I am so sorry it took so long for an update! Y'all know how life happens? Well, life happened. More specifically, I started 11th grade this week. And… well, I know it's been a while. Please forgive me in exchange for a new chapter? Okay, here it is… PS This the second to last chapter ;( for Edrian's story. I know, I know. But at least you'll enjoy it, right? Big Huge Thanks to all my fans and reviewers! Love, Crirawen
Chapter Nine
"I hope to God you know what you're doing, Edrian," Alix Ambra Evanston grumbled beside me. She leaped lightly from bleacher to bleacher, adapting easily to my long stride as I raced after Legolas.
I grinned. She was perfect.
"Or… Adhémar? Is that what Cedric called you?" Alix Evanston clutched my arm nervously as we cleared the last bleacher down to the sideline. "What is going on?"
I glanced across the field to The Other Side. The Nine, or whatever representation of The Nine they were supposed to be, had spread into a formation and were moving with slow, cadenced steps, the steps of a dark hunter moving in for the kill.
"Nothing you should be worrying about." I patted her arm, drew myself away, and left her with the other court hopefuls. Apparently oblivious to The Other Side, homecoming festivities were under way, and regardless of what happened to me, I could not let Alix Evanston miss her chance at Queen.
"Edrian!" she shrieked, clearly worried. Alix's blue-moon eyes were further enlarged with fear, and she trembled as she reached for my fingers.
"Alix." I put my hands firmly on her shoulders and squeezed through her coat. "Stay here. It will be all right. I promise." I willed myself to remove my hands and turn away, fingers eagerly reaching to take Anduríl's hilt in my palm.
"Edrian!" She sounded close to tears now.
I turned back. "Alix! Please. Stay. Here." I locked into her gaze, pleading and dying not to say I love you. "Please."
She did, looking mournful, and I dared to hope.
But I had to focus. Aragorn refused to let his thoughts of Arwen weaken him against the Enemy, and I would do the same.
Legolas fell into step beside me as we continued. "Edrian," he murmured tersely. "Adhémar. We should not draw blade until we are much closer. They will see us. If they can reach us from a distance, they will not hesitate to fight before we can defend."
"Yes." I held my head high, wondering if anyone had taken notice of our advance across the field. "Legolas, your Elf-eyes. Can you see anything more of them?"
He squinted slightly, barely more than tightening his brow. "Their hands are not those of a Nazgûl, I think, too soft of bone. The hands of a Ringwraith are like scales of iron. And their faces are covered in shadows, but not that of nothingness. The Nazgûl have no form to themselves save for their black cloaks. The shadows I see are of something that is hidden." Legolas met my gaze. "Edrian, I do believe these foes may be Mortal servants of the Dark One."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good." I didn't exactly have the means to go about setting Ringwraiths on fire or drowning them in the river of Imladris. If I had to cut down my adversary, even untried in battle, I was ready.
"We are not alone, Adhémar."
The Elf's reassurance made me glance along my right shoulder. Sure enough, Gandalf and Elrond were tracking our advance just beyond the goalpost. Both had settled on long wool coats against the cold, very dapper and yet quite reminiscent of ancient robes—white and gray, respectively—and I knew full well that under those coats, they were armed.
We were close enough now that I could observe perfectly well without Legolas's help. I briefly took in the array of red, black and white in the New Hampton bleachers and the shirtless seniors in the front row with their chests painted over. Those New Hampton boys weren't badly built, but… well, I still had better abs.
I settled on the approaching row of black figures. As Legolas had relayed to me, their faces were too shadowed to be formless, as a Nazgûl would be. Even their hoods were a clue. Morgul cloaks barely covered what would have been the forehead; these black cowls were much more Darth Sideous, extending over the eyes to shade the entire face like the Evil Emperor himself. As the center leader of the Nine met my gaze, I caught sight of a sliver of flesh, right where the chin ought to me.
They were not Ringwraiths. Servants of Sauron they may have been, and Nine of them there were, but they were not Nazgûl, meaning they could be slain.
"Legolas?" I breathed, hardly daring to even move my lips.
He nodded just as subtly. "Yes, Adhémar. Now." The Elven warrior set his jaw and slowly reached for his long knives.
I reached for Anduríl, its hilt warm in my hand, and slowly drew the Sword of Kings before the enemy.
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Those final steps we took were strange. It was like the buildup of tension in a movie before the epic explosion, when every movement is slowed, every footstep and heartbeat echoing like thunder, every movement whoosh and shoomp as it slices the air. Serious. Thick. Heavy, like lead. And through it all, I could hear the proclamation a part of me had still waited for on pins and needles even as we marched against the Black Warriors
"It is my honor to present to you this year's Linden High School Homecoming Queen, Alix Evanston!"
Alix Ambra was my Queen, just as I had known all along.
