After eleven days' journey, Gandalf, Legolas and Kizea emerged triumphant
on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. Once again the green of late
summer grew resplendent throughout the foothills. Trees were growing more
and more common, which was a comfort to the elf, who had lived all of three
thousand years in the woods and forest. The sun seemed to sink earlier now,
blotted out before it's final fall in the western sky by the mountain
peaks.
They were all tired, save for Legolas who seemed to have a renewed, boundless energy. The only sound to be heard was the occasional admonishment of Kizea, scolding the elf for gripping her waist too tightly. Here in the shadows of the mountains, they took a final camp for the night before the next day's push to the home of Gwaihir the Windlord, who had the Stone of Anor within his possession all this while. It was a way so secret, that not even the lesser of the woodland elves knew the trail. Gandalf knew it. Gwaihir had come to be a close and trusted confident of the wizard. Few orcs or beasts of Sauron dared travel so far north as to be in the Eyries territory. The eagles that lived there, larger in stature than any man, with their keen eyesight and razor sharp talons, brooked no trespassing. Any orc that was unlucky enough to stray into their homeland was quickly dispatched and was never heard from again. Sauron made few attempts at overcoming this part of the world yet, there were so many others to conquer first.
Despite Legolas's assurances of her safety, following a light supper of wild berries and boiled root potatoes, Kizea wandered away to spend the evening in a tree; an occurrence so common now, that neither the elf nor the wizard gave much thought of her behavior. Climbing to the upper portions of a knotted tree, Kizea picked out the sturdiest uppermost limb and straddled it, sliding down to the trunk. She gazed out to the clearing, just as the last vestiges of daylight waned in the night sky. Already the stars and the moon were out. There was just enough light to see the horses amble towards her to keep their nightly vigil wherever she was. She looked on at Legolas and Gandalf, sitting at a small bonfire. Even against the bright firelight, Legolas seemed to outshine everything around him. This was the time of the evening when Kizea liked best to observe the elf. From her safe distance, she felt free to think her pleasant thoughts. He was as mysterious to her now as he seemed when she first saw him in Mirkwood. Legolas's long, flaxen hair, fell carelessly about his shoulders as he spoke privately to the wizard.
Although Kizea could not understand his discourse, she watched his mouth moving with mild curiosity. Legolas always displayed a serious, earnest face when he talked. He could speak to a person and look right through them with his penetrating, dark eyes. Such was the gift of an elf. It was a trait that he, himself didn't realize he had to mortals, yet he had it all the same. He always kept his bow and quiver of arrows near him, even when relaxing at dinner. Often spending much time in the evenings sharpening and shining his long elven knifes. They were formidable weapons in the hands of someone who has had three thousand years and uncounted battles to practice and perfect his techniques. Despite his daunting talents as a warrior, Legolas contained within him that ethereal quality and distant, unattainable beauty that made him so charismatic to her. And whenever she thought he was not paying attention, she simply took great pleasure in looking at him.
Tonight though, her little enjoyments were cut short. Legolas kept a vigilant eye in her direction, and she did not wish to seem too overt to the elf. She was, after all, on a quest. And her growing involvement in other pleasantries held no place in it. To find the Stone of Anor she was avowed. But what was to be done after that? What would she do once she had the stone again? And how would she triumph over Melune? Gandalf had mentioned that other name to her during their journey, Shazoul. But the name meant little to her. It was Legolas's reaction that made Kizea quell with fright. For an elf such as Legolas to show fear at the mere mention of a name, told Kizea that Melune was now something well beyond a traitor. Melune was a fellow Fendowan of such mightiness now, that Kizea was not sure Melune could not manage to overcome the stone's immense powers and kill her regardless of the Fendowan vows. She somberly thought of it over and over.
"No Fendowan may spill the blood of another Fendowan, the stone will prevent you."
She looked across the glade, staring again at the elf and she sighed.
At the campfire, Legolas suddenly turned his head in Kizea's direction. A concerned expression covered his face.
"What is it?" Gandalf asked. The wizard looked over to the woods, suddenly alarmed, and then turned his attentions back to the elf. The elf did not answer him.
"Legolas!"
The elf turned back and gazed blankly back into the fire.
"She sighed." Legolas replied, "I know not why. Something is disturbing her. I can feel her very mind."
Gandalf bristled and brought his pipe to his mouth. He studied the elf for a moment before speaking.
"You recognize her now, do you not?" the wizard asked. Legolas did not answer immediately, but continued to gaze into the fire. Gandalf wanted to hear his answer, and the elf knew it.
"Yes," Legolas replied at last, "She is the Lossenladwen. The Queen Lisaine returned. I am sure of it."
"She is not." Gandalf replied stoically.
Legolas's gaze drifted upwards towards Gandalf. Could the wizard have any doubts? It did not seem possible. Gandalf bent in towards Legolas and spoke in a quieter tone of voice.
"A queen she may have been at one time Legolas, but she exists now only as a Fendowan. While she may be remembering her former life, she remains a chosen keeper for the Stone of Anor. She is not the woman you remember from Isodor. That is behind her now. And you must put it behind you as well. You must steel yourself against what loyalty you may feel. A hero to the elves she once was, but as a Fendowan, she will not relinquish what she believes is her duty. There is no devotion in her heart to the elves anymore. It has been wiped clean from her mind. She is no longer merely Lisaine, a queen, but something more sinister than that."
Legolas tightened his stare at the wizard.
"You do not understand Gandalf," Legolas replied miserably. He paused momentarily. Yes, he thought, Gandalf needed to know. The situation had now changed for Legolas, and in terms of their quest, not for the better.
"I pledged my troth to her the night before I left for the Battle at Isodor. In Rivendell she lived in exile, forsaking her royal standing among mortal men to live as an elf of no rank. The very reason she rode as a queen into Isodor to fight Rakal was for my sake. But for me, she would not have pursued Rakal at all. She saved Isodor and Imladris that day at the cost of her own life, and all those around her. The lock of braided hair she carries with her, like some strange thread of her past, is my own. I placed it in her hand myself when I found her dead. And for my part, nothing has changed between us. It would be a faithless gesture to turn on her now. I must hold to hope that she will eventually come to remember our troth. I can no sooner cause her death, Gandalf, than I can willingly cause my own."
Gandalf was taken aback. This revelation was most unexpected. Until now, he had only conceived that Legolas was mystified and grateful for the return of an elven hero, not the great love of his life. Once chosen, a mate for an elf was virtually never disavowed. Now he understood Legolas's behavior at the hill. And now he was coming to understand a new peril that was unfolding before him. Gandalf knew they could not afford dissent between themselves. If the Stone of Anor were to remain unharmed, he would need the elf. Legolas watched as Gandalf slowly placed his pipe on the ground. With each new revelation, their position grew more serious.
"She is not whom you believe her to be." Gandalf repeated gravely, "If she attempts to destroy the Stone of Anor, we must prevent her at all costs. As a Fendowan, she will fight to the death for its possession. And the nearer to the stone she comes, the more to a Fendowan's mind she will return. Believe me Legolas, if the stone is destroyed, many times more than were at Isodor will perish. If Kizea should endeavor to break the Stone of Anor, even to prevent Shazoul from obtaining it, you or I MUST stop her, even unto killing her."
The elf gazed back into the crackling fire. His lips pursed and his fists tightened.
"I will not." He replied.
At the tree, a slight crack of a stick beneath Kizea jerked her attentions away. She gazed down at the horses, and instantly became alarmed. They were backing away nervously from where they were grazing underneath the tree. Kizea pulled out her remaining dagger, and pulled herself to a squatting position on the branch, looking around to the surrounding treetops. Already, Legolas was bounding though the field towards her, having also heard the noise. But only the cool night breezes blew lightly around her face, and she could see or hear nothing else in the darkness. But she had heard something.
Running up to the base of the tree, Legolas glanced around. Then he looked upwards.
"What is it?" he called.
"I thought I heard something," Kizea called down, "But perhaps it was only the wind. Or some stray animal rummaging in the forest. I do not know."
"You should spend your evening at the protection of the fire." Legolas called, "Come down, Kizea. There are snakes in these trees."
Kizea laughed and called down again.
"You would tell me anything to prompt me from my comfortable perch would you not Legolas?"
Another movement from above startled the girl. Gazing up to another branch, against the faint moonlight she saw a long, slender and slithering animal wrapping itself around another tree branch barely a foot above her. Kizea's eyes widened in surprise and she instantly began to climb downwards. Of course, Legolas had seen the snake above her long before Kizea did, and he paid no mind to it. He only made the comment to Kizea because he knew the snake was there. Still his ploy had worked in bringing the girl down from the tree, again. She jumped to the ground from a low-lying branch, and stood up, nearly running into the elf. He had an impish grin on his face as he replaced his elven white knives, satisfied that the danger was no more than a woodland creature.
"I was growing thirsty anyway," she commented as she calmly walked by. Legolas, still grinning slightly at his small victory, walked quietly behind her into the clearing towards the fire. Then his expression turned somber and he stopped short. He turned and looked back into the blackness of the woods, again to the tree. With his keen elvish eyesight, could plainly see the long black snake now coiled around the branch where Kizea was perched only minutes before, hissing. Legolas frowned. Taking a small dagger from his belt, the elf heaved it into the tree and stepped backwards. The snake fell lifeless through the branches, its venomous fangs still exposed. It fell to the elf's feet with a thud. He carefully placed his foot against the snake's head and pulled out the knife, noticing as he bent over that his elven knife was searing the flesh of the snake. Tiny wisps of smoke rose from the base of the wound as he removed the blade. A telltale sign that the creature was no mere woodland animal, but a minion of the darkness. He wiped the edge of the blade on the dead leaves at his feet before returning it to his belt. Then he turned and walked back to the campfire.
Kizea awoke early the next morning, curled beside a blazing fire. An elven blanket was draped over her shoulders, and she had unknowingly pulled it tight to her during the night. Kizea thought it was a curious thing; she had not recalled Legolas wearing it during their entire trip. The fire had been well stoked throughout the night, and for the first time in weeks, Kizea felt rested. She sat up, looking lazily around the campsite. Her back and legs ached. Without looking at herself, she already knew that she'd acquired many bruises in their adventure in the foothills the previous day. Still sitting on the ground, she slowly worked her leg back and forth. It behaved like a rusted hinge that had only partial movement. Her left knee had sustained an impact from a fallen rock and it was quite swollen. But even such minor annoyances did not dim her spirit.
"Soon," she thought almost jovially, "The Stone of Anor will be in my hand and I will have Valnin. Then I will make the world will safe again."
She remained blithely unaware of the many conversations that Gandalf and Legolas had of the stone themselves. Kizea found herself alone in the brightening sunshine, and she glanced quickly about the area. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen, and Legolas was busy kicking over branches and rocks in the area where she had sat in the tree the night before. Even though he had stayed awake throughout the night, it was of no heavy consequence to the elf. Happily, there were no further disturbances in the glade. Legolas walked quickly, the leaves crunching loudly beneath his feet, to investigate the spot where he had slain the snake the previous night. He was not especially surprised to discover that it was now gone. And Legolas thought only briefly to mention it to the wizard when he returned.
But Gandalf was not soon back to the campsite. Kizea and Legolas busied themselves with preparations for departure throughout most of the morning. It was not until mid-morning when the wizard strolled back into the glade, declaring the need for immediate departure. Legolas walked up to Gandalf with a worried look on his face. He was concerned for their conversations, for the fate of the stone and of Kizea. Legolas knew that they approached their destination, and soon all would be put to the final test. Still, Gandalf seemed to reassure the elf. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and patted it like a father would his young child. When Legolas mounted Neonean, Kizea was already waiting to leave. Normally, she did not talk to the elf, but this time she thought to speak to him. She winced slightly when the elf placed his hands around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Still he did not cry out or move away.
"Is something wrong?" she asked in a soft voice.
"No," Legolas replied as the horse began to trot away, "A minor disagreement only."
Their travel slowed as they crossed over the eastern foothills. The sun, high above their heads, was only now beginning to burn off a heavy fog that had settled over their path. Legolas rode with his right arm clutching his bow, his eyes methodically darting back and forth. Gandalf rode in front, keeping his eyes more upward than straight ahead. Kizea knew they were getting close by her own nervous countenance. Her bruised hand rested at all times on her one remaining dagger.
At the top of the peak of Gaereal, they dismounted for a rest. It was late afternoon, and the heat of the day was beginning to cool. In this spot, the relatively small tributary Morrae gathered the strength of several nameless mountain streams and spilled off the long and craggy waterfalls Garnorna into a large basin below. Kizea walked over to the edge of the bluff and stared down into the mighty gorge. Huge sprays of mist danced in the afternoon light, catching rays of sunshine and turning them into spectacular rainbows. A shudder ran through Kizea and she looked upwards to see something in the far off distance flying towards them. The object was small at first, and it dodged and weaved, up and down in its approach.
She stood for some moments watching it, but as it grew closer, it grew larger and larger until Kizea realized the actual breath and scale of the huge bird. Her eyes widened and she spun around to see that Legolas and Gandalf were also observing Gwaihir's approach. The very downturn of the mighty eagle's wings created a strong breeze and Kizea's tunic flapped carelessly about her body. Having landed, Kizea could now plainly see the bird's entire magnificence. Gwaihir's immense gray and black feathers glistened in the light. He was as tall as the wizard who now approached him with a friendly arm extended. His long curved beak and dagger-like talons ended in fine, tiny points. Gwaihir gently landed on top of the bluff, next to where the wizard stood. Kizea's awe of the giant bird only subsided when she caught sight of the shining yellow stone that he held tightly in his left claw. She began walking back away from the cliff's edge towards Gwaihir, suddenly unaware of Legolas or Gandalf or any other presence. It was hard for her to fathom that at last her search was over. At last the sacred Stone of Anor was within her grasp. Kizea was nearly onto Gwaihir when a sudden burst of air whistling by Kizea's head made her turn suddenly towards the forest.
From the dense thicket emerged four large orcs, laughing hideously, all brandishing bow and arrow. The trap had been sprung. As they lurched quickly forward, they let fly their arrows as quickly as they could string their bows. Behind them ran two Fendowan, Sasgal and Tragora, and finally, a seven-foot tall, frightful beast with glowing black and red eyes. Melune had made her final transformation into Shazoul the demon. The only reminders of her former station were the Fendowan mask, which she still wore proudly like a trophy, and her daggers.
Gandalf cried out and drew his sword. Kizea ran towards the demon general, seizing her one dagger from its hilt as she ran. Kizea plunged headlong into the orc line, easily dodging an arrow and slashing its owner through the neck. Before the beast even fell to the ground, Kizea laid her foot against its chest, heaving it into two others orcs. They tumbled to the side and Kizea leaped over the pile towards Shazoul.
Legolas, with three arrows remaining in his quiver, shot them in rapid succession at the two Fendowan who were on Gandalf. Two arrows were deflected, but one approached the Fendowan Rundin with such speed, that she could not deflect it entirely away from her. The arrow did not pierce her heart, as Legolas had intended, but instead stuck fast into her thigh. She screamed out in fury and incredulous disbelief and fell moaning to the ground. The sizzle of the elven arrow pierced her like a hot poker from a fire.
"Gwaihir!" Gandalf yelled, "Go! Go!"
The mighty eagle, yet grasping the Stone of Anor within his great claw, slowly ascended into the air. But Shazoul was not willing to give up her objective so easily. Not yet. She heaved one of her Fendowan daggers at the eagle as it slowly rose just beyond the edge of the falls. The dagger hit its mark, and Gwaihir's piercing cries rang out over the valley. He dropped the stone over the falls and flew down to the treetops, far below. With his wing now broken, there was nothing more Gwaihir could do.
The stone, however, did not fall into the endless, tumbling water. It landed on a tiny ledge, 15 feet below the cliff's edge, teetering on the tiny outcropping as water from above sprayed all around it.
"The stone!" Gandalf yelled over the crashing of the falls, "We must retrieve the stone!"
With Gandalf pursuing the remaining Fendowan back into the woods, and Legolas now single-handedly fought with the two remaining orcs. Kizea once again found herself confronting Melune alone. Her knees shook as she stood before the towering creature. Shazoul's skin, now totally blackened with open sores produced a hideous smell that choked Kizea. Saliva dripped freely from Shazoul's Fendowan mask. Kizea stood erect and proud. Pointing her one remaining dagger directly at Shazoul, she said loudly,
"Alia Aya Ungala Anor! (For the light of Anor!)"
