A/N: Hello again. I hope the beginning of 2019 has been treating you all decently.

I've been staring at this too long. No joke, I pointed out a perceived flaw in this to my beta reader, and she said "No it just seems that way because you've read it a billion times." True. Now that the plot is finally happening though, I'm hoping my muse will finally wake up from her coma and maybe I'll be able to write a bit faster. Then again, every time I say that fate throws something at me that just derails my whole life so maybe I shouldn't ruin it. Please enjoy!

Chapter 9: Though the Nightmare Should Be Over

Silence hung heavy in the air. Bernard looked around at the other occupants of the room. Orëna held her head in her hands. Elrodan looked pale. Both Quinton and Carol's faces bore similar expressions of disbelief and horror. Directly beside him, Lydia's face was unreadable to him, and he knew that she had buried whatever feelings she had deep within her. Only Curtis and Scott seemed to be experiencing the same confusion he was. Curtis's head was tilted to one side like a puppy's, and their boss's face was contorted in an almost cartoonish display of befuddlement. Finally Santa's voice burst into the silence.

"What in the name of Bing Crosby is an Erlking?!"

"Well, sir-" began Quinton.

"Wait. I want to hear this."

"Scott-" said Carol.

"I need to hear this. Who or what are you talking about?"

"Our greatest enemy," said Elrodan. "The one who destroyed Hollin and very nearly destroyed all our kind, dwarf and elf alike."

The grim pronouncement did not impress the man at the desk.

"Yeah, you said that. Would you care to elaborate?"

Orëna and Elrodan looked to Gilrohir. The elf captain seemed to think to himself for a moment. He stood behind Elrodan's chair and put his slender hands on his shoulders.

"You know the story best, my dear," said Gilrohir quietly. "Tell them."

Elrodan turned his green eyes toward Gilrohir. True, he was their historian, and long hours had he spent telling and retelling the story of the war to those who would hear it. Yet sitting in this office, so close to those left orphaned by it, with the name of their enemy no longer a title out of legend, but somehow frightfully near, he no longer wanted to.

"You were there," he said plaintively.

Gilrohir squeezed his shoulder gently. "Go on."

Elrodan looked around the room at all the expectant faces staring at him. He looked at the elves and felt, deeper than ever, how young they looked, especially Curtis and Audrey. He could not bring himself to look at Bernard at all. What right had he to name the unthinkable, to risk the shadows hearing the sound of the name and perhaps conjure the horror in this very room like a spell, with such young lives present? And he knew too, there were mortals here, and how could they possibly understand such terror? But then he had read their histories too, and mortals had known their own evils and conjured their own nightmares. Elrodan looked at Lydia. She was the crossroads, somehow both human and elven, neither entirely the one nor the other, and she knew both worlds better than he ever would. Her grey eyes looked back on him with sympathy and understanding, and she gave him an encouraging nod. He took a deep breath and began.

"The Erlking sought to subjugate our entire world. Elf, dwarf, and goblin alike. All the groups were divided at the time by petty squabbles and old grudges. Perhaps if we had united sooner, the war might have gone differently.

"He came from Elvendom. His proper name is lost, unspoken by those who know it. We simply call him the Erlking. He was one of us, and we were the first he attacked. Hollin fell first. We know not why, truly. Yet I suppose the logic was sound. Hollin was neither powerful, nor particularly wealthy. In fact that only major magical resource they had came into the kingdom by marriage."

"Miriel."

Gilrohir had spoken quietly, as if to himself. Elrodan continued.

"Queen Miriel was a distant kinswoman of Lady Varda and equally, if not more, powerful in magic. She was born of Elbereth and left it to marry King Bayard of Hollin. She died under mysterious circumstances during the war. A lightning strike on her boat while she rowed on Aelin Heled, the lake at the center of the city, but some believe the timing was too coincidental to be an accident.

"He killed her. I know it as I know my own name," growled Gilrohir. "The fiend murdered her."

"So the Erlking destroyed one of the surest assets to destroy him. All while destroying Elvendom's easiest target and a valuable one, strategically. Hollin is separated from Elbereth by several rivers and a vast flat plain. It is located very near the mountains where dwelt goblins and dwarves. Capturing Hollin gave him ground to capture the others.

"Yet this became his undoing. Bayard was neither the wealthiest ruler nor the most magically powerful, but he possessed strong diplomatic skills, and an effortless, somewhat eccentric charm that appealed to all the races in equal measure. He was kind-hearted and generous. He would happily socialize with anyone, be they elf or goblin, king or kitchen maid. He was very popular."

"And so were his dinner parties," injected Orëna with a light smile.

"The destruction of Hollin outraged all," continued Elrodan soberly. "And the death of its beloved king and queen at the hands of the Erlking galvanized all the factions into reigniting the old alliances to defeat the Erlking for good. And we succeeded. Or so we thought. His forces were defeated, but his remains were never found. Missing were his body and those of the children whose parents were killed when Hollin was raised.

"Here you are, alive and free, thank the stars. But so, it seems, may be he."

"But what does that have to do with these kids who've died?" asked Bernard.

Once again, Elrodan seemed reluctant to answer. He looked at his hands and continued.

"I don't know what type of magic he was using, but I believe it was unwieldy and must have drained him terribly."

"It was the sun," whispered Orëna.

"How would you-" began Gilrohir, but Bernard interrupted.

"What does that mean?"

Orëna looked at him, holding him in her contemplative gaze. "Minariel. You tell him."

Lydia started, having been absorbed into Elrodan's story. She remembered the words as Orëna had once spoken them to her.

"The elves of Elbereth draw their, or rather, our magic from the stars. They feed us. We breathe in starlight like air, bathe in it like water, and weave it like thread."

Bernard watched as she recited this like ancient poetry. As the words rolled off her lips, several images flashed inside Bernard's mind. A stony courtyard, a crystal clear lake, boats painted scarlet bobbing lazily on the surface, a dark-haired woman with a silver-green mantle, rowing across the water, a tender smile on her lovely face.

Elrodan picked up the thread of thought. "It is said the elves of Hollin took their magic from the earth, molding their magic like clay and forging it like metal, and that's why they got on so well with the dwarves."

He smiled gently at Orëna, who continued. "Ada, that is, my father, said that the Erlking took magic from the sun, tried to work its light into great forms and great power. I think I only now begin to understand why, but it is as Elrodan said, too much for anyone to handle. Perhaps it twisted him somehow."

"Or melted him," said Curtis suddenly. He had barely spoken a word since Audrey's appearance. The unfolding revelations had struck him uncharacteristically silent, but those three words had burst forth from his mouth like a labrador from an undersized kennel.

"Melted. That may not be a terrible word," said Elrodan. "We're not sure why, but before and throughout the war, the Erlking engaged in isolated attacks. Usually on children, but not always."

"What did he do to them?" asked Bernard.

"We don't know. All we know is that they had no mark nor wound on their bodies. They were all found grey and lifeless, as though their very life force were ripped out of them. The only sign upon them were their faces, twisted and distorted with fear. Terror. Such terror. Even grown elves. Some of the ones that were found were almost unrecognizable, their faces so contorted with agony as if they were dropped into a nightmare so grotesque as to cause their minds to collapse and their hearts to burst. Some children complained of visions, of shadows whispering to them from the trees. But by the time their parents were convinced the dreams were real, it was too late, and the children lay dead in their beds."

Bernard's face darkened.

"So what happened? How'd you get rid of him?"

"All the races banded together in defense against him. At first, Bayard and Miriel alone took the growing threat seriously. They called upon their allies for aid. But alas, they did not come fast enough. Hollin fell, and Bayard was slain. In their memory we fought against the Erlking's forces. He had fed magic into the elements and crafted monsters of stone, mud, and branch. Many were lost, but at last we drove him out. Never to be seen again."

"Until now," said Gilrohir softly.

Scott released the breath he had been holding in one great blow.

"And you don't know where this guy ended up?"

"Indeed not, no," said Elrodan ruefully. "We had hoped that he was destroyed, or at least, too weak to be a threat, but long have we feared he was not. He is - "

"Sir, I can tell you exactly where he ended up," cut in Quinton impatiently. "He came here."

Orëna, Elrodan, and Gilrohir turned to look at him in unison.

