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Rolling Thunder
by Arctapus
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Part 1

Rolling thunder, hear my cry...

April 16, 2002...

Lunch with my father is always a trial. I love him, don't get me wrong. But his desire to hem me in, to make me take his path is always a strain. I asked him before to let me be myself. Who knows? Maybe I'll succumb to the dark side and join the firm. I think I just told him that to make him happy. I suppose that's rather cruel since I have zero desire. Let my brother take care of it. I can't help it if Dad likes my company best. I didn't set out to make it that way. It just happened.

Families will kill you.

A rainy afternoon in downtown Seattle, Washington

He hurried across the street, the rain falling in sheets threatening to drown him. He splashed through puddles, hurrying to stand under an awning until the worst passed. He peered out, looking up at the steel gray sky. Here and there a break in the clouds signaled sunlight and he sighed as only someone living in the Pacific Northwest could at the sight of something so rare and precious.

Resigning himself to waiting, he stood quietly, watching the rain fall onto the pavement. He was secure under the tenting and so he turned, gazing into the window behind him. It was an antiquarian store, one of his favorite types of places to browse. He liked art and collected it, all kinds from old books to rare glass. His own paintings adorned the walls of his house and in cases around the place were ancient weapons and carvings.

There were a number of very old and very thick books, their parchment pages beckoning to him. He glanced back out at the rain and conceded defeat. His car would have to wait. Right now he was going in. The door opened with a jingle, the bells hanging from the knob a holdover from Christmas.

A young woman sat behind the counter, glancing and nodding to him as she returned to her book. The place smelled wonderful to him, dust and parchment, wax and ink, it all mingled and made an intoxicating aroma that greeted him after the sour pavement smell outside. He shrugged off his overcoat and wandered, moving along the stacks of ancient tomes before returning to the three in the window. He picked one up, opening it and seeing that it was hand written in a script both beautiful and unknown. He flipped through the pages and reviewed the others, deciding in a flash that they would come with him. Picking them up, he walked to the young woman and set them in front of her.

"I am interested in these books. Do you have information on them?" he asked.

She smiled and reached under the counter, pulling a thick notebook out. She looked at them and turned in her book, halting on a page with details.

"They were part of an estate sale, all of them belonging to a Mr. Walter Gandalf." She looked up. "If this interests you, we have a lot of his things."

He considered her offer and nodded. "I would like to look if I may."

She smiled and rose, picking up a key. He followed her to the back room where a large trunk sat. She knelt and unlocked it, rising and moving aside. He knelt and opened it, the smell of mustiness and dust reaching him. A dirty gray cloth covered the contents and he pulled it back, revealing a number of things.

He reached in and pulled out a small rune-covered box. Holding it in the light, he saw that the carvings were like none he had ever seen. Norse runes were the closest to them and they were only mildly similar. He looked further inside, pulling out a string bag that held heavy, bulky contents.

Opening it, he pulled out a broken sword, a sword of immense quality he could see. Peering into the bag, he noted a bunch of broken shards. He put them back and reached for more, pulling up a small leather pack. He looked inside and found a ring with a green stone. It was heavy and made of a metallic substance, shaped like crossing fronds of a tree or fern. Gold nuggets flecked each side of the green stone and when he slid it on his index finger a strange sensation of completeness overtook him.

He sat a moment and then pulled it off, putting it back in the bag. Rising, he closed the trunk and turned to her. "I would like to enquire what the total cost would be for the books and the trunk and its contents."

"I will look for you," she said, leading him out of the room. She spent a moment or two checking her books and then quoted him a figure. It was something he could live with, the need to possess these things gripping him and so he paid for them and arranged for the trunk to be delivered. Picking up his books, he turned and walked outside, tucking them under his coat. It was a short sprint to his car and soon he was on his way home.

April 16, 2002...

When I came home he was hunched over his latest project. I put down my briefcase and leaned over him, kissing him on the lips. His stubble almost killed me. I expected him to be in bed but he was up. There was a trunk on the coffee table and thick old books here and there.

I don't think he even knew it was me. He gets like that. His enthusiasms are intense, focused and life-consuming. The only payoff for me when he gets like this is the sex is great.

At home...

He came in, putting down his briefcase on the chair by the kitchen door. He had parked in the garage, his beat up pick up a sharp contrast to the Mercedes that John drove. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer, twisting the top off and taking a deep drag. He sighed with pleasure and walked into the living room, marveling at the array of things lying around.

Leaning down, he kissed his lover on the lips, waiting for some kind of recognition from him of his presence. A distracted "hey" and he was back at the book he held, working at deciphering the strange writing its pages contained. He looked at it and mentally thanked the lord above that his interests lay in rocks and other solid objects. Sorting out ancient writings was too much like calculus to him.

"How was your day, Tom?" he said, moving around his lover and plopping into a chair. "How did it go? Did your paper get accepted by the journal? Did the committee agree to back your field grant for next summer? Did you fuck the head of the department over a chair in the common room of the Freshman dorm?"

John Strider smiled and looked up. "I hope your grant went through." He ducked a pillow and sat back, stretching.

"So... what is this? Your latest obsession?"

John nodded, smiling. "Don't talk to me about obsessions. I do recall the time you had all that dinosaur shit strung out all over the house."

"Corpulites. That was not shit I will tell you. It was serious dinosaur dung."

"Whatever it was it was an obsession. You put it everywhere, that and those smooth stones."

"Those smooth stones were digestive tools for dinosaur guts. Besides, you enjoyed showing them to the poor suckers that still bother to come here."

"I did," John agreed, smiling. "This is interesting stuff. Do you want me to tell you about it?"

"Not right now," Tom said, rising and stretching. "I'm going to bed. What about you?"

He considered the tall figure before him, rangy and strong, broad-shouldered with narrow hips and long muscular legs and nodded, rising and setting his books aside.

They were the same height and when he walked to his partner, they were eye-to-eye when they kissed. He sighed and turned, wandering up the stairs to the second floor where their bedroom was. As they went inside, the lights went out and all the living room was in darkness.

Sitting in the bottom of the truck in a corner, the box waited for morning. It had already hooked the one figure who bought it and now it had to hook the other.

An hour later...

Tom lay quietly, his partner lying beside him. A shared shower had led to more and his ass stung from the intensity of it. He didn't mind, their amiability factor being enormously high and so they did what they pleased but always together.

They had met on an orienteering weekend, an over-the-mountain climb in the Arizona desert. Having a lot in common, including their orientation and a penchant for taking chances, they had become close, cementing the relationship when it was discovered they lived in the same town.

John Strider was the son of a renowned financier and industrialist, someone with unlimited wealth and two handsome sons. John's brother was the conventional one, married with two children and his father's heir apparent. But John had the inside track with his good mind, endless curiosity and willingness to go his own way. Even coming out to his father and mother hadn't changed anything between them. They still wanted him in the family firm, convinced that ‘when he settled down' he would come to his senses.

They liked Tom, sensing a fellow renegade in their son's lover so there was a modicum of peace in the family, that is until John's brother and wife would arrive. She didn't care for either of them, seeing competition for her husband's father's affections and so she was polite but cool and distant.

Neither cared, moseying along in their life together and so it went. Tom rolled over, catching a glimpse of the picture of himself on the wall across from him. John had painted it, a full sized nude of himself lounging on a chair. His legs were spread, his brown hair mussed and a sensual predatory look on his face was on full display. In the bedroom. Where no one would ever see it. But them.

He had that guarantee in writing.

John sighed and rolled over, throwing an arm and leg over his lover. Tom smiled and watched him, his face smoothed by sleep. Tom strider was handsome, his blue eyes very direct and his smile unveiled seldom. He was an off-beat but focused individual, pursuing his interests no matter what others might think. His grandfather's trust fund left to him was a big help as well.

"Hey?"

John shifted and opened his eyes. "Hmm?"

"I have to work late tomorrow. Come to my office and bring dinner or something. You can tell me about your new toys then."

John smiled, moving closer. He lay his head on Tom's chest, slipping a muscular arm over it. He sighed and yawned, nodding. "Will do."

Tom kissed the top of his head, smiling. The night wove on and finally he fell asleep. In the living room, a small light could be seen glowing in the direction of the trunk. It glowed for a moment, the sound of clashing heard very faintly and a voice called out, a voice speaking an ancient language ordering men to stand together. Then it called out again and the sound of arrows flying could be heard. Then it all died down, falling away with the light as the box in the truck faded to normal.

It sat there quietly, waiting for the man and his return. Then it would awaken once more. Then the past would live again.

Part 2

April 17, 2002...

It was dark by the time he got to the University. Carrying Chinese takeout, he hustled down the long corridor to his lover's office, entering with a lot of effort. Sitting at his desk, buried in paperwork, Thomas "Tom" Boromir glanced up, a smile spreading on his handsome face.

"'Bout time you got here," he said, rising and moving things from his desk.

John Striker set down his burden, shucking his coat and hanging it on a hook. He took a chair and removed a stack of books, setting them on the floor next to a box of strange looking rocks. Turning, sitting, he began to sort out their dinner.

Tom sat back, tossing his pencil on the desk and watching as Strider set up his dinner. "You know what I like."

Strider smirked, glancing at him through his tousled hair. It hung slightly in his eyes and he swiped it back, passing a box to Boromir.

"Thanks," he said, taking a fork and digging in. "It's late."

"It is. When we're done, let's go," Strider said, leaning back and propping his feet on a box postmarked Brazil.

"I'm almost done," Boromir replied, sipping his beer. "What about you? Any luck on your books?"

"I found a key," Strider replied, "a repetition of letters that are formulating words in my mind."

"I don't know how you do that," Boromir replied, wiping his fingers on his shirt. Strider grimaced and tossed him a napkin, earning a broad smile. "You're such a Nancy boy."

"You're such a pig," Strider replied. "The box fits the language of the book and it appears to be like one of those Chinese box puzzles, the kind you turn."

"Like in the Pinhead movie," Boromir suggested, grinning at Strider's confusion. "You know... television?" He got a baleful stare, then Strider continued.

"I think they're linked. And..." he said with a flourish, pausing to put down his food. He dug into his jeans pocket, pulling out a key with a name tag attached. "I found this in one of the books. Its a tag for a storage locker near SeaTac. I was thinking that we could stop by on our way home and take a peak. I brought flashlights and--" He paused, noting the look on Boromir's face. He smiled, leaning back, the key in his hand. "You're not woosing out on me are you?"

"Me? After working a twelve hour day? After doing all the laundry before coming to work? Why would I woos out?"

Strider put the key in his pocket and picked up his box, eating once more as he ignored his partner's pointed expression. "All right. You don't have to come. I'll go alone and if I get killed or knifed or stoned to death, it isn't like you'll probably miss me."

It was silent a moment and then both men began to chuckle.

"You're so full of shit," Boromir said, snickering as he did.

Striker looked at him, smiling broadly. "You love me."

"I don't," Boromir replied, sipping his beer as he smiled. "You're not worth the trouble."

"We'll leave your car here and I'll take you to work in the morning."

"Tomorrow is Saturday."

"Is it?" Strider asked, surprised.

"It is in the real world. Now Strider time..."

John only smiled.

Before I met John, I was a guy getting along just fine. I had a good job, a good reputation in my field, a pickup truck that could get me anywhere and that was about it. I can be driven, disappearing into my work like a mole. John got me out of that, helping me to emerge more. In the doing of it, I found a partner, someone who is so perfect for me and my life I almost fear to get out of bed some days. That's how much I love the guy. That's how much I need him.

Just don't tell him I said so.

At a storage facility near SeaTac...

Tom Boromir held a flashlight as John Strider fit a key into a lock. It had stopped raining but the night was creepy, dead dark and no one around. Industrial areas left a lot to be desired and when John removed the lock, Tom was glad. They were just that much closer to being gone from this place.

Strider pulled on the door, sliding it back and they turned powerful flashlights on the darkness inside. For a moment they just stood there and then they both exhaled, exclaiming under their breath at what they saw.

There was a number of items inside, hanging almost as if on display and both men stepped closer to look. Garments of a medieval style hung on mannequins, almost as if on show in a museum. They were regal and beautiful, stitched with care and filled with details that only an expert would consider.

Chain mail shirts and burnished armor lay on a table along with leather boots, gloves, and cloak pins. Boromir looked at them, staring at the fine work but he turned when John called him over to where he stood.

He moved over and peered downward, noting a matching trunk like the one in their house. It was open and lying half out, their length too great for the box, were a number of weapons and other things. Two long swords in their scabbards, a bow and a quiver with arrows, these things were laid out almost as if for them to pick up.

John knelt, touching the sword and then he rose, turning to his partner. "We have to take this stuff home. I have to look at it up close. I think I've seen this sword in one of the books and the detailing on the gloves, the white tree, it is definitely in the book."

"This stuff isn't yours, John," Boromir replied, watching as the hunter-researcher beast in Strider began to rise. "It is just an accident that you have a key to this. It isn't ours to take."

"Of course it is and besides, even if it isn't, someone could come here and take this stuff. You know how thieves read obituaries. They could steal this and what then?"

Boromir stared at him, waffling under his intense gaze and then faltered completely, shaking his head. "You are going to get me thrown into prison. This is grand theft."