Shazoul, however, did not reciprocate. She only laughed and sprang into the air at the incredulous Kizea. Fendowan ritual no longer held any importance to Melune. Instantly, Kizea dove aside, pivoting herself around as she did, stabbing Shazoul in the back with her dagger and pulling it out. Shazoul turned and heaved a heavy arm at Kizea, who muffled a groan as she was thrown 10 feet. Once again Kizea scrambled to her feet, dodging and stabbing the giant beast until nearly all her strength was finished.
Shazoul, however, seemed not in the least affected by her wounds. Bleeding from all sides now, she merely laughed at Kizea's feeble attempts. Not so with Kizea. By now she was reeling from each of Shazoul's blows. Kizea stood before the orc captain, gasping for air. Sweat dripped from her temple down her face. At the cliff's edge, Legolas had managed to kill Shazoul's orcs. But he quickly discerned a new threat. Tragora, one of Shazoul's Fendowan servants, had emerged alone from the woods, and was now quietly stepping up behind Kizea. Legolas rushed forward, engaging her in a new hand-to-hand combat. Kizea hardly gave him a sideways glance. All of her concentrations were bent upon Shazoul.
"You have grown so weak! You are hardly worth an orc lord's time!" Shazoul croaked sarcastically, "Your pitiful daggers will have no effect upon me. No Fendowan may spill the blood of another Fendowan. But I shall crush you as I did your brother, and I will have the Stone of Anor as my prize! If you are lucky, perhaps I will bring you to life again as my personal slave."
Standing there on the cliff top, physically exhausted, Kizea was suddenly come to a realization of Shazoul's words. The demon would not kill Kizea by spilling her blood, but by beating her to death, or tossing her over the falls as she did to Valnin. A deep-seated and uncontrolled fear arose within Kizea. Melune had found a way to kill her at last. She looked urgently towards Legolas, but he could not help her. He was still engaged in a bitter fight with Tragora. The sounds of metal clanging echoed throughout the hills. Kizea swallowed hard and glared back at the hideous creature before her.
"You flatter yourself," Kizea replied angrily, "Make no mistake, Melune, I WILL find a way to defeat you. For the stone AND for Valnin."
"Not Melune," she croaked evilly, "I am Shazoul, the mighty victor of Sauron. I am the new Fendowan order. I am the despair. I am the death you seek."
"No matter," Kizea said under her breath, "Melune or Shazoul, I will kill you."
"Here then," Shazoul hissed, "You will need this. All you need do is retrieve it."
She then threw her last Fendowan dagger to the ground, only a few feet from herself. But Kizea did not move, she knew that the demon would spring upon her, and she could not risk it.
In a final effort, Kizea heaved her only dagger as hard as she could at Shazoul. Fearless and confident, the beast neither jumped aside nor uttered a cry. The dagger pierced deeply into Shazoul's chest, and although she staggered backward, the demon did not fall. A mesmerizing yellow light immediately sprang up the wound, and shown against Shazoul's foul, blackened skin as a sparkling diamond might in a coal mine. Kizea was now disarmed and exhausted before the mightiest of Sauron's minions. But as Shazoul stepped backwards, she lost her footing in a small hole in the ground. Being now large and not as quick or graceful, Shazoul fell clumsily on her back with Kizea's dagger still entrenched into her chest. That moment was all the time Kizea would need.
Running forward, Kizea snatched up Shazoul's dagger from the ground and jumped to straddle her head. Kizea held the dagger menacingly over the face of her foe, but Shazoul was not afraid, and even began to laugh.
The demon grabbed at Kizea's leg, as she jumped into the air. Kizea stomped her heel into the dagger as she sprang away, thrusting it up to its very hilt into the Shazoul's chest. Completing the somersault, Kizea now stood some two or three feet away from Shazoul. The huge orc now rose to her feet, towering above the girl. Kizea leapt backwards and held Shazoul's dagger in front of her in a defensive posture.
"Do you not see these tiny daggers cannot harm me!" she croaked, "Mortal fool! You could have been invincible like me. You could have lived forever and put all of the races of Middle-Earth at your feet! And you threw it away! And now I shall destroy you! You have no hope left, Kizea! I was always the stronger!"
"And I was always the wiser," Kizea replied defiantly.
Lifting the dagger upwards, Kizea grabbed the back of her own hair, and with one hard swipe, cut the entire length of garnet strings and her hair, which held her Fendowan mask in place. Shazoul was dumbfounded.
"What?" Shazoul cried in disbelief.
Kizea tossed aside the lock of hair and then yanked at her mask, pulling it away from her face. She dropped the heavy golden cover to the ground. At once, a blinding light shined all about her. It was so blinding that even Legolas and Tragora forgot their battle and put down their weapons, and were forced to shield their eyes. But as the light began to slowly fade away, Legolas could see a familiar face emerging from the light; and it was the face of Lisaine.
And as the light faded all around Kizea, the light also faded from the dagger that was embedded in Shazoul's chest. She suddenly screamed in agony and terror. The orc sank to her knees, attempting to pull out the dagger, but it was too deep. The beast became frozen in her own pain and she was unable to move. Watching Kizea limp up to her, she could not speak but only saw the hatred that was now in Kizea's eyes. Blackened blood oozed freely through her hideous, pointed teeth.
"How is this possible?" Shazoul whispered coughing, "No Fendowan can spill the blood of another Fendowan!"
"But then, beast, I am no longer a Fendowan!" Kizea cried out.
Her great chest heaving, Shazoul swayed one way and then the other, and then she fell over, dead. For a brief second Kizea stood over her, breathing hard. But the sounds of clanging of metal made her turn around. Legolas was yet fighting Tragora. He had been stabbed in his shoulder, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Gandalf was nowhere in sight. But instead of coming to Legolas's aid, Kizea made for the jagged cliff next to the falls.
"I am for the stone!" she called to Legolas and she began to carefully climb down the slippery rock edge.
Fifteen feet down from the peak of the cliff Kizea carefully stepped. The Stone of Anor was nearly within her grasp. Kizea held onto a small ledge with her right hand, and she extended her left as far as she could. The stone, now perilously close to being washed away by the crushing falls was a mere inch or two from her fingertips. She tried to get a foothold on the rocks to gain better leverage, but her feet kept sliding away from the sheer wall beneath her. Suddenly, Kizea could feel her finger crack and she jerked herself back, crying out in pain. Her fourth finger had suddenly dislocated again. She put her forehead against the cliff, water tumbling all about her. When the initial pain had subsided, she grimaced and used but three fingers to hold up her body weight as she made another attempt to reach the stone. Stretching out again to the left, her fingers nearly touched the stone when a sudden clang and cry from above made her look up. From somewhere above, Legolas had been stabbed again and he now teetered on the edge of the falls himself, hovering on the edge of consciousness.
As she looked on in horror, Tragora tumbled lifeless off the falls past her. Legolas had won the battle against the Fendowan. Kizea looked up for another moment, trying to make out where Legolas was. It was difficult for her to see. The crashing falls sprayed water mercilessly into her eyes, yet she had no free hand to shield them. She clung precariously to the cliff face, struggling to keep her grip. Nothing happened. Kizea looked back towards the stone and made one final supreme effort to stretch her hand to it before the stone was washed away. Reaching out as far as she could, she muffled another cry as agonizing pain shot up through her arm. Her fingers barely touched it. However, in that very moment, when her prize seemed assured, another body tumbled past her from the top of the falls and crashed into the swirling, dark water below. And Kizea knew that it had to be the elf.
She cried out loud and a shudder ran through her body as she watched his descent and heard the loud splash into the water far below. It was as though she watched him in slow motion. Free now from the Stone of Anor's restraints, Kizea past life flooded back into her mind. Her memories filled with stately castles in the Anduin, her devoted father, elven dances and the beautiful Legolas, standing before her like a dream in the Bruinen at Rivendell. And, clinging to the cliff face, she realized in horror that it had been Legolas all along.
An unhappy choice now lay before her. Obtain the Stone of Anor, for which she had fought so long and hard, and leave the unconscious Legolas to drown, or abandon her quest, and her brother, Valnin to death, and save her beloved elven lord. The choice was not a difficult one.
