Deep in the sea are riches beyond compare. But if you seek safety, it is on the shore.  --Saadi of Shiraz, 1200 AD

The old-fashioned wooden ship slipped silently through the dark waters of the Atlantic. Built as a tourist attraction, it was a fully functional, built-to-scale copy of a 17th century vessel. Being as three of the passengers on board the ship had no experience with motors, not to mention obtaining enough fuel for a modern-day ship could be tricky, so all had agreed upon the tried-but-true method of sailing.

The ship was built as a tourist attraction so it could be manned by one person at a time, providing the seas were calm and steady. Below decks was a small cabin in which his companions had strung hammocks from various rafters and support posts. Beyond the cabin was a storage area.  It was there that the majority of their equipment was packed away for ballast.

Riding on a stolen ship carrying enough explosives to dent the moon headed to a lost continent that no human had made mention of in recorded history was making Logan rather nervous. Being a night person, he had volunteered to steer the vessel after dark while his companions rested, so at least he had something to do while he fretted about the consequences of his recent decisions, the majority of which were probably less than advisable.

At Logan's feet, Cell-hu was stretched out on his side. Water dewed on the dog's silky, sable-colored fur, catching the light from the lantern behind him and giving him an almost mystical appearance.

With a wide yawn, Cell-hu stretched, then relaxed again on the wooden floor. Apparently, he had finally achieved complete canine comfort, for he groaned deeply in his throat, the sound of utter contentment.

Logan smiled briefly and waved once at his companions when they filed below decks to get whatever rest they could.

Maglor waved in return; Legolas and Elrohir silently acknowledged Logan's wave by nodding their heads, then all three moved out of sight and Logan was alone.

The fog thickened by the hour, coating the decks with a fine layer of mist and making the sails gleam like silver in the dim moonlight. The only sounds were the groaning of the boat, the whisper of the sails in the light wind, the rhythmic sound of water lapping and Cell-hu's sporadic snores.

It was, as Logan's wife would have said, a good night to be dreaming.

Logan smiled at a stray memory of his one true love, then forced his mind back to logistics, like how best to use the arsenal he had built up in the deck below him. He and Maglor had raided several gun shops and construction sites via the sewer systems the night before.

Maglor had a disturbingly well-developed knowledge of the tunnels that criss-crossed under the city, and knew how to get into almost every building in New York from the sewers.

After stocking up on rifles, handguns, bullets, grenades and even TNT, Logan and Maglor had hauled it all to the ship where Elrohir and Legolas waited for them.  Feeling strangely comforted by the highly explosive materials directly below his feet, Logan settled against the helm and stared into the fog, making a concentrated effort to not worry about the prison time he could face for his recent robberies.

~*~

Maglor, Legolas and Elrohir settled into the gently swaying hammocks without speaking a word to one another.  Two were immersed in their own thoughts, grieving for the friend and brother that was lost to them, and the third was content to let them be.

As each stared up at the rafters above them their eyes slowly drifted shut and they dreamed.

~*~

The good that people can do emanates and multiplies from the good that one person can do.

--Lewis Richmond

"You'd think, after all you did in the Third and Fourth Ages, Eru would have decided you've done enough and let you off the hook, you know?"

Samwise Gamgee and Legolas were sitting under a big tree in a vibrantly green field. The sun gently warmed their shoulders and birds hopped through the branches above them, chattering cheerfully with one another.

Legolas felt a sense of deep contentment, surrounded by the peace of nature and the aura of simplicity that always seemed to surround any hobbit. There was no rush, no worry, and no loss.  There was nothing but warmth and comfort.

"Where are we?"  He found himself asking, perhaps in the hope that he might be able to find this place again someday.

"Nowhere important, my friend."  Sam smiled and pulled out his pipe, puffing on it contentedly. "I just wanted to talk with you a bit, and this seemed like as good a place as any."

