Hey guys! Finals are FINALLY over, and summer vacation is on, which means more time to write! While I will be outta town for about 2 weeks, things won't be quite as hectic as when there's school.
I'm extremely sry about the forgotten reviewer responses in the last chapter. It was only until one reviewer mentioned it that I realized that I had totally forgotten it! So, here are the belated responses, for both of the last two chappies.
Insanity-is-my-friend: Thank you! Enjoy this chappie!
Ayrwen Tindomerel: thanks for your reviews and support!
Aria-chan: E-mail me back! I'd love to see what you think about the ideas! Oh, and in answer of your question about getting an owl like Hedwig, plz see the end of the chappie. I have a couple of questions, but I think I'll email them to you. Thank you lots!
Salem: Congrats on finishing your finals too! Gotta hate those sleep-depriving exams. I know I do. And don't worry about that. Just having you read each and every chapter and actually dropping off a review every time is enough for me. The part with the Angel of Death was the easiest for me to write about, and it wuz my favorite too. Hmm. . . I must be an evil 'lil child to like to write about Death.
draco-hermione: lol. Thanks! Sry about the long interval.
Jade-elf: blushes Thank you! That was the most thoughtful review I've ever gotten, and I'm flattered that you think so. Hehe, Adrian and Kendall's life back at college won't be any less hectic than Angel's in Middle-earth.
ElvenWitch13: Depressing, but it was my favorite chapter. God, I had so many plot bunnies that chappie. gasp a SEQUEL you say? Kool! Where's it posted?!
In the Depp End: And one word to describe my updates: slow. Thank you!
Soccer-Bitch: Thank you for coming back every chapter to read! You are the best! My writing certainly wasn't very good when I first started writing this, though. But I'm glad that you think so!
Nikki: Wow, chill. . .all shall be revealed in good time. But I can tell you now that it won't be Aragorn. He's too old for her, and besides, he belongs to Arwen. I agree, Angel was quite an unrealistic character when I first started this fic. When I reread it, I could see how much of a Mary-Sue she was, and I tried to go back and cut some of that out. That last chappie was my best one yet I think. Even tho it took like forever.
Lady Light: Thank ya lots! I'll try to keep them coming fast.
Katy: Wow, you set aside that much time to review? Thank you, it's great to know that someone would do that.
Crecy: Don't worry, I can make you into a stereotypical cheerleader, with the valley girl accent and preppy pom-poms and skirts. Lol, just j/k-ing. No, nothing will ever get me to convert this back into a Legomance. There are just too many of those out there, and I want mine to be different.
Alandra: Lol, I got you hooked on Charmed! Oh, too bad, I've been missing so many nowadays. . Thank you, I'm blushing! Imagery/language was difficult for me at first, but I'm starting to like it now. Chapter 13 was a nightmare to write, but ch. 14 was a breeze. Well, see you in the next chappie!
It was three in the morning when Richard Asta climbed out of bed on the second floor of his old-fashioned Victorian house to use the restroom. Richard Asta was a man in his late sixties, with more gray in his hair than brown. The man walked with a noticeable limp in his left hip from rheumatism, but otherwise got around well considering his age and condition. He was a history teacher at New York University, who always said that he was retiring one of these days but never got around to it.
This particular night started out no different than any other. The students at the college he taught at would be back from the Thanksgiving Break in two days, and he intended on getting his rest while he could. When he woke, he got up quietly, so as not to wake his wife and shuffled slowly to the bathroom two rooms over.
He turned no lights on, as he had memorized the feel of the walls and hallways by touch and there was really no need for illumination. Unbeknownst to him was a dark figure crouching in the shadows, waiting for the right moment.
Richard Asta neared a long winding staircase as he limped toward the bathroom, only a few feet away now.
The figure in the shadows held up a hand and gave a none too gentle telekinetic push.
The old senior never saw what hit him. He felt a strange force nudging him toward the head of the stairs, like a solid wall closing in on him. He gasped sharply as his bad leg landed on the second step and gave way. Richard Asta tumbled down the flight of steps. His head made contact with a metal banister with a loud crack and he fell in a crumpled heap at the foot of the stairs.
The demon straightened up and shimmered beside the old man. He reached out a hand and laid it on Richard Asta's shoulder. The senior was still alive, but only by a thread.
The demon closed his eyes reached out with his magic, searching for life. He probed for only a moment before he found what he was looking for. A thin strand, throbbing weakly – Richard Asta's lifeline. The demon held it, feeling the warm pulsing of a soul clinging on to the living world by only a thread. He fondled it wistfully, thinking how easy it would be to snap it, but he did not. Instead, he lowered his head to his victim's mouth. Richard Asta did not respond as the demon clamped his mouth over his.
The demon extracted the life of the old man through his mouth, feeling himself shudder with delight as he consumed his soul. The spirit struggled feebly for a second, and the body convulsed violently, but the demon held it down firmly with his telekinesis until it went limp.
Finally he rose to his feet, his thin lips curling into a twisted grin as he felt the warmth of a soul being extinguished to feed him. His task complete, he shimmered out of the house, leaving the body of Richard Asta for his wife to find in the morning.
Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli carried Boromir to the shore of the river Anduin. They emptied out one of the boats and laid the departed warrior in it, with his folded cloak from Lórien beneath his head. They placed the broken sword in his hands upon his chest and the cloven Horn of Gondor at his feet.
By then Angel had nearly regained her self-control and only the silent tears laid evidence to what she was feeling. Before they released the funeral boat, she bent over and kissed him on the cheek with a murmured, "Blessed be."
They watched as the boat disappeared over the Falls of Rauros, and with it went a departed friend. Angel felt the loss at heart. In the short time in which she had known him, she had developed an admiration of Boromir.
His soul will be reincarnated, she reminded herself. I wonder if his future life is being lived right now at the present. Then came another thought, one that sent tingles of excitement down her spine. I wonder if I know him in his future life. She dismissed the idea and mentally shook herself as soon as she thought of it. Get real, Angelyn. What are the chances of that happening?
Frodo had left for Mordor, and Sam had gone with him. Boromir was dead, Merry and Pippin were taken by orcs. Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas were all that were left of the Fellowship.
And then there was her. Angel had never felt more of a failure than she did right now. Provided, Boromir's death was something that was meant to happen, unavoidable even, but what about the rest? Were Merry and Pippin supposed to be captured? And what about Frodo and Sam? Had fate intended them to leave in such a manner? Or had her presence somehow thrown everything off course? Was this how everything was supposed to play out? she wondered bleakly. I don't see how we're going to win the war at this rate.
They resolved to go after Merry and Pippin, since Frodo and Sam were well beyond their reach now. At evening, they left behind everything that would slow them down in their chase, taking only their weapons and the food and lembas given to them by the Galadhrim. Angel took only her twin katanas, the spare set of clothes, and the athame, though it was hell to part with everything else she had brought back from the modern age.
As they trekked eastwards, the forest receded from view and the sharp jagged terrain of Emyn Muil stretched out before them. They walked in tense silence, with only a word here or there when Angel could not keep up. They walked through the night, and into the morning hours before dawn. It took only four hours before Angel started feeling the first onset of fatigue. She had been slightly behind for most of the trip, but now she lagged behind nearly twenty paces. She knelt down and clutched her stomach in an attempt to catch her breath.
She felt a light hand on her shoulder and looked up through curtains of dark hair. Legolas was standing over her, Gimli and Aragorn had stopped as well and were watching. Angel brushed his hand away impatiently. "I'm fine. Go on, I'll catch up."
Even so, Legolas helped her to her feet with a few words of reassurance. Angel, ashamed of herself for hindering the Company, caught up to where Aragorn and Gimli were waiting, to show that she was capable of going on.