"Here?" gasped Elrodan.

"Well, not here," said Quinton, gesturing about as if to reassure the wood elves that no sinister figures would be leaping out of any nearby broom closets. "But there is a figure in old Germanic myth by that name, and if he's real, and the entities are the same, which let's be honest with ourselves, they must be, then the Erlking is here, in this world, and he has been for quite some time."

"How can you know this?" demanded Gilrohir. Before he could say anything further, Orëna spoke out.

"Quinton, why did you not mention this before?"

"Nobody asked. None of you mention him until now," said Quinton indignantly. And whenever I asked what happened to Hollin, none of you would tell me anything."

"You're just so young," said Elrodan quietly.

Bernard crossed his arms. "We really aren't."

Quinton crossed his arms, rather aggrieved at the implication that he had somehow shirked his duties as a researcher.

"It's not as though villainous child killers lurking in the shadows are difficult to find in fairy tales and folklore."

"Quinton, what do the Germans say about the guy?" interjected Scott.

"He's an elf king. He's evil and twisted. He kills children." Quinton shrugged. "I never gave much thought about it being anything other than a legend."

He caught Bernard, Santa, and Carol all giving him raised eyebrows. At their incredulous stares, he added, "The irony is not lost on me."

Elrodan cleared his throat pointedly.

"Where did these stories come from?" he asked, placidly changing the subject.

Quinton sighed. "I believe most of those tales come out of the Germanic regions."

He walked behind his boss's desk, where a world map was pinned to the wall. Across its surface were lines that darted from one city to another, marking routes designed by the Efficiency Team to ensure that Santa could make his deliveries as quickly as possible. Quinton pointed to the center of the European continent. "If I'm right, he may have settled in the forests of central Europe. Here."

"Audrey, How far back do these reports go?" asked Elrodan.

"I only went back a few hundred years," said Audrey.

"A few hundred years?" exclaimed Scott. "Knitting, Audrey. Model airplanes, anything."

"Where are the oldest occurrences?" asked Elrodan, ignoring him. He and Audrey sifted through the files, while Quinton helped arrange them into stacks by century and, when possible, by decade. Scott watched them with his chin in his hand.

"Where are these from?" asked Elrodan.

"I'm not sure," Audrey admitted quietly. "I don't know this language well."

Quinton squinted at the page for a moment.

"It's definitely German."

"Where is it?" Elrodan asked.

"I...haven't the foggiest," said Quinton, reluctantly admitting defeat.

"You think you can find him by tracing these reports?" asked Scott.

"Perhaps," muttered Elrodan as he became engrossed in more files.

Bernard plucked the sheet out of Quinton's hand.

"You grew up all over," he said glancing at Lydia. "Do you know this place?"

He handed the report to her.

"I think my uncle and I visited the area a few times," said Lydia. "But I don't recognize the name of the town. According to Carol's books, the country doesn't exist at all anymore."

"Where was it?"

"I-I'm not sure. It was small."

"Think," he insisted, ignoring the smirk on his boss's face. "Where was it?"

Lydia peered at the map a moment. She shut her eyes and reached back into her mind, deep into her own past. With her eyes closed, she pressed her finger to a point on the map.

"It was here. Roughly. I can't be exact."

"I fear you won't have to be," said Orëna ominously.

For the next half hour, they pored over Audrey's notes, and Elrodan stuck pins in the map for each location at sighting occurred. For the next several centuries of reports, they focused on the central and eastern regions of Europe until the map was covered in pins. Most of the findings corresponded with heavily forested areas.

As they headed into the mid-nineteenth century, the pins began to shift, scattering about like a small animal running for cover.

"What's causing this?" asked Elrodan.

Once again Quinton was perplexed. All were silent for a moment. Then Carol gave a small gasp.

"It's deforestation. He likes forests, right?"

"Stands to reason," said Scott glibly. "It is right there in the name. Wood elves."

"In the 1870s, the Industrial Revolution spread to the continent, and they started chopping down trees. A lot of trees. Less forest means less cover, and that might have forced him to move."

Elrodan looked troubled as he took in the deliberate shrinking of the forests but kept at his work.