"And it looks like there's something quite exciting happening across the field…"
Crap. Any moment now, they would see my sword, and then I'd be dead. But it was either me or the entire school. The entire world, even. I'd be in deep crap up to my ears, but at least their butts had been saved. What a fitting sacrifice on the part of Aragorn's heir. Like the administrators, the students, the world, would even realize what fate I had saved them from, let alone appreciate it or even care. But it was my fate, tonight, to save all their asses from certain doom. And so I would. I passed Anduríl's blade slowly before my face, offering one last challenge before I engaged.
These Black Warrior Whatevers were skilled fighters, I could tell immediately. I was quick to strike, knowing that I needed to attain the offensive position immediately. I could fight all of them together, but I would be lost trying to defend myself against all of them together.
As our blades met, I registered one last piece of evidence of the Whatevers' mortality: their weapons were not black, not Morgul blades, but a normal and healthy silvery-steel color. Anduríl's weight and power sent the first reeling instantly, right into an Elven fighting knife. Legolas and I seemed to develop our teamwork silently; his unique Elvish style, blades swinging and wheeling from all directions, proved to be just enough of a diversion to let me hold my own.
But I was not fighting to kill—not yet. I wanted to give these Black Warriors a chance to fight with courage and regain a bit of honor, regardless of whatever price He had demanded of them.
Everything else was a blur. Not just the motions and the time, but the action itself. I couldn't remember any movement once I made it, but I knew one thing: it was silent in the stands, dead silent both back home across the field and here on The Other Side. Silent. People were watching. Scared, even. And my best friend and I were fighting for their very lives and fortunes. I was locked in once epic battle.
Then things became still. The Eight with whom Legolas had been dealing dropped back, willing to let their leader and their leader alone have the honor of bringing me down. And their leader stood silently before me, watching. Waiting.
I raised Anduríl regally before me. "Go back to your master," I commanded. "Tell him his days are ended. Elessar's heir has come." I lowered the blade. "I will spare you if you do. You have all fought bravely." The Blade Which Was Broken hissed again in warning.
The Longest Moment in the History of the World passed silently. When it was over, the Black Warrior knelt before me and spoke in a whispered, raw, womanly-sounding voice.
I never knew that a representation of a Nazgûl could be female.
"Through your mercy we have regained our honor, my lord," she said. "Your will is our command." Then her shape seemed to melt away. At first I thought it was a crow flying away from her remaining cloak, a creban, but I then realized that she had departed as a large, glossy black butterfly. Her companions all did the same, freed in beauty from their disturbed prisons left lying on the field. One by one, each obsidian butterfly rose and disappeared until the only evidence of what had happened was the line of cloaks pooling where they had fought.
"Adhémar." Legolas moved beside me, but his voice was a whisper, and his gaze was focused solely on the disappearing butterflies. "Edrian." Finally, he looked at me. The Elf said nothing more, but his lips were twisting into a proud smile.
Well done, my king, his eyes said. In silent agreement, I turned with him, and together we began our victorious trek across the field.
Elrond and Gandalf gave me the same look of glowing approval as we returned to our side of the stands. Predictably, no one really knew what I had just accomplished, but they seemed accepting. Which was good, considering I was their King.
My Queen was waiting for me, too, cradling a bouquet of roses to her chest. "Edrian!" Alix Evanston threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. Her enthusiasm slightly crushed her roses against my chest, releasing their fragrance into the air. "Thank you, Edrian," she breathed. "I don't know how you knew, but thank you."
I was starting to reply—not even fully knowing what that reply would be—when I heard Gandalf call my name. "Adhémar!"
Elrond echoed him immediately, sounding stressed and urgent. "Adhémar!"
As I reluctantly began to let go of Alix Evanston yet again, Legolas somehow grabbed me and mentally hauled me right back to the present. "Adhémar!"
There was fear in his voice, genuine fear.
I whipped around. One of the Black Warriors had remained and was flying right toward me, fully armed and ready to kill.
I had done the honorable thing, releasing them all to do my bidding in exchange for an honest fight. Traitor.
"Back, you demon of the Dark One!" I screamed. "Ego, rogûl morhîro!"
There would be no mercy this time. I brought Anduríl back into my hands, threw myself at the creature, and cut its damn head off.
The wind picked up as I did, swirling into a vortex centered on the dying Black Warrior. This one got no black butterfly for its betrayal. With a tortuous howling scream, its form stiffened, shuddered, and departed in a flash of blinding light to whatever hell awaited it, leaving its cloak motionless in the grass.
This is my first real fight scene, so if you think I need practice writing this kind of material, I understand. As always, reviews are more than welcome. Unfortunately, I shall be out of town for the weekend, plus I have to endure another school week. Therefore, it may be a while before I am able to complete Edrian's story. There are still some things we need to wrap up…
For those of you who are wondering:
Ego- be gone
rogûl- rog (demon, as in Balrog) + gûl (sorcery, as in Nazgûl)
morhîro- mor (black, as in Mordor) + hîr (lord) + o (suffix, 'of)
Thank God for online Elvish dictionaries LOL.
Again, thanks for the love, support, loyalty and reading! ~Crirawen
