rob me.”

Still lying on his stomach, John held his hands over his head and said in a loud but croaking voice, “My knee is hurt and I can’t walk. I’ve been in the water for over a day with nothing to eat or drink. I was on a fishing boat that got swamped in the storm yesterday.” And then he proceeded to tell the newcomer the name of the boat and the port he sailed from in Bermuda.

“If you help me, I’ll give you a reward that would be better than what you’ll find in my wallet,” he concluded. “But I need water, and we need to contact the Coast Guard.”

The stranger did not answer but assumed a less threatening pose. John didn’t know if he understood so he repeated himself in Spanish. Still no response. He tried greetings in other languages where he knew a few words: French, Italian, German, and Portuguese. Still nothing.

He slowly and painfully rose to a sitting position, studied the stranger more closely and noticed for the first time his pointed ears. Now he tried hard not to stare but this was a first. John had heard of cultists and others out on the fringe who alter their appearance: crackpots who file down their teeth to look like werewolves or vampires. But he had never heard of anybody who cropped his or her ears, like a Doberman Pincher or a Boxer. “Must be one heck of a Star Trek fan,” he thought to himself. Still, he needed help from this person so he was not going to do or say anything to offend.

[chrysophalax]

Nilme lowered his dagger as the being before him spoke. He used several dialects that Nilme had never heard before, but it was obvious to him that this one was quite intelligent. He moved slowly toward the person, who winced in pain as he shifted position in the sand. Could this be a messenger from Ulmo who had somehow become injured? Could one of Ulmos's messengers even become injured? He sheathed his dagger and opened his hands, palm outward, to show he meant no harm and the person held very still as Nilme crouched next to him.

"Whence come you? Have you been sent to me from Ulmo?" The man's face looked dismayed and Nilme sighed. Apparently Sindarin was not among the tongues this one knew. Nilme carefully looked the man over and noticed that his knee was swollen and bruised. "Can you move it?" he asked, bending his own knee at the same time. The man's eyes followed his movements and he shook his head in negation. The Elf stood, looking along the beach and gave a satisfied chuckle. Not far up the beach there lay a large piece of driftwood, large enough to be fashioned into a staff with any luck. Without wasting another moment, he ran along the strand to the wood, which upon inspection turned out to be too long. Silently cursing, he wondered why he was going to the trouble of helping this unknown creature. After all, hadn't he been happy living alone, venturing when and where he would? The answer came back to him, "No, thou fool...you cannot hide forever. This one has done you no harm. Trust!"

With a sigh, he had to agree with his inner voice. Perhaps by aiding someone, Nilme could at last learn to trust again. But first, he had to find a way to get this foundling up the steep sandstone cliff. Doubtless he was hungry and thirsty and from the look of his skin, probably in pain from more than his knee. Nilme looked around and there against the base of the cliff lay another. smaller piece of driftwood. This he caught up and brought back to the man.

The man groaned when he realised what the Elf intended and he spoke several harshly inflected words. Nilme let the "staff" fall as he helped the man to rise. He let him lean on his shoulder to get his balance, then bent swiftly and helped him grasp the staff. "Come with me." Nilme said, hoping his voice sounded encouraging even if he wasn't understood. They hobbled together a few steps and the man stopped, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. "John." he said, pointing to himself. He then gestured to Nilme and shrugged his shoulders, a question in his eyes. The Elf smiled, for what felt like the first time in years. "Nilme..." Then he held out his arm and whistled shrilly. Within moments two small falcons came to rest on his forearm and John ducked as a third landed on Nilme's shoulder, only to take flight again. Nilme chuckled. "Alcarin." he said, his eyes following her upward spiral. "Tari i Aran." The pair looked at John fixedly, then he tossed them skyward with a laugh. John shook his head and they began again the long trek up the cliffside.

[baragund]

John was grateful that the stranger sheathed his knife and held out his hands in a gesture of assistance, but he was still wary that this person was armed. But then the stranger spoke and much of this suspicion gave way to curiosity coupled with an unexplained reassurance.

It was a language he could not place; it was musical and soothing and it somehow put him at ease. One word seemed to stand out from the others: “Ulmo”. He had no idea what that was. When the stranger ran off to retrieve the piece of wood to be used as a makeshift crutch, John wondered if that was his name. As he was making their way up the beach, one arm on the crutch and the other around the stranger’s shoulder, John stopped, indicated his own name then pointed to the other asking, “Ulmo?” The other laughed out loud in reply, a sound that struck him as clear, as pure, as joyous a sound as the pealing of silver bells. This sound put his mind further at ease, and the remaining suspicion over the dagger faded away. Still chuckling, the stranger then indicated that his name was Nilme and they continued on their way up the beach.

As they reached the head of the beach, John saw steps cut into a deep cleft in the cliffside. These steps were smooth to the point of being polished and broad with a finely wrought bronze handrail fastened to one wall. These steps took no small level of skill to cut. They were cut into the rock with no fillers or other materials to smooth and even them. Yet they were perfectly shaped and spaced. Slowly they made their way up the steps and when they reached the top, a sight greeted him that made him softly whistle in admiration.

It was one of the most exquisitely built and sited homes he had ever seen. It was constructed of stone and timber in that unfamiliar style similar to the great stone tower he had seen away to the south. It was not particularly large but the stone and wood included a delicate curvilinear pattern of fitting and of detail carving that indicated a level of skill possessed by only the finest craftsmen. The roof was slate and steeply peaked. The house was situated in a kind of glade in the forest of gigantic old-growth trees in such a way that the tree canopies seemed to cradle and protect it, but a roofed patio extended from one side that offered a spectacular view of the ocean and harbor. After seeing the strange tower, this person who spoke in a language he had never heard and who could command falcons as if they were pets, and now this other-worldly home setting, a unsettling thought began to grow in John’s mind: “Where am I? This is not like anyplace I have ever been or read about.”

Within the roofed patio was a grouping of comfortable chairs and couches. Nilme guided his unexpected guest across the immaculately manicured lawn to the patio, helped him ease into one of the couches and propped up his injured leg. He then retreated into the house and soon returned with a large pitcher of water and a cup.

John gulped down two cups of water as if his life depended on it. When he started a third, Nilme motioned to him to slow down or he would get sick. John nodded in understanding and began to pace himself. As he continued to drink, he drew his wallet from the pocket of his shorts, pulled his driver’s license out and handed it to Nilme. He held his hand up to his ear with the thumb and pinkie extended in what he thought was the universally understood pose of making a telephone call and said in a slow and carefully enunciated voice, “I need to call for help. May I use your telephone?”

[chrysophalax]

Nilme found himself quite puzzled by John's actions. Why was he making such odd hand gestures? He divested himself of the small pack he carried with him and settled himself on the ground near where John sat. The small oddly coated piece of aprchment in his ahnd drew his attention and he looked at it carefully. Interestingly enough, it bore John's likeness, though his face assumed a peevish, impatient look in the image. There were also many symbols and when he turned it over, it flashed in the lowering sun. He handed it back to John, who looked at him most urgently. "Well?"

With a heavy sigh, Nilme pondered. He had always been good at dialects, having even picked up several Orcen phrases from several raiders. Quenya he chose not to speak as it seemed to be the privilege of the High Elves alone. Therefore he took this as a challenge and if he were to help this one, it was imperative that they understand one another. John held up his fingers again in that same odd sign and Nilme shook his head, shoulders shrugging. John's fingers clenched around the cup so hard it cracked. John yelped as water spilled into his lap and Nilme, despite himself , began to chuckle.

A string of strongly worded invectives were hurled at Nilme, along with the remains of the cup which he easily dodged. He rose and disappeared into the home of Linwen, a healer whom he had hoped would be able to help John, but she was probably out gathering herbs somewhere. He rummaged around and brought out an old grey tunic that was clean, then returned only to find john struggling to rise from the couch he had been disposed on. Nilme went to his side but was rebuffed. He raised a sardonic eyebrow and tossed the tunic across John's lap, resuming his seat on the ground. If John was going to be stubborn and re-injure himself, he could do it without the Elf's aid.

His face red with anger and frustration, John had stripped off what was left of his shirt and was trying to dry off the cold water. Couldn't this guy see that he was in trouble? Miles from nowhere, no decent hospital probably...He ran his hands throgh his hair, trying to think. If he couldn't make Nilme understand him, he would be s.o.l. and he knew it. He picked up the tunic Nilme had dropped in his lap and was amazed at the softness of the material. It was nothing fancy, but the texture was like silk, only thicker. After looking it over, he pulled it on over his head, then nodded curtly. "Thanks." Nilme bowed his head graciously, going more on the tone in John's voice than anything else.

John spread his arms and looked about him, then back at Nilme. "Where is this? Is this yours? Your house?" Again, Nilme shook his head, trying to think how to get through to John. He reached for a shard of the cup, holding it up. "Yulma." He reached forward and touched the tunic. "Laupe...Linwen's laupe." He then gestured to John and touched his own tunic, a question in his eyes. For the first time since the accident, John grinned. Eagerly he replied, "That's a shirt and that..." he pointed, "is a cup. Now...where in hell am I?"

[baragund]

Breakthrough


John immediately regretted his flash of anger. It was not Nilme’s fault that they could not understand each other. His feelings of frustration were now being replaced by puzzlement and curiosity. John again took in his surroundings. This was a most gracious home; it’s quiet, unobtrusive and harmonious setting could easily distinguish itself in the most exclusive suburban neighborhoods of New York, Boston, London or Paris. Yet, as he studied the house and its surroundings, he realized that there was no sign of electrical service. No power lines leading to the house, the fixtures besides the doors were clearly lanterns of some sort, and there were no electric lights or signs of any electrical appliances in the house. He then studied the tunic that Nilme had given him. The quality of the garment was better than what one would find at the finest department stores yet it was obviously used like it was as ordinary as a well worn sweatshirt.

He looked at the pieces of the cup on the ground and the large fragment that he hurled at Nilme and he felt like an idiot. He pointed at the fragments and spoke apologies as clearly as he could. Then he gestured at the cozy laupe and said thank you as clearly as he could. Nilme nodded in understanding.

As John removed his wet shirt and put on the laupe, an idea crept into Nilme’s mind. He had wondered at the generous helping of body hair that covered John’s chest, stomach, arms and legs, not to mention the four-day growth of what promised to be a thick beard. “He has hair like a Dwarf,” he mused. “But he’s taller than me. Could this be one of the Edain?”

Nilme had heard of these newcomers, who had wandered into Beleriand from the East some twenty years earlier, although he had never met one. He knew that some of them were closely allied with the Noldo Finrod and that they had settlements to the north. They had their own peculiar manner of speech and he tried to recall the phrases he had picked up from other scholars.

He motioned to John to get his attention and then began to speak in a slow and measured tone. There were a lot of words that John did not understand and there were unfamiliar words that sounded like proper names such as “Beor” and “Hador”, “Dorthonion” and “Hithlum”. But then there was a phrase, heavily accented like he had never heard before, that sounded like “…from whence you came”. John sat up in attention, stopped Nilme and repeated the phrase. The Elf brightened and repeated very slowly, “Tell me from whence you came.”

Finally, John thought, a breakthrough. He will tell this helpful but strange person where he’s from; he’ll get to another house that has a telephone and get himself rescued. He picked up his driver’s license, pointed to the address and repeated the name of the town on the gulf coast where he was presently living. The Elf shrugged his shoulders. John pressed, “It’s on the gulf coast of Mississippi”. Nilme responded “Mississs..?” “You know,” John continued. “In the U.S.A.” “Yoo-Esss-Ayyy?” Nilme answered in an uncomprehending voice, and then asked if John came from “beyond the Eastern Mountains.”

Frustration began to build again. John asked, “Do you have a map?” Nilme indicated that he did and retreated into the house. He returned a moment later with a rolled scroll of parchment. He unrolled it and showed John a hand-drawn map of Beleriand and the lands of northwest Middle-earth. John studied it, confusion growing within him. The lettering was in a fine beautiful script but he couldn’t place with any written language he had ever seen. And although he knew his world geography pretty well, the depicted lands depicted on this map was of no coastline he knew.

With a sickening feeling in his stomach, John got up from the couch with the aid of the piece of driftwood. He hobbled to the edge of the patio that overlooked the ocean. “Where I am from,” he prompted to Nilme. The Elf nodded his head eagerly. John pointed to the horizon at the setting sun and said emphatically “U.S.A.”.

[chrysophalax]

An unbelieving eyebrow was lifted as John pointed to the West, apparently claiming that was his homeland. He was on the verge of kneeling to him, when Linwen came walking down the path which led back up the slight hill behind her dwelling. She was bearing a basket filled with fragrant flowers and several herbs, nearly full to over-flowing. Nilme called out a greeting and went to her, speaking rapidly as he gestured to where John sat impatiently.

"Linwen, I found him on the beach. He's injured, lost and he says he comes from the West! Is that possible? He's not an Elf...I don't know...will you help him?" She cut him off with a laugh. "Nilme...so foolish, of course I will! You spent far too many years cloistered away with Eol, my friend! It's obvious to anyone with eyes that he is one of the Edain and as for coming from the West..." Here she looked the man over critically. "There could be many islands of which we have no knowledge. Perhaps he comes from one of those." She knelt down next to the man, who looked at her in fascination. She too had gracefully pointed ears and was taller than most women he knew of. However it was her eyes that held him. Silvery grey they were, filled with wisdom far beyond anything he'd ever imagined. He would have found himself attracted to her, but while she appeared quite young, the eyes told him that she, like Nilme, were deceptive in their looks.

She looked at him questioningly as she knelt beside him and he cautiously nodded. He'd never been triaged like this before! He grimaced as she carefully explored his cuts and abrasions first, then his knee. Her brow furrowed she she probed gently, bending it slowly. John bit his lip to keep from crying out as she manipulated the knee carefully. He was sweating by the time she finished. She spoke softly to Nilme, then picked up the basket and went inside. Nilme came over to where John sat grumbling, then crouched at his side. "Linwen will help you." he said, speaking carefully. "She tells me that you are atan , one of the Followers. Perhaps your island is one not on our maps. Tell me of this place. It may help to distract you while she tends your hurts."

[baragund]

It took a moment for John to find his voice when the second Elf approached him. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Her hair was the color of honey and she wore it in a single braid that extended almost to her waist. Her skin was a lighter shade of the same hue and contained not the slightest blemish, freckle or imperfection. But it was her silvery-gray eyes that held him. They gleamed like they had a light of their own and they seemed to peer through him as if he were made of glass, seeing every thought, fear, feeling, memory and desire he had. This effect was at first frightening and he had an impulse to turn away, run and hide. But within a couple of seconds, this fear was replaced by a feeling of reassurance, of well being, of understanding that she was aware of his flaws and nevertheless welcomed him.

Those warm feelings were in turn quickly replaced by sharp pain as she started manipulating his knee but it seemed to him that she knew exactly what she was doing so he did his best to cooperate. Presently, she finished her examination retreated into the house to fetch some medicines. As he stared after her, he realized Nilme was speaking to him in that strange yet pleasant accent. ‘Atan’, ‘followers’, ‘my island’: Things that made that nagging feeling of unease grow in the back of his mind.

“My island?” he murmured and the Elf nodded. John thought for a moment. Is it possible that this person never heard of America? How can that be unless you are some kind of hermit or a pygmy in the deepest part of the Amazon or someplace? And Nilme certainly is neither of those. So John started to describe landmarks and other things that he thought anybody who didn’t live under a rock their entire lives would recognize: The Statue of Liberty, baseball, McDonalds, Niagara Falls, the Beach Boys, the Grand Canyon, the Golden Gate Bridge, Coca-cola to name a few. Incomprehension and a growing look of amazement etched Nilme’s face as John talked.

Linwen returned bearing a broad stoneware basin and long strips of soft cloth. The basin was filled with steaming hot water that looked like it was steeped with herbs of some kind. An aroma unique but vaguely reminiscent of cardamom filled the patio area that soon made John feel extremely relaxed. The Elf knelt in front of John and began dipping the strips of cloth into the warm water and tightly wrapping them around his injured knee. A feeling of warmth soon began to penetrate to the center of the knee joint but it was soothing and pleasant, unlike the harsh heat from, say, Ben-Gay or some other muscle-ache salve one would get at a drugstore. “Your knee is strained but there is nothing broken,” she told him. “I will change these wrappings every few hours and in a couple of days you will be able to walk.”

Already he could feel the ligaments in his knee loosening. As she worked, he found it hard not to stare at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the scent from the herbed water but before he knew what he was saying, he found himself blurting out stupidly, “Your ears and your husband’s. How did you have them done? Was it surgery or are they prosthetics?”

Linwen stopped, gazed at John in the eye with a curious look, then over at Nilme. Then the two Elves erupted in laughter that had that same sound of pealing bells. John felt at once sheepish but not humiliated for the joyous sound of their laughter had no trace of malice or mockery in it. “We are not joined, Johnbates,” Nilme told him. “I am only sojourning here for a short time. But what you ask is so strange! All of the people here appear thus. It is you Atani, you Followers, who appear different, with rounded ears and hair on your face and body like a Naugrim.”

The soothing effect of the scented water was being replaced with a sickening feeling in John’s stomach and his throat felt like it was being squeezed. With a tight sounding voice he asked, “And who are you people? Why do you call me Follower? And what the hell is a Naugrim?”

Again the two Elves looked at each other. This time Linwen spoke: “Well, Nilme is one of Eol’s people, so he is Avari. I of course am one of Cirdan’s people so I am Teleri but we are both Quendi naturally, just like Finrod, to whom your forefathers pledged allegiance.” She saw a vacant look of incomprehension in John’s eyes. She and Nilme spoke to each other in their own language for a moment, then she continued in a matter-of-fact voice, “I believe the word in your tongue for Quendi is Elves.”

[chrysophalax]

John's jaw dropped open. "Elves? ohhhhhhhhhhhkay..." He rolled his eyes and eased himself back on the couch. Glancing at each other, the Elves sat down near him, the better to answer his questions. Nilme spoke first. "We are the Children of Iluvatar, the Firstborn. You are Atani, the Secondborn, a Follower. Naugrim are..." Here he looked to Linwen and he spoke a question in his won melodious tongue, then nodded. John could have sworn he heard..."Dwarves, I believe you would call them. You look much like them with the hair on your face and chest."

The looks and the sense they were both getting from John told them he was as lost as they were. Drawing a deep breath, Nilme closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. "It is always wise to begin a tale, or a friendship at the beginning. Therefore, I will tell you of our beginning, if you will." John waved his hand expansively. "Sure, go ahead! I should have known...a cult...Children of Iluvatar... " He snorted, then was suddenly chastened by the look on Linwen's face. "Go ahead.." he mumbled.

Nilme's countenance took on a serene expression as he spoke, his words unfolding like a treasured scroll long denied the light. "Iluvatar created this...Arda...the world upon which we live and breathe. We live in the land of Beleriand and that...is the Bay of Belagaer." He said, pointing to the westering sun. We are the Firstborn...first made of Iluvatar...and you...all the Atani came after. You are the first I have encountered. I sojourn at times with Linwen when my steps bring me to the sea, but oftimes I travel east of here, in Doriath where I dwelt for so long with my master, Eol. I was among the first to awaken in the east."

A flash of humour lit his face. "How old do you think me?" John looked Nilme over for a few minutes, then shrugged. "Thirty?" Silvery laughter made his ears burn. "You flatter me! I am many millenia old and will continue on for many millenia after this day has passed. In truth, none of those who first awakened know their true age, for time has only been measured since the appearance of the Sun."

[baragund]

The rational side of John’s mind was screaming at him that all of this was a hoax, that these were kind people but they were odd recluses or cultists. But then he studied their faces, which looked youthful but also had a depth he could not explain, and he was not sure. His surroundings, which did not fit into anything he could think of, added to this doubt. Even the stars, which now began to shine with the deepening dusk and displayed that otherworldly brightness that he noticed the previous night, stopped him from making any more skeptical remarks. As he looked at the stars, a thought seized him.

“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself. “I didn’t get through last night. It was so cold. I must have slipped off the cooler and drowned. I’m dead and I passed on to… where?”

“No, you have not passed,” Linwen said in a soothing voice. She calmed him by placing her hand reassuringly on his shoulder. “But I think you have come from afar. Tell us, from the beginning, from whence you came.”

“You’re right,” he said slowly. “It’s best to start at the beginning.”

[baragund]

“But tales are meant to be told on a full stomach, and I daresay you could use a good meal,” Nilme interjected.

At the mention of food, John’s stomach began to growl and he began to realize he was feeling a little shaky from hunger. After all, he had not eaten since breakfast the previous day. Linwen produced a quite serviceable crutch and, with help from the Elves, John hobbled into the house.

The interior of the house was as comfortable and inviting as the outside. The doorway that connected the patio to the house led to a kind of sitting room or study. Deep overstuffed armchairs were gathered about an inviting stone fireplace while bookshelves and a writing desk lined the walls. A seascape painting occupied the wall above the fireplace that included sailing ships of a kind John had never seen before. They were reminiscent of Viking longboats but much more graceful and beautiful. And instead of the prow being fashioned to look like a dragon or gargoyle, these mimicked swans. On another wall hung a painting of a medieval battle scene; with one army of people who appeared like Nilme, but who appeared filled with a terrible rage and the other army of… he was not sure what. They did not appear quite human. Indeed, they appeared almost like gargoyles or something like a child would have nightmares about. It appeared in the painting that the army of people that resembled Nilme and Linwen was decisively beating these…beings.

The Elves deposited John in one of the armchairs and propped his leg on an ottoman. Nilme began to build a fire in the hearth to ward of the evening chill while Linwen retreated to the kitchen. “Nilme, I really appreciate everything you two are doing for me,” John said as the Elf worked. “I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know what happened to me. This place doesn’t look like any place I know. Not in person, not in books, not on TV. Not knowing what’s going on scares me and if I sound like a jerk, that’s the reason. But I am thankful that you two are being so nice to me.”

“I can see you are uncertain, and that frightens you,” Nilme responded. “But I think after we break bread together and talk fully and freely, we will understand each other better.”

Nilme went back to building the fire without saying anything more. John looked at the books lining the shelves and dully shook his head as he realized that the print on all of their spines were in the same alien hieroglyphs he saw on the map the Elf showed him.

Soon a cheerful blaze was crackling in the fireplace and candles were lit. At about the time Nilme finished his work, Linwen returned to the study carrying platters of cold meats, cheese, bread, butter, salad and pitchers of a mead-like drink. John ate and drank with relish and he had to try pretty hard not to wolf his food, but eventually he had his fill. Between the full stomach, warm fire, the mead and the aromatic wrappings around his knee, he was now feeling very relaxed and some of the anxiety had ebbed.

But despite feeling better and despite Linwen’s earlier reassurance, he still semi-believed he had drowned the previous night. He had a feeling that he entered some kind of afterlife and that Linwen and Nilme were his guardian angels perhaps? Or maybe they will judge him, like Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates? As he drained his second goblet of mead, he decided to tell them everything about him.

So he told them the story of his life as a confessional. He described his childhood as the youngest son in a large family growing up in the suburbs of New York. He talked about his coming of age, his enlistment in the U.S. Navy after high school, going to college and his career. He talked about the times where he behaved badly: The time when he was an altar boy and he stole a bottle of communion wine and used it to get drunk with a buddy in the church parking lot. The times when he cheated on exams. The time he hit on his best friend’s girlfriend in college. He confessed a short temper, a tendency to judge and a lack of charity as his biggest personality flaws. He talked about his fiancée and how it was a marriage of convenience and a strategic alliance: He was marrying into one of the oldest families on the Gulf Coast and she was marrying an upwardly mobile professional in a lucrative and powerful business.

And then he described the events that brought him to these strange shores. The fishing trip, the unexplained break-down of the boats’ engines and instruments, the sudden storm, the boat being swamped and his separation from his companions, floating alone through the night, the appearance of the stars and the never-before-seen constellation in the northern sky, the strange yet majestic watch-tower he saw from off-shore and finally his landing on the beach.

As he talked, he made frequent allusions to the world he knew. He described suburban life with its’ tract housing, shopping malls, highways and automobiles. He talked about life in the military and his service on a destroyer. He described the cities and the countryside of the eastern United States where he lived or visited. He talked about his job as a construction engineer on a billion dollar oil refinery.

The fire had burned down to embers by the time he finished. When he brought his hosts up to the point where they rescued him on the beach, his voice was hoarse. Silence filled the room. He poured himself another goblet of mead, took a long drink, looked at the two Elves and asked in a nervous voice, “Well, what’s to happen to me? Did I lead a good enough life to be let in?”

[chrysophalax]

The two Elves exchanged glances as John looked at them, concern and anxiety in every line of his body. Nilme moved to sit beside him. "John, we are not here to judge you. You have not gone to Mandos, if indeed your kind can enter therein. You are in Beleriand which lies in Middle Earth. The sea is Belegaer which glitters in the dying rays of the sun. I beg you, calm yourself. You have suffered much and rest is what you need."

Linwen rose soundlessly, vanishing into the darkening house as Nilme assisted John to his feet. "Come, mellon. Sleep yet awhile. We will watch over you, you need have no fear. Once you have rested, I will do all I can to help you find your way." John nodded wearily as he slowly made his way through Linwen's home. Even in his current state of exhaustion, he couldn't help but appreciate the simple touches of beauty throughtout the small abode. Here a wind-chime of shells, bits of horn and wood tinkled, moved by the light evening breeze...and there, a harp-like instrument leaned in the corner. He sighed as they entered a small sleeping area at the back of the house. Soothing candlelight and a sleeping pallet piled with furs almost made his eyes drift shut of their own accord and he swayed where he stood.

Nilme's arm steadied him and the Elves made him comfortable as he gingerly lowered himself onto the pallet. His mind wanted, needed to know more, needed to find the answers to all his questions and he struggled briefly to stay awake, the thought occurring to him that he was being entirely too trusting. At Linwen's urging, Nilme left the room and she spoke to John softly, setting a pitcher of cool water and a cup on the table beside his bed. Weariness took him at last and he drifted, listening as the gentle sound of the harp came to his ears, a sound he found oddly comforting.

Linwen watched John's eyes close in sleep, then left the room to join Nilme as he sat near her hearth, his fingers deftly plucking the strings of her instrument. He greeted her with a smile as she sat across from him. "Tell me what you're thinking, my lady."

[Mirelena]

Concern etched the features of the fair elf as she drew near to Nilme. She was consumed by the appearance of 'John.' He was unlike any Linwen had met before, few though they had been. This man, while he resembled the Edain in body, seem foreign in spirit. They were strong, innocent and at peace with themselves. John, in contrast, was deeply supicious, agitated and self-conscious.

"Tell me what you're thinking, my lady." Nilme's voice broke through her reverie.

Linwen kneeled down, leaning lightly upon a large cusion and repeated her thoughts. Then her face broke into a smile as she added, "Though I cannot say I would feel differently were I him." Linwen's musical laughter stole out softly in the darkening room. Oustide she could see the brilliant stars, pinpricks in the vastness of the heavens, cast faint shadows upon the earth with their frosty light.

"His body is weary," Nilme said, "Perhaps after a night of rest, he will see things differently."

The healer nodded. "I believe he may have been soothed by your skill with the harp," Linwen hesitated a moment before continuing. "Perhaps you have soothed others, sir minstrel? Your master, Eöl, it is rumored, was troubled in spirit. Mayhap it is that you were destined to aid this man.
"I can heal his body, but his mind is beyond my skill as a healer. Herbs and salves can only do so much," she added wistfully. "But my home is his, as long as you stay."

[chrysophalax]

Nilme smiled wanly as he set aside the harp. He had cringed inwardly at the mention of Eol's name, for he would have given everything to be able to soothe his master's troubled, restless spirit. However, he also knew that without it, Eol would never have crafted such fine weapons, pouring into them his essence, much as Feanor had in his own handiwork. He raised his head and looked toward the door to the room where John lay now in fitful sleep.

"Your words are kind, Linwen, and I thank you for them, but neither healer nor minstrel am I. As my name implies, I am faithful to those whom I trust." With a sigh, he looked away...Trust, are there any I trust now? "But I will help him as I may. It would be cruelty not to." He slid his eyes to look at her as a thought occurred to him. "He may stay as long as I remain? Why is that, Lady? I know you have sheltered many under your roof that needed succour for a time. My presence has never been a requirement before....or does his strangeness frighten you?" He shifted forward on his seat to look at her more closely and touched her hand. "I detect no evil in him, no more so than lies in any one of us. He is merely...alone."

Again a chord sounded deep within him as he spoke and he felt a sudden kinship with John. They were both lost, displaced, though under entirely different circumstances.

[Mirelena]

The almost imperceptible blanch in Nilme's expression did not escape the notice of Linwen. His pain was summed up in one word- "Alone." It hung like a vapor in the stillness, darkening her sight and numbing her; numbed even to the warmth of Nilme's hand upon her own.
The healer was suddenly struck by the irony of her calling. To have the gift of restoring a body, but not a spirit. Linwen had a special love for all things living and a love for natural beauty. It showed in all she did. Her home was a reflection of herself. Again she was forced to recognize the sadness that tainted everything she did. The ability to restore in body only... That was her grief.

The silence grew stifling as Linwen flushed with shame and lowered her gaze. Nilme still awaited answers to his questions. Why did she ask her friend to stay? Was she so disquieted by the appearance of the stranger that she would fear to be alone with him?
Nilme's words echoed faintly in her memory, No evil in him... The fire snapped and popped, casting dancing shadows upon their faces as Linwen replied in a soft voice.
"Though I must confess a certain unease in the presence of the Edain, the source of my concern has little to do with himself. I wonder what is to happen to him. Those who dwell under my roof come only for a time. They seek healing and rest, and when they have found it, they go.
"It shall be no different with this one. I do not think he would remain long content in my home. Where then would he go? What would he do? I do not foresee him finding his home by returning over the sea.
"You know that I rarely travel abroad. I would be of little help to even point him in the right direction!"

Suddenly, Linwen laughed at the humor of it all. Her own self-pity that now seemed so distant and the strangeness of John, so far from everything he had ever known (What he must be thinking!) struck her as amusing. The darkness lifted from her sight and she again felt warmth and life in her blood. She felt merry and as she smiled she said, "Give me my harp, my friend..."

[chrysophalax]

Distractedly, Nilme caught up the harp and handed it to Linwen, who began tuning it to suit her higher voice. He then rose and wandered back toward the bedroom where John lay sleeping. Soon, a sound of soft music filled the small cottage, causing Nilme to smile briefly. Never at ease, ever eager to set his feet to new pathways, he leaned against the opening to where the man lay sleeping and wondered what would come of this chance rescue.

John's chest rose and fell slowly, sleeping the sleep of the totally exhausted. Having satisfied himself that the man was well, Nilme walked back through the main area of the cottage and out into the night. A light breeze lifted his hair, making it waft like a banner behind him. Stars shone above him. Every night he sang a song of remembrance to them, the first light to greet the eyes of the Elves upon waking in the East. As he sang, his heart was gladdened to hear that Linwen's ear had caught his music and had quickly adapted her playing to compliment him. He felt certain that the stars turning above him delighted not in his song as much as he reveled in their beauty, but he cared not, as long as he able to tell them.

A sudden melancholy crept into the song as his thoughts turned again to John. How would he, Nilme, react were he to find himself washed ashore in a land, in a time he had no reckoning of? The words faltered and died on his lips as the enormity of the man's situation sank in. What if there is no returning for him? What if he is an exile here, separated from his kin, from everything he has ever known...how will he live with that knowledge? Icy fingers of fate closed about him and he shivered, though the wind held no chill.

Dawn would find him gazing out across the water from the cliff's edge, wondering why Ulmo had chosen him to guide this stranger from a land far stranger than his own.

[baragund]

That was probably the soundest and deepest night’s sleep John Bates had ever experienced. It was the kind of dreamless sleep where it seemed he had closed his eyes for a brief moment when in fact many hours passed. But his waking was gradual. First he was aware that he was awake while his eyes were still shut. He listened to the distant murmur of the surf, a gentle breeze whispering in the trees outside and blowing through an open window, the song of meadowlarks, the tinkle of wind chimes. He smelled the fresh sea air enhanced by a subtle scent of blossoms. He felt the softness of the bed linens under his body.

At first he thought he was back in Bermuda in the bedroom of the beach house he had rented with his fiancée Jennifer. But then he opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a small bedroom with wood paneled walls, a wooden beamed ceiling and candle sconces on the walls. A small wardrobe and writing table stood against one wall. The open window looked inland into a primeval forest. At that moment he noticed the dull throb in his right knee, looked down and saw the cloth wrappings. Then the memory of the last two days flooded back to him. “Idiot!” he muttered to himself when he recalled the part where he stated to his rescuers his belief that he had died. The ache from his knee, the sting from his sunburn and other assorted minor hurts from his being shipwrecked told him pretty clearly he had not left his body… yet.

He got to his feet and found, if he was careful, that he could put weight on his injured leg. He gingerly walked to the window and took in his surroundings. He studied the trees that were for the most part recognizable varieties but they were enormous, as if they were hundreds of years old. Yet they had a vibrancy, as if each one of them had been dosed with Miracle Grow each year of their existence, that was not found in any forest he had ever known. It was becoming clear to him that this place was like no place he knew on God’s green earth. Then he thought about his hosts, Nilme and Linwen, and his brow knitted further in concentration. They too were different. Like the trees, they seemed to him youthfully vibrant yet old and wizened at the same time. “Elves?” he asked himself. The term conjured ridiculous images of Tinker Bell and Santa’s helpers. These people were no more like that than he was, but they had an otherworldly quality he could not put his finger on.

Turning his mind back to figuring out where he was, he recalled the history of unexplained disappearances on the seas west and south of Bermuda, of planes and ships that vanish without a trace, of compasses and other navigation equipment going haywire, of whales and migrating fish losing their sense of direction. There were hypotheses that The Bermuda Triangle was some kind of portal to another world or another time. Was that what happened to him and his fishing boat? Given the only other alternatives he could think of were death and insanity, this was becoming a more palatable option.

He turned from the window, crossed the room and opened the door leading from his bedroom to the rest of the cottage. Other than the tinkle of the wind chime all was quiet. He made his way down a short corridor to the kitchen where he found Nilme seated at the table reading a book in the same alien script he noticed last night in the study.

“Hey there,” John said in friendly greeting as he sat down. “I’m feeling a lot better now, but I would kill for a strong cup of coffee. Does Linwen have any?”

[chrysophalax]

An elegant eyebrow arched upward as Nilme glanced up at John next to him. "Coffee?" John lowered himself carefully onto the bench across from Nilme. "You know...coffee. A drink brewed from coffee beans grown in South...nevermind, forget it." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to show his impatience with the situation. No coffee...perfect!

"Would there be breakfast then?" he asked hopefully. Glad that John was up and walking again, Nilme set aside the book and went to the window under which the table sat and spoke rapidly to someone outside whom John suspected was Linwen. His suspicions were confirmed as she entered the cottage through the back entryway a few moments later, bearing a basket brimming with fruit and what looked like a second cousin to the tomato.

Her face was flushed, her smile brilliant as she greeted both of them, Nilme with a chaste kiss on the cheek and John with a light pat on the shoulder. John grinned at her, his mouth beginning to water as the smell of fresh berries reached his nostrils. Nilme had gone to fetch bowls, mugs and a pitcher of some kind of fruit juice, all of which he brought to the table on a large wooden tray. John sat back as he watched the Elves, marvelling at their grace as they wove back and forth past each other in such a small space without spilling or dropping anything.

His thoughts began to drift to intimate dinners he and Jennifer had made together, brushing against each other, teasing and whispering...No! He closed his eyes briefly. It would do no good to think along those lines now...He opened his eyes to see two concerned faces looking back at him. He drew a steadying breath, then reached for a mug, which Nilme filled with the ruby-coloured liquid. John sniffed it cautiously, then sipped it. It's taste was tart and sweet at once and before he knew it, he was holding out his mug for more.

A small tray of honey-cakes caught John's attention as Nilme and Linwen served him fruit from the basket before serving each other. Cakes soon followed juice, then berries that tasted vaguely like raspberries. "I'm pleased to see your appetite restored. You mend quickly!" John grinned at her as she turned to Nilme and tapped him on the arm. "And you...you were outside on the cliff brooding all night. Does something trouble you, mellon-nin?"

Nilme carefully cleared his throat. "Nay, Linwen...nothing. I was...watching the stars." John hadn't risen swiftly up the corporate ladder without knowing something about character and Nilme's words rang false to him. What was the Elf hiding?

[baragund]

John watched the two Elves with quiet admiration as they worked together in the kitchen. They moved together as if each knew the next move of the other ahead of time, or as if their motions were choreographed. “Either they’ve been living together for decades or they can read each other’s minds,” he thought to himself. This scene of domestic tranquility made him recall Jennifer, his parents, his brothers and sisters, and he closed his eyes, giving in for a moment to a feeling of helplessness, that he would never see his home or the people he loved ever again.

When he opened his eyes and saw his hosts watching him with curious expressions, he blushed, feeling rather embarrassed. He owed his life to these people and they were showing him such kindness, he did not want to seem difficult or ungrateful.

The breakfast of delicious but somewhat alien fruits and cakes allowed him to bring his mind to the current situation. If he could learn more about the surrounding area, maybe he would find a clue or a reference to the world he knew. When Nilme spoke about watching the stars last night, an idea came into John’s head. “Are you interested in Astronomy?” he asked. So far, the night sky was one of the few things that were common between this place and the world he knew.

“As-tron-o-my”, Nilme sounded out the word slowly. Obviously, the term was not known to the Elf. “You know,” John pressed. “The study of the heavens, the stars, the cosmos. It’s a bit of a hobby of mine. I’ve always enjoyed the night sky and I know the basic constellations. The other night when I was floating out there,” he jutted his chin in the direction of the ocean, “I had a lot of time to stare at the sky. Where I live, the sky is the same as here except for two things. For one thing, I’ve never seen the stars so bright! Now I’ve spent time at sea and in the country where no light from nearby towns would dim them but here they are so bright, you can practically read by their light. And second, there are seven particularly bright stars in the northern sky that are in the shape of an arc, or a sickle maybe. I’ve never seen that constellation before. Do you have any idea what might explain those things?

“Also, I saw the most amazing structure yesterday morning as I was reaching land. It was a tower of some sort or a maybe monument, located a few miles south of here high on a headland and it has a commanding view of the ocean on three sides. It’s huge, at least 500 feet tall and based on the stonework and styling, it should be ancient but it looks like it was built just a short time ago. Either that or it's been restored. Who built it, and what purpose does it serve, and how long has it been there?”

[chrysophalax]

Glad to have escaped any enquiries into his comments, Nilme spoke up quickly. "It gladdens my heart to know you enjoy the lights of Varda as well. The sign you see in the night sky is the Sickle of Varda, set there as a warning to Melkor, he of evil name. We speak of him with hatred for he it was that...along with Ungoliant, a foul spirit in spider-form, drained the light of the Two Trees, so it has been said...though I was never blessed to have seen them.

Linwen's face took on a look of sorrow at the mention of the Trees and Nilme reached out and took her hand. "Forgive me, Linwen, I should never have spoken thus in such a peaceful dwelling as this." He turned again to John. "I see that I speak of that which you have no understanding, forgive me once more. You are...a new experience for me. I will attempt to explain more fully."

Nilme leaned across the rough-hewn table ashe began to speak in earnest. "Varda is one of the Valar, as is Melkor. There are many Valar, all of which took part in the Music which sang everything into being...even myself. I am among those who first beheld the stars and I have always loved them. Linwen was born to this world, here on Arda, whereas I have no sire save the Music. Many have been the battles Valar have fought amongst themselves...and death has even touched some few of us as well. You see...we are deathless, John. We cannot die, save by sorrow or some mortal hurt. You Edain have been given what some whave called a gift, the gift of Death. I myself wish to never discover this gift of your people."

His face grew dark and he feared that he would make the others uncomfortable as well. " No story-teller am I, for my thoughts drift and have no reason. It has been far too long since I have been in the company of others." He sighed. "I...have neglected my friends. I should go and see to them. They sometimes become restive if I become distracted by other things." He grinned for a moment. "They are much like younglings at times. Linwen...please, tell John of the tower. I will return soon." The Elf left quickly and they heard a piercing whistle outside as he called the falcons to him. John and Linwen were left looking at one other awkwardly, uncertain what had darkened Nilme's mood yet again.

[Mirelena]

Linwen was as intrigued by John as he was of she and Nilme. Even while she was preparing breakfast, she could hardly take her eyes off him. The initial shock had worn off, along with her instinct to comfort and care for. In its place there was an almost childish excitement.
So strange, so foreign, so... Different.

The feeling was very similar to when she was small. Everything was new and wonderful. Her blush escaped the notice of her guests as she somehow channeled that energy into her role as hostess. The expression she wore as she seated herself at the table was a mask of cool composure.
The healer expressed her gladness that her ward was mending well. He had a goodly appetite! She briefly wondered if she had prepared enough. Her thoughts then turned to her other visitor.

Nilme had always been quiet, but his mood was darker than it had been for any of his other stays. Linwen felt that John had something to do with it. She wondered again what the future might hold for these two. She felt strongly that they had been fated to meet and, at least for a time, journey together.
Linwen was saddened that Nilme did not trust her enough to confide his disquiet, but she was not offended either. Time heals all wounds, she thought, but whether it heals well or ill...

When Nilme and John discovered they had simliar interests, the lady smiled. John asked many questions and Nilme would answer, but soon his disposition shifted like the wind and he was making his excuses and retreating from their presence. John watched the tall elf until he turned a corner and was lost to sight.

"'They are much like younglings?'" he repeated to Linwen with a look of curiosity. "What was he talking about?"

"Nilme finds pleasure in many things. The heavens, as you know, weaponry and falconing. He caught a pair of fledglings many years ago and their descendants belong to him still. They keep him company in his travels."

"A man of many talents, huh?" John asked.

"Indeed," Linwen replied with a brief smile. Her expression became somber again as she continued, "Now, your other questions about the tower. It was built by the Lords Finrod and Cirdan. It was they that built the havens of Brithombar, which lies nigh to the south on the river Brithon, and also Eglarest. The name of the tower is Barad Nimras, Tower of the White Horn. It watches the sea to the West, a sentinel against our enemy. Nilme has told you of the Valar and the one named Melkor," Linwen shuddered before she was able to continue. "You cannot know how much horror even the mention of his name inspires. His deeds are great and terrible. When the elves dwelt under the stars, without light of sun or moon, we lived in fear of his malice. Many are the stories of the loss of a loved one to the deep darkness. We did not know what became of them until they returned, broken by cruelty in body and spirit, not knowing who they were.
"Blinded by pain, fear and hatred, they devastated everything beautiful. They became slaves to his will, hating even their own kind. I cannot even imagine the-" Linwen choked on a sob before she could finish.

John lowered his eyes, shocked and embarrassed. He was amazed at the story she wove for him. This was their history! Something John would have imagined in a horror film back home was what they lived with. He felt clumsy with his knee raised and wrapped heavily in poultices. He wished he could comfort the distraught elf, but some hacked sense of prudence prevented him.

"I- I'm sorry," he muttered lamely.

Linwen shook her head, then looked at him and smiled. "No. I am sorry. I shouldn't have troubled you, of all people, with my own fears and sadnesses. I am sorry."

John cleared his throat, trying to fill the heavy silence. "What, um, what purpose did you say it served and how long has it stood?"

"It is a sentinel against our Enemy," Linwen repeated, more brisquely this time, "I do not know how best to tell you how long it has stood. I have heard that men reckon time far differenly than the elves. I suppose that you would best understand it to be nigh on two hundred years of men."

[baragund]

John was concerned that he said something to cause Nilme’s abrupt exit. “I’m sorry,” he told Linwen after the other Elf departed. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”

“Nay,” Linwen replied soothingly. “Your words did not offend. But your presence here is as puzzling to us as it must be to you. Still, Nilme has been preoccupied of late.” This last part she murmured, almost to herself. Something was bothering her longtime companion and she worried for him.

Brightening, she encouraged her guest to help himself to more breakfast and then announced that the wrappings on his knee needed to be changed. As she set about preparing the warm aromatic liquid that aided the healing, John decided to broach what has tying his brain in knots. He had to get off his chest the sheer incredibility of this entire situation.

Nilme’s talk of being ‘among those who first beheld the stars’, and of being “deathless” was still too much to fit into John’s perception of reality. Then there was Nilme’s description of these ‘Valar’. They sounded to John like gods of some sort, but gods that lived in a physical place, in this world, and that one could go visit them.

“Linwen,” he began earnestly as she started to place fresh wrappings on his knee. “You need to know that, where I come from, there are no such thing as Valar, and there are no such thing as Elves, or Quendi. And I suspect there are other things here that do not exist in my world. Yes, the term Elves exists, but they are known to me and my people as nothing more than myths, fantasies, the stuff of children’s stories. As for these Valar, they also do not exist where I come from. Depending on how we are raised, we have our own beliefs regarding gods or, for most people, a single God. But where I’m from, the only sentient beings that exist are what you call Edain.

“If you are telling the truth, and I have not completely lost my mind, then I must be in a fundamentally different place…or time I guess.”

He paused a moment then continued, “You mentioned the names of those Lords who built that tower I saw, Finrod and Cirdan. Who are the current rulers or Lords in this area? Maybe they traveled throughout what you know your world to be. Maybe they know enough to, I dunno, help me get back home or at least explain how I got here.

[Mirelena]

Now it was Linwen's turn to be confused and bewildered. As she wiped her hands on a linen cloth, she tried to understand exactly what John wanted to know. To her surprise, she found it was a challenge to explain the things she had always known. Her reality was so far removed from his... Where to begin?

"I believe you to be sound in the mind," Linwen assured him, "Strangely displaced in body perhaps, but not deranged. Quite simply, neither Nilme nor I can find the words to explain to you just how different your world is from ours.

"The Falas, or coasts," she said deliberately, "Belong to Cirdan. Finrod has lent him aid many times in the past. They rule their lands in watchful peace and will do so until this world ends. The elves are deathless, John. Perhaps you do not fully grasp the meaning of that. There are those, like Nilme, who have been alive longer than time has been counted."

In the contemplative silence that followed, one of Nilme's falcons called to the other as they soared lazily in the clear sky overhead. The sound faded into the incessant rush of the waves, the cool breeze blowing in from the vast sea and the lonely cry of a seagull.

"Our worlds may be almost completely different," John said, "But some things seem to be the same no matter where you go. The ocean, pesky birds on the beach, and-"

"And dishes that need washing, I'm sure!" Linwen said, laughing softly. "Come, we can talk more as I clear the table.
"If it truly is your wish," she continued while gathering the empty bowls, "I think that we can arrange for you to take a journey to the city of Brithombar. It may be that you must continue on to Eglarest to find Cirdan. Perhaps then you will come closer to finding the answers you seek.”

[baragund]

A week passed before John’s leg was healed sufficiently to make the journey to Elgarest. During this time, the two Elves started to understand just how alien their guest was to them, even for an Edain. Everyday activities would lead to a discussion that would leave Linwen and Nilme shaking their heads in wonder or dismay. One such exchange took place as Nilme returned from a morning of hunting. John was exploring the forest surrounding Linwen’s house, testing how far he could push his knee without re-injuring it.

“You look like a passable Teleri wearing my old cloak but you need to shave. And you make more noise in the forest than an entire company on parade!” Nilme laughed.

John was startleded so badly he jumped. The Elf had come up behind him completely silent. “God, you scared me,” he exclaimed after hurling a few epithets. But it was all in good nature and soon the two were laughing and joking.

Nilme was holding a wild turkey in one hand and his bow and quiver were slung over his other shoulder. “I see you bow hunt,” John stated, obviously impressed.

“Of course,” Nilme replied. “How else would I shoot game like this?”

“Well, don’t you have a shotgun?”

“What is ‘shot-gun’?”

John blinked stupidly for a moment, not comprehending that someion who can live off the land does not know what a shotgun is. “You know, like a rifle?” Nilme shook his head. “Firearms?” Nothing. “Gunpowder?” Still nothing.

So John proceeded to explain the operating principles of firearms, of their beginnings during renaissance times and how they evolved over the centuries, of how common they are and how armies have used them exclusively to fight wars.

When he finished, Nilme was staring at him with a mixture of amazement and fear. “These weapons that hurl projectiles by fire of which you speak, they sound like some evil conjured by Morgoth!”

“I don’t know about this ‘Morgoth’ fellow,” John said. “Gunpowder came to us from the Chinese and we simply built on that to invent these weapons and then refine and advance them over the generations.”

[chrysophalax]

Shuddering at the thought of such destruction, Nilme shook his head, trying to clear the images conjured in his mind by John's words. "How can you live in such a place? Life to we, the Eldar, is eternal, sacred. This...gunpowder, these weapons of which you speak could steal the lives of many at a single stroke." The implications of what John had said filled him with sadness and horror. He slung the turkey over his shoulder and began to head back to Linwen's cottage, moving slowly so that John could keep up.

"You heal swiftly, my friend. Perhaps it is time to satisfy some of your curiosity. Would you wish to visit Cirdan?" John's footsteps faltered. Nilme turned to glance at him as a look of puzzlement spread across John's face. "Cirdan? Linwen told me about him. Shouldn't he be dead?" Nilme grinned, then chuckled. "Cirdan and I are the same age, John...we have been on Arda many generations of the Edain. Indeed...I know not truly how old I am by your standards. However, I do know that if you wish to learn more of my people...and perhaps, your own, I ask you to come with me."

In companionable silence, they returned to Linwen's cottage and as she prepared it, Nilme spoke further of his decision to move on. "If you can ride, we will travel overland to Eglarest. There you will meet others like myself and Cirdan, who is counted wise among us. As you sleep, I will travel to an acquaintance of mine. He owes me a debt and I will ask him to repay me by lending me his horse. If you can manage, you will ride. If not, we can go double. Are you able?"

[baragund]

“I would very much like to go to this place ‘Eglaraest’”, John told Nilme as the three of them prepared dinner. John knew his way around a kitchen and he was eager to repay some of the kindness his hosts have shown him over the past week. He had prepared an herbed stuffing for the bird and a dry rub of seasonings. A delicious aroma filled Linwen’s cottage as the turkey slowly roasted in the kitchen hearth.

Despite the camaraderie of preparing a meal together, John sensed a distance had developed between him and the Elves since he told them of the nature of warfare and their weapons. The Elves were still pleasant but they were more reserved, almost fearful, in how they addressed him. He tried to address the matter as they took their supper. They were seated around a small table on the lawn beside the cottage beneath the shade of a gigantic oak, glimpses of the western sea’s horizon could be seen through the trees.

“I’ve told you about some of the more unpleasant aspects of my people,” he began, not sure how to address such a sprawling topic as human nature. “We have fought many horrendous wars throughout our history; wars that I think would make your ‘Battle Under Stars’ and your ‘Glorious Battle’ look pretty tame. But you need to know that is not all what we ‘Edain’ (as you refer to us) are about. We create lovely works of art, music and literature. We love our children more than ourselves, we respect our parents and elders, and for every act of hate and cruelty, there is an act of love and kindness. For every wicked tyrant there are selfless statesmen who place the welfare of their people over his own.

“As for me, I’ve known love and hate, anger and joy and sadness. I’ve been generous and stingy, forgiving and ruthless, loving and vindictive. I try to be a good person and treat others the way I would like to be treated, but it’s not always easy, or it’s easy to forget. Most of my people are the same way. So I hope I haven’t painted an overly evil picture.”

John refilled his cup with wine before continuing. “So I hope you are still willing to take me to see your leader Cirdan. At least I can be led to where other ‘Edain’ dwell. But I must warn you. I’ve been on a horse only once before. If I need to go anywhere, I just hop in…my…car…”.

He rubbed his forehead in resignation as his last statement drew yet another look of complete bafflement from his hosts.

[Mirelena]

During a hushed discussion with Nilme, Linwen again began to feel apprehensive about allowing John to stay under her roof. Of all things the elves feared, treachery was the worst. John had described his people as fickle and prone to fits of passionate rage. Everything that loved order and peace rebelled in the healer's mind. But... She glanced at the man wrestling off a pair of boots that she had found that fit him. When he noticed her looking at him, he smiled and gave a nervous chuckle. I cannot believe they are all alike, she thought, smiling in return.

Even so, the evening meal was prepared and eaten in somewhat strained silence. Despite her fears, Linwen gave credit where credit was due. John's skill as a cook was worthy of admiration.

Linwen had grown more accustomed to the men lodging with her, so she was not afraid of silence. She finally felt free to listen and consider the picture the Edain before her sketched of his people. Not all alike... So very diverse. Indeed, we are not as different as we appear, I think. But the healer's confusion was compounded yet again when John mentioned 'his car.'

Of course, she thought with a smile as John sighed in frustration, It would be far less entertaining if we had everything in common.

Quickly hoping to ease the discomfort of the situation, Linwen brought the conversation around again.
"I have a horse you can ride, John," she said, touching his hand, "She is quite well behaved. Nilme can show you how to mount and hold your seat tomorrow while I pack satchels for your journey."

"Thank you, Linwen," Nilme said with a curt nod, "Two days."

*****

Later that evening, as the fire burned down to glowing, red embers, Linwen sat playing her instrument. She had tied herself so completely to the music that she didn't hear John leave his room and seat himself beside her. When she suddenly became aware of his presence, her hands faltered and the strings sounded dischordant. Promptly, she placed her palms flat on the strings to cease the noise.
"You surprised me," she said softly. Her eyes bore a hint of accusation.
"I didn't mean to," he replied while rising to his feet, "I got up for some water." He showed her his cup as evidence.
"Of course," she murmured, "Good night."
"Good night."
"John?"
Obligingly he halted and turned to face her, but she was distracted and silent. "Yes?" he prompted.
Still gazing at the distant images in her mind she continued, "I believe you shall find what you seek. Be willing to learn along the way. You often discover truth in surprising places."
When it became obvious she would say no more, John returned to his bed. Deep, soothing sleep enveloped him as the harp, played by unseen hands, filled his dreams.

[baragund]

The next few days saw John and Nilme preparing for a long journey. Bedrolls, extra clothing, food, skins filled with clear water, tools and other supplies sufficient for a journey of many days were gathered and packed for travel by horseback. John was given the same kind of tunic and breeches of his hosts so that he now appeared like them, except for the thick growth of dark brown beard that had been accumulating.

“It is a pleasant journey,” Nilme told him while they were packing food into their rucksacks. “The terrain is gentle, the forest is kind and well stocked with game and things to forage. And with the Siege, evil things hardly ever enter these lands. Still, it is customary to be armed while traveling so I would rest assured if you carried this.”

The Elf presented a long curved hunting knife that could easily kill a man if wielded properly. It was sheathed in a black leather scabbard. John gently pulled the knife from the scabbard and saw his reflection in the polished blade. It was obvious it was sharp enough to slice a silk handkerchief tossed in the air. He looked at it dubiously and said, “I don’t know how to use this. Once I was in a fistfight in a bar with some jerk that tried to hit on my girlfriend but I don’t know the first thing about fighting with weapons. And what ‘evil things’ are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry. I will teach you,” Nilme reassured him. “And none of Morgoth’s creatures has been sited in this forest for decades.” John said nothing more but these references to ‘evil things’, ‘creatures’ and a siege bothered him. There will need to be more discussion of this, he promised himself.

The day the two friends would set out dawned cool and overcast. Nilme had his own mount but Linwen ‘gave’ her own horse for John’s use. “I can’t accept this,” he protested. “Nonsense,” she replied. “I am lending her to you. She will protect you and keep you on the best paths. Her name is Rana, after the Moon.” Linwen’s mount was a beautiful jet-black mare that in a later age would be known as a mearas. The horse looked at John with a mixture of contempt and resignation, as if saying ‘I am doing this for my mistress’ sake, and you have no idea what a gift you have been given’. He mounted with considerable ineptitude, barely managing to not fall off. “You realize I don’t know a thing about horseback riding, don’t you?” he said. “Yes I do, and so does she,” she replied. “You are in good hands”.

Nilme was already mounted and trying his best not to laugh at the Man’s clumsiness. John thanked his host profusely: “You saved my life and have given me so much. How can I repay you?” “There is nothing to repay,” she replied. “I only pray that the Valar guide you and help you find the answers to your questions. Fare well wherever you fare!”

Linwen raised her hand in farewell, her silvery gray eyes looking on him with reassurance and fellowship. John could not help but feel a little in love with her at that moment. With that, the two turned their mounts and rode off onto the forest path.

They will travel in an easterly direction, cutting across the cape that separates the two bays that contain the cities of Brithombar and Eglarest

[Mirelena]

Linwen watched her guests until they disappeared over the crest of a hill. Silently she returned to the house. A strange stillness lay within the healer's dwelling.
A sweet song suddenly filled the hall. A lark had alighted outside a window and begun singing with all its might. Seizing a berry basket, Linwen smiled and followed the sound.
Her friends would be all right. For now, she must prepare for their return...

[baragund]

A path paved with green grass and wide enough for the two companions to ride abreast wound through the forest. Oak, beech, hickory, chestnut and other hardwoods formed a cathedral-like canopy yet the gray sky peeked through here and there. An under story of dogwood, rhododendron, laurel and other varieties gave the forest a lush and vibrant feel yet somehow stopped short of becoming tangled or overgrown. The forest floor was covered with various ferns, grasses, and ivies along with a soft carpet of last year’s leaves and a generous sprinkling of various berries, nuts and other edible plants. Here and there bubbling streams of cool clear water crossed their path. There was an air of wholesomeness and well being in the forest that led one to think that a small child could wander alone at will without the slightest danger or the risk of going hungry.

They spent the morning riding at a gentle walk, stopping at streams to water the horses and allow them to graze. The conversation was pleasant with John describing various aspects of the workaday life he came from and Nilme doing the same. Around midday, the path they had been following joined a larger and more improved road. “This road joins the tower of Barad Nimras with the cities of Brithombar and Eglarest,” Nilme explained. “We will continue east but soon we will come to a fork with the left fork bending north toward Brithombar. We will meet more folk on this road. But first, let us take our midday meal.”

They stopped about a quarter mile further east where the larger road crossed a good-sized stream with a gracefully arched bridge of stone. A floodplain meadow of grass and clover lay next to the road and here they allowed their mounts to graze and drink at will while they ate a leisurely lunch of cold meats, flatbread and dried fruit. As they ate and lounged in the meadow, John broached the subject that troubled him that morning:

“Nilme, this morning you made reference to ‘Morgoth’s creatures’ and ‘evil things’. You also mentioned a siege. Despite the peaceful setting we are in, it sounds like you are at war, and your enemy isn’t exactly, well, normal. Funny, but to listen to you talk, it kind of sounds like they’re not even human! Isn’t that funny?” John laughed at his last remark but it was a little forced.

“So who is this enemy? What does he want? What’s the purpose of this siege and is it close to where we are? Why not make peace with him instead?”

[Warrior93]

((Mind if I join?)



Cadmiel stumbled along the hill, he had been observing the two closely since they had appeared from the hill. Yet he was assured that they were peaceful creatures, The half-wild elf swung from the branches of a chestnut tree and spoke to them though out of sight. "Who are you?" His voice boomed, he drew his bow and put a Bodkin arrow to the string. " Friend or foe?" He silently shifted from one tree to another, he was gazing at them, trying to figure out their weaknesses. He kept concentration, so that they would not make any sudden movements.

[Mirelena]

“It is impossible,” Nilme replied simply. He began to pack up the provisions and indicated that John should follow suit. After slinging his saddle bags over his horse’s back, he silently helped his companion mount.

“Is that it, then?” John asked. He sounded perturbed as he continued, “Don’t you have to at least try before you can rule out a diplomatic solution?”

“He will not be respond to diplomacy, John. Morgoth is a dark tyrant who wishes to break all to his service. Before the siege, there was a great battle and many of our kin were ruthlessly killed before our eyes. It is the siege and the threat of the powers in the West that keep him at bay.
“The realm of the Dark Lord is in the north. The kings and princes the rule the lands closest to it keep watch by day and night. They are our first line of defense should the Deceiver ever issue forth with his hoards.”

“That’s the other thing I don’t understand,” John interrupted, “Who is his army? What is his army?”

“Yrch,” Nilme spat. The malice in that one word made John marvel. The blackness of his countenance belied the fairness of his face. “Foul, twisted forms that Morgoth shaped by his own means. Orcs are the mockery of elves. Elves who were stolen from their homes and kindred, then tortured and the Valar alone know what else. They are among the least of his servants, but the devastation they cause is immeasurable.

“There are other, evil things he uses. Wolves, were wolves and dark-hearted animals. I am certain that there is validity in a rumor that he is gathering corrupted spirits to his service.” Nilme sighed in frustration, “What are we to do against such powerful hatred?”

The day was clear and pleasant, but the mood was dark and stifling. As night came on, the breeze became chill. Silvery stars began to dot the twilit sky and the cry of sea birds was stilled.

A passing fox stopped to sniff the air and twitch its ears at the passersby. John had found his seat upon the bareback mare and was riding easier, though a far cry from the light grace of his elven guide. The fox barked a laugh before continuing on to his hole where several pups were whining for supper.

"Nilme?"

"Yes, John?"

"Don't you think it's time we stopped? I mean, it's getting to be night and, I have to admit, I'm kind of hungry. But if you don't want to stop, I can keep going. It's no problem!"

After considering what the man had said, Nilme decided it was time for a break. John's leg had recently been injured and he had complained little for his first day of riding. That would come tomorrow, the elf knew. "Of course," he replied, "There is a place I know not far from here. We will camp there for the night."

They continued on in silence, but as he drew near to the sheltered spot, Nilme grew increasingly uncomfortable. The ground had fresh hoof prints and the acrid smell of smoke reached his nostrils. A few hundred yard further and he could see the red light of fire. Soon the sound of laughter and song reached his ears. "I believe that we will not be camping alone, John. We seem to have company. With any amount of luck there will be hot food ready to share."

Nilme spurred his horse to a faster gait, John following suit and cursing slightly under his breath.

[baragund]

The road broke out of the forest into a clearing that apparently was intended as a wayside rest area. The cleared area was carpeted with a lawn as lush and well manicured as anything John had ever seen. A fire pit lined with stones with firewood stacked nearby, and a well occupied one corner. The space was obviously intended to accommodate large parties.

Seated around a cheerful blaze in the fire pit were three figures. They were cloaked in black and their hair was black. They had the same wiry yet graceful build and similar facial features as Nilme. “Elves,” John thought to himself. He still felt odd using that term for actual flesh and blood people but seeing more of them were in a way comforting to him. It validated that he was not having some kind of giant hallucination or that Nilme and Linwen were not isolated freaks of nature.

“Mae Govannen”, Nilme called out as the two companions entered the clearing. The seated figures called out in return and rose to greet them. They were speaking differently from the language that John had been learning from his hosts. It sounded similar, but more formal, like the difference between Italian and Latin. He had to listen hard to make out what they were saying, and there were a number of words he could not decipher.

Introductions were being made as John gingerly dismounted. He was not used to the saddle and his knee was throbbing again. Nilme seemed to know them, if only by reputation. “Nilme, of the House of Eol,” he said at which there were handshakes and more fair words of greeting. “I am Annael, and this is Curunir and Edhrahil. We are of the House of Caranthir and we are journeying to the tower to join our kin there and take our turn watching the seas for signs of the Enemy.” With that there was renewed friendly banter. It seemed that both Nilme and the three strangers had skills as craftsmen who specialized in metalwork, and they soon fell into talking “shop”, commenting on each other’s work and describing particular projects.

Feeling a little uncertain, John walked into the circle of firelight where the others had already taken seats. “Hey there,” he said as cheerfully as he could. The three fell silent and their smiles quickly faded into looks of concern bordering on suspicion and disdain when they saw for the first time his beard, his short cropped hair that revealed rounded ears and his relatively stocky build.

Annael stood and regarded John as a school teacher would a naughty student who did not do his homework. His eyes were ice blue and they were cold and hard as flint. “And who might you be?” he asked condescendingly. “Nilme, I did not realize it was so difficult to find an attendant that you had to recruit among the Engwar”. The other two laughed derisively and Nilme looked uncomfortable.

“You look like you hail from Dorthonion,” the Noldo continued, “but your speech sounds strange. Are you from the East?”

Before John could reply, Nilme broke in: “Yes, he has recently journeyed over Ered Luin and is seeking his kin in Dorthonion.”

“Well, better here in Beleriand than living with the rest of savages in the wilderness,” Curunir interjected. Resentment at being treated like some kind of inferior reared up inside John but, seeing as the three wore long swords at their sides, he did not feel altogether comfortable with arguing with them so he decided to follow Nilme’s lead.

The three Noldo had opened a cask of wine and there were a couple of freshly dressed pheasants that were about to be roasted over their fire. They welcomed John and Nilme to share in their meal. Nilme retrieved some fruits and seed cakes from his pack to contribute to the meal and soon the five of them settled in around the fire eating and drinking and talking.

Edrahil was seated next to the wine cask and asked John if he wanted his cup refilled. The man nodded in reply and reached out to hand his cup to the Elf. In so doing, he exposed his wristwatch, and the firelight glinted off of the stainless steel band and sapphire crystal. Annael regarded what he first thought was a trinket with some curiosity. But then he sat up and his eyes gleamed with curiosity when he saw the dial and the hands. Gesturing to the watch, “What is that?” he asked with some interest. “May I see it?”

“Um, OK”, John replied. He set down his cup, unclasped the watch and handed it to the Elf.

It was a Rolex diving watch that had been given to him by his fiancée as an engagement gift. It had a mechanical rather than the usual quartz movement so it was not affected by his journey across the sea. It featured a date indicator, a second hand that swept around the black dial, and one could hear the soft tick-tick-tick when held up to the ear.

The look on Annael’s face went from curiosity to amazement as he examined John’s watch. “What is this device?” he asked with a hungry interest. “What does it do? How does it work? This is like no craft I have ever seen. Where did you get it? Is it from the Naugrim?”

[Elorendil]

The sound of clear, tinkling laughter filled the crisp evening air, accompanied by the crackling of a fire. In a small clearing, three elves sat gathered together beside a roaring fire, preparing the evening meal. A few horses grazed nearby, waiting patiently for their masters to resume their journey at first light. Starlight glinted off a silver blade as the tallest of the trio wiped it clean and returned it to its sheath. "Curunir, are you nearly finished dressing that pheasant?" he asked. "I have already cleaned the other two entirely!"

Curunir turned and regarded Annael. "Yes, I have finished. Forgive me if I am not as skilled at the dressing of game as you are, O Master Huntsman," he said sarcastically. Curunir produced the pheasant in question, at the sight of which Annael burst out laughing.
"Is that what you call preparing the game? That pheasant looks more like it has been massacred then dressed!" Annael exclaimed, surveying the mangled fowl.

"It is well that you are more skilled at smithying than you are at the dressing of game, my friend," he laughed, surveying the game, "Else all your works would be little more than mutilated lump of metal! Next time, remind me to dress the game."
Edrahil joined in his laughter and the sound of their clear laughter rang out through the darkness. Curunir's opened his mouth for a cutting retort, but the words were stilled on his lips by the sound of approaching hooves. The trio looked up to find two riders approaching.

"Mae govannen," called one as they drew near. Annael rose and returned the greeting. Curunir and Edrahil followed suit. The travelers came to a halt before them and dismounted. The taller of the pair introduced himself. “Nilme, of the House of Eol,” he said.
Annael stepped forward and extended a hand. “I am Annael, and this is Curunir and Edhrahil. We are of the House of Caranthir and we are journeying to the tower to join our kin there and take our turn watching the seas for signs of the Enemy.” He gestured for Nilme to seat himself by the fire and soon the foursome were engaged in a lively conversation regarding their craft as metalworkers.

Annael had all but forgotten the other traveler when he stepped forward into the firelight. "Hey there," he said. Annael and his companions ceased conversation as they got a better look at this traveler. To his disgust, Annael realized this was no elf, but one of the Atani, the Aftercomers. “And who might you be?” he asked in a patronizing tone. “Nilme, I did not realize it was so difficult to find an attendant that you had to recruit among the Engwar,” he mocked. Curunir and Edrahil laughed contemputously at this. Annael returned his attention to the Hildor. “You look like you hail from Dorthonion, but your speech sounds strange. Are you from the East?”

The Atani seemed to be searching for a reply, but Nilme cut him off. “Yes, he has recently journeyed over Ered Luin and is seeking his kin in Dorthonion,” he said.

“Well, better here in Beleriand than living with the rest of savages in the wilderness,” Curunir interjected. Annael and Curunir joined him in derisive laughter. Once their laughter had died away, Annael invited Nilme to stay and share in their supper. The Elf accepted gratefully and soon the travelers were gathered around the fire, sharing a meal of seed cakes, pheasant and wine. Annael paid little heed to the Man, choosing instead to converse with Nilme, until the gleam of metal and jewels caught his eye. He regarded it curiously. "What is that?" he asked curiously, pointing to the strange trinket clasped about the man's wrist. "May I see it?"

“Um, OK,” the man replied, removing the wristlet and passing it to him. Annael examined it in the flickering firelight, intrigued by its strange make. The band was wrought of a silver-like metal with blue crystals set into it. In the center was a strange, round dial with runes Annael did not recognize and small lines pointing toward them. To Annael astonishment, one of the lines moved!
As he scrutinized the marvel, undoubtably the work of a master crafstman, his keen hearing picked up a faint ticking sound. He looked back up at the Atani before him and asked in amazement, “What is this device? What does it do? How does it work?" He demanded, eager to know the secret behind its making. "This is like no craft I have ever seen. Where did you get it? Is it from the Naugrim?”

[Mirelena]

The deliberate slight on the part of the noble elves did not escape Nilme's notice. Nor did the flame of greed that was kindled in the eyes of Annael. Nilme shuddered at the memory of that same light gleaming in the eyes of the High King. In an instant, his mind was made up to give no reason for John's presence.

When John cast a bewildered look in his direction, Nilme quickly intervened.
"I believe my friend is weary," he said, indicating the yawning man, "We have been riding most of the day and he is unused to it." This information elicited another round of scoffing as John said a hasty 'good-night' and extricated himself from the circle of light. Nilme watched his retreating back and sighed.

"What troubles you, Nilme?" Edrahil inquired.

Nilme regarded the trio with distaste. "Only twice before have I been so ashamed by my own race," he said simply, rising and preparing to follow his companion.

"Be cautious, old-one," Curunir replied, rising with Nilme and clamping his hand upon the elder elf's forearm, "By our hospitality you have been fed and warmed this night. It would become you to show more gratitude."

The tide of anger that came over Nilme required him to maintain a stoic silence. Hatred seared his veins like ice and hardened his eyes. Curunir met his gaze, but wisely released Nilme and dropped his fisted hand to his side. Son of snakes, he thought, my effort is wasted upon you. The silent confrontation ended only when Nilme spoke his peace.

“And it would become you to display better courtesy,” Nilme said with a voice under tight control. “Even if you are of noble blood. Though he is one of the second-born, it does not bestow upon you the right to mock him. There is more to his story than what meets the eye.”

“Oh?” scoffed Curunir. “I pray you would enlighten us. As I have heard it, men east of Ered Luin are barbarians. The vassals who dwell in Beleriand would be no better but for the charity of Finrod. I see little use for them except as miserable serfs. Furthermore, it would be of interest to me to learn where he acquired that pretty trinket. I'll warrant he's dishonest. I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that he is a crook- and a friend of the Dwarves, besides!”

"I doubt it, Curunir," was Nilme's vague response, "I sincerely doubt it."

[baragund]

“And it would become you to show some common courtesy,” Nilme said with a voice under tight control. “Just because he is one of the second-born does not give you the right to mock him. And there is more about him than you know.”

“Oh?” scoffed Curunir. “How, pray tell? Men east of Ered Luin are barbarians and the vassals here in Beleriand would be no better if it were not for the charity of Finrod. Other than being a malleable source of cheap labor, I don’t see a use for them. And I’d like to know where he got that pretty trinket. By no honest means, I’ll warrant! Thievery, I shouldn’t be surprised to learn! He’s a crook and a friend of the Dwarves, not unlikely!”

“I don’t think so,” Nilme said. “He is not from the East, but he has not dwelt in Beleriand either.”

Nilme took a deep breath and told the Noldo the strange tale of how he found the Man on the beach by Linwen’s house. He described the foreign language, clothing and artifacts that accompanied the castaway. He described the most incredible account of the Man’s homeland: a place where only Men dwelt and there were no Eldar or many other inhabitants of Arda, a place of seemingly endless contradictions, of war and tenderness, love and hate, beauty and ugliness, of fantastic machines and devices yet crushing poverty, a place where Morgoth but also the Valar were unknown.

The others snorted in derision when Nilme finished. “I think the Engwar has been taking advantage of your good nature,” Annael said. “If what he says is true, then he would have come from the Blessed Realm. Rubbish! We who have dwelt ther know better, Dark Elf. You and Linwen should count yourselves lucky that he did not rob you blind while he was helping himself to your hospitality. On the other hand, I think I recognize the styling of Maglor’s folk in that bracelet of his. It should be recovered and returned to it’s rightful owner.”

During this conversation, John was lying awake in his bedroll feeling tight as a drum. The Elves were speaking very rapidly in Noldorin and in low voices so he could not follow much of what was said. But from the tone of the voices and the suspicious looks cast his way by the Noldo, he did not feel at all comfortable and he started to wonder about his safety. Then he heard some snippets of Linwen’s description of where John really came from and he shuddered with fear. It was apparent that he was trying to reason with the other three but they were not buying it.

Presently, the Feanorian named Annael walked up to John where he lay and said in Sindarin, “Get up! You have questions to answer.” John rose, pulled on his boots and followed the Elf back to the fire ring. Nilme looked worried. The others had cold, hard expressions.

John was invited to sit but he shook his head in refusal and remained standing in the firelight looking steadily at each Feanorian in turn. “Tell us how you came by that bracelet,” Annael commanded. “It was a gift from my fiancée, my wife-to-be,” John replied, the anger he was feeling starting to be heard in his voice. “What does it matter to you?”

“We think it was made by our kin who live north and east of here and we want to ensure that nothing of ours was obtained by ill means,” Annael said. “You will accompany us to the house of Maglor, and if we learn that the bracelet was stolen, the consequences would be most severe.”

“I am not a thief, you…” John hurled the epithet at the Elves in English so they did not understand it, although the tone and the harsh consonants clearly conveyed it was most uncomplimentary. “I don’t need this abuse. Nilme, I’m leaving. I’d appreciate your coming with me but if you’d rather stay, you can go to Hell along with the rest of these jerks.”

John turned and went to gather his things. He was starting to tie up his bedroll when he was ordered to stop. He got up, turned around and saw the three Feanorians confronting him with their swords drawn. “You will accompany us to the house of Maglor,” Annael repeated. “Even if we have to drag you there bound and gagged.”

“Right, who are the thieves now?” John asked scornfully. “You know every bit as well as me that my wristwatch could not have been made by anybody around here, let alone one of your cou