Aragorn flashed her a sympathetic look. "My apologies, Angelyn, but this cannot be helped."
Angel blushed furiously. "I know. I'm sorry for slowing you down, Aragorn. I'll try to keep up." My purpose here is to ward them against Belthazor. . .and yet all I've succeeded in doing so far is getting in the way. Damn. She half-hoped that Belthazor would make a move soon, just for a chance to prove herself.
In a cool moment before dawn, Aragorn allowed them a brief rest. The four people who were all that was left of the Fellowship took the chance to refresh themselves before going on.
Angel nibbled on some lembas, but her appetite wasn't into it.
Aragorn looked down at Angelyn huddled slightly apart from the others. What good had Gandalf seen in brining her along? Aragorn was starting to have doubts, and wavered between his own better judgment and his trust in Gandalf. And yet the Lady Galadriel had not questioned her presence in the Fellowship either. Aragorn had a distinct feeling that both Mithrandir and the Lady of the Golden Woods knew something about Angel that he didn't.
Something that would aid the Fellowship? In truth, he did not see what. She had no skill with weaponry, and she slowed them down when they were in need of haste. She had gone missing from Lórien for two days, then suddenly reappeared without offering any explanation. Perhaps Haldir was right. Maybe they should have left her behind in Lórien.
But something did not add up. She was hiding a secret, that much was obvious. And if it was something that would affect the Fellowship, he needed to now about it. And the Uruk-hai. . .
He had seen the body of the Uruk who had slain Boromir. He had stayed back, only for a few moments, to inspect the dead orc. He remembered the condition of the body clearly, and the viciousness with which it had been torn apart disturbed him.
It was little more than a mound of torn carnage, wreathed with ribbons of shredded flesh and caked with its own dark blood. Deep gouges scored the body, in many places, splintered bone and entrails were clearly visible. Solidifying blood dribbled like molasses from gashes, congealing on the forest floor. Metallic green flies swarmed furiously around the gore, attracted by the scent of spilt blood. . .
The orc's bow and arrow lay discarded nearly fifty feet away, as if forgotten or thrown away.
Aragorn frowned at the memory. A question had been plaguing him ever since they had left the forest: Who had slain the Uruk-hai?
Boromir? No, that was highly unlikely. The Man of Gondor and the Uruk had been on nearly opposite ends of the glade when Aragorn found them. It was near impossible for Boromir to have inflicted such damage at a distance, especially when he had already taken two arrows. That left only one other possibility.
Aragorn studied Angelyn with her back to him. She had been there, not two paces from the orc when Aragorn arrived. She had wielding only her katana and a dagger too dull to be of any use. But even then, nothing made sense. How could her short katana have inflicted such deep wounds? She was unscathed; surely the orc would not have gone down without a fight. Nor could Aragorn imagine her attacking any living being, be it orc or no, with the unchecked ruthlessness that the wounds suggested.
In any case, he would have to keep an eye on her until his questions were answered.
Adrian stood in the doorway of the entrance of the building, watching the forlorn skies with cool hazel eyes. It was his first day back on the campus of the University of New York, and the weather didn't seem to agree with his arrival at all. The light drizzle that had endured for most of the morning had progressed into a heavy torrent of half-frozen rain and sleet.
It was mid-afternoon, though no sun filtered through the thunderclouds to justify the fact. He was waiting for Dakota to come back with his things so that they could walk to the history wing together, the last of their afternoon classes for that day.
He let the stinging wind whip around his face, safely beneath the roof ledge so that rain could not reach him here. He looked over his shoulder to look at the mob of college students milling about in the hallways and coming in and out of the entrance door that he held open, half frozen in the harsh weather.
