Chapter 15

Departure

Author's Note: hey guys! Didn't mean to wait until the end of the month to update this, but I hit a but of a writing slump and got back into reading. As I needed to read writing anything was put on the back burner and I slowly worked my way through this chapter. Enjoy!

Maf had spent too many years studying the particulars of the dark arts and knew the signs of its poison. King Theoden, true to the account of Lord Eomer and seconded by the young prince Theodred and Eomer's sister, Eowyn, was truly acting irrationally. It was subtle, too subtle to notice if one happened to be in a hurry, that even Maf had missed it upon first glance.

As Eomer's men had been sworn to secrecy about Maf's true origins as an outlander the official story of his coming centered solely around the northeast near a place called "The Lonely Mountain". There was a little school for healers in that region and Maf had spent the better part of his completely human life learning the arts. Such was the official story told before King Theoden and his quite interesting little advisor Grima Wormtongue upon Maf's reception in the Golden Hall.

Well, it was what he wanted them to believe and apparently the peoples of Rohan were ignorant enough of the world around them that the lie actually worked. He had forgotten the ease of which the elves could move among humankind on Earth when the world was still young. Ever since the dawn of the industrial age of earth hiding among the humans became all the more difficult. They had to get creative, exorcise more caution, and begin to plan for the day when humanity would know of them once more. That last point had yet to be discussed among his peers and the elven queen wasn't in a position to think of the matter.

For the purposes of Maf's current mission he'd removed all traces of his elven ancestry with careful applications of his brush and ink. The act amazed and frightened Eomer and his men and it took Maf several minutes to return them to a state of calm and trust. That time he used the simple art of persuasion instead of the other, deeper, element at his fingertips. How could one explain the complexities of elven science to humans who had yet to invent the printing press?

This particular afternoon found Maf reading through the former healer's notes. Some of the information was fair, but there were several glaring inaccuracies that prompted Maf to request a fresh journal from the housekeeper so he could compile something a bit more useful. This, of course, prompted him to find a book on the local botanical population so he could make a much more informed decision on certain matters.

"Master Mafortion?"

He looked up to see a tall blond woman enter his designated work room. She walked brusquely to his desk and stopped only a few paces away. Maf cocked his head to one side and leaned into the very uncomfortable wooden back of his chair. Her arms were wrapped around her slim front and held a brown leather book to her breast.

"Lady Eowyn, I see the housekeeper saw fit to give you the empty journal I needed," Maf remarked.

She inclined her head, but didn't move to give it to him. Maf raised an eyebrow and waited for her to answer. After several moments of deliberation she did.

"I requested that I bring you the object of your request," she said, voice steady.

Too steady.

He narrowed his eyes and sat up straight. Something was wrong. There was a small trace of something in her tone that told him this.

"Well, I certainly thank you, Lady, for your generous donation of your time. May I?" He held out his hand.

She hesitated for a moment before extending a shaking hand holding the thick journal to him. Maf smiled, took the offered journal, and smiled gently at her. Then he opened it and saw, written in an alphabet he had only seen outlined in his mother's notes, the words "Help me". He blinked then shut the book carefully. Without much of a preamble Maf stood and strode to the open door to look into the hall. When he didn't see anything he touched the loth galine. His awareness heightened and he immediately discovered a little spy around the closest corner.

Grima Wormtongue. Of course it was!

He clicked his tongue and turned back into the room and remarked, "Allow me to make a brew for your headache, my lady. I can't imagine the difficulty in tending to your uncle with such an uncomfortable affliction."

He closed the door, walked to where his brush and jar of ink lay on the table and picked both up. He winked at her and began writing the elven runes of earth along the panels of his door. It was almost insulting. If this was the best any sort of enemy could do then he didn't think dealing with them would be particularly difficult.

But, who does he work for, I wonder? He thought.

"What are you doing?" She asked just as Maf stroked the final letter.

The walls of the room shimmered ever so slightly. She gasped and backed into his table.

"Making it so we won't be overheard by undesirable spies," he replied lightly than turned to look at her, "I'm assuming you wrote "help me" in that journal just so you and I could have a chat."