"Did anyone else notice what happened just before that?" said Orëna suddenly. "Just before the reports started scattering. I'm not imagining things, but they've also increased in frequency, yes?"

She looked about at the others to confirm the pattern was real, and not a figment of her imagination. Quinton thumbed through several sheets and nodded.

"I see it, too. Around mid-century. The reports scatter in the '70s like Mrs. Claus said, but starting with the 1860s, there were more of them. It looks like it started around, oh I don't know, 1862 or 1863."

"The Civil War was happening then, right?" suggested Scott, reaching back to the high school history class he had slept through in an attempt to be helpful.

"That wouldn't have impacted the European continent much," said Carol.

"Then what happened?"

"Maybe there were just more reports. Not more attacks, just more surviving evidence," suggested Curtis.

"I don't think so. It's too sudden," said Quinton.

"I know what happened then," said Bernard suddenly. He ignored all the expectant faces looking at him and turned his gaze toward Lydia. Her eyes met his, and he felt as though he'd been struck by lightning, the static nailing him to the floor as he looked into her silvery eyes. He knew she understood his thoughts, and he pursed his lips, hoping she also heard his silent apology for what he was about to say. He knew her well, and knew she would, and yet when the moment came he found he could not say the words.

"That's when I died," she finished for him.

"That also coincides with my entrance into your world with Lady Varda to retrieve you," said Gilrohir.

"You think he sensed it?" asked Orëna incredulously.

"His power and treachery should never be underestimated. He would feel her presence and know her immediately."

"But what does any of this mean?" said Elrodan.

"Confirmation," said Gilrohir. "Lady Varda walking into this world was all the proof he needed that he could find you here. He may have suspected the legend of elves living in this place were true, but in his weakened state he could not risk the harsh climate of these lands."

"These reports certainly sound like your guy. But why come here? What would he want with the elves?" said Scott.

"He once tried to destroy Hollin," suggested Elrodan. "You are proof that he failed."

"You think it's his pride?" asked Carol.

"There is powerful magic here. I felt it. We all have," said Orëna. She turned to Scott. "You told me that you visit all the children of the world in a single night."

"Many of them. Not all of them celebrate Christmas."

"How many children are there in this world?"

"Well the world population is hovering around seven billion. I couldn't tell you how many are kids. Any idea, Audrey? A ballpark figure would do it."

Audrey pulled a palm-sized calculator from her pocket and crunched a few numbers with her fingers.

"Somewhere between ten and fifteen million, maybe. That's just the kids you see."

"How is that possible?" asked Orëna incredulously.

"Not enough contraceptives to go around?" said Scott with a shrug.

"She means how can you visit that many children in a single night?" said Elrodan.

"Well, I take advantage of time zones. Once I get into the sleigh, time sort of changes. It slows down so I can get to everyone."

The three wood elves exchanged astonished glances.

"You have power over time?" exclaimed Orëna.

"It's just for one night."

"Yes, but for a single night, you have power to slow down time itself?"

"I guess so. I don't do it myself. It just sort of happens."

"He has access to all of the children of the world, and knowledge of where they are, and how to find them-"

"And they expect him, even look forward to his arrival," interjected Elrodan.

"He could pick off as many of them as he wanted without repercussion. He'd have gone before the parents even knew he'd been there."

"And because he's a legendary figure, they wouldn't know who to point the finger at. Based on these reports, they might even write the event off as a form of plague."

"And by then the Erlking would be so powerful, they would never be able to stop him."

As he and Orëna spoke, Elrodan continued to place pins in the map. Gilrohir gave a sharp intake of breath and gripped Elrodan's shoulder. Orëna stood up and joined them.

With bated breath, Gilrohir stepped toward the map. He touched the cluster of pins covering the central Europe with the tips of his slender fingers, then followed the trail of the attacks northward through the European continent and into the arctic circle.

None of them spoke. Elrodan placed his hand on Gilrohir's arm and looked from his face to the map and back, but still Gilrohir said nothing. Orëna pinched the bridge of her nose.

"What is it?" asked Santa.

A sharp bang broke out as Gilrohir's fist collided with the map. Bernard and Lydia's fingertips touched and a feeling quite like an electric shock shot through their skin. Gilrohir took a deep breath and released it.

"It's headed this way."

Santa stood and looked at the map. He could see a massive cluster of pins covering central Europe, and then a serpentining line of them darted haphazardly about. It's destination was obvious no matter how irregular its trajectory. The last several dozen attacks had inched closer and closer to the Pole, and the most recent of those were only a few hundred miles away.

Gilrohir turned and stood stiffly at attention.

"We must set about fortifying this place. Immediately."

"'Fortifying?'" asked Scott.

"If the Erlking knows where you are, it is only a matter of time before he makes his move. We have to be ready."

"You think he's coming here?"

"It's only by the grace of the stars that he has not slaughtered you already."

"Don't you have any good news?" cried Scott.

Gilrohir performed an abrupt about face.

"We found you before he did."

Before any of them could respond, Gilrohir strode out of the room. Orëna and Elrodan followed him with Lydia close behind.

"Come on," said Scott to the others.

They hurried after the wood elves, following them through the factory floor and outside onto the grounds. Gilrohir raised his horn to his lips and blew out a long blast. All of the elves who toiled nearby both inside and outside dropped their tools and covered their ears. Some of the wood elves stood nearby and marched over in answer to the call.

But Gilrohir was not finished. He sound out a short call, then another, followed by a longer call, repeating in a rhythmic series of blasts that almost formed their own commanding melody of firm, staccato notes.

Soon the entire company of wood elves stood in formation and at attention before their commander. Their breath condensed into clouds that hung in the air like whispers on silence. They stared with wide apprehensive eyes at Gilrohir. He gazed back at them, his fair face as stoic as ever. His eyes were troubled. He raised his voice.

"The Erlking is alive. He may be headed this way. We must prepare ourselves."

"You know this," cried Imharion. "How?"

Gilrohir turned and located Audrey standing very close to Carol as though attempting to hide behind her. Her hands were buried in her ink-stained sweater sleeves, and her glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose. She pushed them back up without extricating her hands and fiddled with the pom-pom at the end of her hat.

"Come forward," ordered Gilrohir.

Carol gave her an encouraging nudge, and she reluctantly stepped toward Gilrohir. Orëna greeted her with a smile and put her hands gently on Audrey's shoulders, enveloping her in the comfort of her solid presence. Lydia stood close by, attempting to impart reassurance by proximity. She chanced a look back at Bernard, who stood between Scott and Quinton with his hands behind his back. He glared at Gilrohir warily, like a wolf guarding cubs when vultures start hovering around. Lydia met his eyes and gave him a reassuring nod. He did not stop glowering in their direction, but she saw his tense jaw relax a bit.

"This child," began Gilrohir.

"Audrey."

Elrodan and Orëna had cut in and corrected him at the same time. Gilrohir's eyes flashed, but he did not object.

"She has been tracking his movements, though she knew it not. Attacks upon children bearing all the marks of the Erlking have been recorded in the lands to the south. The reports indicate localization to forest realms, which suggests he found refuge there. As of late, the attacks move northward. We have not long before he strikes. Return to camp and await my command. Dismissed."

Confused and in shock, the wood elves did as instructed. Gilrohir turned stiffly toward Audrey and locked his gaze with hers. She recoiled back toward Orëna and trembled.

"Well done."

Gilrohir about turned before she could respond and made his way toward the camp. He had much to consider. Audrey looked up to Orëna.

"What did he mean by that?

"He means," began Orëna slowly. "If the Erlking does attack, and we all make it out alive, it will be in large part because of you. He can't take us by surprise now."

This was too much for Audrey. Her eyes swelled and shined with tears. She wrapped her arms around Orëna's torso. Orëna patted her head and let the little elf maid cry into her chest as she contemplated a few things. If the Erlking had indeed risen from his exile, their journey just became a lot more complicated.

A/N: Hey everyone, just a heads up, while I have a decent amount written on the next chapter, my co-worker and the only other person in my department will be out of town for nearly a week, which means I'll be working through the weekend, so I won't be able to write much. Thanks for reading and have a lovely day.

-Chapter title from "Objects in the Rearview Mirror" by Meat Loaf and Jim Steinman

-"Aelen Heled" = "Lake of Glass"