Author: Mirrordance
Title: For Every Evil 3
Summary: For every evil that rises, we are given ways to fight it. The secrets of the elves are revealed to the modern world, and they are forced to decide whether they should remain in a world unprepared for them, or be the last of their kind to leave it.
Hi gang,
Currently suffering from mild form of writer's block, but still trying to get stuff out there. THANK YOU for reading and reviewing and would appreciate anything you can toss my way. Just to answer a few questions though:
1. Why Legolas Left Valinor:
This is a clip from FEE1 Chapter 3:
"You've sent us along a merry chase, mellon-nin," Elladan told Legolas, "It really was terrible of you not to have called upon us. How long have you been back?"
Legolas frowned in thought. He left the mortal world the year Elessar died, sailing for the elven haven of Valinor with Gimli the dwarf. The years passed slowly there, and though for awhile he found his peace, the death of Gimli and the years that followed it were fraught with restless frustrations. He never was quite as complacent as the other elves, he was just too fiery. The sea called for him to return from where it was he came, much as it called to him to get to where he already was. The wanderlusting was persistent. His fruitless wanderings about the theoretical haven and his palpable loneliness bought for him a passage back to the lands that he loved. Although it was a courtesy often not granted and hardly ever requested, he was allowed back to Middle-Earth, back into the circles of the world, that he may at last see for himself precisely where he belonged, that he may cease to wonder, that he may find his peace (or resignation…).
This is a clip from FEE3 Chapter 3:
"You are insane," said Davenport, gruffly, "Only fools leave paradise for here."
"A good friend of mine died," Legolas said, quietly, "It ceased to be so."
This was also tackled in FEE1 Epilogue:
"So," breathed Haldir, still feeling that serious shift in the air, "If… I mean when. When we," curious, he reflected, that he now counted himself one amongst the mortal category, "When we all die, you'll leave again, I suppose."
"Perhaps sooner," Legolas replied, startling his friend almost as much as the reply surprised himself.
"And why is that?" Haldir asked.
"I have a feeling…" the Mirkwood Prince hesitated, "I have a feeling I have to learn this… this crazy release business. A more definitive goodbye, of sorts. One I've never made, before." The more he spoke of it the more it was beginning to make sense, "I have to leave while there are things that still bind me, Haldir. I have to cease this madness, of departing only when there is nothing left, as if I was fleeing, as if my hand was forced. Because I will always be left behind, I know that too well, and for so long I've seen myself as a mere pawn of the fates, as if this life was an injustice, and it lends no sense or credence to my freedom, my choices. I have to learn to make my own goodbyes. I have to know that I can depart. Because I ultimately must."
Basically, he left the circles of the Earth after Aragorn died, left Valinor after Gimli died... He was always fleeing things, in apparent defiance of his enduring nature. In FEE3, I am hoping to give him some form of a resolution for that :)
Anyway, wish me luck, and here's Chapter 9. 'Til the next post!
" " "
9: Welcome to Earth
" " "
Rome, Italy
" " "
He was the closest friend they had in Italy. Still garbed in his sharp suit, still thoughtfully and anxiously flipping a fountain pen in one hand and clutching a sheaf of papers and his cell phone in the other, and still trailed by his efficient flock of assistants, Emmett Rigare stepped into an enclosed section of the emergency room where Arianne Underhill was seated next to a sheepish-looking Ana Craxi on a high-set examination table.
He glanced at the women and gave them a nod of greeting, before settling his intense attention on the doctor in the room. "Prognosis?" he asked him, in that clipped, boss's tone that he forgot to leave behind in the conference room (or perhaps the same one he forgot to leave behind in the battlefields of Rohan).
"She needs rest," the doctor replied. "It is as simple as that. Her mother had problems birthing too, as her records have indicated, and this Ms. Craxi's first... and twins too, at her age--"
"Let's just stop talking about my age," Ana groaned.
Emmett's brows rose. "Twins?"
"They are sucking the life out of me," Ana grinned at him sickly, "Like their father and uncle did with their mother, I've been told."
"Elladan will be insanely pleased," Arwen smiled, before frowning, "That is, once I get hold of him. No one is answering my calls. I called him and Elrohir, and then thought I'd get in touch with you, and that it should have been my first thought. It being you are nearer, and far more responsible."
Emmett grimaced, "There are plays at work that need their attention. You haven't been watching the news."
"No time," Arwen said, worriedly, "What's going on?"
Emmett pointedly looked at his trailing assistants. They got the hint and walked out of the room, ushering the doctor out with them.
"Do her pregnancy troubles stem at all from the mixed-race children she carries?" Emmett asked Arwen.
"I had no such trouble," she replied, "When I had children long ago. And she or I are hardly the first."
"And as the doctor said," Ana added, glumly, "My mother had trouble also, and I am... not as young as I could be."
Emmett gave a short nod. "If the doctor says to rest, you must do as he says, for your sake, of course, but also to keep you and your children from more intense medical attention and scrutiny than they would usually get. You want to keep them as far away from the eyes of the world now, Ana. The secrets of the elves have been uncovered."
" " "
London,
England
" " "
An existential question: Is a study hall a study hall if one cannot study within it?
Finn sighed, closed his book as he looked at his friend with equal measures of indulgence and misery.
"I'm serious, Pip," he said quietly to his companion, "No more fooling around with Sam."
"I am trying to wake him," Pip said indignantly, "I'm trying to find him his true love!"
"I doubt that exclaiming 'Look, it's Rosie!' at random moments will stir anything, Pip," said Finn, "Honestly, you're just making him into a nervous wreck. Especially after all those disastrous dates with girls named anything remotely close to 'Rosie' that you set for him. Really, my friend. It's such a common name. You must exercise more judgment."
"I do exercise judgment," Pip argued.
"Rosamund Tang," Finn pointed out.
"That was a good bet," Pip said with a sure nod.
"Manufacturing heiress from China here on her father's money for an MBA," Finn said, "Eight years older, scarily sassy, bitter and lonely Rosamund Tang."
"Well someone should be doing something," Pip shrugged, his eyes lighting up again, "Say... you know I have a classmate in Lit class--"
"Mr Took!" the librarian appeared behind him, making him jump. Finn just looked sheepish and uncomfortable.
"You already know why," she snapped at him, putting her index finger to her mouth.
Pip grinned at her and shrugged, helplessly, before turning back to Finn. He opened his mouth to speak, except the loud ringing of his cellphone disrupted the peace of the hall, gaining him the unwanted attention of the librarian.
"Mr. Took!" she exclaimed, pointing sharply toward the door, "And bring your friend too!"
Pip smiled at her as he gathered his things and moved to step out of the study hall, an embarrassed Finn trailing after him with his head low.
"Yo," Pip answered his mobile, pinning it between his neck and shoulder.
"Pip," it was a very anxious Mark Brandy, "Are you watching the news?"
"What in all our time together makes you think the answer could even possibly, remotely be 'yes?'" Pip replied, rolling his eyes.
"Christ, Pip," muttered the other, "Just look for a telly and watch, all right?"
"No need to be so surly," Pip replied, looking around, "I'm looking, I'm looking. What channel?"
"Any," came the emphatic reply, "And then call me back. We have plans to make."
" " "
Bangkok, Thailand
" " "
Harding grunted, and suffered Goran's glare when he instinctively shifted away from the needle that the ex-dwarf, ex-criminal was using to sew his bullet-grazed wounds. He took a slug off the bottle of scotch in his hand, that they also used as an anesthetic. Closing his eyes in irritation, he let himself be treated, sitting on the edge of the bed.
They were on the cabin of a chirpy little boat, owned by one of Goran's former associates. The ex-dwarf reasoned that there was no way that they could use any of Harding's Interpol contacts and resources now. They had to rely on his own extensive, underground reach.
The situation was unnerving to the super-agent who had always been in control. He discovered to his relief that thus far, he had no cause to regret trusting that Jimmy Goran knew what he was doing.
"These were too close, mellon-nin," Gimli told him, quietly, as he bound the wounds in gauze. The graze ran long and deep on Harding's side, creating a bright red line to crown the bruises, and a few more wounds on his arms.
"Mason was good," Harding said, "He knew what he had to do."
"What do you think of all this crap?" Gimli asked.
"That cure was studied to half it's life, you can bet on that," Hardig replied, "And Legolas was examined to the ends of his ears. It shouldn't have been improbable that someone would look at them side by side. I was afraid of this."
"So there are a bunch of people trying to get to him?" Gimli asked, his brows furrowing.
"And everyone around him, soon," Harding answered, "You and I, you may have noted, by our connection to the cure. Brad Greer to follow, for certain. And then they'll look at Legolas' friends and scant relatives. They'll find Elladan and Elrohir, who are positioned as his cousins by some obscure thread-- but one look at the three of them and there is little doubting they share the makings of that blood and that body. And then they'll find Elladan's child. Perhaps even the Lords and Ladies of Imladris and my Golden Wood. No one is safe."
"But what do we do?" Gimli asked.
"I..." Harding hesitated. The words sounded foreign, coming from his usually-sure mouth. "I truly don't know."
" " "
The Estate of Imladris,
Vienna, Austria
" " "
"Good God," Elrohir muttered, staring at the television screen. In one of Imladris' wider rec rooms (his mother still insisted on calling it a parlor), he, Gandalf, his grandparents, his parents and some of their servants stood shock-still before the flat screen, watching the news.
Elrond rubbed a hand over his eyes, gazing intently as the camera panned over the gathering crowds outside the hospital where Legolas was being held. It was already a great burden to have him so ill and failing. The discovery of their elven secret in this world made the situation doubly volatile.
"Perhaps they can find it in themselves to accept us..." Celebrian murmured, sounding not-too-convinced.
"Not going to happen," breathed Ekrohir, "It's a different time, mother. Some will, do not doubt that. But it's not longer a world of magic and mystery. For every person who is willing to sing 'Give Peace a Chance' is someone else who will gladly dissect us just to see what we're made of and how they can get a piece, I'm telling you that. Have you ever heard of the persecution of the X-Men? Have you ever heard of the terms alien autopsy video?"
The youngest Rivendell royal in the room started wringing his wrists, "No wonder Mr. Craxi thinks he knows what we are. Everyone is going to know what we are. I gotta go fetch 'Dan--"
"I am here," came the quiet reply, as his twin stepped inside the room with his murderous-looking father-in-law-to-be trailed after him. He scowled at the room full of elves.
"This is what you have brought to my daughter," he retorted, "This is the world you plan to raise my grandchildren in. You should have given it more thought."
Elrond looked at Craxi darkly, before catching Elladan's lonely, prohibitive gaze. Let him be, he seemed to beg, This too, you once felt for Arwen as her father.
We all only want to protect our children, Elladan thought sorrowfully, looking at the crowds and the helicopters and the striking night lights outside Legolas' hospital room.
"He never does anything halfway, does he?" sighed Elrohir, "It's like Legolas' big coming-out party."
" " "
The City of Los Angeles, California
United States of America
" " "
They moved the elf to his own floor, the better to keep him from the curious eyes of everyone who was already inside the hospital. All access to the floor was restricted to a very short list made up of dangerous, ambitious strangers that outnumbered just two of Leland Greene's friends: his doctor and his partner.
Aragorn grew more nervous, as time passed and he found the list of authorized visitors grew shorter and shorter, and his name went further and further down the list. Legolas' condition also continued to deteriorate. There simply was nothing inside him that was strong enough to pull the weight of the others. Already, lying amongst the pillows, he looked duller and weirdly smaller.