Maf took that moment to look over her person. Lady Eowyn's entire body was shaking and her eyes stared at him wide and afraid. It was incredibly disconcerting and he allowed his demeanor to soften a bit as he raised his hands to the air.

"I'm a physician at times, Lady Eowyn, and I swear I'm not locking you in my room for the sake of some perverse pleasure," he said.

She didn't look convinced. Maf sighed. Getting her to the point where she relaxed enough to actually tell him anything was going to be difficult.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lady, but you wish to speak to me on something private and I am merely assuring that privacy," he said.

This didn't completely relax her, but it did get her to step away from his desk and approach him warily. Her gaze was hard and sharp and very brittle. Whatever it was had clearly shaken the girl badly.

"I have… I need to know…" she attempted, but couldn't get the words out without her voice breaking.

Maf moved, grabbed another chair, and moved it forward. He extended his hand to hers, but she shook her head and sank into the offered seat without his help. Maf knelt beside her and met her gaze.

"What do you need to know?" He asked softly.

Her blue eyes pooled and a strangled sob escaped her throat. Lady Eowyn covered her mouth and leaned forward with her shoulders shaking. Maf stood then and went to a little shelf of potions he'd spent the first few days of his stay as a physician concocting. He selected one with a blue color and handed it to her.

"This is for the nerves. It's blueberry wine," he said.

She looked at the offered bottle incredulously before taking it and upending the entire bottle. He winced a bit at that. The wine he'd made had a fairly high alcoholic concentration and was meant to be sipped.

"Why wine?" She asked as she handed the empty bottle to him.

"It's a good calming agent," Maf said.

She nodded and remained silent for several moments longer. Maf remained patient and calm. Whatever it was she needed to ask him would come eventually. As of now all he needed to do was calm her down.

"I need to know how long it takes for a woman to know if she's pregnant," she stated.

Maf blinked and she turned to look at him, eyes dead and haunted, hands clasped tightly together in her lap. It didn't necessitate further prodding from him to figure out exactly why she wanted to know.

"When?" He asked.

"Four nights ago," she whispered through a sob.

Maf swallowed and knelt beside her once more, "Who?"

"Grima."

Maf's jaw clenched as his mind began to categorize the known poisons in his cabinet, "Did he deign to state a reason for this attack?"

Her teeth worried her bottom lip, "He wanted me and I spurned his advances. I've done so for over a year. I suppose he wearied of it and decided to take me anyway."

Maf didn't reply. He couldn't. It had been far too long since his time as a physician among a medieval society. Women who were raped tended to be socially ruined for the rest of their lives. Lady Eowyn's demeanor and reluctance to say anything on the subject was telling enough.

"Would you like me to check? It is early, but there are things I can do to detect life," he responded.

She stared at him for several long moments before slowly nodding her consent. He stood and offered his hand to her. This time she took it and allowed him to help her to her feet and guide her to the little cot reserved for patients.

"Lay down here, flat on your back, good. Now close your eyes, relax and breath," he waited for her to do so and then continued, "I will place my hands along your lower abdomen. I will not need to go farther. However, after we check I will want to inspect your body for damage."

She nodded and Maf began his work. A sharp gasp escaped her the moment his magic began to search for a tiny spark of light. It only took moments for him to search her uterus. He relaxed, only a bit, as relief flooded through him.

"There is no child," he told her softly.

Lady Eowyn's body lost all of its tension. A couple of tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. They fluttered open and she offered a very small smile which he returned.

"Now, tell me, what shall we do to that little worm in return?" He asked conspiratorially.

Her eyes, once dead, sparked, "Is killing him an option?"

Yep! She and Brianna would get along splendidly, he thought.

"Eventually," Maf said vaguely, "until then, why not make him suffer?"

After all, poison didn't have to kill anyone.

Ailya was a well known healer on earth among her people. She was a psychotherapist as part of her human profession so as to avoid difficult questions about her apparent blindness. Her status as a prophetess and seer was a small part of her life and only affected her in moments where The Triune took a direct hand in guiding his creation. In her time residing in Minas Tirith she'd been privy to several prophecies regarding the young son of the steward, Captain Faramir.

