Disclaimer is the same as in chapter one.
Author's note at the end.
"Hostile Takeover"—Chapter Eight: A Knife in the Airport
Sally felt a whimpering cry erupt from her throat as Frodo tugged on her arm to pull her away. Although the sight of the men in black suits paralyzed her with fear, she hesitated more from her sudden desire to help Enaiowen.
The elf raised the umbrella before her and Sally could see the glamour flicker in her hands. The sword that it was flashed into view and then just as suddenly resolved itself to becoming an umbrella again. But Sally saw it long enough to realized that the weapon was far too small to provide proper protection.
The men in black approached the elf with purposeful, menacing steps. They held their hands up in front of them as if they clutched weapons of their own that Sally could not see. She tried to step forward, moved by the impossible odds against their champion, but Frodo would not let her go.
His eyes held the same fear that ruled her. "We have to run, Sally," he said, pulling her after him. "We have to get away."
"But they're going to kill her!" she cried. She knew that by staying she could not make the situation better. She was no warrior, but she could not let someone die in her place. She struggled against his hold on her as she fought back her overwhelming sense of helplessness.
Frodo pulled her close to him, holding her tightly against his chest. He knew her thoughts, her feelings, because he shared them just as intensely. "If we stay, they may kill us too," he said into her ear. "Then Saruman will get the Ring."
In his arms, he felt her relax. She would not struggle anymore. She looked up at him defeatedly and he finally led her away.
Sally did not look back as they ran. Her last view of Enaiowen was of her alive, strong and heroic. But the sound of metal clashing against metal that faded in the distance would haunt her till her last breath.
Enaiowen smiled inwardly to see them go at last. She finally could face their pursuers without the worry of protecting them. Unfortunately her chances of defeating them did not improve. She faced four of the Nazgul alone.
They fanned out around her. She saw their intentions immediately. Two would fight her, while two would continue the pursuit. Her eyes raced over the concourse in a maddening search to find something, anything to aid her.
Nearly fifty feet away a man looking through a window to the runways below, had just lit a cigarette. Her power was dry, stiff like an unused muscle but she stretched to make it work. She reached out to the flame dying at the end of the match and whispered words of encouragement to grant them new life and purpose.
Of all the elements, fire is the hungriest. It is the most often harnessed for its power and very seldom allowed to exist freely. When given full rein, it lives passionately, consuming all it can. It answered her summons willingly and sprang from the discarded match to a small trash bin. Within a second, it ignited and fed off of the refuse. It used its new strength to escape the bin, spilling the contents across the floor.
Now released, the fire grew impossibly high, forming a barrier behind Enaiowen. The Nazguls' path to follow Frodo and the Ring was blocked. She smiled at her accomplishment feeling the blood of her people rush through her veins. Hidden amongst humanity for decades she had lost sight of who she was. Covered in the shadowed glamour she wore, she had forgotten. Only now under the glare of fluorescent lights did she find herself. So close to the end with a deadly foe in front of her and a raging fire behind did she remember. She was an elf.
With no way to get around her, the Nazgul descended upon her. In the physical world their weapons were invisible, but she knew the swords they held. She could feel the chill of evil that surrounded them. She blocked their blows as best as she could with Frodo's Sting but she could only manage a bare defense. She had no shield and the blade she held was too small to mount a suitable offense. Anything she did would only delay them. Any sword she held would never be enough. In this life she had only one choice.
She let Sting drop to the floor. It was too fine to be wasted in the flesh of a Ringwraith and she would not need it any longer.
The Nazgul seemed to hiss in delight at her apparent surrender. One stepped forward to take the advantage. Even as his sword penetrated her abdomen he did not see the danger. To stab her only brought him within her grasp. She took hold of the collar of his suit coat and dragged him with her into the waiting fire.
His screams filled the air while his body fed the flames. People who came upon this sight were drawn to its horror. Some had witnessed its beginning but the sight had seemed too ludicrous to do anything but watch. A beautiful woman swinging an umbrella like a sword at four unarmed men wearing black. How does someone stop that?
A fire rose out of nothingness to engulf them in flames. The scene lost its humor for the audience and begged for someone to stop it.
Enaiowen rode through waves of pain clutching the Nazgul in a steel grip that would not yield. She did not dread the sensation for she knew that as long as she felt, she still lived. Through the shrieks of the dying Nazgul she could sense the humans coming to save them. Naïve, blind, slow-minded humans. Past blistered lips she called the fire to swell. She hoped to trap the other three Ringwraiths and keep the humans at bay.
But she never knew if she succeeded.
