And here's the end of it.
May. 4th, 2004 02:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynEvidence
Part 3 of 3
"What became of the Jewels after none may say; for though they went beyond the World indeed, they ceased not, but went on. Neither Manwë, nor Mandos, nor any other of the Valar knows what may have befallen the two Silmarils since that time; but they are not destroyed, for such would have been known. Indeed, it is said that they will not return to Arda until all the world be broken and remade at the word of Iluvatar.
"Maedhros and Maglor the sons of Fëanör yielded themselves then unto Eönwë, that they might be brought before the Valar for judgment. But it was said, on their return into the West, that the judgment had been removed from the hands of Manwë and might not be pronounced by any save Iluvatar himself. They abide yet in that Realm, though separate from all the Kindreds of the Eldar, awaiting the day of their doom.
"As for the Man, Vimes. . ."
Sam Vimes stuck out among the gathered hosts of the Edain like a catfish among cats. They spoke little to him, which was just fine so far as he was concerned; Manwë had only seen fit to stuff his head with a language called Quenya, and that didn't seem to be what the humans here spoke. Or if they did, the accent was so thick as to be absolutely impenetrable. Besides, he was too busy honing the edge of his axe. That strike from the one-handed elf (nothing like any elf he'd read about, except in terms of attitude) had left a hell of a ding in it. He'd have to congratulate the Low King on the ability of dwarven craftsmanship to stand up to real testing, when he got home.
If he got home. Word had it that all Men who had helped in this bloody war were being rewarded together. Something about an island...
Sam shook his head, examining the blade. Well, that was the best he could do with the tools he had. It would have to manage. He thrust the thing through his makeshift belt-loop and headed out in search of someone who could answer his questions.
He found Eönwë first. The Herald of Manwë was sending a blond, shaggy-headed fellow away as he arrived. "Ah, Vimes," said Eönwë expansively. "Good to see you. I've had word from Manwë, and he approves of your course of action."
"'course he does," said Vimes, though inwardly he was thinking: not like he had a choice, unless he feels like trying to get the damn shinies away from Death on his own. "It's what he hired me for, innit?"
"Yes, about that. . ." Eönwë smiled. "It is the judgment of the Valar that you deserve a share in the reward of the Edain equal to any one of the Three Houses."
"Gosh," said Vimes dryly, "that's generous. The Edain only outnumber me what, several tens of thousands to one?"
"You misunderstand," said Eönwë. "A share equal to that granted to an entire House."
Sam stared.
"You are not the only one capable of taking others by surprise, Vimes." Eönwë chuckled, watching the Man's reaction. "The one who braved the Hells of Iron, who accomplished what not even Tulkas the Strong might do- to him belongs a full share in the Land of Gift, that even now is being raised above the waves. The island will of course be a mortal land and subject to-"
"No," said Vimes at last.
"There is nothing the Valar can do about that, Vimes. The Doom of Men is not for any save Iluvatar to withdraw. I should think you would know that."
"I don't mean that," Vimes said, shaking his head rapidly. "I mean I don't want it. This island thing, I mean."
Eönwë raised one eyebrow. "Pardon me?"
"I don't belong here," he said. "You know that, and I know that. I've got a wife and a son back in Ankh-Morpork-"
"Bring them, of course. They should share equally in your reward. Manwë can arrange it."
"I'm the head of the City Watch-"
"Your men-at-arms? Them, too, of course."
"I've got an entire bloody city to look after, you prat! " Vimes snapped. "Ankh-Morpork! You know? The place your great damn Elder King snatched me out of? How're you going to move that, eh? Even if you could, you sure as hell wouldn't want 'em here. You seem to think food should be edible and rivers should be liquid."
"Er? What?"
"Never mind. The point is, you don't know Ankh-Morpork and I daresay you're better off for it- but it's my city, damn it, and it's where I'm supposed to be. Not here, however nice this Arda place might be now that Morgoth is gone. If that's your reward, you can keep it. All I want is to get back home and never hear from you lot again, all right? That's all. Send me home."
Eönwë rubbed at his face with one hand, expression confused. "I've. . . that's a new one on me," he said at last. "Usually they go the other way."