She'd met him in several instances never giving away that she could see his face despite deftly patching him and his men up every time they visited the citadel. His father, Denethor, dismissed her as a wandering blind elf with a bit more assuredness to her surroundings than a blind human would have and immediately put her to work in the halls of healing.

"How is it that you can heal when your own eyes see nothing?" Faramir asked once out of a long slew of curious questions Ailya had found endearing.

"Carefully, my lord," she replied and continued with her work tending to his men.

Their interactions tended to end there as Faramir was called to attend his father and give him an update on the status regaining all of Osgiliath. Ailya chose to ignore those conversations as they ended with Denethor's wrath against Faramir more often than not.

On this day Faramir's company rode in from their outpost in Cair Andros and first came to their healing wards. Ailya was tasked with patching up their minor wounds by the matron while the elderly human took her time inspecting the men's psyche. The reason for this didn't occur to her until she approached one of the patients and noted his vacant expression and trembling limbs.

"You are Iorlas?" She asked softly as she reached out to touch him.

He jumped, screamed, and shrank to the ground muttering a string of words in a language Ailya barely understood. Footsteps alerted her to a man's approach and the certain heavy set fall to their heals told her that Faramir approached.

"A great fear has struck him. He was one if the men sent to our outpost from Osgiliath. We know it is the work of Mordor, but more than that I cannot say," he said.

"Then there is little we can do for them," the matron said.

Ailya's brows knitted together as she considered the ramifications of revealing herself to have more power than she originally led them to believe. When her patient began sobbing into his hands the decision was made.

"Faramir, Matron Belinda, prepare one of the vacant wards in these halls. Gather every patient afflicted with this shadow of fear and call in the most experienced of healers. I shall attend to them," she instructed.

The matron sent her a sharp look that Ailya pretended she couldn't see, "What gives you the right to give orders in my halls?"

Ailya looked at her, truly looked at her, with her vacant eyes and replied, "I am a healer with thousands of years experience which far outweighs your own. I have experience with afflictions such as this and my call as a physician commands that I heal them."

Silence met her declaration. Matron Belinda opened her mouth in protest, but was silenced by a severe look Captain Faramir sent her way. Ailya continued to stare vacantly at the space between them and gave no indication that she saw his silent command. Humans in a world of dark magic likely couldn't handle observing the magic of the elves of earth without much preamble.

"Give Lady Ailya what she needs. I will inform my father of this development. If he does not favor this decision he may punish me as he sees fit," he said and left the room.

Matron Belinda released an indignant huff before fixing Ailya with a severe glance, "Lord Denethor may reject this proposal."

Ailya turned and crouched next to another patient, this one sporting the tale tell signs of darkfire injuries. She "tsked" as she gently traced her fingers along the burns before beckoning the Matron to her side. The human woman approached and knelt beside her to study the wound with her own eyes. A hiss passed her lips and conveyed to Ailya her recognition of the seriousness of the wound.

"What can be done for this?" She asked.

"Fetch Lavender, calendula, sage, and rosemary. I will make a mixture from that and apply it carefully to each burn. If it works then we will be able to use it on other victims," Ailya said.

Matron Belinda nodded and barked orders to a few members of her staff waiting passively by. They nodded and hurried off to their herb room to fetch the requested plants. The matron rose to her feet and began helping a young man with a broken leg. Ailya waited until she had gone beyond sight before gently applying a bit of her magic to the man's wounds in hopes of alleviating a few of the symptoms.

How long until my queen comes, I know not, she thought, but here I will remain until she comes.

She helped the young man drift off to a light sleep just as her fellow healers returned from their stores with the requested items in hand. Ailya accepted them with a nod of thanks and instructed them on the exact temperature the water needed to reach before they could begin mixing the ingredients. The girls hung onto her every word, eager to learn from one as experienced as she, and it caused Ailya to hold back a smile. She hadn't instructed such attentive students since the days when Merlin was a lad.

Brianna trained with Arwen in the early mornings. Their swordplay had become a habitual time of female bonding that only two elleth preparing to embark on a dangerous quest could rely on. It kept Brianna's mind off of the preparations for leaving - the stress from having to organize provisions, costumes, and designing proper weaponry for dealing with evil creatures from her world - as well as the growing pit of emptiness she felt as each day passed. Thinking of the reason for the latter wasn't in the least bit productive, so she reasoned that if she managed to keep busy every day leading up to the moment of her departure then it would finally go away. It was a naive thought, she knew, as this wasn't the first time she had experienced such a feeling, but she strongly hoped such would be the case in this instance.

As the weeks passed and the end of November drew nigh the members from her group returned from their scouting missions. Glorfindel, Elrohir and Elladan came relatively at the same time with similar tidings. The enemy had left the lands west of the Misty Mountains. None could provide a reason. They were simply gone. Brianna suspected she knew the reason and didn't like it one bit.

But what to do? She thought one day after a three hour sparring session with Arwen.

Every session was monitored by Lord Boromir whose eyes never left them until several minutes after they lowered their swords. Arwen didn't think much of it, but his presence unsettled Brianna to no end. After two and a half weeks she concluded that the young lord wanted something. What that something was eluded her and when another three days passed and no move was made by him she wrote off his presence as more than likely innocent.

Then, one morning a week before she was to depart, Lord Boromir finally approached her. Arwen had just left the training grounds to prepare for a small breakfast with Glorfindel in their shared favorite grove in the garden. Brianna was busy practicing a particularly aggressive attack sequence with a pair of long knives dangerously whirring through the air and had only barely noticed his approach. She didn't cease her show. Her mind was too busy reliving the last time she needed such quick successive movements and wasn't particularly inclined to give him a moment's thought.

Boromir surprised her by doing something the American Soldiers in her secret operations unit in World War II never had. He waited patiently for her to finish.

When she finally slid to one knee - one knife thrust in an overhead block and the other aimed at an imaginary kidney - did he approach. Brianna relaxed her stance at the moment if his first step and stood, turning to him with one thin brow raised. Boromir inclined his head with silent respect.

"Your Grace," he greeted.

Brianna snorted, "I'm not your queen, good soldier. Call me Lady if you feel the need to be formal. If you would like you actually can call me Brianna. The hobbits typically call me Bri for a reason I have yet to comprehend, but if that's preferred by all means do so."

His grave expression didn't lighten and Brianna kept herself from showing her exasperation. The man was typically a lively person, so she figured that whatever the matter was it would likely be of some severity.

"Do you know of the ring you carry?" He asked.

Brianna blinked. Ring? Her hand reached habitually for the chain that supported Aragorn's gift and understanding dawned as her fingers caressed the metal.

Ah. That ring.

"I know of it's owner," she replied. "But I don't know its history."

He nodded, face grave, "So you know little of its significance and what it means for him to give it to you?"

Brianna forced her hand to leave the ring alone and clasped her hands behind her back, "In my world, among humans and elves, gifts of personal significance denote a mutual attachment of a sort. For some humans and elf provinces the gifting of rings mean an engagement of marriage."

Boromir inclined his head. Brianna willed her body to hold back the flush that threatened to creep up the length of her neck and paint itself across her cheeks. Aragorn knew, he had to have known, the possibility of her leaving. It wasn't an engagement they entered in, not completely, but…

"I'm aware of what he may want, but I don't know if I can give it," she said.

He crossed his arms and Brianna had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. The degree to which this man was protective of a man he didn't know was absolutely astonishing!

"Then why accept it?"

Brianna averted her eyes, not wanting to completely reveal her feelings on the matter, and remained silent. Why accept it? She knew why, knew what she would be giving up if she did leave, and understood the difficulty of doing so would mean. Her mind drew her aunt Artemis to the forefront and her heart sank. She couldn't be like her and she couldn't stand the life Professor Moruni and Maf led either.

But I must rule, I must produce an heir, I don't have a choice, she thought pained.

"Because I'm foolishly weak," she finally said.

Boromir didn't reply for a long time. It gave Brianna the excuse to turn from him and begin cleaning the long knives she'd practiced with. Water gathered in her hands and moved along the sharp edges of the knives. Unlike before when she employed this method of cleaning, the act didn't calm the torrent of emotion whirling in the pit of her stomach.

