Grumpy: You mean Elrond's reaction? Or how he looked? I'm confused. But I'm glad you liked it. And I hope Aragorn took the right path, too. Legolas would be terribly crushed if he didn't. Speaking of which. . . . *gets horrible evil gleam in her eye*
Deana: Legolas wasn't expecting it either. *g* Hm, yes, it probably is, but you know those elves. Stubborn creatures. And he has other things to worry about.
Bill the Pony: LOL. Mm, yes, he does at that doesn't it. He deserves it, though, if no one else does. And without the side effects of normal, um, hallucinogens? Which drug group am I looking for? *considers for a moment* Ah, well. Boom, boom, boom, Boom. *g*
Corivida: Um, thanks. Erm, yeah, I'll think about it. As if I'm not already busy writing as it is.
NaughtyNat: You are! Congratulations. Lol. *g* I might be done posting by that time, you know. Em, well, maybe not. Depends on how long "a bit" is. *pauses to try and see the reference* Ah, well. *grins sheepishly* That might have had an influence. I've seen both the real version and the Disney version, after all. But I wasn't thinking about it when I wrote it. What was I thinking about...? Oh, yes, I had just finished reading Tuesdays With Morrie. Touching book. But I don't think that had anything to do with this chapter. It wasn't intentional. I picture it being slightly more difficult to get dressed back then. I mean, they can't just pull up stretchy pants and slip a t-shirt over their head and be done. *g* Of course, I'm also going on the idea that the mode of dress is somewhat similar to the...1800s? Is that the time period I'm looking for? 1700s. Something like that. But maybe that's just me. Anyway, as best I can remember, I think I still had help getting dressed when I was five, for all that I didn't want the help. *g* lol. Yes, now he knows and the world will never be the same. Hopefully.
Lauren: I need to get better about checking my mail. I'm so sorry I missed you last chapter. *hits head* But I completely understand the Matrix thing. I can picture it too! Lol. I'm glad my flashbacks work. They're so much fun to write and lend so much more to the emotion of the story than I can get by staying in the moment. English, ick; psyche, yikes. Hope you managed both. I understand completely. *grins like a cheshire cat* I'm glad I could return the favor. And don't worry about rambling. I love rambling, it lets me feel like I'm connected to other people. I write so much my social life is practically nonexistent, then I don't particularly care for the people in my classes. They just don't understand. Ramble all you like. *smiles* I'm glad the scene with Legolas by his bedside was so good, even more so that you liked.
Okay, now, hopefully, this chapter doesn't fall short of the awesome standards of its predecessors. You know, every time I watch Matrix, I begin using really big words. Strange. Not that I've watched it recently, but. . . . Hehe. Okay, I won't ramble any more and release you to the fic.
Read. Enjoy and review. =D
Chapter 16
Never So Easy
She sat in her study, a room decorated with lavish silks and colorful, rich cushions which were scattered around the room creating a decadent appeal to anyone who desired the easy life. A book rested in her lap, thick with fraying pages, opened to about the middle. Nothing it said was new to her. She had read it years ago.
Just hours before she had been ecstatic, awash in the delicious agony of her new . . . specimens, and fine specimens they were, too. Now, though, she desired nothing more than to go out and look at them, touch them . . . play with them. The ranger, maybe not, but the elf. . . . There was so much more she could do with him, and he would be so much more resilient than his friend.
Effortlessly, she stood, leaving the book where it was, and walked out, some instinct she never questioned prompting her to pick up her ceremonial dagger. When the cold hilt of the instrument encountered her hand, she did not ever realize it, nor did she notice the glint of the item in her hand. The book continued to lay open where she left it.
Staring at the ceiling, for one's eyes only, was:
The Jade's Pendant, a rare necklace enchanted by a powerful sorcerer centuries ago and gifted to the powerful rulers of Men for large rewards as they sought out the eternal life of the Eldar. Most were destroyed, but a few remained, possessed by their creator to be gifted to the unwary. The wearer of the necklace was granted eternal life, but cursed to live the rest of eternity never satisfied, stuck forever with their darkest memory and never able to release it.
Each necklace has no clasp, and once adorned, can never be removed, save by death. The wearer is granted eternal life free from sickness, like the Eldar, but can be killed. If, in the course of time, the necklace is destroyed, the necklace's owner suffers the same fate.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas stared into the vibrant eyes of Kaialian as her expression changed from vague, to shocked, to furious, the latter coming so quickly he had not even seen the change. The elf, himself, felt curiously detached, almost as if he had known she would come. Jans, beside him, stiffened.
They had been about to walk around the chair and head for the exit, when she had appeared out of nowhere, resplendent in her terrible beauty. She did not block the exit, though, there was nothing stopping them from escaping her forever.
Jans reached the conclusion first. "Go. Take your friend. I'll join you after I have a little chat with our fair lady."
The elf prince glanced quickly at the man, recognizing immediately that it would be useless, less than useless, to try and talk him out of the path he had chosen. He could not even begin to imagine what she had done to make Jans hate her so, but looking at Aragorn, still limp in his arms, he understood the sentiment, even agreed with it wholeheartedly.
He nodded curtly, then began crossing the cavern quickly, doing his best not to jolt his charge too roughly or cause him any pain, which meant trying to glide across the uneven, rocky ground which was littered with fallen stones and boulders. He went around the big ones he could not overstep.
Behind him, he heard movement, the sounds of footsteps, light and quick. Curiosity overcame him, and Legolas turned to look behind him. His sharp eyes found Jans and Kaialian moving towards each other, each holding a dagger whose blade reflected the distant light of the torches. He could almost swear they were talking, but no words traveled to his ears.
He frowned, trying to puzzle out how that could be, since elven ears were far above mortal hearing, but he found no answer. They simply could not be talking. He turned and began walking again; Aragorn needed help he could not give him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jans faced the woman he had spent his entire life hating, though he had never met her. His gray eyes traveled up and down her body, taking in her beauty: long golden hair, vibrant eyes. But she did not seem beautiful to him, to him she was a monster, and the youthful looks she claimed a mask. Too him, she looked old.
With a grim smile, he pulled out the dagger he kept strapped to his thigh. When he had left the village, he had not gathered any supplies, had not warned anybody, had not taken the time to go back and grab weapons. The only plan he had was to free the strangers and kill the witch. That was exactly what he was going to do. Now. She had done too much to his family, to his friends, to be allowed to go on.
His eyes flashed with determination and his jaw clenched. He was going to kill her, or die trying.
A small smile appeared on her face, a taunt if ever he saw one, as if she knew what he was thinking and was daring him to try, like she knew he could not succeed. He ignored it. Adrenaline shot through his veins, sending heat through his body. He clenched and unclenched his free fist, then began stalking towards her, moving slightly to the side to take her attention away from the fleeing elf.
Just like he wanted, her eyes followed. His lips twisted. "Hello, witch. I've been wanting to talk to you."
Her hazel eyes flashed. "Have you, now?" she replied coyly, the anger gone as quickly as it had appeared, and replaced with something far more sinister. Though the man could not place his finger on what it was, the change still sent unpleasant tingles up his spine. "But you see? I don't just want to talk, I want to play."
He approached her slowly, his body tensed for action as if he was simply out hunting deer. "I don't play, witch," he told her.
"Oh," she murmured, still coming closer to him, her own approach casual, her voice full of childish glee. "I see. You've been left out. You've been abandoned. No one wants to play with you."
His eyes narrowed, but she was not done. "A nice, big, strong man, like yourself, over-looked year after year; left to watch his friends chosen one by one, brought into this place and lost forever, never to be seen again." Her eyes glowed brighter. "Big strong man wants to know why he was never chosen," she said in a pouty voice that was as disturbing as it was annoying.
Jans said nothing. Every sound she made wrenched his hatred higher, his blood boiling higher with every syllable that passed her full lips. It never occurred to him to wonder how she guessed so much about his past, or that she might have known that about his past. It certainly never occurred to him that she might have planned it. He did not know why with every word she uttered, her eyes continued to glow brighter, until they seemed to be their own light source. He just knew he wanted her dead, and he wanted it now.
But he was still a hunter, and a hunter is patient. His footsteps, light and steady, sounded in the momentary stillness. She stood just twelve feet before him, but it was still too far. Just a few more seconds. . . .
"It's because your different, special. You care more for others than yourself. Your pain when they are taken, your anger at your own helplessness is far more delicious than any pain I could inflict on you. More filling." Her smile was feral. "Yes, you were of more use to me alive."
He narrowed his eyes, struggling to get his mind to work again, to push away the rage and think rationally like he was known for, how he had kept the village alive, why the people looked up to him. But he could not. The rage kept building, and he kept staring into her glowing eyes.
Finally, he registered what she had said. Were. His eyes widened. In that moment, she pounced.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Outside, the sky lowered, ominous dark clouds rolled across the sky, blotting out the sun from even the keenest eyes, bringing night early to the forests of Mirkwood. Through the trees, the wind howled, cold and biting in its restless fury. Trees groaned under the assault, leaves swished, lashed here and there in the relentless rush.
Under the trees, all looked up. All manner of woodland creature, from the tiniest insect to the largest animal, took shelter against the coming storm, unnatural in its quick fury. They ran to caves, they hid in burrows, anywhere to get away from the deepening darkness, then all was still save for the rush of the wind and the occasional deep rumble of thunder.
The maidens of the village by the mountain looked up, halting their daily chores. Thunder boomed, loud and near, threatening. Baskets were dropped as children were gathered and the inhabitants rushed to get in side, the more steady-headed lashing down anything that could be tossed through their windows. Within minutes, no one moved.
Leagues away, a troop of wood-elves halted, their keen eyes spotting the gathering darkness despite the trees. In silence, they regarded the gathering darkness, unease coiling in the pits of their stomachs, a certain dread weighing down their hearts. A gust of wind wound through the trees near them, bringing whispers, whispers of doom. None, not even the horses, stirred.
"What does it mean?" one of the number finally asked.
The captain turned back, his expression grim. "Trouble."
The one beside him nodded solemnly. "Aye, and I'll give you three guesses as to who's right in the middle of it."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Kaialian swung hard, her dagger cutting through the air with a sharp, eerie, whistling rush. It met her opponent's dagger with a sharp chink that echoed through out the crumbling cavern. Rocks were littered about her feet, but she paid them no more mind than the man before her did. In him, in his eyes, she could see her husband, her son, the same arrogance and irresponsible disregard for any but themselves in his hard gray eyes.
She could see his anger, his hatred, and it fueled her own, gave her power. Her necklace began to glow, burning brighter than it ever had before, making her stronger, giving her speed. Before her stood her husband, the traitor who left her so many years ago to make her way through the world alone, who abandoned her to fight his silly battles, who led her son away to follow him in death.
Before her stood everything she had ever hated about men. And she would kill him. Nothing, no one, was going to stop her.
Their short blades were blurs in the flickering light of the torches, casting dancing shadows around the dancing figures. Every strike was parried, every jab deterred. The ringing of metal on metal reverberated through the air.
Everything disappeared except the man standing before her and the blade she was trying to stab through his heart. Nothing except that mattered.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas walked with Aragorn thrown over his shoulder, head down, watching the path he tread closely. The ground was so uneven that even he had to watch where he was going lest he risk falling and harming his friend even more than he was already.
But it wasn't just that. He was retreating. He was leaving an ally behind to fight while he turned the other way and ran. Never mind that he was saving a life, his friend; never mind that it was necessary and he had been forced to do it before. Never mind any of it, because it still came down to one thing: the one who had hurt his friend was being fought by another other than him.
The very thought grated on his nerves and threatened to halt his footsteps right where he stood, turn, and run back to join the fight with Jans. It did not help that he had no idea how skilled the human was, nor how skilled the woman was, and the quick clash of blades behind him did nothing to comfort him.
Only the knowledge that he held his best friend in his arms and that he was unresponsive but alive, yet alive, kept the elf prince from dropping the young ranger to the ground and running back to join in the fight.
It didn't seem to matter how many people hurt his friend, or how often it happened, but each time he was sure he could not hate anyone more than he did them, and each time he was proven wrong. Legolas hated, at this moment, a woman named Kaialian more than any other he knew. Etiquette demanded he not strike a lady, but he would give just about anything to do just that. He was sure that one was no lady, no matter what guise she came in.
Determined, he placed one foot in front of the other, gritting his teeth when he heard someone behind him slip. He resisted the urge to turn and see who it was. He had a task; he had to get Aragorn to help.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then glanced at the figure he held securely on his shoulder. He tried to catch a glimpse of the man's face, but his hair obscured it, and it did not help that he had to look over his shoulder to try, and his friend's legs were clasped securely by his arms.
Suddenly, the ground jerked beneath his feet, seeming to slid first one way, then the other. It was a distinctly unnerving feeling to be walking along just fine, then to find the floor you had been counting on for support had betrayed you and was doing its best to drop you on your rear.
He stumbled, taking a quick step forward, then back, as the rocks around him trembled, and more tumbled to the ground. Aragorn's weight shifted, threatening to send him falling to the ground, but elves are not able to run through trees for nothing and he retained his feet, compensating for the motion of his friend and the trembling rock beneath his feet with sure grace.
A sharp cry was nearly swallowed in the rumbling roar of shifting stone, but Legolas heard it. It was too deep to be a woman's, and that left only Jans. The elf feared the man had lost his balance with that cry, but he knew nothing of the woman. More than anything he wanted to turn and find out what was happening, but if he removed his attention from the stone beneath his feet, he would fall and Aragorn with him.
Stepping quickly, momentarily foregoing forward motion in favor of remaining standing, Legolas danced on top of the shifting stone, Aragorn's head lolling listlessly against his back with every movement, his hands swaying and occasionally hitting his back. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
Immediately, Legolas turned to look behind him. What he saw made his heart freeze.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She swung her dagger, splitting the air above the man's head as he ducked quickly, his own blade held defensively before him. A grin split her face. It had been a long time since she had had this much fun. Maybe she should have let one of her other specimens escape to fight her. She would have enjoyed the challenge. He could have held hope for escape, and she could have had the pleasure of watching that hope die and fade from his eyes. It was actually a far more pleasing prospect than she would have imagined. She would have to remember it for next time.
A blade arched towards her, angling for her heart, and she knocked it away. He recovered quickly, and reversed his swing, coming at her again from a different angle. She knocked that one away, too, familiar with it, as it had been one of her husband's favorite moves. Nimbly, she jumped out of his way, and saw frustration build in his eyes.
Men hated being bested, hated to have their skill shone up, especially by a woman. Her smile grew wider as she reveled in this one's hatred and distaste, his abhorrence that he was failing against a pathetic woman, one of lesser status and ability than him, one who was subordinate to him. She could see it, all those thoughts that had condemned her to this life by making her husband foolishly believe it was his duty to protect her. She could have protected herself, but he would not see it. He paid for his mistake with his life, and now she would exact her due for an eternity.
Kaialian laughed, the sound swallowed by the air around her, though the darkening anger in the other's gray eyes said he had heard it. He lunged, and she dodged, his momentum carrying him forward and past her. Smiling, she clipped him along his cheek with her blade.
He crashed into the wall and turned. In a blind rage, he rushed her again. She sidestepped to the other side and clipped that cheek, as well. Matching streaks adorned both sides of his face and dripped down to his neck. Near madness danced in his eyes, a token of the necklace that she had always particularly enjoyed: that it stole rational thought from those who faced her. This man had not a chance.
She laughed again, and he started to charge her a third time. But then, something happened that neither combatant had expected: the ground shook, the walls trembled, and dust and loose pebbles, then larger rocks, tumbled down from the ceiling. She paused, staring around her in shock.
The shaking grew worse, and she struggled to keep her feet, staggering first one way and then the other in her efforts to remain standing. The man, too, staggered around, looking quite drunk, and her mind whispered that he probably drank whenever he could. Her anger towards him redoubled, turning her attention from the rocks, and her other fleeing prisoners. They would not get far, she was sure. The ranger would slow the elf down, and this one would not trouble her much longer.
She tried to move towards him, but the bucking ground resisted her efforts, and she stumbled away from him, and him from her. No matter, she could wait.
It was with a sense of unreality that she watched a fist-sized chunk of rock drop from the ceiling right above where the man stood. It fell straight, and the ground betrayed him by not forcing him to move from its path. The projectile landed, striking forcefully just at his temple, driving the man to the ground. He sprawled on his back, grunting in pain from more than just the blow to his head. Dozens of rocks of all sizes made up his impromptu bed, and her heart fluttered with glee at the knowledge of how much that must have hurt to wrench a cry from the stubbornly silent man.
She grinned hungrily, and once again tried to move closer to him, and this time she managed, the space between them vanishing slowly as she inched forward, inch by precious inch.
Then, quite as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The cavern she stood in no longer seemed to desire to shake itself apart and land on the heads of everyone inside. She cared not. The only thing that mattered now was ending this human's pathetic life.
She paused at his feet and looked down on him, her expression feral. Somewhat blearily, he looked up at her, his expression mostly blank. But his eyes, those infernal gray eyes that were so close to her husband's, showed no fear, only steady resolve and bitter hatred. She looked closer, and could almost swear she caught a trace of what looked suspiciously like pity, though the man was likely not aware of it.
She still cared not.
Holding her blade at the ready, cocked back near her ear, she smiled down on him confidently. "Prepare for the end, pathetic Man. You are all the same, worthless creatures, and you have earned your end here. Foolish pride; foolish bravery. My husband had them, too. Say 'hello' to him for me when you join him."
He stared up at her steadily, a certain satisfaction visible in his eyes. "I need not," he replied. "You shall tell him yourself when you join him."
"I will never, foolish mortal. I am above you; you should have bowed to me and worshiped my every move. All Men should, but no matter. You will die and join my scum-bag mate, the one that abandoned me in search of glory. You are just like him."
That said, she moved forward to strike.
Her blow never fell. A projectile streaked in from somewhere before her, hitting her neck and sending blinding agony through Kaialian. She screamed, writhing as heat traveled through her, expanding and seeping through her body. A green light leeched out, growing wider and wider.