She immediately pressed her feet against the smooth rock face and let go of the cliff, springing backwards into the air. Somersaulting, she righted herself to enter the water, feet first. Some 75 feet above her on the cliff face, an errant gush of water nudged the Stone of Anor to the bitter edge of the outcropping. It hovered for an instant, and then fell without ceremony into the black depths of the swirling pool.
A crush of wind covered her face, and her stomach seemed to lift into her chest as she freefell. Keeping her arms and legs tightly together, as she prepared to hit the water. As she hurdled towards the center of the swirling pool she clenched her buttocks and took a deep breath. Another moment went by and she was under the water. At that moment, she opened her arms, legs and eyes and began a tormented search for the elf. She was not sure that he was even alive, but she was determined to find him. Her first effort was to no avail. Kizea surfaced, breathing hard and searching downstream. Taking another deep breath, Kizea dove under the water, looking wildly around.
The glint of silver caught her eye, and she made towards it. What she had seen was, in fact, Menea, Legolas's ever-glowing elven sword. The elf's battle with Tragora had been so swift and so furious that he had not the time to unsheathe the weapon. Now it was his savior. Legolas was floating aimlessly beneath the water, his body turning about in a small circle, but sinking ever farther into the murky depths. Kizea wrapped her right arm tightly around Legolas's chest and swam towards the surface with all that was left of her strength. When they surfaced, Kizea realized that they were being swept downstream, and into shallower water, by the currents. She picked an area in a bend of the river and dragged the elf ashore, laying him on his back. She rested her ear on his chest, half from exhaustion, half from the desire to detect his breathing. He was. His wounds were minor by elven standards, but seemed savage enough to the frightened girl.
Coughing and gasping for air, Kizea lifted her head, dripping with water, and dragged herself up to Legolas's face. She cradled his head in her arms, and a feeling of terror seized hold of her, for a tense moment she really could not tell if Legolas was dead or no.
"My lord Legolas," she said quietly as she stroked his hair back with two, tiny fingers, "Open your eyes to me. My Lord!"
Almost at the moment she spoke, the elf slowly awakened. He did not move, but as he stared into Kizea's eyes, he knew that she was once again his Nevariel. Her expression was full of emotion and recognition, and tears of happiness streamed down her face.
"I could never have hoped to see you again, Nevariel," he whispered, "It is a dream beyond all my desire and reason."
"Fate can part us for but a while," she whispered back, "If I am to die a thousand deaths, I will ever remain yours, and we will ever find our way to one another."
The elf reached up to her face, and lifted his head slightly, pressing his lips to hers. Instantly, Legolas remembered the softness of her kiss, a feeling that until now, he was sure he would never experience again. Their tender moment was not to last long. The sounds of footsteps approaching from nearby distracted Nevariel, and she scrambled to stand. Her legs were shaky and she had no weapon with which to fight. But Nevariel was determined not to lose her elven master again, and she lifted her fists preparing for an attack. The move highly amused the elf, for she obviously had nothing left in her. Legolas also knew the sounds of the familiar footsteps.
As they watched the bushes, a shaking of the treetops diverted their eyes momentarily to the air. Gwaihir rose slowly over the canopy, eyeing the two for a moment before catching a downdraft from the mountainside. In a moment, he was whisked away on the thermals, his wing seemed perfectly healthy. It was Gandalf, in fact, who had found Gwaihir after pursing and defeating Sasgal in the woods, and worked a wizard's magic upon his friend. Gwaihir being healed and relieved of his immense duty, left, satisfied that Gandalf was there. The wizard now stepped over the thicket of the brush, making his way towards Nevariel and Legolas. He stopped some 10 feet away from the girl. She was wide-eyed, frightened, and dripping wet. One fist clenched in a defensive stance, the other only partially closed, her finger remained dislocated. Still, she stood in defiant protection in front of the injured Legolas. Gandalf tightened his gaze upon her. There was no trace of Kizea in her eyes. At once the wizard broke into a wide grin.
"It is good to see you again, your highness," he said in a pleasant sort of voice, bowing his head.
When Legolas attempted to sit up, he groaned, and lay back upon the ground, closing his eyes. Nevariel glanced down worried at the elf, and lowered her arms.
"Legolas is injured," she exclaimed, "We must return him to Mirkwood at once! Where is Neonean? Is she about? Have you seen Legolas's horse Gandalf?"
"Are you not forgetting something, my dear?" Gandalf said, almost amused.
Nevariel looked up suddenly, confused by the wizard's words. To her, there was nothing more important at that moment than seeing to Legolas's aid. But Gandalf walked quietly up to the stream's edge and placed the end of his staff in the water. From the depths of the whirlpool beyond came a shining light through the water. It rode underneath the current over submerged stones, moving to the left and the right, until it almost touched Gandalf's staff. Just at that moment, the wizard lifted the magical stick from the water, and Nevariel once again beheld the Stone of Anor before her.
Staring at the brightly shining rock, Nevariel moved towards the water, her hand outstretched, but Legolas quickly extended his arm out to her, as if to hold her back. Turning her head towards the elf, she gave him a reassuring smile. Then Nevariel reached into the icy water and plucked the stone from the stream. She held it for a moment, its blinding light increased by her touch, but she did not blink or shield her eyes, but stared directly into its intense brightness. Lowering her hand, the light seemed to subside. Nevariel walked a few paces to where the wizard stood, and held out her open hand to him.
"Take it Gandalf," Nevariel said, "If I were to return the stone to Goldorma, perhaps the Dark Lord will find another way to possess it. But in your hands, I know it will remain safe."
The wizard tentatively held out his wrinkled hand, staring wide-eyed at the stone. When placed she placed it into his palm, the stone once more blazed white, and it was now Nevariel who turned her head aside. When she looked again, Gandalf was setting the stone atop his wooden staff, and Nevariel stepped backwards to admire it one last time.
"My part is done, Gandalf. You are now the servant of the Secret Fire. You must now wield the flame of Anor. The Fendowans, once mighty and powerful above all others, I fear, are no more."
Gandalf stepped up to Nevariel and placed his hand upon her shoulder and smiled.
"Your old life is behind you. A new life awaits you. Come. Let us return to Mirkwood and rest."
The elf groaned again as he stood upright. Quickly, Nevariel stepped over to him, placing her arm about his thin waist in order to steady him. His jerkin was stained red where he was wounded. The elf's resilience was nothing short of astounding to the girl, and she grinned unembarrassed at the dripping wet elf. In truth, Nevariel did not look much better. Her tunic was torn and her long auburn hair betrayed an odd bald section in the back of her head. She and the elf both looked frightful, and undignified, but in each other's presence, neither seemed to care or notice.
"Your father will no doubt have me blindfolded and thrown to my cell upon our triumphant return. I have given his prize away." Nevariel said to him teasingly.
Legolas looked into her eyes and placed his hand upon her reddening cheek.
"You have saved the Stone of Anor from Sauron, Lossenladwen," Legolas said, his voice filled with admiration, "And you have saved the king's son for the second time, now. I think you will return to more of a hero's welcome than a prisoner's suspicion."
"I should be glad to return with you then, my Lord" she smiled. She lightly brushed his arm with her tiny fingers and her touch sent an exuberant chill through the elf.
"I have it in my mind to dance."
Legolas gently pulled her arm away and he limped towards the tree line as he whistled for Neonean. A broad grin escaped his face at the thoughts of seeing his Nevariel dance for him once more. It was a custom she would repeat often for the elf.
The light of the day was beginning to fade over the mountains when they set off on a path South, towards the Carrock and the former kingdom of Euphratas. Nevariel rode, as always, with Legolas. With his betrothed returned to him again, Legolas's entire demeanor was markedly improved. Even the pain of his injuries seemed to pale against the light of his unexpected second chance. It was enough for the long journey home. Gandalf, who rode on ahead, could hear their soft whisperings to one another, coupled with an occasional admonishment from Nevariel demanding that the elf soften his grip about her waist.
Nestled within Gandalf's staff, the Stone of Anor sat safely, exuding its magnificent light through the penetrating darkness of the Anduin valley. And far away to the South, in the black lands of Mordor, the mountain of Orodruin (Mount Doom) seethed and wretched, spewing fury with a renewed and terrible fervor. It was an opportunity gone. It was anger without restraint. The Dark Lord was now forced to wait for yet one more opportunity to cross his path before he could satiate his eternal lust for domination. He would not have to wait long.