"Asking for more, you mean?"
Eönwë nodded.
"Yes, well, usually 'they' means people who've got a stake in their world. Naturally they're going to want more."
"I see. . ."
Vimes folded his arms over his chest, glaring at the Herald. The overall effect was a bit spoilt by his inability to locate a razor that morning, and by the fact that he was still wearing the clothes in which he'd left Ankh-Morpork.
"Look," said Eönwë at last, dropping his hand. "I'm supposed to give you a bloody great reward, all right? Nobody's ever done what you did for us. Nobody. If I don't come up with something to give you, it's not going to look good. I realise you technically stole the Silmarils but Mandos says they're just fine where they are, so I can't actually reduce your reward for that. What am I supposed to do if I can't send you and your House to Andor?"
Vimes settled back on his heels. He knew what he could expect from Vetinari in a case like this, but- "Give me a minute," he said. "I'll think of something."
Eönwë nodded. "Take your time," he said. "By the way- might I have a look at your weapon, there?"
"Huh? This?" Vimes looked down at the dwarven axe. "Sure. Why?"
"You held off Maedhros with it," said Eönwë as Sam carefully passed him the axe. He turned the weapon over, examining it from every angle, even down to the pick. "That was a blade of the Noldor, wielded by one of their mightiest warriors. Among all the Eldar there are no finer smiths and crafters. Who made your axe, if I might ask?"
"Dwarves," said Vimes. "To be an heirloom of my house. I was polishing it when Manwë brought me here."
"Ah," said Eönwë. "The Naugrim are mighty smiths indeed. Maedhros had long been their friend, you know. Learned much of his craft from them. Most of his armies' weapons came of their making, I do believe." He hefted the axe. "A truly fine weapon."
"Isn't it, though?"
"Indeed," said Eönwë, returning it at last, handle-first.
As Sam reached down to take it, the Herald's words sunk in.
"Think of something?" Eönwë asked.
"Maedhros' army," said Sam. "Not using their stuff any more, are they?"
"Wouldn't work," Eönwë said. For the first time there was something like sympathy in his voice. "The balance'd be all wrong. You saw the proportions those two had. Can you honestly tell me a blade or a spear tempered to suit the likes of them would do for someone of your own build?"
Vimes nodded, sighed, and started to put the axe away.
"On the other hand-"
"Yes?"
"Well, it's not as if the Noldor are allowed to come back to the Undying Lands any more, after what they did. We've got to give them something to do. You did mention an entire City Watch, am I right?"
"Yeah. . ."
"I think we can take care of your armoury for, oh, how does the rest of time sound?"
Vimes gave Eönwë a very, very long look. Eventually, he said, "We could do with a bit of new armour, yeah-"
"We'll start with your own."
"Good, 'cos this lot's about had it. Can you do it so it'll be fit to wear on formal occasions? You should see what Sybil makes me put on."
"I assure you, Vimes, it will be done. For you, and for the rest of the City Watch of this. . . Ankh-Morpork."
Vimes nodded. "Then throw in some really proper boots, the kind that'll keep your feet dry but let you feel the ground through the soles, and you've got a deal."
Eönwë laughed.
The End
Part 3 of 3
"What became of the Jewels after none may say; for though they went beyond the World indeed, they ceased not, but went on. Neither Manwë, nor Mandos, nor any other of the Valar knows what may have befallen the two Silmarils since that time; but they are not destroyed, for such would have been known. Indeed, it is said that they will not return to Arda until all the world be broken and remade at the word of Iluvatar.
"Maedhros and Maglor the sons of Fëanör yielded themselves then unto Eönwë, that they might be brought before the Valar for judgment. But it was said, on their return into the West, that the judgment had been removed from the hands of Manwë and might not be pronounced by any save Iluvatar himself. They abide yet in that Realm, though separate from all the Kindreds of the Eldar, awaiting the day of their doom.
"As for the Man, Vimes. . ."
Sam Vimes stuck out among the gathered hosts of the Edain like a catfish among cats. They spoke little to him, which was just fine so far as he was concerned; Manwë had only seen fit to stuff his head with a language called Quenya, and that didn't seem to be what the humans here spoke. Or if they did, the accent was so thick as to be absolutely impenetrable. Besides, he was too busy honing the edge of his axe. That strike from the one-handed elf (nothing like any elf he'd read about, except in terms of attitude) had left a hell of a ding in it. He'd have to congratulate the Low King on the ability of dwarven craftsmanship to stand up to real testing, when he got home.
If he got home. Word had it that all Men who had helped in this bloody war were being rewarded together. Something about an island...
Sam shook his head, examining the blade. Well, that was the best he could do with the tools he had. It would have to manage. He thrust the thing through his makeshift belt-loop and headed out in search of someone who could answer his questions.
He found Eönwë first. The Herald of Manwë was sending a blond, shaggy-headed fellow away as he arrived. "Ah, Vimes," said Eönwë expansively. "Good to see you. I've had word from Manwë, and he approves of your course of action."
"'course he does," said Vimes, though inwardly he was thinking: not like he had a choice, unless he feels like trying to get the damn shinies away from Death on his own. "It's what he hired me for, innit?"
"Yes, about that. . ." Eönwë smiled. "It is the judgment of the Valar that you deserve a share in the reward of the Edain equal to any one of the Three Houses."
"Gosh," said Vimes dryly, "that's generous. The Edain only outnumber me what, several tens of thousands to one?"
"You misunderstand," said Eönwë. "A share equal to that granted to an entire House."
Sam stared.
"You are not the only one capable of taking others by surprise, Vimes." Eönwë chuckled, watching the Man's reaction. "The one who braved the Hells of Iron, who accomplished what not even Tulkas the Strong might do- to him belongs a full share in the Land of Gift, that even now is being raised above the waves. The island will of course be a mortal land and subject to-"
"No," said Vimes at last.
"There is nothing the Valar can do about that, Vimes. The Doom of Men is not for any save Iluvatar to withdraw. I should think you would know that."
"I don't mean that," Vimes said, shaking his head rapidly. "I mean I don't want it. This island thing, I mean."
Eönwë raised one eyebrow. "Pardon me?"
"I don't belong here," he said. "You know that, and I know that. I've got a wife and a son back in Ankh-Morpork-"
"Bring them, of course. They should share equally in your reward. Manwë can arrange it."
"I'm the head of the City Watch-"
"Your men-at-arms? Them, too, of course."
"I've got an entire bloody city to look after, you prat! " Vimes snapped. "Ankh-Morpork! You know? The place your great damn Elder King snatched me out of? How're you going to move that, eh? Even if you could, you sure as hell wouldn't want 'em here. You seem to think food should be edible and rivers should be liquid."
"Er? What?"
"Never mind. The point is, you don't know Ankh-Morpork and I daresay you're better off for it- but it's my city, damn it, and it's where I'm supposed to be. Not here, however nice this Arda place might be now that Morgoth is gone. If that's your reward, you can keep it. All I want is to get back home and never hear from you lot again, all right? That's all. Send me home."
Eönwë rubbed at his face with one hand, expression confused. "I've. . . that's a new one on me," he said at last. "Usually they go the other way."
"Asking for more, you mean?"
Eönwë nodded.
"Yes, well, usually 'they' means people who've got a stake in their world. Naturally they're going to want more."
"I see. . ."
Vimes folded his arms over his chest, glaring at the Herald. The overall effect was a bit spoilt by his inability to locate a razor that morning, and by the fact that he was still wearing the clothes in which he'd left Ankh-Morpork.
"Look," said Eönwë at last, dropping his hand. "I'm supposed to give you a bloody great reward, all right? Nobody's ever done what you did for us. Nobody. If I don't come up with something to give you, it's not going to look good. I realise you technically stole the Silmarils but Mandos says they're just fine where they are, so I can't actually reduce your reward for that. What am I supposed to do if I can't send you and your House to Andor?"
Vimes settled back on his heels. He knew what he could expect from Vetinari in a case like this, but- "Give me a minute," he said. "I'll think of something."
Eönwë nodded. "Take your time," he said. "By the way- might I have a look at your weapon, there?"
"Huh? This?" Vimes looked down at the dwarven axe. "Sure. Why?"
"You held off Maedhros with it," said Eönwë as Sam carefully passed him the axe. He turned the weapon over, examining it from every angle, even down to the pick. "That was a blade of the Noldor, wielded by one of their mightiest warriors. Among all the Eldar there are no finer smiths and crafters. Who made your axe, if I might ask?"
"Dwarves," said Vimes. "To be an heirloom of my house. I was polishing it when Manwë brought me here."
"Ah," said Eönwë. "The Naugrim are mighty smiths indeed. Maedhros had long been their friend, you know. Learned much of his craft from them. Most of his armies' weapons came of their making, I do believe." He hefted the axe. "A truly fine weapon."
"Isn't it, though?"
"Indeed," said Eönwë, returning it at last, handle-first.
As Sam reached down to take it, the Herald's words sunk in.
"Think of something?" Eönwë asked.
"Maedhros' army," said Sam. "Not using their stuff any more, are they?"
"Wouldn't work," Eönwë said. For the first time there was something like sympathy in his voice. "The balance'd be all wrong. You saw the proportions those two had. Can you honestly tell me a blade or a spear tempered to suit the likes of them would do for someone of your own build?"
Vimes nodded, sighed, and started to put the axe away.
"On the other hand-"
"Yes?"
"Well, it's not as if the Noldor are allowed to come back to the Undying Lands any more, after what they did. We've got to give them something to do. You did mention an entire City Watch, am I right?"
"Yeah. . ."
"I think we can take care of your armoury for, oh, how does the rest of time sound?"
Vimes gave Eönwë a very, very long look. Eventually, he said, "We could do with a bit of new armour, yeah-"
"We'll start with your own."
"Good, 'cos this lot's about had it. Can you do it so it'll be fit to wear on formal occasions? You should see what Sybil makes me put on."
"I assure you, Vimes, it will be done. For you, and for the rest of the City Watch of this. . . Ankh-Morpork."
Vimes nodded. "Then throw in some really proper boots, the kind that'll keep your feet dry but let you feel the ground through the soles, and you've got a deal."
Eönwë laughed.
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 01:10 pm (UTC)That was terrific. Have been wanting to see a Vimes-in-Arda crossover for ages, and this was great.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 01:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 02:22 pm (UTC)All matters of distance and possible gender problems aside, can I bear your children? This is perfect beyond all perfect-ness. Would be more coherent about which bits I liked but that would involve quoting the entire thing.
Someday, perhaps, you could write the version where Sam, along with Sybil, the guards, and after he was done bickering about it pretty much half the city, did wind up living in Numenor. Arda has plenty of noble lines, they can fit in one House of Vimes, reputed to be right bastards but fair and completely unbribable. I'd like to see Aragorn attempting to bargain with the seventy-eleventh Samuel, head of the Minas Tirith Night Watch.
*relurks*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 03:04 pm (UTC)Oh. Oh. Oh!!!! *snort* Oh, *please*!!!!
no subject
Date: 2004-06-04 09:10 pm (UTC)oy.
Because my brain is not a safe place to be....
Date: 2004-06-04 09:11 pm (UTC)Eradan Vimes, Guardsman of the Citadel under Denethor II, son of Ecthelion. Granted, it's only a few lines, but still.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 04:54 pm (UTC)Vimes (and Granny Weatherwax) were always my favourites and his sort of down-to-earth attitude is just what middle earth needs a good dose of.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 12:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 12:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 12:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 04:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 05:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 09:05 am (UTC)I only have one question: how is it that Vimes can see Death? I mean, see him and know him to be the "ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION" of Death, rather than as someone tall and thin and slightly disturbing on whom he can't really focus?
(Sorry, don't mean to nitpick ... it just struck me suddenly when I was re-reading this ...)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 09:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 04:37 am (UTC)MWHAHA. *gives in and friends you*
no subject
Date: 2004-07-19 03:09 am (UTC)*secretly friends you*
no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 01:34 am (UTC)Best. Crossover. EVER. Very well done. I loved every second of it.