The human stared up at her with wide eyes, but she did not need to see his reaction to know what was happening, she already knew. Too late, she realized the elf was not as far away as she had thought. Too late, she realized what that projectile was. Too late, she knew that she had underestimated the elf. Too late.
She stumbled backwards, fire shooting up her body. Liquid oozed out of her necklace, burning her in its slow passage down her body. Pain followed the fire as she aged quickly, the jewel's effects undone with its destruction. The stone had shattered her necklace.
They had won.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas reacted immediately, bending over before he even fully registered what was happening, his hands seeking out something to aid him. His right closed around a rock and he picked it up, hauling it back past his ear as he took careful aim. He would only have one shot at this, and it had to count. To do the most damage, he had to attack the weakest spot.
Easily visible, even in the gloom that had settled in the cavern after the shake stirred up loads of dust to cloud the air, was the woman's necklace. It flashed brightly as if lit from within by its own power source.
Using that as his guide, he flung the stone. He nearly groaned as it hit too low, shattering the stone instead of biting into the flesh of her neck.. He threw his arm up and recoiled a bit as green light flashed and flared from it. A scream tore through the air, surprising him. Dumbfounded, he watched her stumble backwards, her figure and looks morphing before his very eyes.
It was almost as if someone had taken a human, then sped up time so that a year was but the flash of an eye. Her shoulders slumped and her back curved, practically erasing six inches from her imposing stature. Fat disappeared from her frame, leaving her skin looking stretched, hanging limply from her arms. The skin around her face wrinkled, and bags appeared under her eyes. The skin about her neck stretched and hung down, and her hair silvered and began falling out.
With wide eyes, he watched her change until she more resembled a skeleton than the beautiful woman she had once been. He had no idea what had happened, but it was, apparently, a good thing.
He blinked twice, his mind still attempting to grasp what had just happened, and how. Eventually, though, he realized that Jans was fine. Now he could deal with her, and he could continue on with Aragorn.
The elf turned and crouched to pick up his friend, painstakingly raising him to his shoulder once more, just as carefully as the first time, though he now did it alone and had to lift him further. He grunted with the effort it took, but continued just the same. He could complain later, when he had Aragorn back, and they could begin joking about the old times when they had traveled back and forth regularly between their two homes and other places besides.
Things just were not the same without the irritating human insisting he was old enough to assume responsibility, or giving him a hard time about his fastidious appearance or joking about their different habits or arguing playfully about caves and the merits of dwarves--a topic he was sure Aragorn brought up just to vex him (and which he would welcome gladly if only the human would wake up). Even Strider's incomprehensible penchant for touching everything was sorely missed as the elf considered that he might never have to deal with it or any other of the human's habits again.
It shot pain through his heart, far more pain than he had ever imagined possible without a grave wound to go with it, and usually from an orc blade, which was generally poisoned. With that usually came a visit to Rivendell, and a disapproving-resigned-look-sigh from Lord Elrond.
He began walking once more, lost in memories of the past. But just as he was reaching the tunnel which, according to Jans, would lead them out and to freedom, disaster struck.
With a deep, ominous rumble, the shaking began again. This time, though, it was serious. The continued strain upon the stone had reached a breaking point and wide cracks appeared above their heads, cracks that went too deep to hold the weight that pressed down. Legolas heard schikk-crack, and froze, his eyes widening. The rumbling grew closer, louder, and belatedly, he began to run, ignoring the fact that Aragorn was bouncing on his shoulder and that he heard--and felt--one of his friend's ribs snap. If they did not get out, it was possible that none of it would matter.
He ran, but the shaking hindered him, and new rocks were constantly dropping in front of him. A large boulder dropped just before him, too close to be avoided, too large to be jumped over without more time to prepare.
He tried anyway.
The elf sprang, the motion sharp and attempted at the last minute. He could not get enough height, and his feet caught on the stone, flipping him as his momentum was partially checked, his head and shoulders continuing forward while his feet halted and moved back. Her tried to twist and protect Aragorn, but he was going too fast, and he was separated from his friend.
He hit the ground mostly on his head and shoulders, then slid, rocks tumbling down around him, the already fallen stones grinding painfully into his back and shoulders, slicing his face where it scraped across the floor.
His momentum carried him forward, isolating him in the shaking gloom as their shelter collapsed around them. He really hated caves. It was a wall that finally halted his slide, ending it with a sickening crunch. He had just enough time to take a deep breath, before his world decided to collapse around him.
There was a moment of pain. Then he knew nothing more.