They were all tired, save for Legolas who seemed to have a renewed, boundless energy. The only sound to be heard was the occasional admonishment of Kizea, scolding the elf for gripping her waist too tightly. Here in the shadows of the mountains, they took a final camp for the night before the next day's push to the home of Gwaihir the Windlord, who had the Stone of Anor within his possession all this while. It was a way so secret, that not even the lesser of the woodland elves knew the trail. Gandalf knew it. Gwaihir had come to be a close and trusted confident of the wizard. Few orcs or beasts of Sauron dared travel so far north as to be in the Eyries territory. The eagles that lived there, larger in stature than any man, with their keen eyesight and razor sharp talons, brooked no trespassing. Any orc that was unlucky enough to stray into their homeland was quickly dispatched and was never heard from again. Sauron made few attempts at overcoming this part of the world yet, there were so many others to conquer first.
Despite Legolas's assurances of her safety, following a light supper of wild berries and boiled root potatoes, Kizea wandered away to spend the evening in a tree; an occurrence so common now, that neither the elf nor the wizard gave much thought of her behavior. Climbing to the upper portions of a knotted tree, Kizea picked out the sturdiest uppermost limb and straddled it, sliding down to the trunk. She gazed out to the clearing, just as the last vestiges of daylight waned in the night sky. Already the stars and the moon were out. There was just enough light to see the horses amble towards her to keep their nightly vigil wherever she was. She looked on at Legolas and Gandalf, sitting at a small bonfire. Even against the bright firelight, Legolas seemed to outshine everything around him. This was the time of the evening when Kizea liked best to observe the elf. From her safe distance, she felt free to think her pleasant thoughts. He was as mysterious to her now as he seemed when she first saw him in Mirkwood. Legolas's long, flaxen hair, fell carelessly about his shoulders as he spoke privately to the wizard.
Although Kizea could not understand his discourse, she watched his mouth moving with mild curiosity. Legolas always displayed a serious, earnest face when he talked. He could speak to a person and look right through them with his penetrating, dark eyes. Such was the gift of an elf. It was a trait that he, himself didn't realize he had to mortals, yet he had it all the same. He always kept his bow and quiver of arrows near him, even when relaxing at dinner. Often spending much time in the evenings sharpening and shining his long elven knifes. They were formidable weapons in the hands of someone who has had three thousand years and uncounted battles to practice and perfect his techniques. Despite his daunting talents as a warrior, Legolas contained within him that ethereal quality and distant, unattainable beauty that made him so charismatic to her. And whenever she thought he was not paying attention, she simply took great pleasure in looking at him.
Tonight though, her little enjoyments were cut short. Legolas kept a vigilant eye in her direction, and she did not wish to seem too overt to the elf. She was, after all, on a quest. And her growing involvement in other pleasantries held no place in it. To find the Stone of Anor she was avowed. But what was to be done after that? What would she do once she had the stone again? And how would she triumph over Melune? Gandalf had mentioned that other name to her during their journey, Shazoul. But the name meant little to her. It was Legolas's reaction that made Kizea quell with fright. For an elf such as Legolas to show fear at the mere mention of a name, told Kizea that Melune was now something well beyond a traitor. Melune was a fellow Fendowan of such mightiness now, that Kizea was not sure Melune could not manage to overcome the stone's immense powers and kill her regardless of the Fendowan vows. She somberly thought of it over and over.
"No Fendowan may spill the blood of another Fendowan, the stone will prevent you."
She looked across the glade, staring again at the elf and she sighed.
At the campfire, Legolas suddenly turned his head in Kizea's direction. A concerned expression covered his face.
"What is it?" Gandalf asked. The wizard looked over to the woods, suddenly alarmed, and then turned his attentions back to the elf. The elf did not answer him.
"Legolas!"
The elf turned back and gazed blankly back into the fire.
"She sighed." Legolas replied, "I know not why. Something is disturbing her. I can feel her very mind."
Gandalf bristled and brought his pipe to his mouth. He studied the elf for a moment before speaking.
"You recognize her now, do you not?" the wizard asked. Legolas did not answer immediately, but continued to gaze into the fire. Gandalf wanted to hear his answer, and the elf knew it.
"Yes," Legolas replied at last, "She is the Lossenladwen. The Queen Lisaine returned. I am sure of it."
"She is not." Gandalf replied stoically.
Legolas's gaze drifted upwards towards Gandalf. Could the wizard have any doubts? It did not seem possible. Gandalf bent in towards Legolas and spoke in a quieter tone of voice.
"A queen she may have been at one time Legolas, but she exists now only as a Fendowan. While she may be remembering her former life, she remains a chosen keeper for the Stone of Anor. She is not the woman you remember from Isodor. That is behind her now. And you must put it behind you as well. You must steel yourself against what loyalty you may feel. A hero to the elves she once was, but as a Fendowan, she will not relinquish what she believes is her duty. There is no devotion in her heart to the elves anymore. It has been wiped clean from her mind. She is no longer merely Lisaine, a queen, but something more sinister than that."
Legolas tightened his stare at the wizard.
"You do not understand Gandalf," Legolas replied miserably. He paused momentarily. Yes, he thought, Gandalf needed to know. The situation had now changed for Legolas, and in terms of their quest, not for the better.
"I pledged my troth to her the night before I left for the Battle at Isodor. In Rivendell she lived in exile, forsaking her royal standing among mortal men to live as an elf of no rank. The very reason she rode as a queen into Isodor to fight Rakal was for my sake. But for me, she would not have pursued Rakal at all. She saved Isodor and Imladris that day at the cost of her own life, and all those around her. The lock of braided hair she carries with her, like some strange thread of her past, is my own. I placed it in her hand myself when I found her dead. And for my part, nothing has changed between us. It would be a faithless gesture to turn on her now. I must hold to hope that she will eventually come to remember our troth. I can no sooner cause her death, Gandalf, than I can willingly cause my own."
Gandalf was taken aback. This revelation was most unexpected. Until now, he had only conceived that Legolas was mystified and grateful for the return of an elven hero, not the great love of his life. Once chosen, a mate for an elf was virtually never disavowed. Now he understood Legolas's behavior at the hill. And now he was coming to understand a new peril that was unfolding before him. Gandalf knew they could not afford dissent between themselves. If the Stone of Anor were to remain unharmed, he would need the elf. Legolas watched as Gandalf slowly placed his pipe on the ground. With each new revelation, their position grew more serious.
"She is not whom you believe her to be." Gandalf repeated gravely, "If she attempts to destroy the Stone of Anor, we must prevent her at all costs. As a Fendowan, she will fight to the death for its possession. And the nearer to the stone she comes, the more to a Fendowan's mind she will return. Believe me Legolas, if the stone is destroyed, many times more than were at Isodor will perish. If Kizea should endeavor to break the Stone of Anor, even to prevent Shazoul from obtaining it, you or I MUST stop her, even unto killing her."
The elf gazed back into the crackling fire. His lips pursed and his fists tightened.
"I will not." He replied.
At the tree, a slight crack of a stick beneath Kizea jerked her attentions away. She gazed down at the horses, and instantly became alarmed. They were backing away nervously from where they were grazing underneath the tree. Kizea pulled out her remaining dagger, and pulled herself to a squatting position on the branch, looking around to the surrounding treetops. Already, Legolas was bounding though the field towards her, having also heard the noise. But only the cool night breezes blew lightly around her face, and she could see or hear nothing else in the darkness. But she had heard something.
Running up to the base of the tree, Legolas glanced around. Then he looked upwards.
"What is it?" he called.
"I thought I heard something," Kizea called down, "But perhaps it was only the wind. Or some stray animal rummaging in the forest. I do not know."
"You should spend your evening at the protection of the fire." Legolas called, "Come down, Kizea. There are snakes in these trees."
Kizea laughed and called down again.
"You would tell me anything to prompt me from my comfortable perch would you not Legolas?"