"You wanted to talk to me?  Why?"  Legolas stretched out on his back, enjoying the sensation of the warm sun on his face and the soft grass beneath him, forgetting for a moment the dire task he found himself once again set upon.  There was no worry for his family, for his friends, or for his world; it was all forgotten as he lazily twirled a strand of grass between his fingers.

"Well, because you're about to follow in my footsteps, sort of, and there are some things you ought to know." Sam leaned forward on his knees. 

"We can't stay here for long, so you have to pay attention. By the by, does that hurt?"  He gestured to Legolas' ruined right eye with his pipe.

Touching the bandage over his face lightly, Legolas shrugged and studied his companion with his remaining eye.  "I'd forgotten about it until you mentioned it."

"I bet you've lost all depth perception, right? That's gonna make shooting those arrows pretty hard..."  Sam trailed off, puffing at his pipe.

Sitting up abruptly, Legolas grimaced as the events of the past few days came back to him in a rush.

The pleasant field flew forward like the scenery past a car window, to be replaced by a cliff on the edge of an empty, black void. The sun overhead turned black, casting eerie shadows on the rocks and boulders scattered about them.

Beside Legolas, Sam gripped the Elf's wrist tightly to keep him from panicking.  "You're safe so long as you're with me, don't worry."

Legolas glanced down at Sam, then peered anxiously over the edge into the blackness below.

"The fate of the world once again hangs in the balance, Legolas.  On one side we have a paradise where there will be no more suffering, no more loneliness for any of our races, and on the other, a dark, empty void. Once again, you are to be part of events that will change the entire world, and this time you play an even more important part. As I once followed Frodo into the wastes of Mordor, so must you go with Elrohir to battle Morgoth. You must make certain he has the courage and will to continue onward. The jewel is the key. Don't forget that, Legolas. Oh, and take this!"

As the world began to spin wildly around Legolas, becoming a swirl of color and sound, Sam pressed a cool, hard object into the wounded Elf's hand. Then the dark void, the green pasture, Sam and even the cliff vanished, sending Legolas into a warm, dark place where he rested in total peace, storing up his strength for the battles ahead.

~*~

Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.

--Helen Keller

"It's been a long time, my son."

Maglor blinked once, and then looked to his right, startled to see the striking profile of his father, a face he had not seen in more than 100,000 years.

"Atar? ...How...?" His voice trails off as he takes in his surroundings, becoming even more confused by the scenery.

Father and son are seated on the grass beneath a pair of very familiar looking trees.  One radiates a warm, sunny light; the other bathes them in cool, silvery tones. Laurelin and Telperion, the trees created by Yvanna and Nienna, and destroyed by Morgoth prior to the First Age; the trees that created the light that the silmarils have shone with for eons and precipitated the war that took from Maglor all he once held dear, leaving him a bitter hermit singing to a watery audience.

"You're wondering what's going on, aren't you?" Feanor's face held a fatherly, affectionate light for his second-born son. It was a relief to Maglor, who last saw his father's eyes gleaming with fanaticism and hatred.

"Yes."

"I'll start by telling you that while I owe you more than I can ever repay, now is not the time for recriminations; the dark lord has taken all the souls in Mandos, including those of your brothers and mother. He is feeding on them, using them the way mortals now use electricity to power their world. I only escaped because Morgoth dared not try to enslave my soul."

Feanor shrugged one shoulder and smirked, a bit of his old arrogance showing through, "I think he knows that even after all this time, I'm still a match for him."

Maglor raised a skeptical eyebrow, "If you are a match for him, then why don't you free the souls he's enslaved and take away his source of power?"

"Morgoth cannot enslave my soul because he does not know my power. He does not know if the fire I am named for will consume him or fuel him, so rather than take that risk, he allows me to wander free, apart from the world, able only to communicate with the dead. A powerful lady has brought me to you to pass on a message, so listen carefully: The jewel cannot be used by one of my bloodline; it has to be the Last Heir of Luthien. The answer is not the obvious one, but I cannot say more, except that you must guide them. You have the wisdom, my son. Help them to avoid the pitfalls that our family did not, and do not forget your old allies!"

