A/N:  See the chapter title?  Have any guess about what's going to happen now?  One word:  FUN!  Elves – whee!  *runs off to huggle Legolas…or is it Arin?  The two just look so darn alike, you really can't tell without looking closely…* Anywho. 

Chapter Twenty –

Elves and Goblins

The goblins must have already admitted him into the castle when the messenger had come to tell his master of their guest's arrival, or else he had been caught somewhere inside of it, for not a moment after the announcement of his presence, two gigantic Lower Goblins came lumbering in through the audience's chamber's main doors.  Clarice's mind was whirling.  Erik was here – here, in the same land, the same castle, as she: here, not in France, alive, not dead!  The goblins were real; all that she had imagined was real.

And somehow, she was a part of it…

She looked up, around the figure of the goblin that had once been Armand, the Marquis de Mercier, and saw the pair of goblins, and the smaller figure that they held between the two of them.  It was the figure of a man, tall and slender, yet broad-shouldered and strong, wearing a startling black mask, with pale skin, jet-black hair, and a blood-stained, tattered white silk shirt, in chains…

Armand, or rather, Ahrmant, gave a sudden laugh.

"Well well!" he said, stepping down off of the dais, leaving her behind him to approach the two goblins and their captive, who stood silent and motionless between them. "This is a great surprise indeed!  A true shazrat quar elfynsor, the greatest enemy that the goblins – Higher and Lower – have ever yet known!  And you had the sense to come dressed for the occasion: complete with chains…although I rather think, old man," a mocking tribute to what was now the strange and distant past, "That fire suited you better."

Erik did not reply.  Instead, his golden eyes searched past Ahrmant's hideous figure, finally lighting on Clarice again.  She could barely contain her raging emotions.  He was alive, and standing before her, but he did not look well at all.  He was exceedingly pale and seemed to be wracked with pain, although he gave no concrete evidence of this.  How had he found her?  How had he managed to come all the way from France to the place where they now were, and why were the goblins calling him such strange things?  What did it all mean?

Meanwhile, Ahrmant was gloatingly continuing.

"You just missed an explanation of the different species of goblins, ss'elfynsor Shazrat," he said, "But I am surprised that you are here to listen to anything that we say at all.  I would have liked to think that I had had done with you for once and for all."

"I made a vow, Ahrmant."

Erik's voice was low and controlled, but the light in his eyes was deadly – challenging.  As if stung by the invisible venom of his nemesis's words, Ahrmant visibly cringed for a split second – a fleeting moment, and no more – then his arm flashed out and grabbed Clarice, pulling her to her feet and making her stand before him, between him and his enemy, and his two guards.  Clarice gazed into the eyes of her wounded beloved, willing to die a thousand deaths at the hands of their cruel captors if only she could be at his side, and hold him in her arms, and kiss him, once more – if only for a moment—!

But then Ahrmant's voice hissed next to her ear, "Indeed – you did make a vow!  But I made something even deeper: something even more deadly, if broken, and something even more impossible to surmount!  Do you remember, Shazrat Sh'eesye?  Can you recall the words?  For I remember them with the clearness of the white-hot devouring tongues of fire…"

Holding her against him, the goblin leader began to intone…

'With this curse I smite you, with this destiny I bind you: you are doomed to wander this earth and unable to leave it as we, henceforth bereft of your powers of magic and enchantment, banned from your true self, in search of her until the flame of your existence extinguishes from the long years of your life…'

Then, to Erik, "You know the rest." A shove on her arm.  "Tell her.  Tell her."

And her beloved's despairing, sad, tired eyes turned upon her, their golden depths darkened by grief, pain, and hopelessness.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before, dear one," he said, softly. "I am sorry that I took so long to find you, and I am sorry that I couldn't save you from this."

He closed his eyes, fighting a wave of agony.

"All that he has said…is true.  Not only is all that you have ever imagined of fairy tales real, it has been with you, in your life, and in your destiny, all along.  There never were two feuding families, sweetest of my heart…but once upon a time, many years ago, there was a baby princess, and a band of marauding goblins…and a prince, who had vowed to rescue her and bring her back to her own land, to her parents, if he must die in doing so."

Then a wave of snickering, howling, and cackling laughter rippled through the entire audience chamber, as he looked at her wordlessly, and she stared back at him, frozen.  Ahrmant's cutting laughter sounded above all the rest, and he spoke to her, saying, "So, now you see – isn't it all too sweet?  He's lied to you all along: he never told you the truth of who you really are…of who he was!  You may have had the best of intentions, you fool," he said, turning to Erik, who stood still, facing him emotionlessly, "But they won't serve to save you, or her now.  I intend on watching you die this time – and I will enjoy each slow moment of it.  Bid your princess farewell, for this day, not only your blood but hers as well will be spilt!"

Again, the room filled with laughter.

Erik looked to her, his gaze sad and tender.  She looked back at him.

"Forgive me, my love – I wanted to save you…us…I tried…but time was something that we never had, and it was what we most needed."

"A lovely goodbye indeed," croaked Ahrmant mockingly, pulling Clarice away from Erik, inexorably, "But now it is time, my enemy, to face the darkness."