Her sight was the first to leave her. The rest of her physical world followed in kind. She knew nothing of pain or living or dying. Her task was done. Her destiny complete. All that remained of Enaiowen the elf opened her eyes on a distant beach. Her books in hand she smiled at the sun hours before it would set. It was her favorite time of day in her favorite place in the whole world. Her heart swelled with anticipation. Soon her teacher would come and begin the day's lesson.
She was home.
* * *
It was 5:22 a.m. when Merrick finally emerged from his bedroom. A softly murmuring television lit his apartment in a muted blue glow and the only other sound was the steady ticking of a wall clock. He had taken every care not to make noise as he prepared to leave. He knew Piper's stubbornness as well as he knew his own. To see her still on his couch did not surprise him. To find her asleep was what he had hoped for.
She had curled up on her side with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She looked cold and Merrick fought back the brotherly impulse to cover her. He did not want to wake her. If he woke her, he would find it harder to leave her behind.
That decision had already become too difficult to make. He had hoped that sleep would clear his thoughts. As he stood over her sleeping form on the verge of his departure he only felt more conflicted.
She frowned unhappily in her sleep finding something disturbing in her dreams. Merrick's dreams brought him little peace either, only images which made no sense in the waking world. An army of men on horseback bearing arms and himself before a proud, white-haired king in glimmering armor. All that remained of the dream in him was a feeling intense and bitter.
The feeling of being left behind.
Piper would have that feeling when she would awaken and find him gone without her.
He reached out to shake her shoulder, to wake her and say, "Come on, Pip. Time to go." But he stopped himself.
His first decision was the right one. Keep her here to keep her safe. He stepped away from her towards his door. He hoped she would understand.
He pulled the door shut with a soft click. He didn't even say good-bye.
* * *
Sally's first day in Norway had been a blur of transportation and smatterings of conversations in Nynorsk. She understood nothing that was said and didn't know where they were going. She followed Frodo silently like a shadow. She would met no one's gaze and often glanced behind her fearfully to reassure herself that nothing followed them.
Frodo watched her with worried eyes. Her mind seemed so far away. He didn't know quite how to reach her or even if he should. She appeared so fragile, not like what he ever expected. He knew he was to blame. He pushed too much of the quest on her too quickly. She was not ready to take up her role. He felt selfish for expecting her to.
On the train from Oslo to Andalsnes they sat alone in a compartment leaning against one another for support. Sleep would come to neither of them.
From beneath the sound of the steel on the tracks, Sally's voice stirred. "Frodo," she asked quietly, hesitantly, "what are you?"
That question must have dominated her thoughts throughout her silence. Her other questions did not come with providable answers. Frodo didn't want to imagine what she might conjure his true form to be. He had not even thought of that part of himself for a long time. "I am nothing terrible," he answered her simply. He was not ashamed. There were other reasons to hide himself.
"I know that," she replied. Her voice still sounded quiet, almost timid.
Frodo shook his head and sighed heavily. "You only know what Enaiowen said and –
"No," Sally said forcefully, "I know." She pulled away form him, turning to face him. For the first time since they left the airport she looked him in the eyes.
What he saw, spoke of new torments, personal ones. "Sally?" he called to her with concern.
"I don't know what is wrong with me," she said through trembling lips. She was on the verge of tears. She passed shaking hands over her paling face. "I know things I shouldn't. I'm remembering things that never happened to me." Since the moment they left Enaiowen, Sally could not fight back the feeling that she had done that before. Her mind flashed with images of a dark cave and a monster made of fire. She had left someone behind there. Someone who died in her place.
It wasn't her. She wanted to believe it was a dream but she couldn't explain how real it all felt. She couldn't dismiss all the other things that defied explanation. "What if I'm losing my mind?" she asked.
Frodo reached up and touched her cheek. This tender contact released the tears she had held back. He understood. "Sally, I promise you, you're not losing your mind."
A sob escaped her. "I just don't want to fail you," she cried.
Of all the things she could have said he had not expected that. He felt his own tears well up to join hers. "You won't," he said, taking her hands into his. "You couldn't."
TBC
Author's note: Lorraine (and any others who may be lurking), if you want to know when I update, send me your email address and I will be more than happy to let you know. Otherwise, I try to put up a chapter once a week, household catastrophe and child illness notwithstanding. Just do an author's search for my name. I'm the only "acorngirl" here.(
Also, I do plan to write a sequel to "On the Beach" as well as finish the prequel "Visions of Blood and Fire". I just need to get "Hostile Takeover" out of my system and completed. I am happy with how it has gone so far and I have much bigger, cooler stuff in store for all you great readers. I just wish I had more time to write more. Thank you again for your support. You keep me going and make me better.
Chapter Nine: "Fog on the Morning After" – Sally begins to lose herself more and warnings of a spirit coming after her don't help. Also, Piper wakes up and finds Merrick gone but she finds an unlikely ally to get her to New York.
Author's note at the end.
"Hostile Takeover"—Chapter Eight: A Knife in the Airport
Sally felt a whimpering cry erupt from her throat as Frodo tugged on her arm to pull her away. Although the sight of the men in black suits paralyzed her with fear, she hesitated more from her sudden desire to help Enaiowen.
The elf raised the umbrella before her and Sally could see the glamour flicker in her hands. The sword that it was flashed into view and then just as suddenly resolved itself to becoming an umbrella again. But Sally saw it long enough to realized that the weapon was far too small to provide proper protection.
The men in black approached the elf with purposeful, menacing steps. They held their hands up in front of them as if they clutched weapons of their own that Sally could not see. She tried to step forward, moved by the impossible odds against their champion, but Frodo would not let her go.
His eyes held the same fear that ruled her. "We have to run, Sally," he said, pulling her after him. "We have to get away."
"But they're going to kill her!" she cried. She knew that by staying she could not make the situation better. She was no warrior, but she could not let someone die in her place. She struggled against his hold on her as she fought back her overwhelming sense of helplessness.
Frodo pulled her close to him, holding her tightly against his chest. He knew her thoughts, her feelings, because he shared them just as intensely. "If we stay, they may kill us too," he said into her ear. "Then Saruman will get the Ring."
In his arms, he felt her relax. She would not struggle anymore. She looked up at him defeatedly and he finally led her away.
Sally did not look back as they ran. Her last view of Enaiowen was of her alive, strong and heroic. But the sound of metal clashing against metal that faded in the distance would haunt her till her last breath.
Enaiowen smiled inwardly to see them go at last. She finally could face their pursuers without the worry of protecting them. Unfortunately her chances of defeating them did not improve. She faced four of the Nazgul alone.
They fanned out around her. She saw their intentions immediately. Two would fight her, while two would continue the pursuit. Her eyes raced over the concourse in a maddening search to find something, anything to aid her.
Nearly fifty feet away a man looking through a window to the runways below, had just lit a cigarette. Her power was dry, stiff like an unused muscle but she stretched to make it work. She reached out to the flame dying at the end of the match and whispered words of encouragement to grant them new life and purpose.
Of all the elements, fire is the hungriest. It is the most often harnessed for its power and very seldom allowed to exist freely. When given full rein, it lives passionately, consuming all it can. It answered her summons willingly and sprang from the discarded match to a small trash bin. Within a second, it ignited and fed off of the refuse. It used its new strength to escape the bin, spilling the contents across the floor.
Now released, the fire grew impossibly high, forming a barrier behind Enaiowen. The Nazguls' path to follow Frodo and the Ring was blocked. She smiled at her accomplishment feeling the blood of her people rush through her veins. Hidden amongst humanity for decades she had lost sight of who she was. Covered in the shadowed glamour she wore, she had forgotten. Only now under the glare of fluorescent lights did she find herself. So close to the end with a deadly foe in front of her and a raging fire behind did she remember. She was an elf.
With no way to get around her, the Nazgul descended upon her. In the physical world their weapons were invisible, but she knew the swords they held. She could feel the chill of evil that surrounded them. She blocked their blows as best as she could with Frodo's Sting but she could only manage a bare defense. She had no shield and the blade she held was too small to mount a suitable offense. Anything she did would only delay them. Any sword she held would never be enough. In this life she had only one choice.
She let Sting drop to the floor. It was too fine to be wasted in the flesh of a Ringwraith and she would not need it any longer.
The Nazgul seemed to hiss in delight at her apparent surrender. One stepped forward to take the advantage. Even as his sword penetrated her abdomen he did not see the danger. To stab her only brought him within her grasp. She took hold of the collar of his suit coat and dragged him with her into the waiting fire.
His screams filled the air while his body fed the flames. People who came upon this sight were drawn to its horror. Some had witnessed its beginning but the sight had seemed too ludicrous to do anything but watch. A beautiful woman swinging an umbrella like a sword at four unarmed men wearing black. How does someone stop that?
A fire rose out of nothingness to engulf them in flames. The scene lost its humor for the audience and begged for someone to stop it.
Enaiowen rode through waves of pain clutching the Nazgul in a steel grip that would not yield. She did not dread the sensation for she knew that as long as she felt, she still lived. Through the shrieks of the dying Nazgul she could sense the humans coming to save them. Naïve, blind, slow-minded humans. Past blistered lips she called the fire to swell. She hoped to trap the other three Ringwraiths and keep the humans at bay.
But she never knew if she succeeded.
