Sarn Talcontar

Marcus stared at the newcomers in horror from his vantage at the back of the crowd. He was pressed in on all sides by said crowd of beings and standing literally pressed against the Station's bulkhead. That didn't bother him at all. The sight before him, though, was another matter. Never had he thought to see this, and NEVER here! On the Home World maybe, and only then in some terrible nightmare, but never here!

Marcus was broken out of his horrified trance by being jostled yet again. The Aliens of Babylon 5, the always "dignified" Minbari included, had literally all pushed, or were still trying to push, their way to the front to get a better look at the sight. They had been pulled forward by the aura of the beings before them even though they did not know the terrible significance of this visit.

The Ranger, though, did and literally began to tremble because of that knowledge. Like so many other Human families, Marcus's own family had kept what they called the "Olde Histories" alive, and it was from those Ancient tales he that knew what the presence of these shining beings meant, though he did not wish to believe it. Never had he thought that this day would come, and to be truthful, he had always prayed within his most secret heart of hearts that this day would indeed NEVER come. For this Host that was the embodiment of both beauty and purity was in truth the harbinger of the most buried Horror of Horrors for the Race of Man.

Marcus paled as he heard Susan bite back an actual whimper. He quickly extended his pike in warning and moved roughly through the crowd to the Commander's side in order to offer both physical and emotional support. The Ranger quickly clasped her icy hand as he reached her and was greeted with a wan smile as she met his equally frightened eyes with her own.

"I never thought... After the War... I thought... But the Shadows... Boze Moi! It's real... He's REAL! And He's COMING!" Susan whispered brokenly in her horror.

"I know. I know," he whispered back, tightening his grip on her icy hand, for he had no other comfort to give as his soul just as frozen in fear as hers.

Never, never had he thought that the Ancient Enemy would return from the Void. Frankly, he along with the rest of the gob-smacked Humans standing beside their thoroughly confused, bewildered and totally besotted (and frankly also totally lost at sea) alien brethren at Babylon 5's entry gangway had thought that all that they had been taught as children were naught but legends, or at best, ancient Man's explanations for visits from such old star faring beings as the Vorlons. But, the Ancient legends - no, True Histories - had just been proven complete fact, for here before them stood the living and immortal proof.

Sheridan was the first to break through his combined awe and fear, and strode forward to stand before the powerful, silvery, glowing being that stood at the head of the Host while awaiting a proper greeting. Like all the Humans present, John knew to the depths of his very soul who this was. There was no possibility that this could be anyone else but one legendary individual.

This guest to Babylon 5 was the embodiment of power and grace; of terrible beauty and purity; a being of both war and civility, of mercy and justice and with eyes that literally held the untold eons in their depths. In short, he was the living personification of and the very definition of "Warrior King". His very essence verily SCREAMED his right to the title of "Majesty", and for the first time in his life, John Sheridan, son of the grand history of the U. S. of the blessed A and true child of Democracy, got the inkling that perhaps, in some instances, "the Divine Right of Kings" just may have a place in the annals of governance after all.

Sheridan, finally breaking the spell of those truly Ancient eyes, bowed. It was not a precise, parade ground-style military half bow as was done to appease the social protocols of finicky and custom bound races such as the Centauri and Minbari, but a true Human, Courtly bow. It was a bow as was seen in the Courts of the Ancient Kings of Old, when one acknowledged the Royalty before them but did not go so far as to bend their knee to one NOT their rightful Liege Lord.

"Welcome and Well Met, your Majesty. Babylon 5 freely welcomes the rightful ruler of the Eryn Lasgalen; Aran Thranduil Oropherion, and his most Royal Party," Sheridan formally greeted the Ancient Being that the Old Histories taught had walked the primordial shores of Earth; a being that had been born in the days before sunlight could pass through the ancient canopies and all beneath them were always in twilight.

"I thank you, Captain, for you most gracious greeting," Thranduil responded in his musical, almost magical voice and with an inclination of his head in order to acknowledge Sheridan's position of Command. "I wish that We and Our escort could have given you warning of this visit, but both time and secrecy were of the essence. We had no choice but to approach in this manor, Scion of the House of Hurin," he said in explanation - and with which he raised sea of gasps from the Humans present.

Sheridan was visibly shaken at being referred to by such a title. "Your Majesty, I..." Sheridan tried to deny any claim to that most infamous of the Ancient Sea Lineages only to be cut off.

"Hush, child. You ARE the latest Scion of that most noble Captain-General's blood, if not of the King's Steward's," Thranduil said as he held up a hand to forestall the avalanche of questions he knew were coming. "And before you ask, little Adan, I will explain later. And yes, your Cousin and Scion of the Steward's Branch is here as well, as is your Rightful Liege Lord. Now, I must greet Our Royal Brother Gondor and return that which is both his Royal Right and Duty to wield, for both His Warrior's Arm and Voice are sorely needed in the coming Struggle."

With that statement, Tranduil, the last Elven King of Earth, walked forward. The mesmerized crowd parted before him as the Bible told the sea had parted before Moses. The Humans bowed and/or curtsied in his Royal Presence, showing their respect for the Last Living Kingdom of the Eldar. The aliens, seeing the Humans' actions, made gestures of respect as followed the customs of their own respective Races, not trusting themselves to copy the Humans' and therefore falling flat on their faces due to the unaccustomed poses and humiliating themselves, and by extension, their entire species.

Thranduil moved forward until he finally stopped right in front of the now trapped Ranger and Commander. Marcus and Susan, seeing that there was nowhere to move due to the pressing crowd on either side, the King in front and the bulkhead behind, paled even further. They immediately bowed and curtsied in proper Courtly Fashion respectively, and somewhere in the back of Marcus's still shell shocked mind, he somehow managed to wonder where Susan had learned how to curtsy while dressed in military uniform trousers and STILL look elegant.

Thranduil shook his head at the sight. "Rise, children," he said. "I do not deserve such a display," he finished as the two Humans shakily stood up.

With a flourish, the Elven King brought forth from beneath his cloak the most ancient and well known sword in all the long History of Man. He then held forth that Most Sacred Weapon of the High Kings of Men. Marcus and Susan stared at it in open awe. They both knew this sword. Through the passing eons this immortal sword had been known by as many names as its most famous bearer had.

It had been known as at one time or another as Mighty Hector's Durendal, the Hallowed Blade of Fallen Troy. It was Immortal Arthur's Excalibur, Shining Blade of Lamented Camelot. It was once known as Brave Gryffindor's Mage Blade, though the legendary Mage refused its Call in the end and used another, and inferior, blade in the last days of his life. But, its most famous name, and its True Name, was Anduril; the "Flame of the West". It was the Sword of Legend; reforged from the shards of the Hallowed Narsil and the One Blade that could only be wielded by the true High King of Men.

"No, I do not deserve such a display, especially not from you, my Royal Brother," Thranduil said gently as he held out one of the most famous Signs of the Kingship of Man; Anduril, the symbol of Royalty that was second only to the Winged Crown, to a now pure white and visibly shaking Marcus.

A deathly silence fell as Marcus stood trembling before the mighty Elven King, staring in shock and horror at the Sword of Destiny before him. The prolonged silence was finally broken by an inelegant snort from the back of the Elven Host. All attention turned to the group still standing at the Station's entry gangway at that point. A mighty and Golden Elven Warrior strode forth, arrogantly eying the Ranger all the way.

"Oh, you're Estel's get, alright," he drawled out sarcastically as he stopped before the poor man. "You've got that patented "dumbfounded horse's arse expression" down perfectly. Udun's Pit, but I'm surprised you're not whining "But, Ada, I don't WANT to be King!" through your own snot right about now." The Elf snorted again. "Oh, yes. You definitely are Estel's blood!" the Ancient Elven Lord taunted.

When Marcus, still too shocked to think, said nothing, he went on with, "Like all your barbaric Line, you don't know the definition of the word "razor". And you're a Ranger of all things! Oh, but you ARE Irony's Bitch aren't you? You've truly managed to get yourself embroiled in a mess way above your ken!" AND you're... Ai!" the Elven Warrior cried out, cutting off what he was about to say.

The Reborn Ellon stared at Marcus in shock, the magnitude of what he read in the Royal Adan's fea finally catching up with him. "Sweet Elbereth! In this day and Age! Oh, Eru's gilded testicles! You're still a vir.."

"Glorfindel! SHUT! UP!" Thronduil fairly screamed as Marcus literally fainted in mortification.

The End