The sky was overcast and it was entirely possible this would be the last day of Ralph’s life. He stood on the walls of the city as the great hordes of Orcs came on at the walls, trying to breach the gates or scale the walls. Minas Tirith had never fallen to assault but Gondor had never been so weak.
He shot an Orc in the eye and it fell down the ladder, knocking others off it as it fell. It wasn’t hard to do at such a close range; he was no great archer, but he was trained; many of those now defending the walls were not.
The Pelennor Fields were covered with enemy forces, human, orc, and troll alike, shielded by the infernal weather of Sauron, not that sunlight would stop the humans; they alone were enough to threaten the city.
He had a moment of good fortune as an orc arrow skidded off his breastplate instead of slicing his flesh; for a moment, he wanted to flee but he shoved it aside; it was a strange thought, like a shout from a great distance, powerful at its origin but weak by the time it reached him. He ignored the arrows and the shouting and the rumors that Lord Denethor was dead or dying and kept fighting, not so much from hope as because running away could not let you escape.
His strength was that of the man with his back to the wall; there could be no retreat. Either they held the walls or this great city would be his grave.
Parts of the city were on fire. Parts of the city close to where he was fighting was on fire. His commander sent men to gather burning brands and now they wrapped arrows in cloth and pitch, firing burning arrows into an oncoming siege tower; it began to blaze and figures lept from it, many dying or crippled on landing, but it was their only hope.
Gandalf was here, or so Ralph had heard; he had not seen him but something had happened at the gate; it had been broken but the Lord of the Nazgul, the Witch-King, had been repelled and now some of the footmen held the breach. And the Rohirrim had come, but now they were orcs and the great mumakil from the south and their traitorous Haradrim masters.
You could expect no better of Orcs, but the Haradrim had once pledged allegiance to Gondor, then renounced their oaths. They were not just enemies but traitors and oath-breakers. Orcs were monsters, slaves of the Shadow, unable to change, but the Haradrim were men and they gave themselves to the Shadow of their own free will. He couldn’t hate Orcs any more than he hated angry bears or earthquakes. But the Haradrim, he hated them and their traitor ways.
Whoever they were.
He pushed aside the strange thought, echoing from the distance and nervously kicked his golden boots together. Some song…
He tried to focus. Draw arrow, fire, draw arrow, fire.
Then something happened; you could make out the Witch King’s beast, a hideous flying creature, headed for the Rohirrim. Featherless and leathery, not a dragon but no bird either, descending towards the flags and horses and men of Gondor. The Witch King rode it; they said he could not die by the hand of man.
Many of the men quailed even to see him, even to see him descending on the Rohirrim, not themselves. Ralph certainly did. But his commander did not, firing at the Witch King, though the arrow fell short and went astray as even that brave man shook.
But now there was a snatch of song in Ralph’s mind and the memory of the Evening Star, the Star of Morning, which legend said was the light of Earendil, Earendil who had slain Ungoliant, Earendil who bore the last of the Silmarils upon his brow. Twice a day you could see him in the sky and in seeing him, you reached back, far back beyond this age and the age before it, to before the Fall of Numenor and the dwindling of the Edain.
Ralph was no grand full-blooded Numenorean, or even so close to them as the nobles of Gondor. Most of his ancestors were men of Middle Earth, but he had aspired to more, to being a maker, a craftsman, though war had dictated that dream might remain forever suspended, assuming he lived much longer. And he had grown up in a nation which dreamed of past glories and remembered past deeds of valor.
But one especially was precious to him, the deed of Bard the bowman, who had become King of Dale reborn, after his slaying of the dragon Smaug. Though no man of the Shadow, he was no man of the west, either, yet he had slain a great dragon which had oppressed Middle Earth for lo many years. He had found the one weak point the dragon had, by fate and by luck and by skill, he had struck it and slain it.
The Witch King could not die by the hand of man but his mount was not so protected.
The shot was impossible; it would take a miracle to shoot so far and hit something vital; he would only have one chance while the Witch King was still high enough for the fall to injure him. For he was sure the Witch King could take a fall which would slay an ordinary man without dying.
And so he prayed and remembered the Evening Star and he fired, the arrow arching high over the battlefield, then coming down. He could not see what happened, only the consequences; the foul beast gave a great shriek and then plummeted and he felt a wave of hate which sent him screaming into the city himself.
But his fear was mixed with triumph. He had made a difference in the battle for Gondor, and that sense of triumph ended his flight and brought him back, embarrassed, in time to feel the Witch King die as someone struck him down. You could feel it and the men cheered around him.
And he remembered a gentle stream and tall trees and a maiden dancing on the water, and then he awoke.
****************
Ralph woke groggily in the lab, confused as to why he’d woken up; he didn’t need to go to the bathroom, he was still comfortable, Nancy was here in an adjacent bed even if he couldn’t quite touch her from here…
And Gendo sat nearby, swilling coffee and reading a book, next to a lab technician who looked bleary-eyed and was swilling coffee from the same pot as Gendo, a short, dark haired black man who leaned on his hands and watched the data screens.
“Are we good?” Ralph mumbled.
“No signs of trouble,” the lab technician said, clearly almost hoping for trouble to justify having to be here, awake.
It took Ralph a while to sleep; he kept feeling like he was hitting walls, but finally, he drifted back to sleep, wishing he could do something that cool in real life. But unless he had to become the HALO equivalent of Hans Brinker, that seemed unlikely.
Though of course he now dreamed of that.
*****************
Rebuild of Neon Genesis Silmarillion
A Tolkien Legendarium / Neon Genesis Evangelion crossover
By John Biles
Book 2: The Battle Under the Stars
Chapter 8: Aftershocks
*****************
“Nothing dangerous I couldn’t disrupt,” Gendo said to Eida and Fuyutsuki later, in their secret meeting room inside Sector 13. It was simple with steel-gray walls decorated only with NERV’s logo, a black plastic round table and comfortable chairs on wheels, along with a secure wireless node for when it was needed.
“Our guests remain sleeping. I don’t think they did this,” Eida said, frowning. “It’s the same amount of input but now we’re getting fifty percent more output. Somehow.”
“That can’t just happen,” Fuyutsuki said. “Other equipment isn’t somehow producing fifty percent more, is it?”
“No,” Eida said. Then she frowned. “But we should check to see if other processes have changed.” She sighed. “So Herr Harmon will be okay?”
“Yes,” Gendo said to her, leaning back in his chair. He stared off at nothing for a few seconds and they all sat silently. Then he leaned forward again. “We have a far bigger problem. It’s pretty clear that though we defeated Tiamat, Morgoth had the victory yesterday. Something broke, though it’s clear he is not totally free.”
“So we can expect his power and influence to grow,” Eida said, frowning deeply.
“Yes,” Fuyutsuki said, drumming his fingers on the table. “VANDA is having a fit.”
“For once, I cannot blame them,” Gendo said.
“They felt their brother in pain. In fire,” Fuyutsuki said softly.
Gendo grunted. “But no sign of any eruptions.”
“Why would… do you think he’s still in lava?” Eida said hesitantly.
“We don’t know or we might have found him by now; it’s entirely possible the rock cooled and he’s hopelessly lost, locked inside some flow of basalt deep in the earth,” Gendo said, grimacing, then reaching for snack food he didn’t have. He grunted again. “If we are fortunately, Scott will see something, though that creates complications of its own.”
“If she can handle it,” Fuyutsuki said, gently chiding. “Her vision is perceptive but her mind is not yet strong. She is gentle at heart.”
“Gentleness will only get you walked on,” Eida said gloomily. “You have to make her stronger.”
“Easier to say than do,” Fuyutsuki said, shaking his head at her and she frowned.
“Not everyone need be warriors,” Gendo said, again reaching for non-extant snacks. He sighed. “But yes, she will have to become stronger or this will destroy her. Especially when she still struggles to do it by choice and to stop.”
Eida frowned. “We cannot back down now; we are in too deep.”
“I will not retreat,” Gendo said firmly to her. “But this was never supposed to involve children.”
“They would have been adults now in time past,” Eida said. “And frankly, my long childhood just helped me to be an idiot.” She sighed, slumping in her chair. “I suppose there’s nothing we can really do about the Silmaril which fell into the ground.”
“VANDA will find it if it can be found by anything other than chance. And we will continue to search for the one lost in the sea,” Gendo said. “And perhaps Scott will see something. For now, we must concentrate on other things, like the question of how much time we have left and whether other things have changed.”
His phone rang and he answered it. “This is Ikari,” he said to the head of Transport.
“Sir, I’m afraid that Lot 8 is on fire, though we should be able to put it out. We still don’t know why the collision caused an explosion but we’ll investigate,” the head of Transport said to him. “We already talked to the man whose car exploded and I don’t think he had a bomb in it. It’s a mess but we have it under control.”
“Explain,” Gendo said, frowning.
“Someone in Logistics was late to work; his brakes went out and he crashed his car into another one in Lot 8 and then the car he hit exploded. He’s in the infirmary, barely alive and likely to die. The explosion set surrounding cars on fire,” the head of Transport said, then sighed. “I know, it’s hard to believe. But the security cameras confirm everything.”
“Keep me informed and notify Berg, but I expect you are right,” Gendo said.
“Yes, sir. I just wanted to make sure you knew, given the scale of the mess,” the head of Transport said.
“You were wise to inform me,” Gendo told him and they said goodbye. He then told the others with him of this.
“Cars don’t explode easily outside movies,” Eida said, looking confused. “I hope this doesn’t portend things being easier to detonate.”
“I think we will have to get the research groups to do some quick tests of various kinds of reactions to make sure there will be no surprise explosions,” Gendo said.
******************
NERV was fortunate that it had a substantial number of researchers and the right materials to test this sort of thing. Quick tests by the demolition experts showed that, at least when properly operated, explosives did not blow up with any greater force than they expected them to. Gasoline burned in the normal way and did not become more prone to exploding when they tested it. There was no sign of explosives in the car which blew up in the lot; the engineers and mechanics believed the damage was consistent with the engine exploding, though they could not determine why it would blow up.
Gendo was meeting with those involved in the investigation in one of the meeting rooms; like most of them, it had several viewscreens in the walls, a central round, black table, and comfortable chairs for sitting around the table.
“Perhaps some sort of liquid explosive was introduced into his tank?,” the chief mechanic said hesitantly to Gendo. “I’m not sure if any such thing even exists.”
“You are not aware of nitroglycerin?” Gendo said dubiously.
The man looked embarrassed and touched his forehead. “You’re right, sir.”
“Someone would have had to introduce it to the tank after he parked and I’m not sure if impact alone would do the job,” Gendo said.
“We found no traces of any explosive materials, just the damage and fire,” the engineer on the case told them.
Gendo did not like mysteries, especially not explosive ones. Not in his base. Or anywhere else, really.
*******************
“Take the day off,” Eida said to Ralph Harmon in her office. “I am very sorry. Those suits never failed us before.”
“Well, beyond some weird dreams, nothing seems to have happened,” he told her.
She sighed. There might be long-term effects; HALO was dangerous for adults; she had a high resistance to it, which was a big reason she had her job. Someone had to be here to deal with Sector 13 if Ikari and Fuyutsuki could not. There were others as well; she could only do so much with the machines. But she was the one who understood.
She wondered briefly what Harmon would think of HALO if he knew its origins. They weren’t pleasant but there was no choice. Sacrifices had to be made.
Without it, they were doomed. And while it had made a mess, better to have more than less of it.
“Is your son okay?” Harmon asked her.
“He’s fine,” Eida said. “I’m very proud of him.” Fortunately, he’s far more sensible than his father, even if he’s too lazy for his own good. He won’t run around sleeping with everyone in sight.
*****************
Lars awoke in Megan’s bed to the sound of her grumbling angrily; he could smell blood and that could mean any of several things. All of them bad.
“Is it your period?” he said, praying she wasn’t some how bleeding because of him.
“But I just had it two weeks ago!” she said.
Now he remembered her father was on the other side of the wall in the next bedroom down the hallway. NERV-Arkham had some staff living in the base; Megan and her father had what otherwise would have been officer’s bedrooms. They had to share common bathrooms with others on the floor.
Megan kissed Lars. “It probably is my period since it doesn’t hurt but I have that ugh feeling.” She rubbed her forehead. “We can talk later, you’d better run.”
He ran like crazy once the coast was clear. Please be okay, he thought.
**************
“Eat,” Asuka said, shoving the food tray at Mari as she laid in bed. Being banged around so much meant Mari had a lot of bruises and some well-bandaged wounds.
“Yes, mother,” Mari said, then ate, while Asuka read a journal on her tablet. “Is Rei okay?” Mari asked softly once she finished eating and laid the tray aside.
“She’s in HALO, sleeping,” Asuka said. “They didn’t want to remove her while she was unconscious. And she’ll heal faster. I’m surprised they didn’t put you in it.”
Having been treated, Mari was in a small guest room; it would normally hold two but she had it all to herself. Her staff was on its way down from Quebec to collect all the pieces of Jet Alone to ship back and fix.
Assuming it was fixable; it had looked pretty mangled to Asuka.
“What exactly *is* HALO? Grandfather doesn’t trust it,” Mari said.
“Your grandfather forgets planes exist half the time; I’m stunned he could build a mech,” Asuka said flatly. “He’s this weird half genius engineer, half Luddite.”
“Grandfather is the greatest engineer on Earth,” Mari said, frowning. “And you’ll note *I* didn’t end up poisoned. Like…” Her voice trailed and she sagged. “Rei.”
“Mari, what the hell are you doing with Rei?” Asuka said, frowning, and leaning closer.
“Jealous? I’d be happy to kiss you too,” Mari teased her and Asuka jumped back.