Her sight was the first to leave her. The rest of her physical world followed in kind. She knew nothing of pain or living or dying. Her task was done. Her destiny complete. All that remained of Enaiowen the elf opened her eyes on a distant beach. Her books in hand she smiled at the sun hours before it would set. It was her favorite time of day in her favorite place in the whole world. Her heart swelled with anticipation. Soon her teacher would come and begin the day's lesson.
She was home.
* * *
It was 5:22 a.m. when Merrick finally emerged from his bedroom. A softly murmuring television lit his apartment in a muted blue glow and the only other sound was the steady ticking of a wall clock. He had taken every care not to make noise as he prepared to leave. He knew Piper's stubbornness as well as he knew his own. To see her still on his couch did not surprise him. To find her asleep was what he had hoped for.
She had curled up on her side with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She looked cold and Merrick fought back the brotherly impulse to cover her. He did not want to wake her. If he woke her, he would find it harder to leave her behind.
That decision had already become too difficult to make. He had hoped that sleep would clear his thoughts. As he stood over her sleeping form on the verge of his departure he only felt more conflicted.
She frowned unhappily in her sleep finding something disturbing in her dreams. Merrick's dreams brought him little peace either, only images which made no sense in the waking world. An army of men on horseback bearing arms and himself before a proud, white-haired king in glimmering armor. All that remained of the dream in him was a feeling intense and bitter.
The feeling of being left behind.
Piper would have that feeling when she would awaken and find him gone without her.
He reached out to shake her shoulder, to wake her and say, "Come on, Pip. Time to go." But he stopped himself.
His first decision was the right one. Keep her here to keep her safe. He stepped away from her towards his door. He hoped she would understand.
He pulled the door shut with a soft click. He didn't even say good-bye.
* * *
Sally's first day in Norway had been a blur of transportation and smatterings of conversations in Nynorsk. She understood nothing that was said and didn't know where they were going. She followed Frodo silently like a shadow. She would met no one's gaze and often glanced behind her fearfully to reassure herself that nothing followed them.
Frodo watched her with worried eyes. Her mind seemed so far away. He didn't know quite how to reach her or even if he should. She appeared so fragile, not like what he ever expected. He knew he was to blame. He pushed too much of the quest on her too quickly. She was not ready to take up her role. He felt selfish for expecting her to.
On the train from Oslo to Andalsnes they sat alone in a compartment leaning against one another for support. Sleep would come to neither of them.
From beneath the sound of the steel on the tracks, Sally's voice stirred. "Frodo," she asked quietly, hesitantly, "what are you?"
That question must have dominated her thoughts throughout her silence. Her other questions did not come with providable answers. Frodo didn't want to imagine what she might conjure his true form to be. He had not even thought of that part of himself for a long time. "I am nothing terrible," he answered her simply. He was not ashamed. There were other reasons to hide himself.
"I know that," she replied. Her voice still sounded quiet, almost timid.
Frodo shook his head and sighed heavily. "You only know what Enaiowen said and –
"No," Sally said forcefully, "I know." She pulled away form him, turning to face him. For the first time since they left the airport she looked him in the eyes.
What he saw, spoke of new torments, personal ones. "Sally?" he called to her with concern.
"I don't know what is wrong with me," she said through trembling lips. She was on the verge of tears. She passed shaking hands over her paling face. "I know things I shouldn't. I'm remembering things that never happened to me." Since the moment they left Enaiowen, Sally could not fight back the feeling that she had done that before. Her mind flashed with images of a dark cave and a monster made of fire. She had left someone behind there. Someone who died in her place.
It wasn't her. She wanted to believe it was a dream but she couldn't explain how real it all felt. She couldn't dismiss all the other things that defied explanation. "What if I'm losing my mind?" she asked.
Frodo reached up and touched her cheek. This tender contact released the tears she had held back. He understood. "Sally, I promise you, you're not losing your mind."
A sob escaped her. "I just don't want to fail you," she cried.
Of all the things she could have said he had not expected that. He felt his own tears well up to join hers. "You won't," he said, taking her hands into his. "You couldn't."
TBC
Author's note: Lorraine (and any others who may be lurking), if you want to know when I update, send me your email address and I will be more than happy to let you know. Otherwise, I try to put up a chapter once a week, household catastrophe and child illness notwithstanding. Just do an author's search for my name. I'm the only "acorngirl" here.(
Also, I do plan to write a sequel to "On the Beach" as well as finish the prequel "Visions of Blood and Fire". I just need to get "Hostile Takeover" out of my system and completed. I am happy with how it has gone so far and I have much bigger, cooler stuff in store for all you great readers. I just wish I had more time to write more. Thank you again for your support. You keep me going and make me better.
Chapter Nine: "Fog on the Morning After" – Sally begins to lose herself more and warnings of a spirit coming after her don't help. Also, Piper wakes up and finds Merrick gone but she finds an unlikely ally to get her to New York.