Evil from the Past
Author's Note: Yes! Éowyn's in! She's my favourite character in Lord of the Rings. What more could you ask for in a heroine? And yes, she will have her full share of sword-swinging. Hopefully, unfairly much.
Once more, I thank you all for your reviews, though some grow skeptical. Sorry that this took long. But it is nine pages, after all.
Lightning in the Marshes
Ithilien, Middle-Earth, the Fourth Age of the Sun
Ithilien, that fair country of climbing woods and falling streams, grass- covered and flower-blessed, with days of light sun and nights of clear moon, a haven amongst the bleakness of the fallen lands of Mordor. The kingdom of Faramir son of Denethor and his lady Éowyn.
Late afternoon, the Ithilien sun was softly warm, lying gentle fingers on the town nestled in the middle of the garden country. It was but a small town, but ever-growing amidst the beauty of that fair region. It expanded every day, under the vigilant care of its lord and lady. Soon, Ithilien would regain its glory as a city of Gondor.
The Lady Éowyn fingered the edge of a broken blade as she walked beside Faramir on one of the many flower-bordered paths winding through the town of Ithilien. "They break easily," she said, a note of discontent in her voice. "The fifth blade that broke this week." She glanced up at Faramir. "How then shall we build the defence of this country, on blades that snap like this one did today morning?"
Faramir smiled wanly. "It was an accident, my lady. And you were using great force."
"The blades should be made to withstand such force, then," Éowyn argued back. "My little army is growing well; but I need good weapons to arm them with."
For her own reasons, Éowyn had as much say in the defence of Ithilien as her husband. Faramir still commanded his elite force of the Rangers, but his wife handled the new recruits.
"We will see about that," said Faramir. "Now, here we are at the blacksmith's. You can take the matter up with him when he has reforged that blade of yours."
The sun dipped amongst the vales by the river Anduin to the west, colouring the horizon in faint blush shades. Éowyn stepped into the smithy as the blacksmith looked up from his work and immediately rushed forward to greet them. "My lady; my lord." He smiled politely at them. "What may I do for you today?"
Faramir returned the smile. "The Lady Éowyn broke yet another blade today," he replied, with a slight grimace as Éowyn displayed the broken shards.
"Again, my lady?" groaned the blacksmith.
"The fault lies with the bladework," protested Éowyn. "Make them stronger, my good blacksmith. Then they will not break as if they were wrought of glass."
As Éowyn argued with the blacksmith, Faramir found himself drawn to look outside the smithy door. To his uneasiness, he perceived two strangers standing in the shadows of a grove of tamarisk trees. They were gowned in white, with locks rippling past their pale shoulders, and they were staring straight at him. A slight chill descended upon the grove and all about it, dampening the pungent tamarisk fragrance. An icy breeze surged past where he stood at the door and blew out the forge fire.
The blacksmith turned around, startled. "What – "
Faramir heard a sharp intake of breath. He turned and saw Éowyn stunned, mouth open in shock.
"My lord!" she screamed, but it was too late.
The foremost of the two vampires flung Faramir aside with a flick of her wrist and they both charged into the smithy. Aleera grabbed the blacksmith and swung him around to face her. "Well? Are you the blacksmith here?"
The terrified man nodded, unable to speak.
"Good." Aleera flung her gaze about the room and settled it on a pile of tools and scrap metal. She scooped them up in her other arm and flashed an unsettling grin at Verona. "Let's go."
Faramir staggered up from the floor. "Release him," he ordered, drawing his sword.
Aleera tossed her head haughtily, fangs lengthening, but Verona stopped her, whispering something in her ear. Aleera considered, then grudgingly nodded. "Very well. As you wish."
Verona lifted off the ground and launched herself at Faramir, who tried to block her with the sword. The blade sliced into her shoulder and Verona screamed, but she recovered swiftly. Knocking the sword out of his hand, she seized Faramir. "You're coming with us too," she murmured delightedly.
Éowyn's fist connected with the back of the vampire's head. As Verona snarled in agony, the shieldmaiden scooped up her husband's sword and slashed Verona in the back, hewing with all her strength.
Verona spun around in fury. One blow from her powerful arm was enough to send her attacker flying across the room. Éowyn smashed into a wall and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
"Éowyn!" cried Faramir, but Verona was soaring through the entrance and through the evening sky after Aleera, and his desperate shouts were soon lost among the gathering clouds.
There was a quick little westerly breeze in the atmosphere, and Holly launched into its currents. All her worries, the weight of this mission, even Ron attached to her belt, she forgot as the wind swept her up in its embrace and rushed her through the clear air. She could almost have laughed out loud.
The landscape below changed from dead marsh to living green. Holly swooped in low beneath the mists and saw for the first time the dryad loveliness of Ithilien. Her breath caught in her throat. She slowed down, hovering amongst the groves and dells, inhaling deep breaths of the flower- scented air. Her eyes devoured the sights in delight; the emerald-green grass tall and deep about the singing, murmuring streams and quiet, gently- rippling pools, with blossoms running wild through them, lilies pale amongst the vibrant irises and the vivd anemones, clustering about the moss- devoured stones, rose-brambles and the asphodel crowding the shadowed grove of olive trees. In her time, there was nowhere you could get this sort of scenery. They didn't make them like this. They had never made them like this.
Holly could have stayed there forever, in Nature's fragrant wilderness amid the saxifrage and stonecrops. However, two winged shapes flying in the distance towards them shook her out of this trance. A chill crept through the woods of Ithilien and darkened the shady olive groves. Holly ducked under the cover of the trees as the Brides passed overhead with their struggling loads. When they had gone, she emerged swiftly and firing up her wings, shot off towards the lights of Ithilien before the setting sun.
Time Shuttle, Dead Marshes, Fourth Age of the Sun
Artemis was meditating. Or meditating as best as he could, with Foaly tutting and discussing lightning conductors with himself on one side and Hermione still in hysterics over Ron on the other. Artemis was also calling up his memories of the fairy folk one by one and running through them, until he could remember them as he had been able to before the mindwipe. He was certainly not going to let them mindwipe him again. The loss would be too great a second time.
He realised that he had missed his fairy friends all along. Holly and Mulch. Even Commander Root. They were the reason for the emptiness all that long, memory-less time. Artemis sighed inwardly. He doubted he should see them again, even if he got out of this mess. And he wanted to so badly.
Artemis's train of thought was interrupted by the returning Brides hammering on the Shuttle door. Foaly reluctantly led them in.
Aleera dumped the trembling blacksmith on the floor in front of Imhotep and Marishka. "This one's the blacksmith," she said. "Verona's is the Lord of Ithilien."
"What did you get him for?" asked Marishka, examining the unconscious Faramir. "He's got a head wound."
"He hit a rock face on the journey back," explained Verona innocently.
"Hm." Marishka looked at the bleeding gash. "I haven't fed for so long. Couldn't we just..."
Aleera twisted Marishka's elbow, making her drop the prisoner with a yelp. "Don't you dare," she hissed. "He's a hostage. One of high importance. We keep him until – until we get out of here."
Marishka glared.
Aleera ignored her. "You lot!" she called, gesturing at the three geniuses by the wall. "Get to work on that lightning conductor!"
Foaly rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am." He trotted over to the pile of tools, looked over them, finally selecting a few and exiting the shuttle. Artemis and Hermione filed out after him, Hermione casting a compassionate glance at the injured Faramir. Aleera tossed the blacksmith after them. "And be quick about it!" she yelled after them.
Ithilien, Middle-Earth, Fourth Age of the Sun
It took Aragorn much longer than Holly to reach the town of Ithilien, earthbound as he was. The sun had well nigh set by the time Roheryn pulled to a stop before the smithy. The red-haired boy was waiting by the door.
"There's someone in there," he told the king. "A woman, blonde and dressed in white. Unconscious. The place is a mess. Holly says that the Brides were here."
Éowyn, thought Aragorn, sliding out of the saddle. He raced up to the smithy and paused in the entrance.
Holly was leaning over Éowyn, small hands placed on the woman's temples. But it was the stream of blue sparks flowing from her fingertips into Éowyn's skin that had caught his attention. If Holly noticed him, she gave no sign. But then she removed her hands, stopping the flow of magic and sitting back on the heels to watch her handiwork.
"What are you?" breathed Aragorn.
Holly glanced up at him for a moment, but then she leapt up, startled. Éowyn shot upright suddenly, eyes wide in fear. "Faramir!" she screamed.
Aragorn rushed to her side. "Éowyn!" he said urgently. "Calm down, Éowyn. It's me. Aragorn."
Éowyn looked at him, her breath coming in short gasps. "My liege," she spoke, voice underlined with fear. "They took Faramir. Two monsters. I tried to – to save him, but one of them struck me. I know not what – "
"They were vampires," said Holly unexpectedly from Éowyn's other side. "And I think I know why they want your husband; either they need to use him for the lightning conductor, or as a hostage. Or maybe they're just hungry."
Éowyn was looking at Holly quizzically. "She brought you round," Aragorn hurriedly explained. "She is on our side – I think. