Not Quite a Maia

Not Quite A Maia

Chapter 4

To say that Neville was surprised to see Ron's and Ginny's mum in the grand white hall would be like saying his Gran was just passed the first flush of her youth. And now, as he watched her standing before him in her long, fluffy nightgown with her hands glued firmly to her hips, he fervently hoped that he wasn't asleep - because if he was having some sort of pervy dream about the middle-aged mother of his school friends, he'd have no choice but to stay awake for the rest of his life.

Varda embraced her husband (as he watched jealously), then turned to Mrs Weasley. "I am Varda, Vala of the world known as Arda and I bid thee welcome, Molly, daughter of Prewett."

"Yes, dear, that's all very well and good; but where am I? And why is Neville here, too? What do you want with us?" demanded the agitated witch as Varda's husband guided her into a chair and gently forced her to take a seat.

The gorgeous Vala-Veela hailed a servant (the same stunner from earlier) and whispered something in her ear. Neville sat back down. He was feeling a bit self-conscious now, actually: with Mrs Weasely's untimely appearance in her nightgown, he was more aware of his own apparel - green pyjamas that Gran bought him for Christmas last year which were covered in tiny figures of combating Aurors (she lived in hope). When the maid returned, she placed two more glasses of the Mirror-vor liquid in front of Mrs Weasley and Varda's husband, then handed both guests a warm shawl to spare their blushes.

Mrs Weasley was touched by the considerate gesture, but even as she draped it over her shoulders, she repeated her earlier demand - which elicited a startling reply from Varda.

"My beloved, Manwë, and I," she began, indicating the elegant male Vala sitting next to the stout witch, "have called young Master Longbottom here in order to make a request of him. If he agrees to this request, we shall then make one of thyself, Lady Molly."

Lady Molly? She was thrown off guard by the elegant form of address, allowing Varda to continue.

"The world of Middle Earth in which thee may soon find thyselves is many years in the past of thine own time. At present, it is troubled by a great war, and - not unlike the one thy people have recently experienced - the instigator is a most evil being: a dark Maia who seeks to overthrow the lands and cover them in Shadow, as thine own Dark Lord did attempt in thy world."

"Er, sorry, but what's a Maia?" interrupted Neville.

Manwë explained: "A Maia is a powerful being whose original purpose was to aid the Valar in our works of worthiness throughout the lands. But Sauron the Abhorrent was corrupted by the great enemy Morgoth, and after his master's fall, he became the dominant evil in the lands of the West. He seeks to crush all the Free Peoples of the world under his rule and to that end his servants now encroach upon the lands of Men and other races in order to bring them under his dominion."

Neville gripped his glass tightly. Another Dark Lord? Well, that was just bloody brilliant! But what did they want him to do about it? Now, if this 'Middle Earth' place was suffering from an infestation of ruddy big snakes, then he was the one to talk to! But megalomaniac wizards? Harry was the one they should be having a cosy chat with regarding that - that boy was invincible!

"I think there's been some sort of a mistake," he said, before his host could continue with further explanation. He'd heard enough already, and Mrs Weasley was violently tugging the pretty cream shawl she wore in bemusement. The Valar regarded him with solemn eyes and he swallowed heavily.

"Look, I may be a wizard, but that doesn't mean I'm the best wizard for the job - whatever the job is. You need someone who's done this sort of thing before, not me. I'm just...Neville," he finished apologetically.

Mrs Weasley's forehead crinkled in protest. "There's nothing wrong with being 'just Neville' dear."

He sighed. "But, Mrs Weasley, I'm not exactly Harry Potter or Professor Dumbledore. I was eight years old before I found out I had any magic in me at all - and I only found that out because Great Uncle Algie dropped me out the bedroom window and I went bouncing down the street..."

"Your uncle did what!" she cried, leaping to her feet and surveying the room murderously (as if Uncle Algie was lurking in the shadows of the Valar's home). Fortunately for the old man he wasn't, but Neville ignored her outburst and carried on.

"...and even so, I'm not exactly powerful. Bloody hell, if there hadn't been a war, I'd still be trying to work out exactly what a Shield Charm is, and any bright first-year can do that!" he declared passionately.

"Language, dear!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley, retaking her seat.

"But there was a war, son of Longbottom, and thou hast thy magic harnessed," Varda declared. "Furthermore, it was harnessed when thee still used the staff of thy father - an impressive feat in and of itself. And now that thou art in possession of thine own staff, it is greater still. Do not allow doubt to fill thy heart when thy soul has already proven its worth."

Staff? Did she mean wand? Oh, no; his wand was still in his room! He definitely wouldn't be able to help them now.

But Varda didn't seemed too bothered by that for the moment, so he sealed his lips firmly together and let her continue.

"My husband has told thee of the desperate plight faced by the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, Master Longbottom. What thou dost not yet know, is that we have sent opponents of Sauron among them to aid them in their struggle. For thousands of years, they have walked the lands across the Sundering Sea, gathering information and creating alliances between the races to fight the evil of the Dark Lord Sauron. One such Maia was Olórin - Gandalf the Grey as he was known to Men in his Wizard form - wisest of all the Maiar, who led a desperate quest to defeat the Lord of Mordor. Among his Fellowship in this quest are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir and the Hobbit Frodo Baggins, who carries a mighty weapon that the Dark Lord forged to aid his own evil ascent to power. Sauron lost this golden trinket when his form was destroyed by Isildur thousands of years ago and the One Ring was sundered from him. But it has now been discovered by others and he has been slowly regaining his former strength; he is now almost strong enough to take shape again. His servants seek his Ring of Power to return it to him and allow him dominion over Middle Earth: if Sauron comes into possession of it once again, the lands of the West and beyond will fall."

Neville gulped loudly. This 'Sauron' sounded even worse than Voldemort! Lost his form? Strong enough to regain it? "Are you saying that this Dark Lord of yours sort of...died...and now he's coming back?"

"Indeed," confirmed Manwe from beside Mrs Weasley, who turned pale.

"And this ring of his, this 'One Ring' will give him back a body?" the teenager asked, wide-eyed.

"That is so," replied his romantic rival.

This was all sounding horribly familiar. Sauron's ring must be like Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"Wait a minute: you called it the 'One' Ring. Are their others?" he asked in growing horror.

Varda answered. "The One Ring was forged in secret by the Dark Lord to rule over many and he filled it with his evil will and malice: the others, the Nine Rings of Men and the Seven Rings of the Dwarves, he aided in the creation of by deceiving the Elven smiths as to their true purpose. The three Elven Rings, which, although not fashioned by Sauron himself, were created using knowledge he furnished the Firstborn with and this renders them as susceptible to his sway as the rest. If Sauron reclaims his own Ring he will rule over the bearers of the remaining Dwarven and Elven Rings."

"What about the Nine Rings of Men?" asked Mrs Weasley curiously. "Are their bearers too powerful for him?"

A bitter laugh from Manwë greeted this question and she frowned at him.

"Nay, they are not too powerful for him, for he has already enslaved their bearers. They are now the Ring-wraiths and dwell tormented in Shadow, neither living nor dead. These former kings of Men lead the Dark Lord's armies; they are a foul group of spirits who roam the lands searching for their master's prize and will slay its bearer when they find him."

Well, they didn't sound very pleasant. Neville hoped this Frodo was hiding as far from the Ring-wraiths as he could possibly get. Speaking of which: "Where are this Frodo hobbit and his friends now? If Gandalf is dead, who's leading them?" he asked, desperately hoping they weren't going to suggest that he should. Where was he supposed to lead them to?

"Most likely they are now under the guidance of Aragorn, who should lead them to the Elven haven of Lothlórien for some respite."

"Oh, you have house-elves here too, do you?" asked Mrs Weasley, happy to find a subject familiar to her. "They're very handy in the kitchen. Not that I've ever needed one - my kitchen is my kingdom, you know! Never trust a stranger's hand among your ingredients - even a helping one; you never know what they might put into your stew!"

Both Valar looked slightly confused at this nugget of domestic wisdom, but Neville understood her. Thank goodness Hermione hadn't been the one to come here with him - if she knew there were house-elves in a place called Middle Earth as well, she wouldn't rest until the Free Peoples of the West had been kitted out with SPEW badges and roamed the streets with giant placards daubed with words of righteous protest.

"And what will happen after that?" he asked. "What are they going to do with this Ring?"

His beautiful hostess answered. "The Fellowship shall journey to the black lands of Mordor, home of Sauron and place of the Ring's birth, where Frodo must see it destroyed, if it does not consume him first."

Consume? Did the ruddy thing have teeth? Good grief, these Middle Earth lot were worse than some of the idiots back home! What were they all about anyway, making an evil Ring with teeth?

The look of confusion on his face inspired elaboration by Varda. "The One Ring, imbued with the power of the Dark Lord Sauron, has a will of its own. It will trick its bearer, deceive him into believing he is powerful enough to wield it - all in an effort to return to its master. If the bearer falls to its deceptions and places the Ring on his finger, he may become invisible to all others, but he will enter a half-world of Shadow where the Ring-wraiths and the Eye of Sauron may perceive him more easily. His capture will be imminent and death shall follow swiftly, before the Black Riders return the Ring of Power to their master." Her eyes closed briefly, before she said: "The destruction of all that is good and pure shall follow this."

Mrs Weasley clucked her tongue in sympathy. "This all sounds very bad indeed, dear, but what exactly is it you want Neville to do? Destroy the Ring?"

A valid question, Neville thought. He didn't find the idea of a trek to the black lands of this Mordor place very fetching. Why hadn't Gandalf just put a spell on it to break its power? That would have taken care of everything nicely.

"The One Ring cannot be destroyed by the magicks or spells of Wizard-kind, Lady Molly; only casting it back into the fires of Mount Doom where it was created may see it ruined, thus bringing the downfall of its creator, Sauron," Manwe informed her. "My wife would like to make a different request of Master Longbottom."

Well, thank goodness for that! No filthy trek through foreign lands to chuck a bit of gold into a fire while being chased by sort-of-dead Black Riders. Neville felt a bit more confident. He was a bit annoyed, though, that the (really far too pretty) man addressed Mrs Weasley as 'Lady Molly' while he got stuck with 'Master Longbottom' - as if he was some twelve-year-old pureblood brat.

Of course, Varda had also addressed him as 'Master Longbottom', but Neville was perfectly happy to let her call him whatever she wanted. He'd even answer to 'Widebottom' if she said it.

Turning to the beautiful woman, he smiled at her politely and asked: "What can I do for you, then, Mrs Varda?"

She laughed merrily at his form of address and his smile grew wider. Thank goodness Gran wasn't here either to see him behave like the hormonal teenager he was.

"I would ask thee to replace Gandalf as Wizard of the Fellowship."

Oh, bloody hell. A jaunt to Mordor after all.

"They require the security thy power may provide, young Wizard."

"But I'm really not that good!" he protested in frustration, good humour forgotten. "Unless you're looking for a herbologist, that is. That was my best subject in school - although I'm not sure I'll be able to ward off these Ring-wraiths with nothing more than a bunch of Honking Daffodils."

He paused, lost in thought for a second. "Of course, a nice bit Stinksap may get rid of them for a while. They won't be able to follow anyone too effectively if you can smell them a mile off. We could use it as a sort of warning signal."

"Neville, dear, do be serious! You can't spray the undead with Stinksap and honestly expect it to keep them at bay for very long!"

Perhaps Mrs Weasley had a point. Still, it was something to think about...

"Gandalf the Grey was more than just a Wizard to the Fellowship child; he was also a counsellor. He united them and gave guidance. But alas! He fell after slaying the Balrog of Moria, and has not returned to us since," lamented Varda.

"Excuse me, dear," interrupted Mrs Weasley, "Balrock?"

"Balrog," corrected Manwë. "'Twas a mighty creature of great stature, not unlike a great lizard in appearance..."

Neville perked up at that. A snake was a lizard - he could deal with a mere snake.

"...but possessed of long legs and powerful arms. Balrogs were demons of shadow and flame, creatures of great power and terror. Cloaked in shifting shadows, with fiery cores, they had burning yellow eyes and streaming manes that kindled with fire. Foul and evil they were and perhaps still are; for none are certain of the number unleashed on Middle Earth by Morgoth and some may yet exist in the dark places of the world."

Okay, perhaps not. He hoped they weren't expecting him to duel with one of these...Balrogs - he didn't imagine they'd be as accommodating as Nagini by foolishly allowing him to hack their heads off.

His hostess continued with her narration. "Gandalf the Grey, although victorious against the dark creature, met his own demise. As a Maia, his spirit was free to wander the mysteries of Time and Space. My husband has called out to his spirit, for Olórin's duty is not yet over and the Fellowship require his leadership still, but he does not answer!"

Her grey eyes met his wide ones. "That is where thee may be of assistance, Neville Longbottom, for thou hast already proven thyself in battle against great evil. Thou art a leader of armies in thy world; a valiant defender of the cause of righteousness."

"No!" declared Mrs Weasley and, shaking off Manwë's arm, stood up and crossed over to the female Vala. She waggled a finger in the lovely woman's face. "I will not allow it! He is a boy of seventeen, for goodness' sake and not long out of a war he shouldn't have experienced, never mind participated in."

"I understand thy concern, daughter of Prewett," replied Varda. "But he is of age in thy world and must be allowed to make his own decision."

The stout witch was having none of it and Neville watched in amazement as she ranted and raved at what was, surely, a very powerful woman indeed, if she could take them both from the safety of their beds and whisk them away through Time and Space just to ask a favour.

"Look at him!" demanded the motherly witch. "Look at his face! Do you see those scars? Do you know how he got them? Standing up to the sort of tyranny you would like to thrust him into again! Subjected to a curse of horrible agony that left him wriggling on the ground while sharp objects sliced through his skin. The same curse that has seen his parents languishing in their own private hell for most of his life! Not to mention the burning hat our Dark Lord saw fit to pull over his head!"

She was puce with righteous anger and Neville could only gape at her. "And you would subject him to such a thing again? No! He has fought his war, let him have his peace! Merlin knows he deserves it. We all do..."

A sob escaped her lips and Varda stood, enfolding the red-haired woman in her warm embrace. "I know what haunts thee, Lady Molly. Thy son departed his life not long before thy journey here and his loss grieves thee deeply. Know that I ache for thy sorrow."

Neville had a lump of his own in his throat just listening to the heart wrenching cries of pain.

"Thy grief drives thee to cling fast to those who remain and protect the innocent as thou believes thou should have protected thy son. But not even a Witch of great power may see all ends or be in all places at once. Thy Fred may have left thee for now, yet mortal coils are brief and thou shall know the happiness of reunion with him one day soon."

Her delicate hand tipped the sobbing witch's chin up, forcing her to meet her eyes. "I swear to thee that thy son is safe and well, and that thou shall hold him again in thine arms. Do not despair, my Lady."

Mrs Weasley seemed to be strangely comforted by these words and Neville wondered how the Vala could possibly know how Fred was doing, or that he was safe and happy. Had she seen him?

Varda gently kissed her forehead then pulled her down onto the green settle to sit beside her, forcing him to move up. She took the witch's hands in her own and held her gaze. "But know that Neville Longbottom is not thy son, even though thy mother's heart calls out to him. We know what he has endured in his short years and would not see him inflicted with further pain if it were possible. Yet, desperate times require desperate measures."

Manwë now spoke directly to the teenager. "I was not wholly convinced that thy participation in this quest would be of worth, for these are serious matters. But my beloved claims thee to have a fortitude and integrity rare in children of Men so young - even if they be gifted with the art of Wizardry. She believes thy courage inspired followers at thy place of learning and that thee did not falter when death and domination loomed in thy face. I have seen with my own eyes the truth of the latter. Yet still I am hesitant to accept thee, for thou art young and potentially open to influence from outside forces."

Neville was burning with embarrassment and indignation but wisely kept his mouth shut in case an unlucky remark from it shattered his beautiful champion's illusions.

"Dost thou renounce the forces of evil, child?" demanded the grave voice of the male Vala.

Of course he bloody well did! Hadn't he spent the last few years proving that? He set his jaw and firmly nodded his agreement.

"Speak thine answer aloud, child, that I may hear the truth in thy voice."

If you insist.

"Of course I bloody well do!" he declared, affronted.

"Language, dear!" squeaked Mrs Weasley, unable to stop herself. Varda smiled.

Neville flushed to his roots. Really, what did she expect? This long-haired lover from...well, wherever they were, was questioning his integrity.

"And shall thee accept the charge of protecting the Fellowship?"

Hmm. That question needed a bit more thought. Would he accept the charge? He thought of his parents; lives ruined forever by the followers of a madman. His friends at Hogwarts - children, all of them - and yet many had fought for the right to control their own destiny...and many hadn't survived. He thought of the Wizarding World and the elation that swept it after Harry Potter had done the unimaginable and freed them all. He remembered the way things were before that happy day - the fear and suspicion that gripped the Wizarding community as the death toll rose, friend betraying friend and the apparent inevitability of Voldemort's victory as the social structures of his world slowly collapsed around him - and he shuddered.

If he could help in any way, did he really have the right to refuse? For all the doubts he harboured in his own skill as a wizard, certain facts could not be denied: he had fought back, he had enrolled in the DA and become one of the most improved Defence students there, his skills were not as novice as they used to be - so much so that he had become one of the DA's leaders when Harry couldn't come back for his seventh year - and he could no more ignore a cry for help than he could happily arrive at Malfoy Manor for tea and cake with Draco.

And this was a cry for help.

Neville made his decision. "Yes. I accept the charge," he said loudly and clearly, making Mrs Weasley gasp in horror.

"But Neville, what about your grandmother? She'll not be very pleased when she finds out you've gone gallivanting into another war. And what if you get hurt? Please, dear, think about what that would do to her!"

He looked at the matronly witch and saw the worry in her eyes. But he was determined. "I am thinking about Gran. If she knew someone asked me for help but I refused, she'd be disappointed. I'd never be able to look her in the face again. I love my Gran, Mrs Weasley, and I won't do anything to make her look at me as if she's ashamed of me. And how can I say no to them when my own parents sacrificed themselves to fight the same kind of monster that threatens them now?" He shook his head. "I'd never be able to look at myself again!"

Mrs Weasley pulled her hand from Varda's and moved over to him, grasping his shoulders firmly. "You don't have to do this because you scared to let people down, Neville. You could never disappoint those who really love you!"

"No, Mrs Weasley. It's not about that. It's about doing what's right. Why should the peoples of their world suffer when there's even the smallest thing I can do to help? I lived with my own insecurities for far too long before my fifth year. But that night, in the Department of Mysteries, I wasn't scared any more and, to tell you the truth, I haven't been since. Oh, I know I'll never be as great a wizard as Professor Dumbledore, or even Harry, but that doesn't matter any more. I'm not that bad with a wand now, actually, and several Death Eaters I've met would be happy to agree with that, if they weren't either dead or in Azkaban. These Valar are a wizard short and they've asked for my help. It's my duty and my privilege to do as they ask."

Her lips pursed and her complexion became rosier with every word, but there was nothing Neville could do about that. He was touched that she felt so concerned for his safety, but it was his choice: he was his own man now.

"I forbid it!" she declared, and he smiled fondly.

"You can't."

"Neville Longbottom, when your grandmother hears about this..."

"Mrs Weasley," he said gently, "there's nothing she can do either. I am of age."

"But Neville dear, you'll be stranded in this foreign world and she'll have no idea where you are or when you'll be back - or if you'll even be back."

"Time for him shall be but a moment to her, for it shall be as if he were gone mere seconds, at most," came the reassuring tones of Varda. The Vala-Veela's face shone with pride at her chosen one's acceptance.

"Seconds, you say?" asked Molly in disbelief.

"Seconds," confirmed Manwë, knowing that now, she would not have to be asked to become the Guide: her decision was clear on her face.

And indeed, the witch's expression had changed to one of absolute determination and even Neville now knew what she was planning. "No, absolutely not, Mrs Weasley! You have a family back home - they need you!"

"I'm not going anywhere until I can take you back with me," she said in challenge. "Whatever would I say to Augusta if I left you here and something happened, hmm? Who'll look out for you when you're too busy looking out for everybody else? Tell me that!"

Well, of course, he couldn't. He didn't know what was going to happen, or where he was going and he had absolutely no idea what he would do when he got there. But these things tended to take care of themselves when the time came, right?

Mrs Weasley had the smuggest look on her face when he couldn't answer and Neville would swear that she was almost enjoying it. But he couldn't let her come too. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if she got hurt watching his back.

"Look Mrs Weasley, what if something happened to you? I hate to say this, because I don't want to hurt you, but your family has already lost a son. They can't lose their mother and wife too, it would destroy them - take it from someone who knows."

Her lower lip wobbled and he could have happily Crucio-ed himself for doing that to her, but there was nothing else for it.

"Now you listen to me, young man," she said, swallowing heavily, "I am more than capable of defending not only myself, but others as well, if I have too - I believe I have sufficiently proven that already."

He couldn't argue with that. Bellatrix Lestrange was probably cursing the matronly witch from whatever corner of hell she currently occupied.

"And your life has not been destroyed, dear, however painful it's been to this moment, so don't shame your grandmother's excellent efforts by claiming otherwise..."

Wow, that was embarrassing! Being scolded like a naughty five-year-old by a raging Weasley in front of the most beautiful woman he'd ever clapped eyes on. And Ron's mum had a valid point: those Black Riders wouldn't so much as get the chance of taking a shot at him if Gran thought he was disparaging her child-rearing skills.

"...and furthermore, I have been around a lot longer than you have, dear. I know spells and curses that would make your toes curl (Neville didn't doubt it for a second) and I am more than able to pass that knowledge on to you. You might certainly need it if things are as bad here as the nice lady says!"

All very valid points. But he was still hesitant to let her accompany him. His gaze met Manwë's. "Could you give me some sort of guarantee that no harm would come to her?" he asked.

"I am not a child, young man!" declared the affronted witch. "And if he can guarantee that for me, then he can certainly guarantee it for you!"

Manwë beckoned his wife to join him and Neville's eyes followed them both as they retreated to the archway leading out of the room. He felt Mrs Weasley's gaze burning into him and thought it was probably safer not to turn around. How did Ron manage this on a daily basis?

The Valar returned and Varda spoke. "Already thou hast impressed upon my husband thy worthiness, son of Longbottom. Thy careful deliberation of our request for aid shows thy wisdom and the arguments that supported thy choice were spoken with conviction. That thee now think of the safety of thy companion and the well-being of her kin before thine own demonstrates thy compassion."

Neville felt his face burning with embarrassment and wished they would just get to the point.

Manwë obliged his unspoken request. "It will not be possible for us to secure the safety of thee both, but thy Wizardry is of a kind uncommon to us and should stand thee in good stead."

Right, that was it. If they couldn't keep Mrs Weasley safe, they could bloody well find some other good-natured sap who'd be happy to risk their own neck for the greater good...Lucius Malfoy, for instance! He wasn't doing anything at the moment (other than languishing in Azkaban).

"However," said Varda, "we may be able to grant at least thy request, son of Longbottom."

The Vala stepped towards an astonished Mrs Weasley and before she could so much as open her mouth to protest, laid a hand on her shoulder. A shimmering light enveloped the witch for an instant before dissipating, leaving no sign that it had ever existed - other than a simple silver chain that hung around her neck. A white stone sparkled brilliantly at its centre.

"The Light of Varda protects thee now, daughter of Prewett. No harm shall befall thee in thy travels. Do not remove it until thy quest is complete, for to do so shall be to plunge thyself into darkest despair."

Manwë now addressed Neville. "Does this soothe thy mind, young Wizard?"

The teenager smiled in satisfaction as Ron's mum spluttered in outrage. "That's brilliant, thanks!"

"Just one moment - why can't you do the same for Neville?"

"The Light of Varda is taken from my wife's own essence. To take too much would be to weaken her and plunge the world into darkness. The jewel on thy breast is but a temporary gift and must be returned upon completion of thy duties - to lose it would be catastrophic. Use what magic thou hast to ensure that it remains with thee for the duration of thy time in Middle Earth."

"Oh," said the Weasley matron, looking at the slightly paler form of Varda as her husband's arm stole around her waist in support. "I see. Well, that was very nice of you, dear. Perhaps you should sit down. Would you like a nice cup of tea?"

Varda fairly glowed in appreciation at the motherly warmth flowing her way. "Thou art a summer's ray on a cloudy day, Lady Molly. A little Miruvor shall suffice for the moment." Her husband assisted her into a chair and she sipped delicately on a glass flute of the sparkling liquid.

"And now," she said, placing the glass back on the ivory stand, "thou must return to thy world for one day of Men only. Gather what may be required for a long journey through wilderness and then return when thee next lay thy heads on thy pillows. We shall have further instruction for thee upon thy return."

Neville and Mrs Weasley stood up, unsure of where exactly they should go to return home, but the issue was soon resolved when their bodies began to levitate and draw further away from the solemn Valar.

"Do not forget thy staffs of power, son of Longbottom, daughter of Prewett. Fare thee well until we meet again."

And with that, they were gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX