Have finished last night's fic.

[camwyn]

But I broke it up a little more than I meant to- it ran on a little longer than I thought. Three parts, not two.

Evidence
Part 2 of 3

It was not a name of any of the Edain, the brothers knew that. Nor was it any name of Bór's people, the Easterlings. Beyond that, they knew precious little of the names and ways of Men; and so all they did, really, was look at each other and silently mouth, "'Vimes'?"

"Evening." The Man tipped his helmet back a bit farther in a desultory imitation of a gesture of respect. "Interrupting, am I?"

"Yes," said Eönwë, his tone clipped, curt.

"Sorry," said the Man, who did not seem sorry at all. "Couldn't help but overhear, see. I'm pretty sure there's a couple of those orc things up in the mountains who caught that question of yours."

"Vimes, the Elder King has already spoken of his gratitude to you for your valour in the pits of Angband. You will have your reward come the morning-"

"Wait," said Maedhros, staring hard at the Man. "What is this of Angband?"

The Man's eyes slid over to Maedhros, calculating, considering. Finally he jerked his chin at Eönwë. "His boss," he said, "this Elder King of yours- Manwë, is it?- he had some trouble rousting a fellow name of Morgoth out of the Iron Hells. Said he sent his best warrior in after him, but wouldn't you know Tulkas got distracted on the way in? Too many monsters to fight, or something." He snorted. "So what does he do but come looking for me, nice and safe and polishing the family heirlooms at home in a different world entirely, and say 'oo, help me, Mr. Samuel Vimes, I'm in need of a policeman and no mistake'."

"He didn't say that," Eönwë protested.

"You tell him what happened, then." Vimes waited; Eönwë remained silent. "Didn't think so. Next thing I know, I'm surrounded by dead dragons, standing at the head of a bloody huge army of chaps in weird armour and funny ears. And none of 'em, not one, is willing to go into that Angband place and clap the irons on the damn bottle covey who caused all the fuss to begin with."

Maedhros stared.

Vimes shrugged his shoulders. "Asked what the hell was going on, of course, but you lot are worse than Nobby Nobbs when it comes to explanations. All I knew for sure was, there was a war over and one man to be called on the carpet for it. Nobody told me he was a god, thank you very much."

Maedhros struggled to speak; Maglor managed first. "So- you-"

"This Man," said Eönwë firmly, "is the one who found Melkor at last, and who saw to it that he was bound with Angainor. Were it not for him, the Silmarils would yet be lost beneath the Earth. You owe him much gratitude, sons of Fëanör- as do the Valar, and all who yet dwell in Arda. And this gratitude will be repaid tomorrow, thank you, Vimes?" He made a slight shooing motion with both hands.

"I don't think so." The wry, unpleasant humour that had been in the Man's face moments before vanished, replaced by a sudden iron grimness. "See, I heard you before. Looking for those Silmaril things, are you?"

"Yes," said Maglor suddenly. "Yes, we are, they're ours-"

"They're not," said Eönwë. "Not until the Valar have adjudged them to you."

"They are," snapped Maedhros. "We swore an oath-"

"And what you did in the keeping of that oath is absolutely inexcusable! You have no right to such sacred objects-"

"The work of our father's hands belongs to us! Not to those who would destroy it to repair their own folly-"

Vimes coughed. Eönwë stubbornly ignored him. "Given what the Valar have done to retrieve the Jewels from Morgoth, when you and all your brothers failed-"

Maedhros crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, bringing that up, eh? And how many centuries did the Powers sit on their thumbs in Valimar until Earendil showed up to ask for help, hmm?"

"At least he asked! You Noldor betrayed, murdered, stole-"

Vimes coughed again; Maglor threw him an apologetic look. Maedhros was glaring at Eönwë with pure murder in his eyes. "Only because you were too fearful of Morgoth to lend us aid! Had you but-"

"AHEM," said Vimes loudly.

Maedhros swung around to face the Man. "WHAT?"

For answer, Vimes held up a leather pouch. It swung as if it were quite heavy, and the line of it suggested it had been patched more than once.

"Yeswhatisthatsupposedtomean?" snapped Maedhros. For once he and Eönwë looked as if they were in perfect agreement.

Vimes grinned, and casually pulled the neck of the pouch open.

A fountain of silver-gold light more brilliant than the Sun poured forth, blazing in a column of fire that shot straight up to the skies.

Eönwë gasped. The Vanyar warriors cried aloud. The brothers staggered backwards, Maedhros momentarily forgetting and trying to shield his eyes with his right hand. When the searing purple blotches faded from his vision, Vimes had closed up the bag and tucked it away somewhere. "Right," said Vimes. "Now that I've got your attention. . ."

"Give," said Eönwë.

"Those," said Maglor.

"BACK," said Maedhros, and swung his sword.

The clash of metal on metal echoed through the camp of the host of the Valar. The Man had held off Maedhros' blow with a weapon of his own- an axe that shone as bright and cold as Fingolfin's sword Ringil. Only barely held it off, true, but that he had held it off at all-

A twitch of motion caught Maglor's eye. "Maedhros! Look out!" he cried, and drew his own sword- but Eönwë had smashed his brother's weapon aside with no more effort than it took to swat a fly. The Man sprang up and back, eyeing Eönwë with animal wariness, his axe still in his hand.

"The Jewels, Vimes," said Eönwë as he leveled his sword at Maedhros. "Return them to their rightful place, if you please."

"You know," said the Man, still watching, "I don't think I will."

"The Jewels, Vimes," Eönwë repeated. Maedhros was watching the Herald, his face as still as a becalmed sea. "It's what you're here for."

"Funny thing, that," said Vimes. He tilted his axe, catching a gleam of starlight along the edge of the blade. "I was under the impression Manwë brought me here and crammed my head full of your language so that I could make an arrest. Am I right? 'Go into Angband and bring out Melkor so we can judge him and put him to proper punishment', that's how he put it."

"If you think for even one instant that you have any claim WHATSOEVER to the Silmarils-"

"I don't." Vimes smiled. Even in that dim light Maglor could see the look never reached the man's eyes. "Frankly, I'd say you could have 'em and welcome, but you know? That's not really up to me."

Eönwë turned to stare at the Man; Maedhros took advantage of the situation to scramble out of the Herald's range, standing beside his brother once more. "Explain," Eönwë said curtly.

"Glad to." He reached up and took the foul burning thing from his mouth, though he still held the axe in his other hand. "See, your Elder King gave me jurisdiction-"

"Gave what?"

"Sorry? Not one of your words? All right, then." Vimes rocked back on his heels. "He gave me the right and the duty to act as a policeman in his realm. Which, I'm told, is the entirety of this 'Arda' of yours. Not a soldier, a policeman. If these things were just prizes of war I'd be free to drop 'em and walk away, but they're not. This Morgoth, he's yet to be judged, am I right?"

"Technically," said Eönwë, whose mood had been soured even further by the realization that he no longer had a Fëanörian at sword-point.

"Right. So, your Valar are going to sit in judgment of him in this Ring of Doom thing of yours for- oh, all kinds of things, right? Disturbing the peace, vandalism, conspiracy to commit affray, fraud and deceptions, murder, theft…" He patted his breastplate. "Of these, specifically. Other things, yeah, but mostly it's these jewels that you want him for."

"The Silmarils in which the fates of Arda are bound, yes," said Eönwë.

"The Silmarils of Fëanör, crafted by my father in the Day before Days," said Maedhros.

"Right, right." The Man waved a hand dismissively. "He stole 'em, so I'm told. That makes them evidence."

"I suppose," said Eönwë, who had lowered his sword and was watching Vimes with the greatest of suspicion.

"And now there's a matter of dispute over whose jewels these actually are, right? Between the two surviving sons of the last legitimate owner-"

"Thank you," said Maglor.

"And the ones who made it possible for them to be recovered from the thief?"

"That would be the Valar, yes," said Eönwë.