The world around Maglor began to fade, taking Feanor with it, and rather like Carroll’s Cheshire Cat, Feanor grinned widely, until only his eyes and unnerving smile remained. "My son, the time has come to right the wrongs I led you to do. I have faith that you will be the one to redeem the House of Feanor. Know that I am with you, even if you cannot see me; leave behind the mantle of the Kinslayer and become the Harpist once again."

Feanor's voice trailed off into silence as a warm, comforting darkness descended upon Maglor and he slept soundly for the first time since the creation of the Silmarils.

~*~

Do what you can where you are with what you've got.  --Theodore

Roosevelt

Elrohir blinked slowly, studying his surroundings with a calm, curious gaze. He was sitting in a grand hall reminiscent of the great halls of Gondor. He found himself thinking of those silvery days so long ago when he wandered the corridors of Minas Tirith alongside his brothers. Both of them. This hall, though, was gilded with golden light, giving it warmth that Minas Tirith never had. At the end of the hall was a great throne, and seated upon was a familiar face.

"Adar?!" Elrohir rushed forward, almost desperate for the comfort of his father, but stopped short when he grew closer.  "You're not Adar...Who are you?"

The mortal wearing his father's face smiled gently, "It has been a long time since I was mistaken for Elrond. No, I am not your father; I am Elros. It is good to finally speak with you, nephew."

Elrohir blinked once, then recovered himself and bowed as Elven protocol required when meeting a foreign dignitary, though there was probably no social protocol for meeting a foreign dignitary that had been dead for tens of thousands of years. "I am honored, my lord. If you don't mind me asking, how have I come to be in your presence?"

Elros' smile broadened to a grin as he stepped off the throne and clapped his nephew on the shoulder. "I think you know that this is a dream, Elrohir. You always were an intelligent lad. I come with a message...well, several messages, actually."

Elrohir swallowed and nodded once, both eager and terrified to hear what his long-dead uncle would have to say.

"The first is that your brother is safe from Morgoth. Though his body is dead, his spirit is protected by messengers from Eru, like me. You need not harbor that worry any longer.  You and he will someday be reunited, for souls bound by bonds as strong as those between you and Elladan cannot be completely severed.  He requested that I urge you onward toward the ultimate goal, the quest you must now undertake."

Elrohir sighed in relief, tears forming unbidden in his gentle grey eyes.

"I miss him..."

"I know, nephew, but now is not the time for grief. Now is the time for action; you must mourn the loss of your brother later."

Nodding once, Elrohir dried his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"The next thing you must know is that Morgoth holds captive all of Valinor, even the souls that were within the Halls of Mandos.  Without Namo there to protect them, the dark lord has enslaved them, using them to power his campaign against all of Arda." Elrohir shook his head sadly, but did not speak, not wanting to interrupt.

"Your father is Morgoth's captive, as are Thranduil, Glorfindel and Celeborn. The rest of the Elven nations are working at building a tower for Morgoth, helpless slaves tortured by ores and evil men. Only the children are safe right now, protected by your sister in a place beyond Valinor. This cannot last long, though.  You must go to them, for therein lies the only weapon that can destroy the dark lord. Go first to the children, Elrohir."

His brow furrowing, Elrohir reached out toward his uncle, seeking reassurance.  "The children...?  What are you...?"  His voice trailed off as the hall melted away around him, until there was only he and Elros standing in a beam of golden light.

"Your companions, both seen and unseen will help you along the way,

Fear not. Remember to trust in your own strength, and remember that you are descended from the only beings ever to do harm to the dark lord. Take heart and use that heritage to your advantage!"

Elros began to glow from within, a warm brilliant light that built until he shone like the sun. Stars coalesced around the edges of the light, until nothing remained of the great king but a formless column of light.

Elros' voice echoed through the hall, "You are not alone, Elrohir. Do not forget that!"

Then the light faded, and alone, Elrohir sank into the same comforting darkness that swallowed his companions. Thus warmed by the love of his uncle, he slept.

To be continued...