Another movement from above startled the girl. Gazing up to another branch, against the faint moonlight she saw a long, slender and slithering animal wrapping itself around another tree branch barely a foot above her. Kizea's eyes widened in surprise and she instantly began to climb downwards. Of course, Legolas had seen the snake above her long before Kizea did, and he paid no mind to it. He only made the comment to Kizea because he knew the snake was there. Still his ploy had worked in bringing the girl down from the tree, again. She jumped to the ground from a low-lying branch, and stood up, nearly running into the elf. He had an impish grin on his face as he replaced his elven white knives, satisfied that the danger was no more than a woodland creature.
"I was growing thirsty anyway," she commented as she calmly walked by. Legolas, still grinning slightly at his small victory, walked quietly behind her into the clearing towards the fire. Then his expression turned somber and he stopped short. He turned and looked back into the blackness of the woods, again to the tree. With his keen elvish eyesight, could plainly see the long black snake now coiled around the branch where Kizea was perched only minutes before, hissing. Legolas frowned. Taking a small dagger from his belt, the elf heaved it into the tree and stepped backwards. The snake fell lifeless through the branches, its venomous fangs still exposed. It fell to the elf's feet with a thud. He carefully placed his foot against the snake's head and pulled out the knife, noticing as he bent over that his elven knife was searing the flesh of the snake. Tiny wisps of smoke rose from the base of the wound as he removed the blade. A telltale sign that the creature was no mere woodland animal, but a minion of the darkness. He wiped the edge of the blade on the dead leaves at his feet before returning it to his belt. Then he turned and walked back to the campfire.
Kizea awoke early the next morning, curled beside a blazing fire. An elven blanket was draped over her shoulders, and she had unknowingly pulled it tight to her during the night. Kizea thought it was a curious thing; she had not recalled Legolas wearing it during their entire trip. The fire had been well stoked throughout the night, and for the first time in weeks, Kizea felt rested. She sat up, looking lazily around the campsite. Her back and legs ached. Without looking at herself, she already knew that she'd acquired many bruises in their adventure in the foothills the previous day. Still sitting on the ground, she slowly worked her leg back and forth. It behaved like a rusted hinge that had only partial movement. Her left knee had sustained an impact from a fallen rock and it was quite swollen. But even such minor annoyances did not dim her spirit.
"Soon," she thought almost jovially, "The Stone of Anor will be in my hand and I will have Valnin. Then I will make the world will safe again."
She remained blithely unaware of the many conversations that Gandalf and Legolas had of the stone themselves. Kizea found herself alone in the brightening sunshine, and she glanced quickly about the area. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen, and Legolas was busy kicking over branches and rocks in the area where she had sat in the tree the night before. Even though he had stayed awake throughout the night, it was of no heavy consequence to the elf. Happily, there were no further disturbances in the glade. Legolas walked quickly, the leaves crunching loudly beneath his feet, to investigate the spot where he had slain the snake the previous night. He was not especially surprised to discover that it was now gone. And Legolas thought only briefly to mention it to the wizard when he returned.
But Gandalf was not soon back to the campsite. Kizea and Legolas busied themselves with preparations for departure throughout most of the morning. It was not until mid-morning when the wizard strolled back into the glade, declaring the need for immediate departure. Legolas walked up to Gandalf with a worried look on his face. He was concerned for their conversations, for the fate of the stone and of Kizea. Legolas knew that they approached their destination, and soon all would be put to the final test. Still, Gandalf seemed to reassure the elf. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and patted it like a father would his young child. When Legolas mounted Neonean, Kizea was already waiting to leave. Normally, she did not talk to the elf, but this time she thought to speak to him. She winced slightly when the elf placed his hands around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Still he did not cry out or move away.
"Is something wrong?" she asked in a soft voice.
"No," Legolas replied as the horse began to trot away, "A minor disagreement only."
Their travel slowed as they crossed over the eastern foothills. The sun, high above their heads, was only now beginning to burn off a heavy fog that had settled over their path. Legolas rode with his right arm clutching his bow, his eyes methodically darting back and forth. Gandalf rode in front, keeping his eyes more upward than straight ahead. Kizea knew they were getting close by her own nervous countenance. Her bruised hand rested at all times on her one remaining dagger.
At the top of the peak of Gaereal, they dismounted for a rest. It was late afternoon, and the heat of the day was beginning to cool. In this spot, the relatively small tributary Morrae gathered the strength of several nameless mountain streams and spilled off the long and craggy waterfalls Garnorna into a large basin below. Kizea walked over to the edge of the bluff and stared down into the mighty gorge. Huge sprays of mist danced in the afternoon light, catching rays of sunshine and turning them into spectacular rainbows. A shudder ran through Kizea and she looked upwards to see something in the far off distance flying towards them. The object was small at first, and it dodged and weaved, up and down in its approach.
She stood for some moments watching it, but as it grew closer, it grew larger and larger until Kizea realized the actual breath and scale of the huge bird. Her eyes widened and she spun around to see that Legolas and Gandalf were also observing Gwaihir's approach. The very downturn of the mighty eagle's wings created a strong breeze and Kizea's tunic flapped carelessly about her body. Having landed, Kizea could now plainly see the bird's entire magnificence. Gwaihir's immense gray and black feathers glistened in the light. He was as tall as the wizard who now approached him with a friendly arm extended. His long curved beak and dagger-like talons ended in fine, tiny points. Gwaihir gently landed on top of the bluff, next to where the wizard stood. Kizea's awe of the giant bird only subsided when she caught sight of the shining yellow stone that he held tightly in his left claw. She began walking back away from the cliff's edge towards Gwaihir, suddenly unaware of Legolas or Gandalf or any other presence. It was hard for her to fathom that at last her search was over. At last the sacred Stone of Anor was within her grasp. Kizea was nearly onto Gwaihir when a sudden burst of air whistling by Kizea's head made her turn suddenly towards the forest.
From the dense thicket emerged four large orcs, laughing hideously, all brandishing bow and arrow. The trap had been sprung. As they lurched quickly forward, they let fly their arrows as quickly as they could string their bows. Behind them ran two Fendowan, Sasgal and Tragora, and finally, a seven-foot tall, frightful beast with glowing black and red eyes. Melune had made her final transformation into Shazoul the demon. The only reminders of her former station were the Fendowan mask, which she still wore proudly like a trophy, and her daggers.
Gandalf cried out and drew his sword. Kizea ran towards the demon general, seizing her one dagger from its hilt as she ran. Kizea plunged headlong into the orc line, easily dodging an arrow and slashing its owner through the neck. Before the beast even fell to the ground, Kizea laid her foot against its chest, heaving it into two others orcs. They tumbled to the side and Kizea leaped over the pile towards Shazoul.
Legolas, with three arrows remaining in his quiver, shot them in rapid succession at the two Fendowan who were on Gandalf. Two arrows were deflected, but one approached the Fendowan Rundin with such speed, that she could not deflect it entirely away from her. The arrow did not pierce her heart, as Legolas had intended, but instead stuck fast into her thigh. She screamed out in fury and incredulous disbelief and fell moaning to the ground. The sizzle of the elven arrow pierced her like a hot poker from a fire.
"Gwaihir!" Gandalf yelled, "Go! Go!"
The mighty eagle, yet grasping the Stone of Anor within his great claw, slowly ascended into the air. But Shazoul was not willing to give up her objective so easily. Not yet. She heaved one of her Fendowan daggers at the eagle as it slowly rose just beyond the edge of the falls. The dagger hit its mark, and Gwaihir's piercing cries rang out over the valley. He dropped the stone over the falls and flew down to the treetops, far below. With his wing now broken, there was nothing more Gwaihir could do.
The stone, however, did not fall into the endless, tumbling water. It landed on a tiny ledge, 15 feet below the cliff's edge, teetering on the tiny outcropping as water from above sprayed all around it.
"The stone!" Gandalf yelled over the crashing of the falls, "We must retrieve the stone!"
With Gandalf pursuing the remaining Fendowan back into the woods, and Legolas now single-handedly fought with the two remaining orcs. Kizea once again found herself confronting Melune alone. Her knees shook as she stood before the towering creature. Shazoul's skin, now totally blackened with open sores produced a hideous smell that choked Kizea. Saliva dripped freely from Shazoul's Fendowan mask. Kizea stood erect and proud. Pointing her one remaining dagger directly at Shazoul, she said loudly,
"Alia Aya Ungala Anor! (For the light of Anor!)"