Vimes nodded. "Tell me something," he said, looking up to Eönwë. "How's that going to be decided?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How d'you determine who's the rightful owner of these jewels of yours?"

"Well, I-"

"He doesn’t," said Maglor, pushing forward again. "Manwe and Varda and the other Valar have said they will judge my brother and I, and decide our fate- and that of the Silmarils."

"Ah. Right. So you've got a highly coveted set of jewels that's key evidence in two trials, and judges who stand to keep that set of jewels if they find the defendants guilty?" The Man raised his brows. "D'you know the term 'conflict of interest'?"

Eönwë growled at the implication in Vimes' tone. Maglor looked thoughtful.

"Mmm. Anyway. Sacred objects, you said?" Vimes looked expectantly at Eönwë. "Not for the hands of murderers, liars, thieves, things like that?"

It was Maedhros' turn to growl now. Eönwë nodded.

"Is there anyone else who can judge this case? Anyone at all?"

"None save Iluvatar," said Maglor, "who dwells beyond all confines of this world. We swore by his name, as well as by Varda and Manwë, and can never be free of our oath save if he release us."

"Figures," said Vimes dryly. He turned, glancing over his shoulder. Sticking two fingers in his mouth he gave a piercing whistle; then he turned back. "All right," he said. "Here's the deal: I'm not giving these back to any of you lot."

Three swords were out and pointed at him before the last word fell from his lips.

Vimes looked down at the weapons, then up at the wielders. "I'm not keeping 'em, either," he said, "so put those away, all right? These Jewels of yours are evidence now. "

"But-"

"If you just wanted 'em recovered then you should've tapped Cohen the bloody Barbarian, all right? Only you'd've had a hell of a time getting them back once he'd taken the crown from Morgoth. Your Manwë called for a policeman, and a policeman he got! There's rules about this kind of thing." He stuck the burning thing back in his teeth. "Don't invite me to your party if you don't want me to dance, lads."

"But," said Maglor slowly. "You say you're not keeping them?"

"Too right I'm not."

"And you say you're not giving them back," added Eönwë.

"Also true."

Maedhros was still fuming, and did not speak. But the question hung in the air, unspoken; and Vimes answered it anyway. "What I'm doing," he said, "is putting the evidence away. Putting it in the very capable hands of an uninvolved party who has no interest whatsoever in the damned things- and, I might add, from whose realm nothing has ever been stolen."

"Who are you talking about?" Maedhros asked at last.

I BELIEVE HE IS REFERRING TO ME.

The guards fell away on either side like leaves at the stroke of a sword. Even Eönwë paled, falling back a pace at the sound of that voice. It spoke no more, but there came instead the sound of hoofbeats. They were the hoof-beats of a magnificent white horse, fair as sea-foam, caparisoned in silver and black. He might almost have been taken for Nahar, if it were not that he bore a rider no one might ever think to be Oromë. That rider was hooded and robed all in black, and his hands-

"They're just bones!" whispered Maglor to his brother. "Am I right? Are they-"

"Just bones. Yes," Maedhros answered, equally quietly. Something about that rider had seized him with a nameless dread.

I BEG YOUR PARDON, said the rider as the horse came to a halt. BUT I HARDLY THINK THE WORD 'JUST' APPLIES. CONSIDERING.

Vimes grinned, waving his axe in the rider's direction. "Gentlemen," he said as the rider dismounted, "meet the Silmarils' new custodian."

"Excuse me?" cried the brothers together. Eönwë gaped.

The figure straightened, patting the horse's flank with one skeletal hand. Maglor doubted he could have been any less than twenty hands tall- more, most likely, but in the dark it was hard to say. As he turned from the horse towards Vimes, he did not so much move as stalk, striding across the ground with a peculiar implacability-

"This may not be!" cried Maedhros, springing forward. The figure stopped. "Maglor, our Oath-"

"Was to 'Pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf or Man as yet unborn, or any creature, great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from our possession'," quoted Vimes. "Am I right? That's what you swore?"

"How do you know these things?" Maglor all but wailed.

"I'm a policeman. It's my job to find out what you don't want me to know." He stepped forward, thrusting the handle of his axe through a loop at his belt. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, because none of it applies."

The brothers looked to each other, and then to Vimes. The skin just under Maedhros' right eye twitched.

"This, lads," said Vimes, "is what we in the business call an 'anthropomorphic personification'. Not a man or elf, and never has been. Not a demon, by any stretch of the word."

I SHOULD CERTAINLY HOPE NOT.

"And most definitely not a Vala, am I right?" Vimes looked up at the hooded figure. "I mean, you'd know that, wouldn't you?"

NOT A VALA, NO.

It occurred to Maglor suddenly that he could not recall hearing its words. Oh, it spoke- but the words arrived in his thought without stopping for anything so crude as his ears.

NOR ANY OTHER SORT OF CREATURE, AT LEAST AS YOU DEFINE IT. THAT ISN'T THE KIND OF THING I'D FORGET. The figure turned, its gaze sweeping the flinching Vanyar, pausing for a moment on Eönwë, and coming at last to rest upon Maedhros and Maglor. They could make out nothing beneath the hood save two brilliant blue pin-pricks of fire.

"So what are you, then?" said Vimes, with the air of a mother prompting her child to thank his uncle for the lovely gift.

It reached up, tucking back the hood slightly. Beneath it there was nothing but a skull, and just barely visible above the black robes, the bones of its neck. As one, the brothers shuddered. DEATH, it said. I AM DEATH. I BELIEVE IN THIS WORLD YOU WOULD KNOW ME AS 'THE LAST GIFT OF ILUVATAR TO MEN'.

"Oh, you have got to be joking!" cried Eönwë. "This? This is-"

YOU WERE EXPECTING SOMEONE TALLER? Death asked mildly.

Eönwë fell silent.

Vimes just smiled grimly, and produced the patched bag from beneath his breastplate. Death stretched out one bony hand for it.

"Wait a moment," said Maglor.

Skeleton and Man alike stopped. YES? said Death.

"What are you going to do with them? I mean-"

THEY WILL BE SAFE IN MY REALM, said Death. MY COUNTRY LIES BEYOND THE BOUNDARIES OF ALL MORTAL WORLDS, AND IS SUBJECT TO NEITHER TIME NOR DECAY. GRANTED, THE KITTENS MAY TRY TO GET AT THEM, BUT I AM LED TO UNDERSTAND THEY ARE UNBREAKABLE. SO THAT'S ALL RIGHT THEN.

"What's a 'kitten'?" whispered Maedhros surreptitiously.

"Very small cat," answered Maglor. "I think."

"Ah. And they're unbreakable, are they?"

"He means the Silmarils, Maedhros."

THEY WILL REMAIN INVIOLATE, I ASSURE YOU, continued the hooded skeleton. I'VE GOT NO USE FOR THEM ANYWAY. AND IN THE HOUR THAT YOUR ILUVATAR MAKES HIS WILL IN THIS MATTER KNOWN, I WILL YIELD THEM UP.

The brothers looked at each other, and at Eönwë. Eönwë shrugged helplessly. "It's not like I've got Manwë's voice speaking into my ear, you know," he said defensively.

"If he's not happy about it, you can blame it on me," Vimes offered. "Seeing how it was me Manwë hired to get the damn job done in the first place. All right?"

"Oh, for- do what you want, I don't care any more," snapped Eönwë.

"Right, then," said Vimes, and handed the Silmarils over to Death.

Comments

[deliciouspear.livejournal.com]

I'll review the story when I have time to do it justice - in the meantime - can I steal your icon?

[camwyn]

What, the road one? Sure. That's a stretch of Gold Hill Road, just outside Fairbanks, Alaska. If you mean the NUMENOR: SPLOOSH one, credit the0neru, as they created it in response to the Thousand Word Silmarillion.

[deliciouspear.livejournal.com]

nah - I was going to work the winding road one into an animated icon.