Finally, he spotted Dakota amongst the crowd, books and folders stuffed into a canvas book bag slung over his shoulder. Dakota clapped him semi-roughly on the back in manner of greeting between men. (A/N: Sorry, I just had to include that. I find it weirdly funny when guys punch e/o just to say hi. Don't ask why. )
They stepped out from the building out into the pelting ice rain. Pebble-sized hail crunched beneath their shoes as they moved toward the history wing.
Chances at conversation were dashed by the wind drowning out their voices.
While the history wing was not far, both Adrian and Dakota were thoroughly wet by the time they were inside. They headed off towards their classroom, talking animatedly about basketball when Dakota suddenly dropped out of the conversation.
Kendall was coming down the hall in the opposite direction with Jasmine and Crecy, chatting about the cutest actors, or whatever topics things girls talked about. Dakota watched Kendall, biting his lip unconsciously with a look in his eyes that was more than friendship.
It didn't take Kendall long to notice Dakota and Adrian. She flashed Dakota a quick smile that no one noticed except for Crecy, and Jasmine. Crecy and Jasmine dissolved into giggles and all three disappeared into the crowd of students.
Dakota tried to watch her further, but Adrian gave him an elbow in the ribs which brought him back to reality.
"What?" he mumbled, flushed from Kendall's carefully aimed smile.
Adrian rolled his eyes. As amusing as it was, sometimes watching his best friend moon over his sister all the time did get irritating. "Unless you want everyone to know how you feel, I'd say you should stop being so obvious."
"It's obvious?"
"To the girls it is," he answered, referring to Kendall's friends.
"How?"
Adrian shrugged. "They're girls. They know stuff like this when they see it."
They took their seats in the history room a few moments later, just as the bell rang.
Adrian sat down in the third row, fourth chair over with Dakota two rows behind him. He looked up to see that Professor Asta was not at his desk. Strange. . .he always made a point on being punctual.
A tall man in his mid-forties strode into the room, carrying a briefcase and wearing a tidy black suit. He was thin for the most part, except for around the waistline, and resembled very much like a rat, with a long narrow face, large ears, and small beady black eyes. He set the briefcase down and turned to the class.
"My name is Professor Donald Finnely, and I will be your Professor for the remainder of the year," he said, in a shrill voice that seemed almost feminine but very fitting for his rat like appearance.
Adrian cocked an eyebrow. This man was a Professor? He looked more like one of the geeks who attracted bullies like flies to honey.
"Where's Professor Asta?" someone called out from his seat.
Professor Finnely fixed him with an icy stare. "Unfortunately, Professor Asta has passed away over the vacation, and I am his replacement."
Adrian nearly fell out of his seat at the statement. Asta was dead? Sure he was old and frail, but dead? He noticed with a pang of disgust how impassively this man delivered the news and scowled irritably.
"Professor Asta's dead?" another student blurted out.
"Yes, young man, and if you don't believe me, you may leave this room and ask the headmaster yourself." Finnely snapped, his tone of voice making it clear that the issue was not to be pursued any farther. "Now – " He took out a book. "Turn to chapter seventeen and we'll begin our lecture, shall we?"
Obediently, the class complied, though a buzz of whispers at this last bit of news rose.
"Class, taking out your books does not involve talking," barked Finnely sharply. The effects of a rat voice barking sounded very much like car brakes screeching to a stop.
Adrian gritted his teeth. Damn, what's his problem? Several students around him jumped, and he winced as he realized that he had unconsciously said the comment telepathically. He caught a brunette girl named Elise giving him a sideways look, and turned away. He really needed to get his new telepathy power under control.
Finnely began reading from the textbook as the students began scribbling down notes and outlines. "Ronald Reagan took office in 1981, firmly believing that the Soviet Union was 'the focus of evil in the modern world.' He called on Americans to 'oppose it with all our might.' Reagan also took a tough anticommunist stand in Latin America. . ."
Adrian found his attention wavering as the lecture went on. His thoughts went elsewhere as he filtered Finnely's squeaky voice out of his mind. What was Angel doing, right this moment? Or more appropriately, what was she doing a few thousand years ago? Adrian imagined her walking with a bunch of scruffy warriors carrying sheathed broadswords and battle-weathered faces, decidedly out of place. He nearly laughed at the image of his sister in such a position.
He found himself back in reality when a redhead boy named Aaron sitting beside him jabbed him sharply in the arm with a ruler.
"What?" he asked irritably.
"You'd better quit smiling like that," Aaron advised seriously. "Finnely doesn't look like the type of guy who tolerates daydreaming students in his class."
Adrian rolled his eyes mentally, but took the advice. Aaron was a serious guy who regarded rules like Moses did the Ten Commandments, but this time, he had a point.
Finnely was still reading from the textbook, but was shooting dirty looks in his direction, and his voice was sharp edged. As their eyes locked, Adrian noticed something. Finnely. . .there was something strange about him. . .something out of place. Adrian couldn't quite pinpoint what, but something felt different about him, and it was not the ratty voice. Trying to put his finger on it was like trying to catch shadows; it simply eluded his grasp. Then it was gone, as suddenly as it had appeared.
Perhaps he had imagined it?
When the bell rang, the students gathered up their things and exited the door in twos and threes, talking animatedly. Professor Donald Finnely watched the student named Adrian Halliwell leave with another – a tall handsome guy with dark hair and a strong build. Finnely consulted the computer's student profiles and read the name corresponding to the matching picture. His name was Dakota Marshall Wolfe.
Satisfied, Donald Finnely left the empty classroom. After nearly ten minutes of navigating through the halls and restraining himself from cursing at every student who blocked his path or stepped on his toes, Finnely emerged outside onto the campus grounds. He retreated to the back alleyway of the main building, which was vacant, with the exception of some automobiles and the college dumpsters. It was good enough to serve his needs. He waited for several minutes. If he remembered his schedule correctly, his next class was an evening one, and so he had no reason to worry about being late for the session. If not. . .well, the little brats could wait.
He paced back and forth for several more minutes before he felt the air shifting. Finnely stopped and watched tentatively. The air rippled like a dessert mirage as a being appeared in the back alleyway.
Finnely knelt down on one knee and bowed his head respectfully before the other figure. "My Lord Belthazor."
gasp OMG, their history professor is. . .is. . .gulp EVIL!!! And you thought YOUR teachers were evil.
Harry Potter: Oh, well you haven't had Snape as a teacher. How's that for evil?
Kendall: frowns I thought I took care of you last time. holds up hands again to blast Harry out of our Charmed/LOTR fandoms
Harry: laughs nervously and starts backing off Okay, okay, I'm going! Nice witch. Niiiiiiiiice witch.
Roos: enters the stage No, wait Harry! Gilluin said you might get me an owl like Hedwig!
Harry: Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt. . .owl magically comes swooping down
Roos: cool! holds out her hand and the owl lands on it
Kendall: glares And who are you? You're not anyone from either Charmed or LOTR. Get OUT of our fandoms!
Gilluin: gasps in shock at Kendall's behavior Kendall! Is that any way to treat the authoress' muse?
Kendall: Our muse? runs over and starts shaking Roos's hand enthusiastically It's a pleasure to meet you! Is it true that you have saved our authoress from writer's block time and time again?
Roos: Ahem, yes I am the muse. starts to get really annoyed Now, if you'll let go of my hand. . .
Kendall: takes out a pen and notebook Can I have your autograph? giggles like a fangirl
Roos: starting to feel disturbed Uh. . .
Gilluin: Okay, guys, we'll go backstage now. herds everyone backstage and draws the curtains closed peeks out between the curtains So, guys, see you next chapter! disappears behind stage and the audience hears her talking So Roos, what are you gonna name that owl?
Kendall: Cool! I have a personal autograph from our muse!
You can practically hear Roos's eyes rolling.