Shazoul, however, did not reciprocate. She only laughed and sprang into the air at the incredulous Kizea. Fendowan ritual no longer held any importance to Melune. Instantly, Kizea dove aside, pivoting herself around as she did, stabbing Shazoul in the back with her dagger and pulling it out. Shazoul turned and heaved a heavy arm at Kizea, who muffled a groan as she was thrown 10 feet. Once again Kizea scrambled to her feet, dodging and stabbing the giant beast until nearly all her strength was finished.
Shazoul, however, seemed not in the least affected by her wounds. Bleeding from all sides now, she merely laughed at Kizea's feeble attempts. Not so with Kizea. By now she was reeling from each of Shazoul's blows. Kizea stood before the orc captain, gasping for air. Sweat dripped from her temple down her face. At the cliff's edge, Legolas had managed to kill Shazoul's orcs. But he quickly discerned a new threat. Tragora, one of Shazoul's Fendowan servants, had emerged alone from the woods, and was now quietly stepping up behind Kizea. Legolas rushed forward, engaging her in a new hand-to-hand combat. Kizea hardly gave him a sideways glance. All of her concentrations were bent upon Shazoul.
"You have grown so weak! You are hardly worth an orc lord's time!" Shazoul croaked sarcastically, "Your pitiful daggers will have no effect upon me. No Fendowan may spill the blood of another Fendowan. But I shall crush you as I did your brother, and I will have the Stone of Anor as my prize! If you are lucky, perhaps I will bring you to life again as my personal slave."
Standing there on the cliff top, physically exhausted, Kizea was suddenly come to a realization of Shazoul's words. The demon would not kill Kizea by spilling her blood, but by beating her to death, or tossing her over the falls as she did to Valnin. A deep-seated and uncontrolled fear arose within Kizea. Melune had found a way to kill her at last. She looked urgently towards Legolas, but he could not help her. He was still engaged in a bitter fight with Tragora. The sounds of metal clanging echoed throughout the hills. Kizea swallowed hard and glared back at the hideous creature before her.
"You flatter yourself," Kizea replied angrily, "Make no mistake, Melune, I WILL find a way to defeat you. For the stone AND for Valnin."
"Not Melune," she croaked evilly, "I am Shazoul, the mighty victor of Sauron. I am the new Fendowan order. I am the despair. I am the death you seek."
"No matter," Kizea said under her breath, "Melune or Shazoul, I will kill you."
"Here then," Shazoul hissed, "You will need this. All you need do is retrieve it."
She then threw her last Fendowan dagger to the ground, only a few feet from herself. But Kizea did not move, she knew that the demon would spring upon her, and she could not risk it.
In a final effort, Kizea heaved her only dagger as hard as she could at Shazoul. Fearless and confident, the beast neither jumped aside nor uttered a cry. The dagger pierced deeply into Shazoul's chest, and although she staggered backward, the demon did not fall. A mesmerizing yellow light immediately sprang up the wound, and shown against Shazoul's foul, blackened skin as a sparkling diamond might in a coal mine. Kizea was now disarmed and exhausted before the mightiest of Sauron's minions. But as Shazoul stepped backwards, she lost her footing in a small hole in the ground. Being now large and not as quick or graceful, Shazoul fell clumsily on her back with Kizea's dagger still entrenched into her chest. That moment was all the time Kizea would need.
Running forward, Kizea snatched up Shazoul's dagger from the ground and jumped to straddle her head. Kizea held the dagger menacingly over the face of her foe, but Shazoul was not afraid, and even began to laugh.
The demon grabbed at Kizea's leg, as she jumped into the air. Kizea stomped her heel into the dagger as she sprang away, thrusting it up to its very hilt into the Shazoul's chest. Completing the somersault, Kizea now stood some two or three feet away from Shazoul. The huge orc now rose to her feet, towering above the girl. Kizea leapt backwards and held Shazoul's dagger in front of her in a defensive posture.
"Do you not see these tiny daggers cannot harm me!" she croaked, "Mortal fool! You could have been invincible like me. You could have lived forever and put all of the races of Middle-Earth at your feet! And you threw it away! And now I shall destroy you! You have no hope left, Kizea! I was always the stronger!"
"And I was always the wiser," Kizea replied defiantly.
Lifting the dagger upwards, Kizea grabbed the back of her own hair, and with one hard swipe, cut the entire length of garnet strings and her hair, which held her Fendowan mask in place. Shazoul was dumbfounded.
"What?" Shazoul cried in disbelief.
Kizea tossed aside the lock of hair and then yanked at her mask, pulling it away from her face. She dropped the heavy golden cover to the ground. At once, a blinding light shined all about her. It was so blinding that even Legolas and Tragora forgot their battle and put down their weapons, and were forced to shield their eyes. But as the light began to slowly fade away, Legolas could see a familiar face emerging from the light; and it was the face of Lisaine.
And as the light faded all around Kizea, the light also faded from the dagger that was embedded in Shazoul's chest. She suddenly screamed in agony and terror. The orc sank to her knees, attempting to pull out the dagger, but it was too deep. The beast became frozen in her own pain and she was unable to move. Watching Kizea limp up to her, she could not speak but only saw the hatred that was now in Kizea's eyes. Blackened blood oozed freely through her hideous, pointed teeth.
"How is this possible?" Shazoul whispered coughing, "No Fendowan can spill the blood of another Fendowan!"
"But then, beast, I am no longer a Fendowan!" Kizea cried out.
Her great chest heaving, Shazoul swayed one way and then the other, and then she fell over, dead. For a brief second Kizea stood over her, breathing hard. But the sounds of clanging of metal made her turn around. Legolas was yet fighting Tragora. He had been stabbed in his shoulder, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Gandalf was nowhere in sight. But instead of coming to Legolas's aid, Kizea made for the jagged cliff next to the falls.
"I am for the stone!" she called to Legolas and she began to carefully climb down the slippery rock edge.
Fifteen feet down from the peak of the cliff Kizea carefully stepped. The Stone of Anor was nearly within her grasp. Kizea held onto a small ledge with her right hand, and she extended her left as far as she could. The stone, now perilously close to being washed away by the crushing falls was a mere inch or two from her fingertips. She tried to get a foothold on the rocks to gain better leverage, but her feet kept sliding away from the sheer wall beneath her. Suddenly, Kizea could feel her finger crack and she jerked herself back, crying out in pain. Her fourth finger had suddenly dislocated again. She put her forehead against the cliff, water tumbling all about her. When the initial pain had subsided, she grimaced and used but three fingers to hold up her body weight as she made another attempt to reach the stone. Stretching out again to the left, her fingers nearly touched the stone when a sudden clang and cry from above made her look up. From somewhere above, Legolas had been stabbed again and he now teetered on the edge of the falls himself, hovering on the edge of consciousness.
As she looked on in horror, Tragora tumbled lifeless off the falls past her. Legolas had won the battle against the Fendowan. Kizea looked up for another moment, trying to make out where Legolas was. It was difficult for her to see. The crashing falls sprayed water mercilessly into her eyes, yet she had no free hand to shield them. She clung precariously to the cliff face, struggling to keep her grip. Nothing happened. Kizea looked back towards the stone and made one final supreme effort to stretch her hand to it before the stone was washed away. Reaching out as far as she could, she muffled another cry as agonizing pain shot up through her arm. Her fingers barely touched it. However, in that very moment, when her prize seemed assured, another body tumbled past her from the top of the falls and crashed into the swirling, dark water below. And Kizea knew that it had to be the elf.
She cried out loud and a shudder ran through her body as she watched his descent and heard the loud splash into the water far below. It was as though she watched him in slow motion. Free now from the Stone of Anor's restraints, Kizea past life flooded back into her mind. Her memories filled with stately castles in the Anduin, her devoted father, elven dances and the beautiful Legolas, standing before her like a dream in the Bruinen at Rivendell. And, clinging to the cliff face, she realized in horror that it had been Legolas all along.
An unhappy choice now lay before her. Obtain the Stone of Anor, for which she had fought so long and hard, and leave the unconscious Legolas to drown, or abandon her quest, and her brother, Valnin to death, and save her beloved elven lord. The choice was not a difficult one.