[camwyn]

Oh! Sure. Go ahead. Although if you want a bigger version of the picture to work with, let me know- I have the original at home.

[isustrikanda.livejournal.com]

YOU WERE EXPECTING SOMEONE TALLER? Death asked mildly.

*mops juice off keyboard* Love you for this.....

[camwyn]

Ah, I must admit that line was suggested to me by the ever-wonderful penguinzero. But thank you.

[wal-lace.livejournal.com]

... So, is it a Tom Holt reference or isn't it?

[camwyn]

If it is, I wasn't told. I've got no idea who Tom Holt is.

[wal-lace.livejournal.com]

British author, sub-Pratchett with semi-coherent plotting and a love of mythology.

One of his better books is called Expecting Someone Taller. It begins when a useless, skinny, nobody accidentally runs over the bearer of the Tarnhelm and... that other magical artefact from the Ring Cycle... who hands over effective control of the planet to his killer with a comment about how he was expecting someone taller.

[penguinzero.livejournal.com]

That's where I first picked up the phrase, though since then I've noticed it a variety of other places. Seems to be semi-generic at this point.

(One of these days, I really should finish that book...)

[genarti]

Oh. Oh, that's perfect.

I was wondering what Vimes was going to do with them, knowing he wouldn't just hand them over to any of the involved parties and unable to figure out how he'd get out of all the sharp and pointy ownership disputes that would result. And then I came to "I BELIEVE HE IS REFERRING TO ME," and I fell over thud. And giggled lots.

Well, there were really only two other candidates.

[camwyn]

But one of them counts as 'whatever creature Time may bring forth', and the other requires the Silmarils to stay in Ankh-Morpork. Granted, I don't think I'd like to see anyone try and take the Jewels away from the Librarian, and Constable Dorfl's quite capable of defending whatever he holds, but in the end I think they wound up in the right place.

[mrlogic.livejournal.com]

It's actually very funny even though I have no idea who these people are (nope, haven't read The Silmarillion, aside from whatever it's crossed with.) Great style!

[camwyn]

The universe it's crossed with is that of the Discworld books, by a British author named Terry Pratchett. The character of Sam Vimes is in charge of the city's Night Watch, and appears in quite a few of the Discworld books. I suggest Men at Arms and Guards! Guards! as a starting point, if you're at all interested in the series. Death, complete with TALKING IN ALL CAPITALS and Binky the pale horse, appears in pretty much every Discworld book- albeit sometimes as only a two-line cameo.

[mrlogic.livejournal.com]

Ah. People keep telling me I should read those. I never see them in used book sales, which is usually where I buy books (no doubt they get snapped up quickly), and I don't have a library card...

[camwyn]

Yeah, they go up pretty quickly. I got into reading them when there were only five or six, and they were easier to come by. Most of my old copies have been read into oblivion by now, alas, but I'll let you know if I come upon any extra.

[eevieivy.livejournal.com]

Kittens! :) :) :)

And Death. I love Death. The Pratchett version, anyways.

[kaikias.livejournal.com]

*still giggling*

Isn't Nahar ridden by Orome, though, not Tulkas?

[camwyn]

Smeg, you're right. Will fix.

[derien.livejournal.com]

*giggles* Loving it. :) I just finished skimming a rather badly written published story ("Long Voyage Home" in the February "Asimov's") by an author who never fails to disappoint me (R. Garcia y Robertson) and was thinking how very much happier it would make me to hop online and find something by someone who really KNOWS how to write, like yourself or daegaer, and voila, my prayers answered. :)

[camwyn]

Thank you! Always glad to be of service. This sucker was burning a hole in my skull last night- I was up until 2:30 working on part one, and had to leave off because my style was starting to disintegrate midway through part two. Apparently, answering your as-yet-unformulated need for decent fic is why.

[vardagilthoniel.livejournal.com]

*Laughs her vala ass off*

I really have to post links to this on my home journal!

[camwyn]

Go right ahead! Always glad to have people stop by and enjoy.