At a gesture from their captain, the two goblins began to pull Erik away.  Clarice tried to yank herself away, out of her captor's grip, but she didn't get far.  Ahrmant began to drag her back towards the altar.  "No – Erik!  No!"

"Clarice!" came his voice, desperate and ragged. "Beloved, listen to me – listen to me!  The only way that I could have known you was by your knowing of your own story—"

Ahrmant suddenly released her, rounding on Erik, releasing her.  She fell to the steps of the dais, stunned, hardly knowing if she could believe what she was hearing.

"What is this?  Take him away!  NOW!" shrieked the goblin.

My own story?

For seventeen years, we have wandered this contemptible, worthless husk of a world: bound to it by the magic of the ss'elfynsor Shazrat* that followed us here, who closed our portal to the realm from whence we came. 

           

For seventeen years, we have searched far and wide for the object of our search, knowing that we might only be returned to our home – our world – by the reunion and then annihilation of the accursed Mahat-Marandas and its bearer.  And now, at long last…we have found her.

           

Forgive me, my love – I wanted to save you…us…I tried…but time was something that we never had, and it was what we most needed.

           

…the truth of who you really are…of who he was!

           

"And although my magic is impossibly bound in this world, yours is not!  My love, you must finish the story – you know it!  Finish the story – you must!"

"SILENCE!" screamed Ahrmant.  His talons flashed out in the bright morning sun that pierced through the gaps in the roof, and Clarice saw his arm fall towards Erik – there was a dull thud and the sickening noise of breaking porcelain as the goblin broke the mask on Erik's face.  And, for once, in all the time that she had been with him and witnessed him receiving an injury, Erik reacted violently – he screamed in pain.

Then there was silence.

Each and every one of the goblins was staring, stunned, at the fallen prisoner.

No one was watching her.

But he was.  His eyes met hers, desperately, pleadingly.

And now, at last, she knew what she must do.

*                       *                       *

No one realized what the black-gowned, slender girl was doing until it was too late.  By the time that they had all whirled around and spotted her, she had already thrown herself off of the dais and was making a mad dash across the room, towards the other platform—

The one on which the pedestal stood.

Ahrmant's cat-like eyes widened as he suddenly saw what disaster was looming before him.  His mouth opened and his shriek was like that of the North Wind—

"NOOOOOOO!"

Clarice ran across the room, her heart pounding like the convulsions of an earthquake within her chest, her lungs dying for air, her entire being unfeeling of anything but the sole knowledge that now occupied her mind: she must reach that pedestal…

It all happened in a blur.

She stumbled onto the dais, nearly tripping on the hem of her thin black-silk gown, and fell up against the pedestal.  Then, as all the goblins in the room hurdled towards her, she took the pedestal's one occupant into her hands: its diamonds sparkled and gleamed like drops of liquid sunlight, while the huge golden-yellow gem in its center flashed a bright, knowing fire—

She placed the necklace around her neck, fastening it quickly—

*                       *                       *

A beam of light shot down through the roof, a perfect circle appearing within it as if some great knife blade had sliced through its crumbling remains, striking the surface of the dais and sending a blinding light into the air. 

The figure of the small, black-gowned girl was bathed in that light, and the black gown, the ebony hair, the pale skin and dark eyes, and features, disappeared as a vortex of twisting white and pale gold twin beams appeared, surrounding her.  Her form became blank, an outline of white, arms outstretched and head thrown backwards, her feet lifting off the ground as she began to spin, gracefully, with dizzying speed, in the air…

Ribbons of white appeared out of nowhere, twining about her arms and whisking up and around her legs, materializing into the pure, snowy flawlessness of a bodice, sleeves, and trailing skirts.  Her ebony hair lifted up off of her back and piled itself gently atop her head, jewels of citrine, beryl, and rose quartz appearing amidst its masses, as golden and silver sandals with the same jewels covered her bare feet.

At the sight of this dazzling spectacle, the goblins cowered, falling to the ground in absolute terror – for now, no one but a full-power, righteously vengeful Elven princess stood before them!

Slowly, she drifted back to the ground, her skirts falling into place about her and trailing on the light-washed stones behind her.  Eyes averted demurely, in wisdom and serenity, to the ground, she gracefully, wordlessly, stepped forward, off of the dais.

Then, she lifted her gaze.

Instantly, two twin crescents of white-hot yellow light came forth from her eyes, shooting across the room and striking the pillars on its other end, cutting through them like a scimitar!  Her hands lifted – power shot out of her palms!

The goblins tried to run, but it was too late: they were all caught in the inescapable wave of power than washed over the room, sent forth by the white figure with the golden gem known as the Mahat-Marandas upon her neck.  One by one, they were touched by the beams of light, and disintegrated with rough, hoarse, gabbling cries into shards of white and pale gold…

And then it was over.  The goblins were gone, and only the Princess and her Skye-Prince remained.  She ran to him and knelt at his side, wordless and tender.

*                       *                       *

A/N:  So…are we all pleasantly surprised?  Erik and Clarice are really not all they seemed to be after all – and neither were the Marquis and all of his lackeys.  Elves and goblins.  Just as promised.  But it's not done yet – read on!