"I don't remember gods in the Lord of the Rings. Unless—was that what Sauron was? Okay, that makes a lot more sense now."

"It's Sow-ron, not Sore-on. But yes, he was a Maia—one of the minor ones. The greater gods are all truly good, although they tend not to interfere in Middle-earth even when they probably should."

"You don't say.

"Anyway, I was walking before you fixed me up. It wasn't pleasant—walking, that is—but whatever you did to me worked really well, I could probably manage better now."

They leave the hospital and begin to head up the island's central peak. It's not as long a walk as it looks, although from the coolness of the air they must have gained quite a bit of elevation.

At the very peak is a tower of pale grey stone. There are two sentries whose job seems to be to stand outside the doors and open them for visitors; they are wearing apparently ceremonial armor but not actually armed.

The hall within resembles a dense old-growth forest carved entirely out of stone in such detail that the trees almost seem to be alive. The light is dim and it isn't really possible to identify where it's coming from—well, some of it is coming from the two people seated in state at the far end, who are visibly glowing.

Tony walks to the far end of the hall and kneels, briefly, before the thrones, then gets up again without waiting to be prompted.

The king is silver-haired and ancient-eyed, but young and fair of face, taller than any human, regal and immovable as the ancient stone oak which his throne has been made to resemble.

He emits a stream of stern-sounding Elvish at Tony.

His queen is even more inhumanly beautiful than him and nearly as tall. She is so still that Tony could swear she's not even breathing.

You'll have to forgive my husband, she says, though her lips do not move and she makes no sound. In fact he speaks your tongue perfectly well. He thinks it sacrilegious for mortals' tongue to be heard in the Blessed Realm, though I have assured him it is not, and I ought to have a better idea of such things than he.

Okay that's creepy as fuck.

Are you going to translate what he said? he thinks in her direction, testing to see if she can actually read his mind.

Of course not. It was not, ah, particularly diplomatic. Let's see if he can't do better the second time.

"Mortal and guest," he says, with a snooty British accent that sounds a bit fake. "Trespasser in the Blessed Realm. Thou standest now before Elu Thingol, Lord of Doriath and of Tol Eressëa, High King of all the Elves of the Twilight, who hath gazed with his own eyes upon the Light of the Trees of Valinor ere the Sun and Moon were made. What hast thou to say for thyself?"

Tony ignores the pretentious titles and the archaic language and the claim to be older than the Sun.

"Uh, I can hardly be considered trespassing when I didn't mean to come here and still have barely any idea where I am. A few hours ago I thought he was a character in a book—" he gestures at Legolas—"and apparently they didn't make a movie of the book you're from, because I hadn't even heard of you."

"Yes, the accursed Kinslayer gave an old history to a mortal, and he translated it, and called our history his own invention, and apparently now it's become quite popular among the Men of Middle-earth. I had hoped that this would save me from the tedium of having to explain to future errant mortals the full import of their being suffered to walk in the land of the Powers. Apparently this is not the case."

"Uh, I remember Frodo getting on a boat at the end of Return of the King. I suppose this is where he was going?"

"Very good. But Frodo Baggins was the hero of the Third Age. He destroyed the Enemy at unimaginable cost to himself, such that there was nothing left for him but to come to the West or slowly die of despair. Who are you, to deserve the same fate?"

"I—" he pauses for effect—"am Iron Man."

"Yes, yes. And no doubt you consider yourself the hero of your own Age, with your own Fellowship to go along. But there's one difference between you and Frodo. You lost."

"Not yet.

"And at any rate, when I showed up here, I wasn't imagining it as a fucking reward. If I was brought here for any reason at all, Your Wise and Benevolent Majesty, it was probably to get your help. Speaking of which—this is the land of the gods, no? Where were they while we were out there getting our asses kicked?"

A look of recognition spreads across Elu's face.

"Oh," he says. "You're the new Eärendil. Allowed to come make a last, desperate plea for the aid of the Valar. I don't think it will do you any good, this time. The attack of the new Enemy slew half of the Powers as easily as it slew half of all Elves and Men."

Based on the panicked whispers that spread around the room, this probably wasn't widely disseminated information before.

"Nonetheless, you are beyond my authority. I am remanding you to the custody of the Valar, who brought you here, and must have some idea of your purpose if they did, or will punish you appropriately if they did not. Melian will escort you to them."

There is a flash of brilliant light, and then there is a woman—a goddess, probably—standing between Tony and Thingol. It is a provably true fact that she is the most beautiful being in the universe, though she isn't ostentatious about it: she's probably shorter than Melian, and not physically glowing in the sense that one could see by, and dressed in unornamented white. She does not need anything more. If she wore the fairest of jewels, the Silmarils of old themselves, their light would only seem to cast a shadow before her. But her eyes are the deep blue of late evening, and sparkle as though the host of the stars were only their reflection, and her skin shines as though all light in the universe were her creation. (It is.)

Looking at her is like looking directly at the Sun, but it's nearly impossible to look away. The memory of the Incarnates is too small to capture her beauty, and every moment one looks on her seems to be their first and their last. One might be content to stare at her for all the Ages of Arda.

Thingol gets up from his throne, kneels, and bows his head.

Okay, this new arrival must be really important. Tony does the same.

THERE WILL BE NO NEED FOR AN ESCORT FOR MY GUESTS, LORD ELWË. The sky seems to ring like a bell when she speaks.

Then she turns to Tony and smiles. RISE, TONY STARK. I AM VARDA ELENTÁRI, LADY OF THE STARS. COME, AND JOIN OUR COUNCIL.

Tony feels his heart stop for an uncomfortably long time. Long enough that, were he wearing his suit with vitals monitoring, FRIDAY would definitely be beeping at him right now. But he recovers, and rises to his feet.