"Help me," Strider asked, kissing Boromir on the lips. "I'll get the car."

Strider was gone a moment and then back, helping Boromir strip the locker to the walls. They locked it and climbed into the car, driving home in the rain.

That night, after putting everything carefully in the living room, it was John Strider's turn to have a sore ass the next day. He didn't mind for a number of reasons, one of them being he didn't work for a living.

April 18, 2002...

We raided a dead man's storage locker last night and my skin still crawls over it. John is obsessed and will be until he unlocks this mystery. I kissed him goodbye and drove off in his car, leaving him stuck at the house until after lunch. It serves him right, the dilettante. He won't even notice that his car is gone and I'll have an image boost driving a Mercedes. Who says life is fair?

When Tom returned at lunchtime, he found John stretched out on the couch, the sword lying at his side as he studied the text. He paused and looked at his lover, shaking his head.

"Hi."

"Hey."

Tom smiled and turned, walking to the kitchen. He opened a can of soup, made two sandwiches and put together a lunch at the table.

"Hey. Get in here."

For a moment there was no sound and then Strider arose, reluctantly putting the book down. He took the sword and walked to the small dining nook off the kitchen, joining Boromir at the table. He leaned over and they kissed, each of them turning to their food.

"John?"

Blue eyes looked up. "Hmm?"

"Are you always going to bring a sword to the table?"

Strider grinned. "Probably."

"Just checking," Boromir replied, snickering to himself. "What have you figured out so far, besides how much jail time you can get for grand theft?"

Strider smiled, shaking his head. "Actually, I am finding things out quite well, thank you. These books are the account of a great battle between two armies against a terrible evil. I can't quite make out what kind of army and where but suffice it to say the whole world was in jeopardy."

"It is a history or just a fanciful tale that you've discovered that was lost?" Boromir asked, gazing at the sword next to Strider's plate.

"I'm not sure. It reads like its real. I can make out some names."

Boromir nodded, interested. "Tell."

"Two of them appear to be father and son, Elendil and Isildur."

"What sort of names are those?" Boromir asked, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"I don't know. But I do know two more. One is Gil-galad, someone who appears to be a great king, sort of like an overlord of other kings and then there's his close associate named Elrond."

Boromir nodded. "They sound like fags."

"Speak for yourself," Strider replied, grinning.

Boromir nodded. "I am. And you. And them too."

Strider shook his head, smiling broadly and looked at his sword. "I love this sword. It feels like it was made for me."

He handed it to Boromir, who stood and hefted it. "I took fencing in high school."

"So you're fond of telling me," Strider replied, noting how well his lover looked with a sword in hand. "Maybe you can show me a few moves with your epee."

Boromir glanced at him, lowering his sword. "I believe I did that last night if you'll recall."

Strider snorted and took the sword, laying it down on the table. "I am going to take lessons. I have them made already."

"Fine," Boromir said, sipping his drink. "When you're done you can show me. Then we can play Blue Beard and the Helpless Maiden."

"You're the Helpless Maiden," Strider said smirking. "I look terrible in gingham."

"You wouldn't have it on for long," Boromir retorted, rising and picking up the wall phone which had begun to ring. "Hello."

He listened for a while and then hung up, returning to his chair. Sighing, he glanced at his lover with baleful eyes.

"That was your mother. She wants us for brunch tomorrow."

Strider sighed. "Is Robert and Joanne going to be there?"

"Bingo."

They both sighed together and finished their lunch, retiring to the living room and the enigma of Walter Gandalf and his treasures.

Laura Strider looked at her younger son with great fondness. He had arrived with his lover and they had retired to the sun room, sitting with coffee on comfortable couches. They were waiting for her other son and his wife and kids and then they would dine together.

She loved the two men before her, her son and his friend. When John had come out to them she had been glad. She had suspected that he was gay for a very long time. Dropping hints that she was good with the truth had prompted him to speak to both of them.

She had always been aware and when he finally introduced Tom she was relieved. She had worried that her son was as promiscuous as so many gay young men were and with the threat of AIDS, she was scared for his life. However, this was much better, her son in a loving and secure relationship with an educated and decent man. He was even a college professor.

John was someone in the family that followed his own drummer. He was handsome and tall like all the men on both sides but he was iconoclastic, ruggedly individualistic and intelligent to an extreme. He liked art, puzzles, languages, challenges, and nonconformity. He was the complete opposite of her other son, Robert. He was a man who was meant to follow his father, stepping into his shoes someday as his replacement. She loved Robert but she admired John. John had always been his own man.

The door chimed and in moments Robert and Joanne entered, their two children in tow. Everyone greeted each other and they all rose and walked to the dining room. It was a splendid meal, lots of good wine and conversation and they sat together with an unusual degree of contentment.

"You're very happy today," Tom said, smiling at Robert.

"We just closed a big deal," Robert said, nodding. "It was tough and we did all right."

Tom nodded, completely beyond caring but he was polite. Most of what Robert found fascinating bored Tom to death.

"What about your field grant for summer?" Robert asked, equally polite.

"Went through," Tom said, smiling. "We're on our way to Utah this August."

"Sounds interesting," Joanne replied, sipping her wine, her miniscule meal barely touched. "I can't imagine crawling around in the dirt myself but I'm sure its fascinating."

Tom grinned in spite of himself. "I'm hoping to find some new coprolites, something different than I already have."

"Coprolites?" she asked, gazing at him coolly.

John grinned. "Dinosaur shit."

It was silent a moment as Tom struggled with his expression. Joanne looked from Tom to John and sighed. She turned and began a conversation with her mother-in-law, who was also struggling with her expression. Tom looked at John, who rolled his eyes and then the conversation continued.

April 19, 2002...

I have to say that dining with John's folks is a lot of fun. I don't have dick in common with them. Well, maybe a little with his mom but they are decent and open and fair. His sister-in-law on the other hand has a ten foot pole up her ass.

You can't pick your family. You can only endure some of them. If this is the price I pay for being with John, its a small one.

If you really want to piss me off, leave your dirty clothes on the floor.

Part 3

April 18, 2002...

I have unlocked enough of the language to really get a take on this box. It appears to be a riddle where you turn it and turn it until it opens and you find the answer. I am going to try it in a minute. Tom is hollering from the other end of the house.

I have taken to wearing the ring on my index finger. Whoever had it first must have had huge hands but then I am under the impression that its previous owner was Elendil and he appears to have been a big man.

As soon as I figure out what he wants I'm going to try and open the box.

He came back after tossing towels to his lover and sat on the couch, picking up the box carefully. On the outside of it, deeply carved into the polished wood were runes that represented numbers. He had decided that if he turned them in order from one to five, it might unlock the secret of the box.

Taking a breath, he began to manipulate it, moving from one to four quickly. He paused and then sat back, the box in his hand. Then he turned it to five and waited.

Nothing happened for a moment and then the room shimmered, falling away into darkness. He sat startled and then it coalesced again, a strange sight appearing all around him.

He was standing in a road, surrounded by people moving but not just any people he saw. They were tall and handsome, dressed in armor, and in their hands they carried bows and strange spears. As he stood in the bright sunlight, listening to the sounds and watching the sights, it appeared to him that he was in the midst of an army on the move.

Then they appeared, men on horseback, riding in the midst of the train. He turned and stared at them, stilled by their beauty and majesty and the breath in his throat caught. They were different, very much so. Their features were like his but their ears were different. They were not shaped the same. He swallowed hard and studied them again.

They were big men and rode white horses without livery, horses whose curly manes nearly trailed on the ground. They wore armor of a gold color, chain mail and the purple cloaks of kings.

All of them wore long hair, very long and side braided and on their heads they wore glittering silver crowns of a sort he didn't recognize. They were physically beautiful and imposing at the same time, the force of their personalities strong and compelling.

They were dark-haired and gray-eyed and when they drew even to him, one of them looked down, pausing his horse as he regarded him strangely. He spoke to Strider, his words only half intelligible and when Strider didn't answer, called to his companion.

This man stopped, a big man with a beautiful face. He looked at his companion and called to him, the name ‘Elrond' catching Strider's ear. Strider looked at the other and then the man beside him, sitting on his horse like a king.

"You're Elrond," he stammered. He looked at the other. "You have to be Gil-galad!"

The two looked at each other and then at Strider, a concerned expression forming on the face of the one called Elrond. At that moment, Strider put his hand in his pocket, pulling the box free. He stared at them and then at the box, turning the runes once more. The scene shimmered and went dark, once again coalescing. This time, John was back in his living room.

For a moment he sat in familiar surroundings and then Tom appeared, dressed but barefooted. He looked at John and was concerned immediately at the expression he wore. Walking toward him, he paused.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Strider didn't answer him right away.

He told me that he had some sort of strange out-of-body experience where he was transported to the middle of an army of men with pointed ears and spears in their hands. I immediately fel his forehead. It wasn't hot but I was. We argued, he paced flinging his arms around to punctuate his words and I just quivered I guess.

I might have believed the out-of-body experience itself. After all, he's been to Tibet. But Elves?

I ask you...

"But Tom... I saw them. They were real." Strider walked to his lover, who stood by the couch, arms folded and skepticism written large across his handsome face. "I was there. They were riding horses and the bigger one, a tall really handsome man called out to the one who stopped by me and called him Elrond."

"And?" Boromir asked, gazing at Strider with a stern expression of disbelief.

"And... and... that was a name from the book. The other one had to be Gil-galad."

"Why? Why, John, did it have to be?" Boromir asked, moving toward the box on the table. He picked it up, examining it. Strider took it from his hand and set it gingerly back down.

"Don't touch that, Tom. I don't understand it yet but I have major respect for it all the same."

Tom looked at him, an expression of concern on his face. He stepped closer, resting his hands on Strider's shoulders. "Johnny... this thing... it's affecting your mind."

Strider gripped Boromir's wrists. "It happened."

"Sure," Boromir agreed, fear rising in him like a yellow tide. "Let's sleep on it. You and me, we'll go to bed and when I'm done with you it will all be better."

Strider smirked at him. "So... you think you can kiss it and make it all what... better? Go away?"

"I know I'll feel better," Boromir replied, watching as Strider smirked and moved past him, pausing before the box. Strider stared at it and moved closer, sitting and reaching for it.

"Don't touch that thing!" Boromir hollered.

Strider looked at him, a curious expression on his face. "I thought you didn't believe in it?" his voice, a mix of his many learned languages, reflected an odd European purr.

"I don't!" Boromir said, eyeing it warily. "Much."

Strider rose and walked to Boromir, resting his hands on the tall man's broad shoulders. He leaned in and kissed him, savoring his lips. "Tom... you have to trust me. I'm telling you the truth."

Boromir closed his eyes and sighed. "Before I met you I had never raided dead men's lockers, posed for nude paintings or worried about the faltering mental health of anyone."

"Before you met me, you were a renegade looking for someone to unlock that mental chastity belt your upbringing put on you," Strider said softly, sliding his arms around his lover.

"Its called a conscience, John," Boromir replied, his own arms sliding around Strider's waist. "I realize it's a middle class concept and you might not have heard about it but it's part of who I am."

"I know," Strider said, his tongue licking Boromir's lips. "The best part I'm afraid to say."

Boromir's resistance faded to Strider's insistent tongue and for a moment or two wooden boxes and pointy-eared men were secondary to hot kisses of the French kind. Boromir sighed, his will crumbling as Strider sucked on the soft skin of his neck.

"You're a manipulative bitch," he whispered, kneading Strider's ass with his strong hands.

"You're putty in my hands," Strider replied before his tongue found its second home in Boromir's mouth. He bent down, drawing his lover with him and lay back, moving to wrap his legs around Boromir's body. They lay on the rug, kissing and rubbing against each other until Boromir paused, glaring down at his lover.

"I hate fucking on the rug," he said with a frown.

Strider laughed, sliding his fingers through soft brown hair. "You need a haircut."

"So do you. Your hair is touching your shoulders."

"Don't cut it," Strider said, arching slightly against his lover. "I like it the way it is. It gives me something to hold onto when you're fucking me."

Boromir's eyes rolled back into his head for a moment and he groaned, glaring once more at his lover. "You are a bitch," he said, shifting, his sweat pants-covered cock finding friction against Strider's jeans. "I suppose you want me to hump you."

Strider snorted, chuckling. "Is that so hard?"

"No," Boromir admitted, leaning down and kissing his lover passionately on the mouth. "What is hard is the second wind you'll get when we're done. I'll have to listen to your shit all over again."

"I'll do you one better," Strider said, moving his hips in a circular motion, his legs crossed at the ankle. He grinned as he felt Boromir respond, a long agonized groan coming from his increasingly flushed face. "I'll take you there."

"Take me... " Boromir whispered, settling himself down on Strider's body. "Fuck that. I'll take you."

With that, conversation ceased as Boromir began to lunge against his partner, finesse forgotten in the rising tide of his sexual tension. He felt the fire of his orgasm coming and knew it wouldn't be long before it hit him like Hurricane Andrew. He thrust against Strider, the sounds of his own sexual vocal composing a backdrop to the fever that animated his inflamed mind.

Strider hung on, groaning each time Boromir lunged against him, the friction of the movement like liquid fire on his brain. He bit into Boromir's shoulder, crying out unintelligible sounds as he felt his orgasm hit.

Boromir stretched out, his toes curling as he slammed into the end stretch of the sexual hijacking he had just taken. He lurched and jerked and then felt release, falling heavily onto his partner as it overtook him, a deep grunting sound issuing from his lips. Strider groaned, rubbing hard against the dead weight upon him and then he sighed, his arms and legs falling to the floor. He felt boneless.

He also felt suffocated.

"Tommy?"

A soft moan reached him and nothing more.

"Tommy? You're dead weight."

Boromir sighed and with effort and little grace, managed to climb off and onto his knees. He looked down at himself and groaned with disgust and then down at his partner, who lay on the floor splayed out like a well fucked chicken.

He grinned.

"You look good from this angle."

Strider grinned and with effort sat up, staring through strands of his hair at the flushed and triumphant man kneeling before him.

"I look good from any angle."

Boromir snorted and rose to his feet. "You're so full of shit."

"I'm just quoting you," Strider replied, rising.

"Yeah, well... I was probably drunk at the time," Boromir said, a wolfish grin on his face. He looked down at himself. "Well, so much for my shower."

"Come on. Let's both take one and then we can talk."

Boromir shook his head and turned toward the bedroom, sighing with amusement. "You have a one track mind, John."

He squeezed Boromir's ass with his hand and smiled. "And aren't you glad of it."

Boromir only laughed out loud.

We had another shower. It took longer than my other one. There was the matter of John's back and his hair needed a scrub. Of course, I thought his cock needed extra personal attention.

It did.

He really is a delight. When I think about how easily it would have been to miss knowing him I cringe. He's something else. He's also determined that I believe him. I guess I'll have to.

It's easier.

Tom is a skeptic. It must be the scientist in him. He just acts easy to manipulate. If he didn't want what I wanted you can't budge him. But I've learned that honey attracts more flies than vinegar.

God, I love words.

I also love him. He believes in me. Most of the time. I will take him to see what I saw. Then he'll have to believe me. What will happen after that, I don't know.

They sat on the couch, dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Strider insisted upon shoes and socks and Boromir dutifully laced on tennies. He sat and listened as Strider explained, burying his skepticism under a facade of interest and concern.

"... and that is what we'll have to do. I think if you're with me, you know... physically at least, you can come too."

"And then what? What if these... um, these guys decided to stick a sword in your gut? What then?"

Strider sighed. "You don't know what I saw. They aren't that type."

Boromir sighed and sat back on the couch, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Okay. I'm here. What next?"

Strider thought a moment. "I don't know. Put your hand on my leg or something. I can't figure out what the method for this is so it might help."

Boromir smirked. "Like I need a reason for groping your leg."

Strider smiled. "Now you're in the spirit."

He picked up the box and began to turn it, the numbers clicking by a small star one by one. Then it happened.

The room shifted and Strider was alone, standing near a river where tents were pitched. In all directions there were nothing but tents but in no direction could he turn and see Boromir. He looked at the box and turned it back, the room materializing once more. He turned to Boromir, the tall man sitting and staring at him, no change in his expression to show anything happened.

"Tom, what happened?"

"What?" Tom asked, looking at him strangely. "Nothing happened. You turned the box and you just sat there. Where is this out-of-body experience?"

"I had it. I was at an encampment, a huge one and you weren't there."

"That's because, my poor deluded fuck buddy, I was here," Boromir said, sitting back with much chagrin. He rose and shook his head. "I'm going to bed. Come with me. I'll make it worth your while."

Strider ignored him, thinking hard and as he did, he stared at the ring on his finger. Acting on a hunch, he rose and walked to the trunk that was sitting by a wall in the corner of the room. He knelt and pulled out two black leather gauntlets, the kind that bowmen wore to protect their arms against their bow strings. He turned and tossed them to Boromir.

"Put those on."

Boromir stared at them, at the expensive leather and the inlay of trees and other designs tooled into them.

"What?"

"Put them on. Trust me, Tommy," he said, moving to kiss his lover on the lips. "You need something to join me. I have this ring. You need these arm bands."

Boromir shook his head, a look of pity on his face. "You're coming with me to Utah. If I play this game, if I humor you, you have to return the favor."

"I'll bring a front end loader and you can fill it with all the dinosaur shit you want."

Boromir smiled in spite of himself, the two putting the bands on his wrists. With a sigh of resignation, he moved to the couch and they sat together. Strider put Boromir's hand on his leg and then began to manipulate the box. For a moment there was nothing and then the room shimmered, fading into the reality of an army encampment at night.

Strider stood and stared, awestruck at the sight and then he turned, filled with gratitude at the sight of his lover staring transfixed at the view. Boromir turned slowly, staring silently in all directions.

"See? I told you," Strider said, his amazement and triumph barely contained.

"John... this isn't good. Is it?" Boromir asked, his voice a strained whisper.

"It is, Tommy. Think about it," Strider said, moving toward him and gripping his arms in excitement.

"John... look behind you."

Strider turned, noting three armed men coming toward them at a run. Without a thought, he took the box from his pocket and twisted it quickly, the scene shimmering before him. It coalesced, their living room coming into view once again. Strider turned, noting the stunned look of fear on his lover's face.

"Tommy?"

"John, if I weren't frozen to this spot I would kick your ass."

Strider sighed. His partner was completely unharmed by the experience. However, his own ass would get a workout that night for sure.

I can't believe what I saw. The scientist in me denies it without proof. However, I did see three very tall men running at us with swords in their hands and I thought we were goners for sure.

Of course, I had all this excess adrenaline and he owed me, the fucker. I hope he sits on a pillow all day.

Part 4

April 19, 2002...

I hated to leave the house, John was so engrossed in this... thing. I did extract a promise from him that he wouldn't use it unless I was there. He gave me his solemn word. I hope this obsession doesn't make him break it.

Teaching was so damned hard today, I was so distracted. I love to teach. Its wonderful. Growing up, you wouldn't have picked me out to be an 'educator' but here I am and I'm damned good at it. Or so my periodic reviews seem to attest. But then again, what would administrators know about teaching?

The fuckers.

I also get my share of sweet young things of both sexes who, because they have to sign up for a science elective, pick my courses. How hard can it be to study rocks? I take them out on excursions and we dig for them. I make them use their knowledge. I thought in the beginning it was because I was such a hands-on teacher that freshmen liked the class. Then I found out that some of them liked my 'devilish good looks'.

To quote John.

"They like your ass, Tom," he said, that rare smile lighting up his face.

I snorted. "Sure."

The weird scrutiny would last until the midterm. By then most of them would find out I'm gay and I would face the prospect of a front row full of sad-eyed kids. It has become funny now but for a while it really dented my confidence.

It's not easy being an openly gay man in America.

He pulled into the garage, shutting off his pick up and climbing out with his arms filled with things. With effort, he entered the house, piling stuff on the counter. He had stopped by the store and picked up lots of Strider‘s favorite foods, determined to cook a good dinner and talk sense with his partner.

In the living room, sitting in a mass of paper with strange writing, John Strider worked. He had barely moved since the morning and as he sat oblivious to his partner's presence, he inched ever closer to a working vocabulary of a language that he had found was self-identified as 'Elvish'.

It had been startling, even though a lot of the words he had worked out had that form attached to their spelling. He had sorted out the grammar, formulating sentences that had been thorough enough to be spoken in a smooth enough cadence to be understood.

Mostly.

He hoped.

He had found many more individual and place names, things that would be helpful when they returned this evening. Moria appeared and so did Rohan. He deciphered them as places and found more besides. Shire and Gondor, Imladris, Arnor and Lothlorien, all of them yielded to his bloody minded pursuit.

Other names of people, both Elf and Man came to his understanding and he made a list of them. For a moment he stared at it and then looked up, noting Tom's worried face looking down at him from above.

"Hey," Strider said, reaching up and squeezing Tom's hand. The other man sat down on the couch, Strider sitting on the floor between his legs, leaning back, and they kissed. "When did you get home?"

"Just now," he replied, kissing Strider's neck, his hands sliding down the other man's arms.

"Look at what I've figured out," Strider said, turning the note pad for Tom to see. "These are names."

Boromir read them and considered them carefully. Celeborn, Galadriel, Haldir and Cirdan... he remembered Elrond and Gil-galad but the rest were new.

"Glorfindel... what kind of name is that?"

"It's descriptive," John replied. "Most of these names are compilations of descriptive words. Like this one..." He pointed to one on the list. "It is pronounced Legolas but means Green Leaf."

"Interesting," Tom said grinning. "Sounds like a fag."

Strider chuckled with his partner. "You are such a dog."

"I picked that up from you." Tom grinned. "So, have you eaten yet?"

"No," John replied, tilting his neck for Tom to nibble upon. He sighed, squeezing Tom's hand and rose with him, walking to the kitchen to help cook. They moved together in a practiced rhythm, each doing their part to put together the one meal they tried never to miss in each other's company.

"Pass me that fork," Tom said, taking a lid off a pot. He poked something that smelled good and turned, watching as John chopped lettuce.

"We have a person in the book that will probably surprise you."

"Who is that?" Tom asked, checking the marinara sauce that he had just turned to simmering.

"His name is Gandalf," John replied, turning and watching his partner with curiosity.

Tom winced, staring at the sink. "What the hell?"

"My sentiments exactly. How is it, Tom, that a man could be in a book and be here at the same time?" John asked curiously.

"Coincidence?" Boromir asked, sighing. "Witchcraft? Voodoo? Transporter accidents? I don't know. Maybe this guy is a descendent of someone who... who..." He paused. "Maybe some old coot got hold of this stuff and just used the name."

"I don't think we know enough about Mr. Gandalf."

"Why is the hair standing up on the back of my neck?" Boromir asked, looking warily at his partner.

"Practice?" Strider replied, kissing him on the lips?"

Dinner was good but quick as John wanted to sift through the stuff in the third book. It was coming easier and appeared to be written in something akin to old time Danish. Frankly, I don't speak many different languages well. I can do Spanish and Latin and I've been known to come in Cherokee. But that's the extent of my personal bilingualism.

John is a marvel of the mathematical mind melding together with the doggedness of a tick hunting for blood. You are almost extraneous until he figures out what he wants to know. Then, if you're really, terribly unlucky, you get to go on his excellent adventure.

That's how I got snake bit in the Amazon, a broken ankle in Turkey and lost in Tokyo for a hour or two one rainy day that I don't want to remember and no one can make me.

He's that persuasive and I'm that big of a fool. Love can do that to you.

But don't tell him I said so.

They pulled up outside of the records office at the main Bureau downtown. A fluke of nature that would never probably happen again got them a parking spot and they climbed out of the Mercedes and walked to the front door, entering and stopping before a great big listings board of who was what, where.

John found the one he wanted and Tom followed him, looking around and marveling at his tax dollars at work. This was almost as bad as the office section of the University he considered.

They were passed around the building until they found a nice lady who told them that they couldn't access the records of people until they had been dead a long time. That was when John pulled out a paper and told her that Walter Gandalf, recently deceased, was his grandfather.

Tom turned away, gasping as quietly as he could and stared at the doorway as the lady hustled to find all the paperwork that existed on the enigma that was the cause of all their obsessions. Slim folder in hand, profuse thanks on his lips, a smiling John Strider steered his stiff partner through the door.

They walked down the hall, a whispered argument about deceit and the jail time allotted there in floating like poison gas between them. They exited in the main room and were out the door in seconds. Entering the car, Tom turned, fixing John with an evil expression.

"You are going to get us arrested!"

"Tom... what are we supposed to do?"

"Live our lives of quiet desperation after we bury that fucking box in the backyard under two feet of cement!"

John grinned. "You're terribly cute when you get hysterical."

Tom sighed and turned, sliding down in the seat. "Get us out of here before the cops come."

John grinned and pulled out, driving onward to a small restaurant near the water that would be discreet enough to talk in. By the time they got there he would have Tom back on an even keel once more.

Tom is the nicest guy I know. He's a real honest man. He's profane when he's oppressed, which happens a lot with me I guess, but he's brave and decent. I've seen him in pain and discomfort, when he's sick and throwing up and when he's fuming. He's a kaleidoscope of emotional openness that is sort of a contrast with me. When he feels it, you know it.

I was drawn to that right away. My family is less open and more formal than he is. The first time I saw him get mad it was almost sexy.

That it was at me didn't lessen the experience a bit.

They sat and ate seafood, going over the documents in the folder. Walter Gandalf was born in Cincinnati, Ohio on March 4, 1901. He was the only son of a shoemaker and a housewife and he had a standard turn -of-the-century education. His parents puut him through college and he became a mathematician, working in business doing theoretical scientific research for more than sixty years.

He retired to Seattle, living in a small house in a quiet neighborhood until he had to enter a nursing home. He died on April 10, 2002 at the age of one hundred years.

"Interesting," Tom said, considering his partner. "I wonder what kind of science?"

John shrugged. "Maybe his neighbors would know something about him and tell us."

Tom shrugged. "He might have kept to himself."

"We'll never know until we ask," John said, pulling the papers together to leave.

Tom sighed and emptied his beer, shaking his head as he rose. "I was afraid you'd say that."

They paid the bill and left the restaurant, taking an inordinate amount of time finding Gandalf's old neighborhood in the maze of subdivisions that had swallowed up the city in the raging boom economy of the nineties. They knocked on doors for over two hours before they came to a house with a little old lady inside.

She smiled at their questions and let them in, the two men following her into a small and shaded parlor. They sat and she did, her smile warm as she looked at them. John smiled back, leaning forward in his chair.

"Mrs. Perry, we would like to learn as much as we can about a neighbor of yours, a Mr. Walter Gandalf."

She nodded. "Are you friends?"

"We are," John admitted truthfully. "We're trying to find out more about his life here."

She nodded and thought, smiling at them. "He was very sweet. He was a real gentleman. He helped me when things would go wrong in the house."

"Did he say much about his life?" Tom asked. "What he did and for whom?"

She shrugged. "He was a man working on physics," she said. "I'm not much on the science stuff. I don't know what physics are but he loved that sort of thing, the magical sort of stuff and he would mention it from time to time. I didn't understand it of course."

John smiled and nodded. "What was he like? Did he mention friends? Places he liked to go?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "He was a nice man but he didn't spend a lot of time with other people. He was quite elderly you know, even older than me."

"Did he speak of stories? Myths and legends?" John asked.

She looked at him quizzically. "Legends? You mean about Gil-galad and Elrond and the others?"

John sat up, his surprise open and complete. Tom paused and sat up too, staring at the sweet face of the old lady with his own bewilderment.

"You know about them?" John stammered.

"Yes. He told me a little bit about them. He said that there was once a great battle for the peace of the world. A great evil was in the land. He told me of a poem... if I can remember it. It was quite strange."

They sat and watched her, noting her struggle and then she smiled. "I remember. It goes something like this... ‘three rings for the Elven kings under the sun. Seven rings for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone. Nine rings for mortal men doomed to die." She paused, thinking. "There was something about Mordor and then I remember him saying, ‘One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."

"In Mordor, where the shadow grows," John whispered.

"Yes. That's it." She smiled. "I don't know what it means but I like the sound of it."

They sat a moment and then John squeezed her hand. "Mrs. Perry... is there anything else you can tell me?"

She looked at his hand and then his face, smiling. "Your ring. He said a man would come asking about him and wear that ring."

Tom shifted uneasily in his chair and watched as John pulled it off his finger.

"This ring?" John asked, holding out his hand for her to look at.

She nodded and smiled. "He said you would come and when you did I was to give you something."

She rose and turned, walking into another room. Tom reached over and gripped John's arm after she left the room.

"This sucks. Let's go. Now."

"Wait a moment," John replied, both men rising as she re-entered the room.

She walked to him and handed him a small box, smiling at him as she did. "This is for you."

He stared at it and then his partner. Turning to Mrs. Perry, he smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Perry. You have our card. If you can think of anything else, please call."

"I will, young man," she said, smiling.

They walked to the door and when she closed it behind them, Tom turned and stared at the box.

"Leave it on the curb," he said.

"Why? This is so amazing," John said, staring at the perfect square container.

"It's evil... it's weird. A dead man anticipated you coming here and left this for you. Toss it in a trash can and let's get back to our life."

John grinned. "Where's your sense of adventure, Tom? You've never been one to turn down a challenge."

"It's not the challenge that bothers me," he said, climbing into the car with his partner. "It's the ghosts that won't stay dead."

John grinned and they pulled out, beginning the long and tense drive to their home and the unveiling of the contents of Walter Gandalf's box.

Part 5

I could have punched something when Mrs. Perry brought out that box. It was heavy, I could tell. John held it to the car and I drove home. He held it in his lap and didn't say a word. I think for the first time, in real way, the weirdness has sunk in.

I am not ashamed to tell you that I could live my whole life and not know what is in that box.

They sat on the couch, the box on the table before them. Staring at it silently, they considered the evening thus far. John sighed and reached forward, his partner catching his arm.

"John... don't open this. You don't know what's in there."

"It can't be dangerous, Tom. Gandalf gave it to an old lady."

"He gave it to her to give to you. Don't you find that even a little weird?"

John nodded. "It's a lot weird. But we have to open it."

Tom rose, frustration animating him. "John, consider... let me throw away every principle of science that animates me. Let's consider that this could be one of the anomalous things that happens, like a visual vortex at a sideshow carnie, or a fortune teller actually getting it right... what are the odds that you would end up under an awning on a rainy day in Seattle to spy these books from an estate sale? An estate sale of Walter Gandalf?"

John sat back, nodding. "Enormously high against."

"Precisely. You have a box and we had a... a... "

"Zen moment?" John supplied helpfully, compassion flooding him over Tom's struggle with the supernatural.

"Yeah... probably," he said, pausing in his pacing, his expression filling with unexpressed disgust. "We also got other things, your ring for instance and when we track this man down, you end up with that," he said, pointing to the box on the table, "predicted by the old lady. What sort of shit is this? You were predicted to arrive after Gandalf died." He moved closer and shook his head. "After. After death. As in from the grave, ghosts... all that crap that doesn't exist."

"But it does here, Tom," John said. He stared at the box. "We have to open this."

Tom spun and threw up his hands. "I give up."

"Good. Now come here and sit," John said, patting the couch beside him. After a moment of silent protest, Tom Boromir walked over and sat, his face filled with loathing as John reached out, his hands gingerly opening the lid of the wood box. They leaned back, waiting for something to happen and when it didn't, they leaned forward, peering inside.

There was a paper on the top, covered in the strange writing that had been in all the books and John picked it up, studying it closely. He put it aside a moment and then noted a silver pouch, silvery and lovely in a way he hadn't seen before. He picked it up and looked at it, holding it closer to Tom for inspection.

"Odd. I've never seen silver like that before but it's silver all the same."

John nodded and drew the bag open, turning it over. Something green and brilliant fell from the bag, landing in his hand. Tom whistled and reached for it, holding it up in the light. It was large and shiny, a light halo of green around its edges, rather like it was illuminated from within.

"What is it?" John asked, noting Tom's intensity.

"It's an emerald... from the beryl classification... green."

"So I noticed," John said, a slight smile on his face.

Tom shot him a glaring glance. "Each to his own specialty. There are many colors of beryl in this world. But this one... I've never seen anything so brilliant or so perfect in an uncut form. Or this big."

John nodded, picking up the paper once more. He considered the writing on it and then rose, walking to his notebook where he began to put the lettering together into some form of sense. For a moment it was still and then he half turned, startled. Tom rose, noting his surprise.

"What?" he demanded.

John turned, the paper in his hand. "It says... it says, ‘come back to me'..."

Tom felt the blood drain to his toes and he looked at the stone, a lot of old memories and conversations converging at once. He dropped the stone as if it were hot and moved away from it and the box. He turned and ripped the paper out of John's hand, flinging it on the table with the box and stone.

"Fuck," he whispered, moving back to his partner, standing between him and the box. "I just remembered something."

"What?" John asked, his voice a whisper as well.

"The nickname for emeralds... a very old nickname."

"What?" John whispered again.

"Elf stones. They're called elf stones."

It was silent in the room for several minutes.

Tom's reticence about this sort of came to a head for me when he told me about the emerald. I am not clear on what we're supposed to do but someone wants us back in time to wherever this is and I don't think it's Elrond or Gil-galad.

They didn't know us. Maybe it was my clothes or the incongruity of me being in the line of march. Given their place, I might have been startled to see me too. However, someone wants us back and some intense drive in me wants to go back. I just have to convince Tom.

"HELL NO!"

John sighed, watching as his lover scrambled eggs for breakfast. They had gone to bed on it, sleeping together spooned tightly. They had packed the box gingerly and put it into the trunk with the other one.

Sleep had come hard and the next day, as they rose to meet a new dawn, John had broached the idea of a journey back with his lover.

"John..." he said, turning with a spatula in his hand. "I don't know if you understand the gravity of the situation. Someone is messing with our minds."

"Maybe," John agreed. "But what if its pre-ordained? What if because we don't do this, the whole world ends? What if this is something we need to do?"

Boromir stared at him, frustrated. "I don't care."

John blinked. "You have to be kidding."

"I'm not kidding," he said, turning and facing his lover. "I don't need to kid. Look into my eyes, John. I have a bad feeling about this and short of nailing your feet to the floor, I don't know what else to do."

John considered him and moved closer, placing his hands on Tom's shoulders. "I love you. You know that."

Tom sighed, nodding. Skepticism filled his face as he watched John's. John grimaced and dropped his hands.

"I'm not trying to con you. I'm telling you the truth. You've never let me down."

"Until now," Tom replied.

"No." John smiled slightly. "You are the wisdom against my impetuous need to know. We balance, brother."

Tom's posture relaxed a little. "I'm not a coward, John. I just have a funny feeling that if we do this something terrible will happen."

"And I feel if we don't, something terrible has already happened."

Tom glanced away, his turmoil clear. He considered things a moment and then turned back.

"What do you propose, John?"

John smiled slightly. "We go back. We take the elf stone. We find this person who wants us. Maybe having the stone will get us to this one person who has gone to a lot of trouble to get our attention."

"I would say so," Tom agreed. "Getting our attention I mean."

"Go to work and come home. Think about this, Tommy. Then tonight we can decide. Just do this for me."

Tom sighed, shaking his head. "Everything I do is for you, John."

John swallowed, nodding. "I know." He leaned in and kissed Tom, lingering on his lips. "I hope you know what that means to me."

Tom stared at him and sighed. "You are a ball buster."

John grinned and turned, returning to making orange juice once more. "My mother has her own version of that expression too."

"I'm sure she does," Tom said, chuckling.

I thought the other day would never end. This one dragged on. I could feel every second that ticked by. Fortunately, it was only a lab and a session of scheduled meetings of grad students. By the time I got ready to go, I was crawling out of my own skin. I called John off and on all day, just to make sure he didn't go alone.

That is, to wherever this is.

Shit.

I've got to do some research on overlapping dimensions or parallel dimensions or whatever. I think I watched too much Star Trek as a kid.

He walked into the house and called out John's name, relief flooding him as he peered around the corner of the living room.

"Here, Tom."

He sighed and dropped his gear, heading for the living room without his ritual after-work beer. John was there, dressed in sweats, looking like he just had a shower.

"What's wrong with your hand?" he asked, reaching out and taking John's hand into his own. It was bandaged across the thumb.

"My sword master. Caught it sparring."

"Ah, the lessons," Tom replied, sitting on the floor next to his lover. He kissed him on the lips. "How are they coming?"

"Fine," John said with a sigh. "He says he's never had a more motivated student."

Tom smiled. "What else is new? You never did anything half-assed."

John snorted and smiled. "You are poetic in your descriptive language. I could do a thesis on you alone."

"I hate your love of languages," Tom said. "If you weren't so good at it, we would be sitting here talking about having a sexy weekend on the coast rather than whether or not to enlist in the Elf army of our choice."

John smiled, kissing him again, sighing with pleasure at the soft sweet sigh of his partner. He turned and kissed him again, his hand caressing Tom's cheek. Tom leaned in and kissed him back, his tongue breaching the barrier of John's soft lips. He pulled John closer, kissing him with more neediness than he thought he felt and then they broke, John's sigh warm against his lips.

"It was a long day."

John nodded.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"What now?" Tom asked, clear in his mind that he couldn't deny much, if anything to this man.

"We have to go back."

Tom nodded, sighing. "I won't let you go alone."

"I know," John said, kissing him again. "What would I do without you in my life?"

"I don't know. Get laid less and do your own laundry?"

John laughed, hugging Tom tightly, his affection welling in his heart. They sat together, wrapped in each other's arms and then the phone rang, breaking the sweetness of the moment. John sighed and turned, picking up the phone that sat on the table.

"Hello."

He listened a long time and then replied, ‘yes', hanging up the phone once more.

"What was that?" Tom asked, pulling him back against his chest once more.

"Mom," John said, sighing. "They're having a dinner party on Saturday. They want us to come."

"Crap," Tom said, sighing. "Who will be there? A lot of captains of industry and their trophy wives? Your brother and his anorexic broom handle?"

John snorted, laughing out loud as he settled against his lover's warm body. "That was certainly descriptive."

"I mean no offense," Tom said, grinning broadly.

"Of course you did," John replied with a chuckle. "You know, I wonder what it would mean for Robert to get laid really well. Say, by you or someone else rugged and manly."

Tom laughed and kissed John's forehead. "Me. I can just see that. ‘Robert, take off your girdle and prepare to sing'."

John laughed, snorting out loud. "How do you know he wears a girdle?"

"I would if I had a wife like her. I'd need it to carry my hernias around."

They sat together, amused and bemused and then John sighed.

"We better get ready."

Tom sighed, defeated. "I suppose arm bands won't be enough this time."

"I was thinking that the whole kit has to come this time."

It was silent a moment and then Tom snorted. John glanced at him curiously.

"What?"

"I was just thinking... what if someone comes by and sees us just sitting there dressed up like King Arthur and the Green Knight. I wonder what would happen?"

"I think they would turn around very quietly and sneak back out the way they came. I know I would," John said, rising and pulling his partner to his feet.

"Promise me one thing."

John nodded. "Whatever you want."

"At the first sign of trouble, you pull us back here. No ifs, ands or buts."

"I promise," John said, leaning into Tom's kiss.

Tom nodded and turned, walking to the corner of the room. He picked up the garments they had found in the locker, handing some to John and keeping some for himself. His sword lay nearby and so did his bands, waiting for him to don them.

He watched as John dressed, putting on the strange medieval-like clothing with an ease that was disconcerting and when they were dressed, after an inspection to make sure they were ready, both men sat on the couch.

John picked up the green stone, tucking it into his tunic. He touched his ring, the green stone eerily like the one in his shirt. Then he picked up the box, moving to touch Tom on the shoulder with his own. They settled back, each of them silent as John Strider turned the numbers slowly, reaching five at last.

The room shimmered and disappeared, taking them away from their lives.

Part 6

The world coalesced around them and they stood uncertain, their hands on the hilts of their swords. Around them, stretching out in all directions, the rolling countryside of some place gleamed. It was green and beautiful, like England or Ireland can be when you leave the cities behind and they stared at it with amazement.

John turned and walked to where Tom stood, his face filled with a mix of wonder and fear. He turned and looked at John, at his transformation and shook his head.

"This is the stupidest thing we have ever done."

John smiled and squeezed his arm, his eyes returning to the land. "This looks like the English countryside. I half expect people on horses to go galloping by."

"Yeah," Tom replied, moving forward slightly. "There's a road... or maybe a lane."

"Let's go," John said, moving toward it.

Tom caught his arm. "We don't know where it goes. There could be people at the other end, people who shoot first and ask questions later."

"And, my voice of reason and caution, there could be answers."

John stepped forward, moving down the slight incline where they stood and Tom followed, his reluctance evident. They walked together, following the rutted road as it twined through the silent countryside.

The sun beat down, the evidence of mid-to-late summer surrounding them in the fullness of fruit on trees and the tilled fields that they began to come across. They walked on and soon the road led to a fork. Smoke on the horizon beckoned them and they moved to the woods that lined the road, creeping toward a view over the hill that prevented their clear vision.

Beyond them, settled along a river, a small town rested. It was filled with activity and appeared to be very pre-industrial. A mill turned, the river its only power and people drove carts pulled by small horses. It was very benign looking all in all and John turned to his partner, a questioning look on his face. Tom sighed and resigned himself, nodding back.

"At the first sign of trouble..." he said. John nodded, kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Agreed," he said, turning and leading the way down to a lane that led directly to a bridge over the river.

They walked on, getting closer with each step and as they did, it became clear that this wasn't a normal place. Either it was the best optical illusion either had ever seen or the houses and people were actually getting smaller the closer they got.

A man driving a small hay-laden cart stared at them with surprise, nearly pulling his wagon to a halt as they passed by. Tom smiled and nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as they walked past, swords swaying gently at their waists. He leaned over toward his partner.

"Do you feel we aren't in Kansas anymore?" he asked, looking at a farmer pausing in his field. "This has to be Oz."

"I know what you mean. Just keep walking and smile," John said, smiling at the farmer who stared at him startled. "These people... did you see that farmer? He can't be three feet high if he's an inch."

They continued on, crossing the bridge and entered a small town where everyone was paused. Tom and John stopped, staring back. The houses and buildings were very small, the doorways unable to accommodate either man without bending and the tables that were set up outside were like children's.

People just stared and they stared back, the expression of surprise mutual. Tom leaned over, whispering to his partner. "They have hair on their feet. Why do they have hairy feet?"

"I don't know," John said, staring at a perfectly formed adult-looking woman who couldn't be more than two feet high. "Look at that woman. She's not a dwarf or a midget or something. She has none of those characteristics. They must be the way they are supposed to be."

"Well, that's obvious," Tom said with a smirk. "Leave the scientific analysis to me, okay?"

John smiled and nodded, moving closer to the little woman. She stepped back slightly, watching as he knelt before her.

"Hello," he said, speaking in Elvish. "I am called Strider. We need to know the name of this place."

She looked at him, at his kind eyes and relaxed a little. She was small with curly hair, a pretty sweet face and nice figure. A buxom lass, she was more bold than the others who stood back from the two tall strangers and watched.

"This is Hobbiton."

John nodded. "I am looking for Elves. Do you know the names of Elrond and Gil-galad?"

She nodded and smiled, a pretty thing. "Yes. They live in Rivendell."

John rose and nodded, staring at his partner. "They know Gil-galad and Elrond. They live in Rivendell."

"That's nice. Where is Rivendell?" Tom asked, watching as small people around him became more bold, moving closer. He smiled at them and they began to relax, crowding around the pretty woman in their curiosity.

Strider knelt again. "Where is Rivendell?"

She pointed east. "Follow the moon to the mountains. It's in a valley I'm told. I can't tell you better because I've never been there."

John thought a moment and then pulled a paper from a pouch that hung at his waist. Turning and rising, he walked to a table and unfolded the paper, smoothing it out for reading. The little people gathered around, staring at it and then the little woman exclaimed with surprise. She pointed to a rune and looked at John.

"That's his mark. Do you know him?" she asked.

"Who?" John asked, kneeling again. "Who belongs to this mark?"

"Why, Gandalf," she exclaimed, surprised that he wouldn't know. A noise behind her drew her eye and she noted a strangled look of surprise on the other tall figure.

John rose and turned to Tom, who stood filled with agitation. "Relax and I'll find out what is what."

"Gandalf. They know him too. He died in Seattle a few weeks ago. He was a hundred and one and he died there. What would he be doing here in the middle of my worst nightmare?"

"I'll find out," John said placatingly. "Just relax."

"Relax," Tom repeated, shaking his head. "Just relax. Like that."

John smiled and turned, kneeling down once more. "What do you know of Gandalf?"

"He's a wizard and he comes here from time to time. He's a friend of Bilbo's."

"Bilbo?" John asked.

"Right," she replied, turning and pointing down the road. "He has a big hole on the road, called Bag End. You can't miss it. I was told that Gandalf was there."

John swallowed hard and nodded, rising. He paused and knelt again. "What is your name?"

She smiled, dimples flashing in her pretty face. "I'm Rosie."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly. Rising, smiling at the blush on her face and the commentary around him, he nodded and turned, moving into the road in the direction she pointed. Tom moved with him, glancing back at the group that stood staring after them.

"You know, John, kissing her hand could mean you're engaged," Tom said, glancing at his partner.

"She's cute enough to marry," John said, snickering. "I don't think I've ever seen such a cute woman before."

Tom grinned. "So I guess this means we're over."

John snorted and looked at Tom with deep affection. "Maybe when I'm dead."

"Which can happen here if we're not careful," Tom admonished.

They walked on in companionable silence until they turned a corner and found a big house, that is a house carved into a hillside. It was the biggest one around, fringed by plants and flowers, a fence surrounding the lawn. On the top of the hill stood a lone tree, garnering a grin from John.

"What?" Tom asked, eyeing him with curiosity.

"There's a fairy fort on top of his house."

"What's that?" Tom asked, peering at the top of the hill. "I don't see a fort."

"The tree," John replied, grinning at his partner. "It's said if you cut down a tree, the last tree in a field, the fairies will kick your ass. The lone tree in a field is called a fairy fort."

"You know the damnedest things," Tom replied, staring at his partner. "What now, Cochise?"

"Now, we knock on Mr. Baggin's door," he said, opening the gate.

Tom sighed and followed and watched as John knocked, the sound of feet scurrying inside welcomed. The door opened, a big round one and a small figure peered out, curly-haired and quizzical.

"Who are you and what do you want? Men don't often tramp through these parts. If you're looking for work, there isn't any here."

The door began to close and John stepped forward, putting a hold on it. The figure paused, a frightened look on his face.

"Mr. Baggins, I am assuming," John began.

"You assume a lot. I don't know you."

"He's Strider," Tom said, speaking up. "I'm called... I'm Boromir."

The little man looked at both and gathered his courage, looking at them with defiantly crossed arms.

"So you say. What do you want?"

"Rosie in town told us you know Gandalf. We need to speak with him."

"What makes you so sure I know him?"

"Because she wouldn't lie to us," Tom replied. "She seems the honest sort to me, unlike someone else I could name."

The little man flinched, relaxing his arms. "You don't have to get nasty. I don't get many visitors."

At this point another figure peered around the corner, a small, younger creature. He looked at them with big blue eyes, a moppet of curly black hair framing a pretty pale face.

"Who is it, Uncle Bilbo?" he asked, his voice as soft and as pretty as his features.

"Nothing to worry you about, my boy," Bilbo said, turning and gently pushing him back inside. At that point, a deep and sonorous voice spoke out.

"Bilbo? Who is at the door?"

Bilbo sighed and turned, calling inside. "Nothing to worry about. Just a couple of tramps looking for a handout."

Tom stiffened, glancing at John and then he reached in and caught the back of Bilbo's shirt, lifting him off the ground. He squealed and kicked as Tom pulled him out, holding him up to his own face, staring at him with anger.

"Who are you calling tramps, you little twerp?" he demanded as John reached over and pulled him free. He could barely contain his smile as he set Bilbo down.

"That wasn't nice, Boromir," John said, biting his lip against a smile.

"I'm no beggar," Tom said, barely mollified.

The little figure turned, staring at the two of them with startled eyes and then the other was there, kitchen knife in hand.

"Don't you hurt my uncle!" he cried as a big hand grabbed his wrist. The little figure was pulled back in and then so was Bilbo as another took his place, rising through the door to stare at them eye-to-eye.

Tom's hand dropped to his sword hilt as the tall robed figure looked at them both. He turned and smiled, his long hair and beard almost a parody of a wizard.

"You won't need that, Boromir," he said, a smile forming on his face. "Nor will you, Strider. I've been expecting you. Come in and sit and let us talk. There is much to tell of things that are happening."

John stared at him as he turned and ducked, heading into the house once more. Tom glanced at John, his face filled with incredulity. "Gandalf?"

"It would appear so," John said, shaking his head. "I don't even reason why, Tom. Let's hear him out."

Tom sighed and moved forward, ducking his head as he entered into a charming and comfortable house. John entered and both stood, staring around at the place.

"This is very cute," John said, turning to the two tiny men and one tall one that stood watching them. "I've never been in a house like this before."

"And you won't again if I have my way."

"Bilbo... that's hardly the way to treat your guests." Gandalf smiled at him and he shook his head, a resigned expression on his face.

"I suppose you expect me to feed them."

"Tea would be nice," Gandalf said, turning and gesturing them to follow.

All of them walked forward, the younger person last and when they were all settled in the kitchen on too small chairs, tea cups in hand, Gandalf smiled once more.

"My name is Gandalf, as I'm sure you know. This is my good friend, Bilbo Baggins and that young man is Frodo, his nephew. My friends are hobbits and this is Bag End, a homely house in the town of Hobbiton, a town in the Shire."

"I saw it on the map," John said, pulling it out of his pocket. He spread it on the table, Tom watching all without comment, his knees nearly preventing his view of the proceedings. He balanced on a small chair, the pretty youngster watching him with amusement.

"This town is the home of a special kind of person. I have a personal fondness for hobbits and visit as often as I can."

"Who are you?" Tom asked. "How can you exist in two places and what the hell are we doing here?"

Gandalf smiled. "I am a wizard. I know that in your... place... that is something that is considered less than respectable but here, I am a powerful person and no one to trifle with. You are here because there is a need and there is no one that can step in and do what you can."

"And what is that?" John asked, curiosity rising through him.

"I cannot tell you here," Gandalf said, his eyes flickering to the two people listening. Suffice it to say it concerns a great evil and the future of this world depends upon you."

A soft sigh was heard and all turned to Tom, noting the resigned look of disgust on his face.

"Right," he said, shaking his head. "We have to save the world."

"You do," Gandalf said. "Only men can make the peace of the world happen. No one else can do it. Not hobbit, not wizard, not Elf."

"Elves." Tom sighed. "He just said Elf."

"I know," John said, squeezing Tom's arm comfortingly.

"I am on my way to Rivendell, to the House of Elrond. I need you to come. I can tell you the tale along the way."

"We're going to see the Elves, Boromir," John said, a smile on his face.

"Well, la-de-da, Mr. Strider," Tom said, rising and bumping his head on the ceiling.

The smaller hobbit snickered, smiling at his distress and Tom stared back, a slight smile forming on his lips. "You think that's funny."

The hobbit nodded. "I think all tall people are funny."

"It figures," Tom said, shaking his head.

Gandalf rose and turned to Frodo. "Get your things, Frodo. We're going now."

The youngster smiled and turned, running off. John watched him go. "What's this? Why does the child have to come?"

"He's almost fifty," Bilbo said defensively. "He's not a child."

"Because, my dear Strider, time is in flux and we need him with us, that's why," Gandalf said, his voice a whisper.

John nodded, glancing at Tom, who stood staring at both like they were insane. The fuss of gathering up to go passed by and Frodo hugged his uncle. They stepped out into the bright sunshine and as they did a commotion happened.

Another hobbit emerged, one with light curly hair. He was stout but strong looking and stared at all defiantly. Frodo smiled, looking at the figure with bemusement. "Sam! What are you doing here?"

"I'm going with you," Sam said, glaring at all.

For a moment they stood, Tom and John staring at the small man and then Gandalf. The wizard sighed.

"You don't know where we're going."

"It doesn't matter," Sam said stubbornly. "I go where Mr. Frodo goes and that's that."

Gandalf smiled. "You are needed."

Sam relaxed, surprised. "I am?"

Gandalf tossed him a bundle in his hand. "Carry this, Samwise Gamgee and don't dawdle."

"I don't dawdle," Sam protested, falling in line with Frodo. "He says I dawdle."

"He doesn't know you like I do, Sam," Frodo said with a smile. He turned and waved, Bilbo waving back and as they moved on, Gandalf leading his horse, the hole disappeared from view.

Following at the end, Tom and John walked together, their eyes looking in all directions. Tom sighed, staring at his lover.

"You owe me big time, brother," he said, his voice soft.

"I know," John said with a smile. "Put it on my tab."

The road turned right and they followed it, fading from view eventually. The sun overhead beat down strongly and they continued onward, making for the hills beyond.

Part 7

It was late when they reached Bree, a small town on the edge of the wilderness they were heading into on their way to Rivendell. They had walked the entire way, utilizing only the ferry at the river and when they arrived it was well past dark.

They entered the enclosed town, pausing long enough to talk to the gate keeper and then down the winding lane they went. Tom looked around, his unease growing as they passed strangers, many of them terrible looking customers. Gandalf paused before a livery stable, delivering his horse and with burdens of gear, they continued onward.

John walked beside Frodo, the small figure carrying on a conversation with him most of the day. They had hit it off together, their personalities rather similar and so they talked throughout the journey. Tom had taken up the rear, barely speaking unless spoken to, his eyes never ceasing to peruse their surroundings.

The inn was called the Prancing Pony and they entered, a bar and restaurant of sorts to one side and a staircase that led to rooms for hire. Gandalf took care of that business and they went up, dropping their gear into two rooms. John and Tom were in one and the hobbits with Gandalf, a room with many beds large and small let for them.

They turned and walked back down, taking a table. Simple food and strong beer was the fare and they ate silently, their attention drawn from time to time by a loud conversation or a mild scuffle. They sat together, watching the show and when they were finished, adjourned to their rooms. Gandalf spoke to Frodo and Sam and then turned, following the two men until they entered their room and closed the door.

Tom turned and looked at Gandalf, licking his dry lips as he considered what to say. John walked to the window, peering out.

"What the hell is this? What are we doing here?" Tom asked, watching as Gandalf sat down in a chair.

He considered the words a moment and then sighed. "Do you know this isn't supposed to happen this way?"

"I do," John replied, sitting on another chair, the window curtain pulled just a little. "This wasn't supposed to happen, meeting like this. There should be more hobbits and the Riders should be here."

"They're about," Gandalf said, nodding. "But the rest is out of sequence. Time is broken, the natural course of things is out of joint. I am not sure why but I know that we have a force here that is manipulating the flow of time and causing things that shouldn't be to happen and that which should come to pass fall away. There are people alive now that shouldn't be."

"Gil-galad," John replied.

Gandalf nodded. "That is true. He fell during the Last Alliance of Elves and Men three thousand, five hundred years ago. Yet he lives. There are those that are glad he did, me included in the end, but the course of history is changed and I am not sure what that bodes for us all."

"Why are we here?" Tom persisted, sitting on the bed.

"That is strange indeed," Gandalf replied. "A time eddy made it possible for me to reach out for help. It was chance perhaps that made you the recipients of my message. You are here because you can help. That is all I know."

"All right," Tom said, frustrated. "Tell us the problem then. I can't operate in the dark."

Gandalf nodded. "The problem began a while ago. It was clear to me that the course of events had become changed. Things that were not true were true and things that were false were appearing all around me. People that I knew were gone, dead for many years, greeting me on my travels. Gil-galad for instance. I visited Imladris... Rivendell. My good friend is the Master of that redoubt. He greeted me with more happiness than I could remember and I asked him why. He looked at me strangely and then Gil-galad appeared. I have to tell you I was shocked."

"I can imagine," John replied. "Gil-galad fell at the battle of the Last Alliance. He was killed. His partner, Elrond, tried to get another, a man named Isildur to throw the one ring into the fire of Mount Doom."

Gandalf nodded. "He did. And of course he failed. All that you said happened was the real history of this place. Now it is not so. The Last Alliance has yet to take place but not in its original form. It is coming but the outcome is uncertain."

"I hate to be a broken record here," Tom said quietly. "You have me at a disadvantage. I don't know what is right and what isn't. I just know that we're here, this isn't Seattle and you died there. What is the story?"

Gandalf smiled. "I'm not a man like you. I am neither man nor Elf. I am separate and very old. My power is great but not unlimited and I can do many things. I had to reach out to you because your direction was the only one open to me. You picked up my call as I hoped you would. I thank you for that."

"What do you want us to do?" John asked.

Gandalf considered his words and sighed deeply. "There is a great evil on the land. There is a ring that is held by one who should have destroyed it. He didn't and so this world is in peril of falling into shadow and all who live here becoming enslaved. It is up to us to get the one ring and to destroy it."

Tom looked at John and lay back on the bed, his arms flung back over his head. He sighed. "This is not happening. You're talking about magic rings."

"There are many magic rings in the world and none of them are to be trifled with," Gandalf said, pausing. "I've said that before but not to you."

Tom sat up, staring at Gandalf. "So... we're supposed to do what? Get a magic ring and destroy it. What are the hobbits doing with us?"

"Frodo was the original ring-bearer. He was the one who was supposed to destroy the ring in the first place. He's with us because to set history right, we have to do it with the people who first made it."

"You want to change things back to the way they were?" John asked.

"That can't be done. History is made already. Besides, our presence changes things no matter what happens," Tom said.

Gandalf smiled. "There are thoughts that if things are repaired that your presence will be as if it never happened. All will be as it should be and nothing will be out of order."

"Or, it will be to a certain extent. The one trauma will be assuaged but other minor changes remain the same," Tom replied, his mind frantically searching through the reading he had done.

"Negligible in any case," Gandalf agreed, nodding. "Right now, we have to sleep," he said rising. "Tomorrow we cut across country for the House of Elrond. Good night."

They watched him go and the door close, then John rose and began to pull off his cloak. Tom watched him, noting his wear and tear. Stubble was beginning to show and he looked scruffy but in a good way. He lay back, the bed more comfortable than he expected.

"This is the strangest waking dream I've ever had."

John grinned and poured water into a basin. "I hear you."

"What do you think? Truly."

John shrugged. "I don't know. I'm no physicist. But I know that the story here is wrong. I read it, Tom. There are real changes in history and none of them for the good. At least, none of the big ones."

"And we're supposed to fix them," Tom replied, watching as John stripped off his tunic.

"It would appear so," John replied. "Gandalf thinks so."

"He's not human. He's a wizard. Do you know what this is doing to my scientific objectivity?"

John grinned and turned to him, drying himself on a small towel. "You are a scientist, Tom. Consider that a hypothesis is based on facts at hand, facts that can be tested under controlled experimentation. Think of this as a lab situation and work out the bugs in your thinking by observation and questioning. If we are really here, then all around us are facts, things that can be tested."

"Perhaps," he said, rising and unbuckling his sword. He sighed and pulled off his tunic, tossing it on the bed. He moved past his lover and began to wash up.

"You know, John... I'm not much on formalities. I wasn't raised with a silver spoon in my mouth."

John snorted and shucked his clothes, moving to brace the door with a chair. He turned and climbed into bed, resting his sore body against a passable mattress.

"However... that being said, I am not looking forward to wearing the same clothes for the next... what? Month?"

John chuckled and watched the play of muscles on Tom's back, sighing slightly. "You and me both, brother."

Tom smiled and turned, his hair straggling into his eyes. His blond stubble cried out for a razor as he moved to the bed, shedding his clothing and climbing under the covers. They lay together, staring at the ceiling for a moment before John turned and moved, settling against Tom's chest. Strong rough hands began to caress him, sliding slowly up and down his back. He sighed.

"You're all tense," Tom said.

"That feels good."

It was silent for a moment.

"What is this Elrond like?" Tom asked, watching a shadow play across the ceiling.

"He's an interesting person," John replied, yawning. "He's the son of a man the Elves believe is the morning and evening star. There's more to it but I haven't gotten that far. He has one of the most royal pedigrees of anyone here. He's a lore master, whatever that is and someone who is called upon when things fuck up. His home is a sanctuary, at least it is when things are in order. It could be a brothel now for all I know."

Tom snorted, kissing the top of John's head. "I somehow can't see that happening."

John smiled. "Me either. I want to meet him more than anyone else here."

"Gil-galad. What's his story?"

"He's a high king of Elrond's kindred and Elrond is his right arm. The tales call them partners."

"Are they married to anyone?" Tom asked, considering the language of the story.

"No. Neither are. Not while Gil-galad was alive anyway. When he died Elrond married and had three children, twin boys and a girl."

Tom nodded. "He sounds gay."

"Could be," John said, smiling. "I think there was a relationship there. They were together until Gil-galad's death."

"If we put things to rights, Gil-galad dies and Elrond is left alone."

John considered that and sighed. "I know," he said softly.

"This sucks, John. If we do whatever Gandalf expects that we're supposed to do, people are going to be dead and people are going to be left alone."

John leaned up and kissed Tom, settling against his chest as strong arms encircled him. He shifted, moving onto Tom's body, sighing against his lips as he relaxed.

"I wonder how thin the walls are," John whispered with a soft chuckle.

Tom grinned, his hands sliding up and down John's back. "Since when did you ever worry about that?"

"They might have noise ordinances here," John replied.

Tom snorted and chuckled, hugging his lover tightly. "Well, we'll just have to find out the hard way, won't we."

John moved and sat up, straddling his lover. "I guess we will," he whispered, leaning down and kissing Tom softly. He sat back up, shifting slightly and began to rub against Tom, watching with satisfaction as he sighed, his eyes closing. Strong hands gripped John's thighs as he moved, the friction of the slow steady rhythm warm between them.

Tom bit his lip and held John's legs, his passion rising through him like a brush fire. John leaned forward, bracing his hands on each side of Tom's shoulders and moved faster, his own panting staccato to Tom's. It was silent by default, their orgasms, bitten back against the thought of others knowing and when it passed John relaxed, falling into the sticky chest and strong arms of his partner.

He sighed and relaxed, the slow trail of Tom's fingers along his spine soothing. It was silent as they lay together, each lost in their thoughts. Far away, riding along the back roads of the countryside, dark shadows searched. Shades of men on horseback, dressed in black, went this way and that as they sought out the one ring that their master desired.

It was late and he stood staring at the stars, his robe drawn around him. He had not heard back, his emissary still not returned and as Elrond stood staring skyward, his fear for Glorfindel grew. If the rumors were true, if Isildur did indeed possess the ring, the delay in return couldn't be a good thing.

The Council would be convening in a week and he wanted to make sure that Gondor and Arnor were there. Elendil had not returned his messages and this disturbed him. They were friends, Gil-galad especially a comrade of the tall and gregarious man. Not hearing from him, coupled with the finding of a dying Gollum had been bad news when it was said Gollum's last words were Isildur and the 'precious'.

Riders had been dispatched and news sought but little was to be had until strange tales of the White City began to be heard by Rangers. They had drifted in, their kind always welcomed at Rivendell.

They had told him of increased security around Gondor and Arnor, of people being suppressed for having dissenting opinions and other foreboding things. It was said that Isildur was in charge, supported by his brother and that his father hadn't been seen for some time. It was said that the young man was wanton and cruel.

Elrond sighed, contemplating the changes in things when strong arms encircled him and the glistening magic of soft lips against his neck made him weak with pleasure. He sighed and leaned back, welcoming the touch of his lover.

"You are melancholy tonight," Gil-galad whispered.

"I am worried for Glorfindel and all of the rest of us," Elrond said, sighing.

"I know," Gil-galad said, nuzzling Elrond's ear. He sighed and stepped beside his lover, his arm around Elrond's waist. He looked at the sky and considered things for a moment. "The world is in flux, this I can feel. Change is on the wind and I fear it won't be for the good."

"We won't be free of danger until the ring is destroyed. If we march on Gondor--"

"We must," Gil-galad said, turning Elrond to face him. "You know it and I do. We must defeat Isildur if he has the ring and destroy it."

"What if we take the ring? What if a chance is taken and the ring is brought out of Gondor? Then it can be destroyed."

Gil-galad considered Elrond's words. "It would be the best solution to a terrible problem. How could this be done? I am told that Elves are not allowed in Gondor and Arnor. Wherever the ring is, we cannot go there."

"There might be a way," Elrond said, slipping his arms around Gil-galad's shoulders. "Gandalf and I have been talking."

"Ah, you keep secrets from me," Gil-galad said teasingly.

Elrond smiled, sighing. "I felt discretion might be in order in case it was only idle speculation rather than a plan that might be implemented."

Gil-galad smiled. "You are ever my right hand." He pulled Elrond into his body, a sense of deep melancholy informing him. "Come to bed. I am tired of waiting for you alone."

Elrond nodded and turned, walking with his partner to the bedroom beyond.

Part 8

Morning came very early and they stepped out of the inn, the sky above them streaking with light. Gandalf had gone to fetch his horse and Sam and Frodo stood in the lane, talking quietly in a language neither Tom nor John understood.