She immediately pressed her feet against the smooth rock face and let go of the cliff, springing backwards into the air. Somersaulting, she righted herself to enter the water, feet first. Some 75 feet above her on the cliff face, an errant gush of water nudged the Stone of Anor to the bitter edge of the outcropping. It hovered for an instant, and then fell without ceremony into the black depths of the swirling pool.
A crush of wind covered her face, and her stomach seemed to lift into her chest as she freefell. Keeping her arms and legs tightly together, as she prepared to hit the water. As she hurdled towards the center of the swirling pool she clenched her buttocks and took a deep breath. Another moment went by and she was under the water. At that moment, she opened her arms, legs and eyes and began a tormented search for the elf. She was not sure that he was even alive, but she was determined to find him. Her first effort was to no avail. Kizea surfaced, breathing hard and searching downstream. Taking another deep breath, Kizea dove under the water, looking wildly around.
The glint of silver caught her eye, and she made towards it. What she had seen was, in fact, Menea, Legolas's ever-glowing elven sword. The elf's battle with Tragora had been so swift and so furious that he had not the time to unsheathe the weapon. Now it was his savior. Legolas was floating aimlessly beneath the water, his body turning about in a small circle, but sinking ever farther into the murky depths. Kizea wrapped her right arm tightly around Legolas's chest and swam towards the surface with all that was left of her strength. When they surfaced, Kizea realized that they were being swept downstream, and into shallower water, by the currents. She picked an area in a bend of the river and dragged the elf ashore, laying him on his back. She rested her ear on his chest, half from exhaustion, half from the desire to detect his breathing. He was. His wounds were minor by elven standards, but seemed savage enough to the frightened girl.
Coughing and gasping for air, Kizea lifted her head, dripping with water, and dragged herself up to Legolas's face. She cradled his head in her arms, and a feeling of terror seized hold of her, for a tense moment she really could not tell if Legolas was dead or no.
"My lord Legolas," she said quietly as she stroked his hair back with two, tiny fingers, "Open your eyes to me. My Lord!"
Almost at the moment she spoke, the elf slowly awakened. He did not move, but as he stared into Kizea's eyes, he knew that she was once again his Nevariel. Her expression was full of emotion and recognition, and tears of happiness streamed down her face.
"I could never have hoped to see you again, Nevariel," he whispered, "It is a dream beyond all my desire and reason."
"Fate can part us for but a while," she whispered back, "If I am to die a thousand deaths, I will ever remain yours, and we will ever find our way to one another."
The elf reached up to her face, and lifted his head slightly, pressing his lips to hers. Instantly, Legolas remembered the softness of her kiss, a feeling that until now, he was sure he would never experience again. Their tender moment was not to last long. The sounds of footsteps approaching from nearby distracted Nevariel, and she scrambled to stand. Her legs were shaky and she had no weapon with which to fight. But Nevariel was determined not to lose her elven master again, and she lifted her fists preparing for an attack. The move highly amused the elf, for she obviously had nothing left in her. Legolas also knew the sounds of the familiar footsteps.
As they watched the bushes, a shaking of the treetops diverted their eyes momentarily to the air. Gwaihir rose slowly over the canopy, eyeing the two for a moment before catching a downdraft from the mountainside. In a moment, he was whisked away on the thermals, his wing seemed perfectly healthy. It was Gandalf, in fact, who had found Gwaihir after pursing and defeating Sasgal in the woods, and worked a wizard's magic upon his friend. Gwaihir being healed and relieved of his immense duty, left, satisfied that Gandalf was there. The wizard now stepped over the thicket of the brush, making his way towards Nevariel and Legolas. He stopped some 10 feet away from the girl. She was wide-eyed, frightened, and dripping wet. One fist clenched in a defensive stance, the other only partially closed, her finger remained dislocated. Still, she stood in defiant protection in front of the injured Legolas. Gandalf tightened his gaze upon her. There was no trace of Kizea in her eyes. At once the wizard broke into a wide grin.
"It is good to see you again, your highness," he said in a pleasant sort of voice, bowing his head.
When Legolas attempted to sit up, he groaned, and lay back upon the ground, closing his eyes. Nevariel glanced down worried at the elf, and lowered her arms.
"Legolas is injured," she exclaimed, "We must return him to Mirkwood at once! Where is Neonean? Is she about? Have you seen Legolas's horse Gandalf?"
"Are you not forgetting something, my dear?" Gandalf said, almost amused.
Nevariel looked up suddenly, confused by the wizard's words. To her, there was nothing more important at that moment than seeing to Legolas's aid. But Gandalf walked quietly up to the stream's edge and placed the end of his staff in the water. From the depths of the whirlpool beyond came a shining light through the water. It rode underneath the current over submerged stones, moving to the left and the right, until it almost touched Gandalf's staff. Just at that moment, the wizard lifted the magical stick from the water, and Nevariel once again beheld the Stone of Anor before her.
Staring at the brightly shining rock, Nevariel moved towards the water, her hand outstretched, but Legolas quickly extended his arm out to her, as if to hold her back. Turning her head towards the elf, she gave him a reassuring smile. Then Nevariel reached into the icy water and plucked the stone from the stream. She held it for a moment, its blinding light increased by her touch, but she did not blink or shield her eyes, but stared directly into its intense brightness. Lowering her hand, the light seemed to subside. Nevariel walked a few paces to where the wizard stood, and held out her open hand to him.
"Take it Gandalf," Nevariel said, "If I were to return the stone to Goldorma, perhaps the Dark Lord will find another way to possess it. But in your hands, I know it will remain safe."
The wizard tentatively held out his wrinkled hand, staring wide-eyed at the stone. When placed she placed it into his palm, the stone once more blazed white, and it was now Nevariel who turned her head aside. When she looked again, Gandalf was setting the stone atop his wooden staff, and Nevariel stepped backwards to admire it one last time.
"My part is done, Gandalf. You are now the servant of the Secret Fire. You must now wield the flame of Anor. The Fendowans, once mighty and powerful above all others, I fear, are no more."
Gandalf stepped up to Nevariel and placed his hand upon her shoulder and smiled.
"Your old life is behind you. A new life awaits you. Come. Let us return to Mirkwood and rest."
The elf groaned again as he stood upright. Quickly, Nevariel stepped over to him, placing her arm about his thin waist in order to steady him. His jerkin was stained red where he was wounded. The elf's resilience was nothing short of astounding to the girl, and she grinned unembarrassed at the dripping wet elf. In truth, Nevariel did not look much better. Her tunic was torn and her long auburn hair betrayed an odd bald section in the back of her head. She and the elf both looked frightful, and undignified, but in each other's presence, neither seemed to care or notice.
"Your father will no doubt have me blindfolded and thrown to my cell upon our triumphant return. I have given his prize away." Nevariel said to him teasingly.
Legolas looked into her eyes and placed his hand upon her reddening cheek.
"You have saved the Stone of Anor from Sauron, Lossenladwen," Legolas said, his voice filled with admiration, "And you have saved the king's son for the second time, now. I think you will return to more of a hero's welcome than a prisoner's suspicion."
"I should be glad to return with you then, my Lord" she smiled. She lightly brushed his arm with her tiny fingers and her touch sent an exuberant chill through the elf.
"I have it in my mind to dance."
Legolas gently pulled her arm away and he limped towards the tree line as he whistled for Neonean. A broad grin escaped his face at the thoughts of seeing his Nevariel dance for him once more. It was a custom she would repeat often for the elf.
The light of the day was beginning to fade over the mountains when they set off on a path South, towards the Carrock and the former kingdom of Euphratas. Nevariel rode, as always, with Legolas. With his betrothed returned to him again, Legolas's entire demeanor was markedly improved. Even the pain of his injuries seemed to pale against the light of his unexpected second chance. It was enough for the long journey home. Gandalf, who rode on ahead, could hear their soft whisperings to one another, coupled with an occasional admonishment from Nevariel demanding that the elf soften his grip about her waist.
Nestled within Gandalf's staff, the Stone of Anor sat safely, exuding its magnificent light through the penetrating darkness of the Anduin valley. And far away to the South, in the black lands of Mordor, the mountain of Orodruin (Mount Doom) seethed and wretched, spewing fury with a renewed and terrible fervor. It was an opportunity gone. It was anger without restraint. The Dark Lord was now forced to wait for yet one more opportunity to cross his path before he could satiate his eternal lust for domination. He would not have to wait long.