"I would not have believed it to be a weakness on your part, so long as you do not lead him to false hope," Boromir said.

"He doesn't have false hope," she said softly. "There's a reason I accepted the ring, gondorian."

"In that case, I look forward to the day when I shall call you my queen," he said.

Brianna turned sharply to give him a much deserved tongue lashing about filling Aragorn's head with false hope, but Boromir had already turned and left. She clutched both knives in her hands and resisted the urge to chuck them at him. It was flattering, she supposed, but he had no right to imply anything of the sort to her!

Artemis was caught between two emotions: anticipation and bone chilling fear. She'd never left earth in all her three thousand years of existence. To do so now for the sake of her trouble-prone niece would officially be the most daring thing she'd ever attempted. The Professor and Loki had given the time of day, the green light, and soon they would join Maf and Ailya in Arda.

Of a sort since we don't really know where they are, she thought.

The sun slowly crept across the sky and their little group waited with bated breath for the right moment to take the first leap. Loki and Matt were slated to take Karen while The Professor would carry Artemis with her across the Expanse. From the sun's position Artemis figured the crossing would begin soon.

"Don't overthink this," Professor Moruni said, startling Artemis from her thoughts. "Keep that up and you'll cause me to lose concentration."

Artemis swallowed and nodded. Bile rose from her stomach and into her throat. She closed her eyes and began to breathe, repeating the litany against fear that Brianna loved quoting. I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer…

The Professor sighed and shook her head. Artemis barely noticed the action. Her mind relaxed and the world fell away from her.

"It's time! Loki, Matt, your group goes first!" The Professor called.

Those words broke through Artemis's peace and she forced herself to continue. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration…

"Draw the last few runes clearly and precisely!" Loki said sharply.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me…

A rushing of winds turned around them. A light flashed against Artemis's closed lids and she knew without needing to open them that they were gone. The Professor shifted next to her and Artemis heard the dirt draw itself into the last lines of the runic equation that would take them to Arda. Again, the fear reared. Artemis kept her eyes closed and continued to chant in her mind.

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

The world became weightless and void for what seemed like an eternity. Artemis forced herself to breathe and relax and pushed the urge to fret from her mind.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

The weightless world left her and Artemis felt the heals of her feet on solid ground. She opened her eyes, mind oddly peaceful now that she had left earth, and took in the forest around her. The trees were tall - as tall as New York City's buildings - and were adorned with bright golden leaves. Cold air met her nostrils as did the sharp metallic scent of winter which accompanied the north wind.

"Where are we?" Artemis asked, awestruck.

She'd been to Avalon, she'd lived her life on Olympus before the fall of Aries, and she'd beheld the new capital city when her half-sister Athena first wrought its foundations. This place wasn't anything like she had seen before.

"We're in Arda," the Professor said, "This land is enriched by strong magic. I don't… it reminds me of a place, but I can't quite remember it."

"You may want to think fast," Artemis said as her gaze danced between the shadows of the foliage around them, "We're being observed."

She tapped at the silver circle pinned to her shoulder and a quiver of arrows materialized from its compressed state. Her fingers tapped against a pendent from her bracelet and a bow appeared a moment later. The Professor's hand closed around her wrist as it lifted to grip an arrow.

"Let's not alarm them any further," she said.

Then the tall red headed elf turned to the expanse and began speaking in a language that resembled Old Elvish to an extent. Artemis' brows furrowed at each calmly spoken syllable. It was like trying to decipher Dutch and German when one understood one language and not the other.

The shadows materialized from the darkness wearing green and brown cloaks. Their white bows were drawn back and carefully aimed arrows leveled at the two of them. Artemis frowned.

"I don't think they understand you," she said dryly.

The Professor smirked, "Oh, I think they did."

Artemis raised an eyebrow at her, "How would you know this?"

"I essentially called them dog rutting bastards!" The professor chirped.

Artemis gaped at her for a moment before she recollected herself and returned her attention back to the circle of hooded hunters. She swallowed.

God dammit!