I need you to rally, my friend, he thought, looking out Legolas' window, out into the crowds. We are all cheering you on...
...Well maybe not that one, he thought, as his eye fell on a man in a green alien costume and bearing a placard saying "Welcome to Planet Earth."
His mobile phone rang, and he answered it in a hurry, seeing an Imladris number.
"Ada, please, give me good news," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Then I have nothing to give, Estel," Elrond replied, after a moment.
"But..." Aragorn's voice broke, and he turned his back on his friend, whom he could not bear to look at. His free hand shook, as it gripped the ledge of the glass window. "But this cannot end here, not like this, not after everything. It could not possibly... end, like this..."
"Theoretically, I have no answer," Elrond said, "But if I see him, I might find other means... Is there any way...?"
"I can try," Aragorn said, skeptically, "But if you have been watching the news, you know not just anyone can get in here. I'm barely on the list and I'm his doctor."
"We are nevertheless flying in," Elrond said, "In the hopes of a more favorable outcome. Elrohir and myself, that is. Elladan I need to remain in Imladris, as we need one who knows his way around the books if I come upon fresh ideas once I have looked at him. If I get to, that is."
"I have very significant doubts," Aragorn said, bitterly, "But we cannot not try..." his eyes lit up, "Perhaps I can call upon Gimli to forge you some official documentation."
"I'm surprised we have not heard from him," said Elrond, "Given the bond that he and young Legolas has."
"Dear Gods," breathed Aragorn, "He probably does not know. Otherwise he would have called, I am as certain of this as I could possibly be. I will ring him."
"I will see you in the next few days, Estel," Elrond told him, "I know you will do your best for Legolas in the meantime."
Aragorn hung up, and sighed. His closed his eyes, and opened them to find a few more alien-costumes in the growing crowd. He growled at them in frustration, before turning around to find his friend's mostly-lucid eyes staring at him.
Aragorn grimaced, wondering how much of the conversation he had heard. Like a man facing a shameful execution, as if his failure as a doctor in finding ways to help him was an embarrassment, he ducked his head, and moved to sit by the elf's bed.
"You heard what was said, I do not doubt it," he told his friend, quietly, and certainly.
"Estel means hope," Legolas teased him softly.
"I have a different name now," Aragorn joked, half-heartedly.
"People," Legolas whispered, "Outside. I can hear them."
Aragorn bit his lip in thought. How do I phrase this, he wondered, short of saying, quite frankly, that the shit has hit the fan?
"You were right to fear for the secrets of your blood," Aragorn told him, "Your secret was discovered."
Elegant, raised brows.
"Everyone knows what you are," Aragorn told him, "In the beginning, people stood outside because you were their fallen hero. Many others have joined them since the news broke that you're not-quite human, for a host of reasons. Self-proclaimed ex-alien abductees and crazy people who are welcoming you to the planet as if you were not the firstborn, eh? Humane associations that want to make sure your rights are protected. Conspiracy theorists who want to protect you from the government. Historians who want to talk to you about the unfolding of the world. Medical researchers who want to gut you. Various lobbyists for a hundred diseases who are beginning to look at you like you can save them all: from cancer, from AIDS, from the common cold, I don't know. It's crazy out there."
Legolas closed his eyes for a long moment, so long that Aragorn almost thought he had drifted asleep again.
"Everyone knows," Legolas said, staring at Aragorn sorrowfully.
"I'm sorry," Aragorn told him, "But that is indeed the case. The news broke when a team that discovered you shared the genetic components of the Ebola cure-all was murdered, and people have been crying 'Conspiracy!' since. Those men who attacked you were probably hoping to get their hands on your body, the same way everyone does now."
"I need..." Legolas licked at his dry lips, "News. Television..."
I need to see for myself, he thought, what this all means. What my fears look like when they've become realities...