They were dressed in cloaks and carried small packs, the bigger one on Sam's back. Gandalf appeared and they moved off together, heading out of the town through its main gate. They headed down the road and then stepped off, walking up the slight incline of land that led to the mountains and plains beyond.

Trees broke the blandness of rock and earth, the sky becoming blue as the day wore on. Gandalf led and the hobbits followed. Tom was next, followed by John, who true to form was lost in his own thoughts. It was colder as they got higher and when the sun began to go down they noted a far off landmark.

"Amon Sul," Gandalf informed them. "It was a great watch tower of men at one time." He turned and looked at them. "We will camp there tonight."

They walked on, the uplift of land becoming clearer and when they arrived at its foot, they began to climb the trail of broken stairs that wound around it. Once at the top, the hobbits sat down, exhausted from their efforts on the road. Gandalf watched them and then turned, moving aside with John and Tom.

"I will scout around," he said. "I don't know what may lie out there but I feel a fell presence nearby."

"Oh great," Tom said, turning and shaking his head.

"We'll stay here," John agreed, watching as Gandalf turned and walked to the trail once more.

Tom turned and watched him go. "What the hell is a fell presence? Is it something that will just eat us or will it fuck us over first?"

"It could be anything," John admitted, turning and patting his partner on the arm.

"I haven't used a sword since I was a whole lot younger, John. We better not have to use these or we're going to get hurt."

"It's like falling off a bicycle," John said, turning and watching across the plain. "You don't forget."

"An epee and a real sword are two different things," Tom said, pulling his sword free of its scabbard. "This weighs a ton."

"Use it to do what you know how to do," John said, watching as he re-sheathed the weapon. "Remember to defend and when you get the opportunity, attack. Defend, attack."

Tom sighed and nodded. "And you? Can you defend?"

"I can," John said. "Don't worry about me."

"I do," Tom said, staring at his partner with concern. "You notice how conveniently he left out any mention of whether you and I can die here?"

They stared out, the darkness surrounding them in that deep way that it does when there is no illumination to be found. The deepness with all its sounds pressed in upon them and they retreated, sitting with the hobbits as all waited for Gandalf.

For a while it was quiet, then a shrill crying sound was heard along with the sound of galloping horses. John and Tom were on their feet, staring down into the lowlands below. They could see apparitions coming, dark shapes that rode dark horses and they turned, pulling the hobbits to their feet.

They turned and ran up broken steps to the second level of the ruin. The weak light of stars cast long shadows and the statues of forgotten men leered at them, mocking their feeble efforts to defend themselves.

Tom and John pulled their swords, the roar of their blood drowning out any other sound in their ears. Looking this way and that, they waited for trouble and it emerged upon them, emerging out of the night as four specters stepped between broken columns and paused.

"Fuck," Tom whispered, shoving Sam behind him. The two hobbits stared with fear and helplessness, standing behind the two men that blocked evil from them. Tom swallowed hard, his sword coming up in a defensive move and in seconds the shade directly in front of him charged.

There was a ringing sound as blade hit blade and then another charged John and it was a melee. They stood shoulder to shoulder, throwing back the devils, the sound of sword and grunting of effort echoing off the walls.

Sam and Frodo scurried back, watching with horror as the battle raged onward. They were matched until Strider slipped and a sword point pierced his shoulder.

His cry echoed and everyone paused, Tom looking at horror as his partner was stabbed. He cried out in rage and swung his sword with both hands, raining blows down upon the shapes as they turned and pulled back.

A flash of light appeared behind them and two of them burst into flames. Shrieks filled the night and swords clashed, falling and rising in the ghastly illumination of burning bodies.

The ghosts turned, running and screaming and disappeared over the top of the wall surrounding the tower. Gandalf looked down, peering all around as Tom ran and knelt beside his partner. John groaned, his cries coupled with ragged breathing and Tom turned, crying out for Gandalf.

The wizard came immediately, opening John's shirt and his expression darkened considerably. He picked up a sword, dropped by a shade and the blade fell away in his hand.

"A Mordor blade," he said with disgust. "Bring me a cloth, a shirt, anything."

Frodo pulled a shirt from his bag and Gandalf wrapped it around the blade. "Put this in my bag. Do not touch it with your hands. There is writing upon it that Elrond will need to read. This kind of wound is beyond me to heal."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Tom demanded, the moaning man lying in his arms thrashing from pain. "Do something!"

Gandalf opened the shirt and stared. A black edged wound was cut into a pale shoulder and green began to ooze from it. "We have to get him to Elrond. He will know how to heal this wound."

Gandalf rose and hurried down the steps, unloading his horse carefully. Turning, he hurried up and helped them get Strider to his feet. They made it down the stairs and put him on the horse, leaving behind what they couldn't carry.

Lighting several torches and giving them to others, Gandalf led his horse into the night.

In another time and place...

He stared into his pilantir, watching as people went about their business unaware. The lost seeing stones of the Elves were mostly accounted for but he knew that his and Sauron's weren't. He had used it for a long time, collecting information of use to his long range plans and as he did, he learned more about how these things worked.

Sometimes there were pictures he didn't understand but over time he began to see that they were other possibilities, other worlds and ways of being. Men were in a lot of his pictures, their strange technologies calling out to him. He studied them, learning as much as he could all the while he studied the history of his own kind through the green glass surface of the stone.

He knew that time was a river, flowing along its way with little thought to eddies and whirlpools, those places where his thoughts gathered. He considered what it meant to play with the stream, to watch things change from what they were to what might be.

He gave great thought to it, placing into it his skill and his ability and when he made a change, a small one indeed, he noted that the course of Gondor was disrupted. What he didn't understand was that tossing a pebble into the current of time, the ripples will not be predictable.

Like glass shattering, the effect of his actions splintered things as they were into things that are and out of them time shifted like a kaleidoscope. What was old existed alongside of things yet to be, ancient times nestled beside the present. People who had died, didn't. And kingdoms consolidated in seconds that didn't exist before.

All the possibilities that were to be had came together in a flash and when Saruman considered them he was puzzled. The great fortress of Barad-Dur was silent, the lurking energy of Sauron was missing and he considered the enormity of what he had done.

Time had danced for him, adding and subtracting in ways he still wasn't sure of. But what interested and excited him was the absence of one single presence among the many before him.

Sauron.

He was nowhere to be had. Perhaps, he considered, time had washed even that force away, leaving him the most powerful person in Middle Earth. Sauron's kingdom and his forces were his alone and he felt the rush of power so great that it nearly destroyed him.

He considered his resources, doubled and trebled in the blink of an eye and as he did, he turned and summoned an aide. A small orc entered, waiting respectfully.

"Gather an escort together. I am going to Mordor," he said.

The orc bowed and turned away, scurrying off to comply. As he did, Saruman the Wise felt an almost orgasmic feeling of power inhabit him, rushing through him like a wind. No matter what had happened, he was not only intact but greater and the world was laid out before him, a garden to be harvested.

He rose and walked to his pilantir, touching it once more. The presence of the Dark Lord was gone from the world. It made him want to smile. With a sigh, he took it into his hand and walked to his rooms to pack.

He rode along the trail, his men in escort behind him. They had ridden far, traveling through the mountain regions for his father. Visiting towns and villages was a way to keep track of their kingdom and as he went here and there he knew he was being groomed for the throne some day.

He was a very big man, muscular and handsome. His hair was long and dark and his eyes piercing. He was handsome in the way of all Numenoreans and kingly. He sat a horse well and his eyes never stopped roving, looking all around him with the same restless energy that animated him in all things.

He had traveled to Imladris, spending a few days with his father's good friends, Elrond of Rivendell and King Gil-galad. It had been most enjoyable but he had to move on and off to Lothlorien he had gone. The Lady and Lord of the Great Wood were warm hosts and he spent a few days there giving his father's regards to them.

By the time he moved on, paralleling the Misty Mountains he was ready to be at home again. He would follow the Nimredel and pass into the Dunland, moving south into Gondor once more. It was the long way around but one he had not taken and so as he moved along the mountain tracks, fate played a hand in his future.

He didn't feel it, the shifting of time and when it had passed and all had been changed, he wasn't aware that it happened. No one was, none but the most acute and they were dulled by the experience for a while.

He traveled on, following the track and when he came across a scavenger pawing at a carcass he was unable to stop his bowman from shooting. A scream emanated from the creature's lips and it tried to crawl away.

Isildur jumped from his horse and ran to it, slowing as he approached. It was filthy and strange, a creature of big eyes and sharp teeth. It looked at him with hatred and fear and when he knelt, it tried to claw him.

He listened to the creature's voice, hearing a word repeat over and over. ‘Precious' it was and as he listened, he felt a strange sensation come over him. His world telescoped and he stared at the creature's hand, convulsively clutching something. He reached for it and it screamed, pawing away from him once more.

He grabbed the creature's wrist and as it tried to bite him, a guard gripped its head and cut its throat. It gurgled and coughed, the pitiful pleading falling away and as he fell back against the ground, his life blood dribbling away, a gold object fell from his hand.

Isildur stared at it, then he picked it up, holding it up in the light. He felt himself shredding, the interior of his soul coming apart and he staggered to his feet, his expression changing even as he did. It became hardened, lustful and greedy. It became devoid of the qualities that had earmarked him for the crown. He stood in the faint sunlight and turned the ring over, noting a heaviness in his limbs.

It had taken him at that moment, finding temporary sanctuary in the absence of the essence of its master. The Ring was at home now, the potential for finding Sauron much greater than with Gollum and so when the prince turned and mounted his horse to move onward toward Minas Tirith, the Ring rejoiced.

The trail was slippery and filled with trees and bushes, hindering their progress as they pushed on. Gandalf led the way, his staff lighting the darkness and behind him Strider sat in agony on the horse. The hobbits hurried, Boromir behind them, his torch held high against the cries in the night. He knew they weren't natural and he feared staying but he wasn't sure that the wound John had suffered could be treated back home.

The box in John's pocket burned in his mind and it took all his self-control not to snatch it and flee with his partner. Gandalf was in control for now and he deferred in his panic to the wizard's calm voice and swift feet.

They pressed on, the refuge of Rivendell far away. It was hell and it was wet, the torches sputtering and onward they went as ever evil was gaining on them.

He made Mordor in a few days, traveling steadily and when he entered the Dark Lord's castle he could feel the absence of his presence. The place was devoid of a controlling force and so he gathered the power points together. Orcs and Uruk Hai gave their allegiance to him and all of the Dark Lord's secrets lay unfurled.

Saruman settled in, making himself to home and he put his pilantir next to Sauron's, making use of both as he swept the world for the Ring. He would have that ring and then no one would be able to summon the strength to oppose him.

He had reshaped time, shifting all the ages into a deck and shuffling them. He was aware of differences, the presence of Isildur and Elendil but one and as he looked for others, he found enormous joy. He was finally, at long last beholding to no one.

Now the world would have to move to his commands.

"He's sick! What can you do?" Tom asked, turning to Gandalf with extreme distress.

"We will make a poultice. It will ease the poison but it will not heal him. We must hurry."

Gandalf turned and walked into the bushes, disappearing with Sam as they talked over plants. Tom sat, John's head in his lap and silently cursed him for bringing this all upon them. Then he leaned down and kissed him, ignoring Frodo's look of surprise as he stood holding a dagger and a torch nearby.

They sat together, noises in the night coming loud and clear and then a bright light began to form nearby. Tom looked up, his throat catching and laying John's head down gently, rose and drew his sword. He moved to stand over John, gathering his tattered wits and waited as the light got closer.

The sound of footsteps stopped and then the bushes were parted, a face peering in to where the three were hiding. Tom stared at him, his sword held firmly in his hand.

"Don't come any closer or I'll run you through," he said with more bravado than he felt.

The face stared at him, smiling slightly. It was as if the figure before him glowed with an inner light and as he stepped closer, Tom found himself lowering his sword willingly. "Who are you?"

"A wandering Elf, trooping with companions. We were told to come here by Gandalf. He's nearby. We met him in his searching."

Tom sighed and lowered his sword, moving to kneel beside John. "Can you help him?"

The Elf came closer and knelt too. He pulled open the shirt and frowned. "The wound is of Mordor. The knife?"

Frodo turned and got if from Gandalf's bag, handing it to the beautiful Elf as four more stepped into the clearing. Tom glanced at them, stunned into silence by their beauty and nobility and then he turned back to John, who looked deathlike with illness and sounded worse.

The Elf read the hilt and handed it back to Frodo, watching as he returned it to Gandalf's bag. "That is a fell thing. There is much evil in it. I will do my best."

He reached into John's shirt, touching the wound and surrounding area and Tom watched, noting John's rising ease. At that moment Gandalf returned, carrying plants in his hands. He knelt and handed them to the Elf, who in turn made a dry poultice of them. He put them on the wound and closed the shirt, glancing at Gandalf as he did.

"You must get him to Elrond. He will save him. The wound is bad, Gandalf."

He nodded and rose, looking around. "I will take him on my horse. I would be pleased and in your debt, Gildor Inglorion, if you would take the others to Rivendell in your company."

"I can't leave John," Tom said, rising.

"You must," Gandalf said, rising himself. "He is hours away from being beyond our help. If he is to defeat the grip of evil upon him, Lord Elrond is his only hope."

Tom swallowed hard and turned, helping Gandalf load his partner onto the horse's back. As he did the Elf talked to him, telling Gandalf something urgent. Gandalf nodded and mounted behind John, turning his horse and riding off swiftly.

Tom watched him go, aware he was trapped and turned, looking at seven alien creatures looking back at him. He rubbed his chin, his heart aching and helped the others gather things to go. It would take three days to fast march to Rivendell, three days in which he didn't know if John was alive or if he was dead.

Part 9

It was raining on the trail and Tom was grim-faced, following the Elves as they hurried onward toward Rivendell. The sound of his feet and the steady drip of water reminded him of home and his real life. This extended nightmare was vivid and terrifying and he was mostly silent as they tramped through the darkness of early morning, third day.

They hurried up a trail and when they crested the top, he looked down into a valley that was shocking in its beauty. Waterfalls poured over precipices, cascading down into a river that cut a wide valley. All along the sides were dwellings and in the middle was a house of amazing size and beauty.

It was nestled into trees, huge sheltering trees and trails wound along the outcroppings and sloping sides of the valley. As he walked down into it he was silent with amazement. There were lots of people here, that is, Elves but most of them had dark hair and eyes. A scattering of blonds were here and there but it was rare to see very many.

He considered this as he walked along a winding stairway, leading toward the great house below them. He climbed steps again and entered a winding walkway, following the silent Elves who had found them on the trail. He reached the front courtyard and they paused on the steps of the house, a stone wall ringing the entrance to the villa bearing great age.

The one called Gildor walked inside and was gone for a moment. Then he reappeared and gestured for them to follow. Tom walked inside, feeling very shabby in contrast to the amazing beauty and decoration that greeted him. The place was like a museum, filled with antique-looking furniture, books and art pieces. It was illuminated by open window spaces and candles. Everything was designed to be beautiful and the craftsmanship was obvious.

He found himself following Gildor, gazing around as he climbed stairs. He followed him down a corridor and then paused before a door. Gildor turned to him and nodded, opening it and stepping aside. Tom nodded and stepped inside, his eyes searching the room. On a huge bed, pale and silent, John Strider lay.

Tom felt tears come into his eyes and he rushed to the bed, sitting on the side, his hand pressed against John's face. He felt cool to touch and Tom wasn't sure whether that was good or not. He glanced up and met Gandalf's kind eyes.

"He's going to be all right. He was brought just in time to Elrond, who has been caring for him night and day since we left you."

Tom felt almost sick to his stomach with relief. "The wound... it's going to be all right. This sword? Was it poison?"

"After a fashion," Gandalf agreed. "All Mordor swords are."

Tom sighed deeply, staring at John as he slept. He was clean, his long dark hair brushed back from his face and his beard, and beard it was becoming, was nearly trimmed. He looked peaceful, if a little pale. Tom nodded and glanced back to Gandalf.

"Where is Elrond so that I can thank him?" he asked. Then he saw them, two figures standing nearby, discreetly silent as they watched him.

Gandalf turned and smiled. "This is Lord Elrond, the man in whose home you are a guest. And the other with him is the High King of the Noldor people, Gil-galad."

Tom rose and turned, suddenly self conscious of his road grime. One of them stepped forward, a look of bemusement on his ageless and handsome face. He was very tall and well-made, garbed in long robes. His hair was black and pulled back from his forehead, long side strands plaited in a pattern Tom had never seen before.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Boromir," he said. His gray eyes were direct and piercing, seemingly ageless but wise beyond describing. Tom stared at them and then awkwardly extended his hand, the other taking it after a moment of hesitation. Then the figure smiled, nodding. "Interesting greeting."

"It's um... its old. It's trust. You extend your sword hand to another."

Elrond nodded and smiled, then turned to his companion. The tall man moved forward, his dark eyes affixing Tom with a bemused look. He extended his hand and they shook. "I shall remember this."

Tom nodded, suddenly unnerved by the moment and its complications. He glanced back at John, reassured by his unchanged appearance. Then he turned and rubbed his face with his hands. "I owe you."

Elrond smiled. "You owe us nothing. We have been made aware of certain of your peculiar circumstances by Gandalf and your willingness to help us prevent a great calamity."

Tom swallowed hard. "I still owe you. You saved him and that is all that matters to me. I owe you one."

Elrond nodded, a look of complex understanding informing his features. Gil-galad moved to stand beside the bed, staring at the figure lying there.

"Right now, you are among the few men that we allow here. A great rift has arisen between our kindreds and yours. It is because of that rift that your partner has been injured."

Tom considered his words. "This isn't our fight. We're volunteers. We have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then you must rest and eat something, get clean clothing. When that is accomplished we will sit and talk together," Elrond said, stepping closer.

Gil-galad nodded, watching as Gandalf rose. "Perhaps we can adjourn for a while."

Gandalf nodded, moving toward the door. "When you've had a chance to gather yourself I will tell you the tale of how we got here and much more."

Tom nodded, watching as they left together and when the door was closed he turned and sat down on the bed. He took John's cold hand and held it against his lips, sighing with relief and fatigue. He felt as tired as he could be, three days tramping through the wilderness a challenge he hadn't had to face in a while. Even as fit as they both were, he was aware that they were both very lucky.

Behind him, a soft knock on the door caught his attention. He rose and walked to the door. Opening it, a tall woman was standing silently and behind here were two men. He stared at them and then stepped back, watching as they entered. They had pails of hot water and towels in their arms. Entering a nearby room, he could hear water being poured.

They exited the room, putting clothing on a chair. The woman turned and smiled and he offered her a weak one in return. They all walked to the door and left, leaving him alone again.

A soft groan caught his attention and he turned, moving to sit on the bed again. John's eyes fluttered open and then closed again, his hand slack once more in Tom's grip. Tom sighed and leaned down, kissing him softly. For a moment he just sat wearily and then he tucked John's hand under the covers, rising and walking to the bathing room.

There was a white tub, shaped like a swan and in it was clear warm water. He stripped and entered it, leaning backward. It was heavenly and with ease for the first time in days, he began to wash the grime away. He washed his body and then his hair, rinsing off and stepping out, drying himself with very soft towels.

He walked out and inspected the clothing, noting it looked like the clothes worn by trooping Elves. He pulled on undergarments and then light green pants. A long shirt he wore outside of his pants, a brown belt around his waist and green boots finished his wardrobe and when he walked back to the bed, a knock on the door drew him again.

It opened and Gandalf stepped in, smiling warmly. "You look much better."

"Thank you. I feel better," Tom replied.

"We are dining now. Elrond has asked me to fetch you. Strider will be all right. Elrond will post a young lady to sit with him."

Tom hesitated and then rose, following him out of the room and down a long hallway to the stairs. Down they went and around many corners until they entered an elegant room with a large set table. People were there, mostly Elves and a couple of very short men with long beards nd stout bodies.

He entered nervously, following Gandalf and was then introduced to all gathered. Elrond and Gil-galad, two dwarves named Gloin and Gimli, more Elves from other places named Lothlorien, Mirkwood and the Grey Havens. He was introduced to them and they began to blur, all the beautiful faces and blue or gray eyes giving way in his mind around his fatigue.

Finally, next to Gandalf, he sat down and food, warm and plentiful was served. It felt like a dinner party at John's parent's house, a place with beautiful settings and lavishly beautiful food. Good wine sparkled in clearly expensive crystal glasses and the linens of the table shimmered from the craftsmanship of their creation.

Elegant people sat around him and even though he was no slouch in the manners department, he felt clumsy and out of touch by the atmosphere in which he found himself.

Conversation was had around him and he found himself frowning, a realization filling him at last.

"How is it that I understand you, mostly?" he asked, glancing around the table.

"We are speaking in the common tongue," Gandalf said. "There are many languages spoken in Middle Earth but the common tongue is the one we are speaking tonight for your sake."

Tom sighed and nodded, concentrating on his food as all around him conversations flowed. The food was excellent, the wine terrifically quenching and when the meal wound down, Gil-galad tapped his glass with his fork. The conversation died and all eyes turned toward him.

"Welcome all of you to Rivendell. We are in the midst of a crisis of uncountable proportions and we are all gathered here to find our way. Gandalf the Grey will relate a tale to you, one that tells how he came here with men and hobbits." He gazed at Gandalf, the sparkling Mithral of his crown casting lights against the walls beyond.

Gandalf nodded and turned to the group, faces of concern borne by elf, dwarf and man staring at him silently.

"There will be more said shortly in the Council that has been called but I have a story to relate about the situation as it stands in the lands beyond." He paused. "A strange force works on the land and because of it there are changes happening that have made dangerous and evil all the days we are living.

"I am sure that some of you have felt it, the strange shifting of our world and even though you might not be able to name it, things have been changed."

"My Lady expressed this to me," a tall blond elf said, his bearing regal and his manner oddly ethereal. "She says that what was is not to the same, that it exists out of joint."

Gandalf nodded. "This is true, Lord Celeborn. There are many among us that should not be here, for a lot of different reasons."

"Some of us are not supposed to be alive?" Elrond asked, a frown on his handsome face.

"That is so," Gandalf said.

It was silent a moment and then a throat was cleared.

"I am assuming that events are out of joint," Gil-galad said quietly. "If this is true, then wars that were and wars yet to be are co-mingled."

Gandalf nodded. "The war that is building, the war against Gondor and Arnor is not the way it happened. It was a war of Men and Elves against the Dark Lord that truly happened, not the war of Elves and others against Men."

"Yet at war we shall be, I'm afraid," Elrond said with a sigh. "I have sent an ambassador to Gondor, to the White City and asked for a counsel with King Elendil. I have not heard from him since and fear greatly for his safety."

"Glorfindel should have returned by now," a blond Elf replied. He looked worried and Tom searched his memory, the introduction returning with effort. He was a prince of the royal family of Mirkwood the Great. Legolas was his name.

"I fear for him and have posted riders near to the city," Gil-galad replied, a worried look on his face as well. "If he's hurt or lost wandering for whatever reason, they will find him and bring him here."

Gandalf nodded. "Our journey here with Boromir and Strider was interrupted by Dark Riders. They are out searching for the Ring of Power, seeking it day and night. We know now that Isildur has it."

A gasp punctuated the tension and Tom glanced around, silent and wary.

"How do you know this?" Elrond asked.

"We found Gollum's body," Gandalf replied. "A Ranger brought it to me, a sorry thing it was. His throat was cut. The tales of his wretchedness and the past adventures of a friend of mine with him led me to know that the ring was his. He didn't have it and there was no sign of it but others along the trail mentioned that Isildur had passed by about the time of Gollum's death."

"It would explain a lot of news about Gondor," Gloin replied grimly. "There are travelers that tell of oppression and deaths in the night."

"Isildur has imprisoned his father, of this I am clear. Elendil would not allow such things to happen if he were free or alive. Anarion is corrupted as well. The news of both kingdoms is very bad," Gil-galad said.

"If he has the ring what will prevent him from making an alliance with the Dark Lord?" Legolas asked.

For a moment there was nothing said and then Gandalf sighed. "Nothing would stop that if Isildur was so inclined. However..."

They waited, noting the thoughtful look on Gandalf's face.

"I cannot feel the presence of the Dark Lord," he said quietly.

It was silent a moment.

"You are saying that he is not here? How can that be?" another dwarf asked. "He has always been here in some form or another. Activity continues at the fortress of his making."

"Activity continues but I cannot feel him," Gandalf replied. "It is as if he has been wiped away."

For a moment it was still and then Elrond sighed. "If that is so then rejoicing is in order. On the other hand, if that is so, what dreadful evil has made such a thing possible?"

"I cannot tell," Gandalf replied. "I just know that we were chased by the Riders. They were after us as if we possessed the ring. It appears to me that some parts of the original story are still being played while others are not. It could be that there are no rules now and we are truly on our own."

"Where do the two men come into the picture?" Gimli asked, glancing at Tom.

He felt the weight of all eyes upon him and he glanced at Gandalf, swallowing hard.

"They are key to our survival, I believe," Gandalf said. "I think without them we would be driven into darkness and there would nothing in this world that we could do to prevent it."

Tom licked dry lips and looked around, noting the emotional faces surrounding him. A bolt of cold fear punctured him and for the hundredth time he wished he was home once more, safe in his bed, John beside him. He cleared his throat.

"I have no idea what is going on here or what our part is. My partner, Strider, he thinks that if we didn't come here a great evil would happen and people would be hurt."

"That is true," Gandalf replied.

"What do you believe, Boromir?" Gil-galad asked.

Tom thought a long time before he answered. "I think that I don't know what is going to happen but I agree with Joh--... Strider. Something terrible is happening and if there is anything we can do to help, we will. If that is what we have to do."

Elrond smiled, nodding. "It could be that will be enough."

Tom sighed and turned his head, his eyes fixing upon Frodo and Sam. He considered them, their tiny size and shook his head. They were the ones who had their roles when things were right. He didn't know what lay ahead but they were all bound up in the other.

Men, Elves, Hobbits and Dwarves... he couldn't still believe it and as they sat sipping wine and talking quietly, not a single part of him didn't long to be in Seattle once again.

Part 10