"I'll get you one," Aragorn promised.
" " "
Aragon indulged him the things that he asked. The requests were both battled by the board and the men pulling their strings, but in the end, the hospital lawyer reasoned that both were air-tight: these were things that any patient had the right to ask for. The slithering sit-in administrator muttered a few things to himself about changing the patient's status, but mostly, as things stood, Legolas was given whatever he asked for within reason.
The television was snapped on the moment it was plugged in the socket. Legolas watched the news hungrily, as he sought information on what was happening around him. He also requested a reduction in the painkillers in a bid to be more alert. Hunched and face twisted slightly in pain, he watched the news as it spread out before him the hideous consequences of exposure that he had long-feared.
First, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was unsafe. Security around him was tightening, but how was he to know that he could trust the government, which had an undeniably vested interest in him?
Second, he knew that his life would never again be the same; he was the freak of the moment, the one presence that turned a respectable hospital into a circus... assuming of course, that he survived his injuries long enough to actually know what changes there would be in his life. Which he was told he was not very likely to do.
The hardest realization to live with was the peril he had given those who were close to him. He heard of the alleged CDC murders, a death that Brad Greer had barely escaped. He was also told that no one could seem to reach Gimli and Harding for some reason, which could have been job-related and had nothing at all to do with him, except he did not think life would be so kind. And they were also declared fugitive suspects in the Ebola case. He also wondered about how this would affect Elladan and Elrohir, who have kept to themselves all these centuries. He wondered how the exposure of his secret would affect the child Ana was carrying. The revelation of his secret was a threat to them all.
He watched the television relentlessly, pushing his failing body to the limit, watching intently.
Photos of him and Rafe were shown. Of him and Adrian Aarons. Of him and Elladan and Elrohir. Of him and anybody that they could find. The paparazzi photos from the year past were resurrected, along with photos of him with people he could not even remember-- an office party here and there, maybe another failed date...
He frowned, as he began to fall into a weary, troubled sleep. He was in danger. Worse, his friends too, were endangered just by knowing him.
" " "
En Route to The Maldives
" " "
The two renegade Interpol agents needed to go somewhere where their money went further, and where the international attention was not so pronounced. They headed for the Maldives, and from there, aimed to catch a flight to Austria, where their friends could likely shelter them until they could figure out a workable plan. There was just something about Imladris that was undeniably a home, a refuge.
Haldir mulled on these things as he contemplated their situation in the cabin he and Goran shared in the outwardly ratty fishing boat. The interior, however, was a ultra-sophisticated, covert little criminal operation center that had the crime-fighter in him cringing. Still... what else could he have expected from Goran's contacts from his previous life?
Gimli burst into the room, and Haldir stiffened in alertness. "What?" he asked, clipped, official, seemingly un-worried to un-knowing eyes.
Gimli had several newspapers with him, and even from a distance Haldir could see pictures of Leland Greene adorning the pages of the foreign dailies.
"Interpol knew," Gimli said, as he shoved the publications Haldir's way, "Because everyone knows. One of my associates translated, but I gotta hear this from you. Can you read it?"
Haldir frowned, looking the documents over. He could pick up about one out of every three words, and filled in the rest by context. He shook his head in dismay and sighed.
"God," he muttered, shoving the papers back Gimli's way.
"What?"
"If he told you that the entire CDC team in charge of the LA Ebola case is dead," Haldir replied grimly, "He's right. If he told you the only survivor is Brad Greer, he is also right. If he told you someone tried to capture Leland Greene in an ambush a few days ago, and that the detective's dying in a hospital in LA, he's right--"
"What the--"
"If he told you people tried to nab Leland Greene because of his genes and his body," Harding continued, "He's right. If he told you the whole world knows Legolas' secrets, he's right. That is what this says."
"What do you mean dying?" Gimli whispered, "What do you mean...?"
"What else could I mean?" Haldir snapped, "What the hell else could I mean?"
"We have to go there," Gimli resolved, "L.A."
"We might be expected there," Haldir pointed out, "You cannot help him. You cannot be with him. No."
"We have to go there," Gimli whispered, "I don't care."
"Think, Gimli," Haldir urged, looking at him imploringly, "Please."
The ex-dwarf just stared at him for a long moment.
"We wouldn't be as conspicuous if we were apart," Gimli said, flatly, and with finality.
" " "
The Estate of Imladris,
Vienna, Austria
" " "
Elladan finally found the time to pick up his mobile and was not surprised by the number of calls he had missed. 23... was that a new record for him? Probably not. Calls from his sister, his fiancée, Emmett, the Greers, the hobbits... they all probably heard about the story by now.
He dialed Anatalia's number first. The call was picked up at the half of the first ring, and it was not his fiancee who answered it.
"At last!" he heard Arwen exclaim, and heard Anatalia's protests in the background.
"I'm answering!" Arwen snapped at her sister-in-law-to-be, "If you answered, you'd have understated the situation."
"I would not have!" Ana retorted.
Elladan frowned, wondering if they were getting along.
"Sister," he said, calling for attention.
"Elladan," Arwen said, "I've been calling you. We heard about Legolas. We heard about everything. Do you have more news?"
"Nothing good," Elladan winced, "Arwen, the world knows about us, now. I was... do you think perhaps you can manage to come home, with Ana? I get this feeling I just want to keep people close."
"I suppose I can," Arwen hesitated, "But we might be awhile. I'm in the hospital with her, 'Dan. She almost collapsed earlier."
Elladan closed his eyes, and his grip tightened on his phone. When it rains in fucking pours and it floods and it wrecks everything...
"Put her on," he said in a clipped tone, finding his voice after a moment, "Please."
"It's not that bad," were the first things she said, making him nervous, as she explained the sensitivities of her condition and the doctor's orders, which boiled down to simple rest, if she wanted to keep her life and that of her children.
"Children?" he asked.
"Twins," she said, breathlessly. She liked saying those words, like they were magic, like they were more real... "Twins," she said again, just because she could.
"It must be karma," she teased him gently, making him smile.
His eyes watered. Her news was a ray of light, now that everything around him was dark and bleak.
"I will tell your father the news," Elladan said, "He is here."
"With you?" she asked, surprised.
"He confronted me with the outbreak of the news of Legolas and what it could mean for the rest of us," Elladan said, "He was not pleased."
To say the least.
" " "
In times of trouble, Imladris was a sanctuary.
During the wars of the Ring, it felt like a place of impenetrable magic. Time seemed to stretch here, offering lasting comfort and peace. After the war, the doors remained open to souls that needed rest and healing.
In the succeeding darker, undocumented life of the Earth, when the days grew dark and the face of the land changed, Imladris shut its doors to the world and its lords fell into an odd space of time, cocooned, protected and safe, as the life of the world unfolded around them. And then the land opened and awakened again after the world settled, like a flower blooming with the rising of the sun.
There was just a magical safety to its unseen walls and borders. Even in the times of modern wars and conflicts that raged across the land, it emitted a sense of enchanted, gentle isolation that made those who would have wished to covet it smile, and just forget, and leave the land alone to its masters.
The gates, however, were open to all who were ill and injured of mind and body in the world wars. Its remaining elven lords were healer at heart still, like their father had been. When the modern world lost most of its conflicts, the quirkier Imladris royal jokingly suggested they put up a bed and breakfast. The idea was quickly dismissed.
Still, in times of trouble, it called like a beacon. In the hours that followed the outbreak of the news, the doors chimed, and one by one, good friends of the elves made their way inside; Fred Greer and his wife Eunice, four ex-hobbits, Arwen, Anatalia Craxi and Emett Rigare, and an injured, surly, and very alone ex-Interpol agent.
TO BE CONTINUED...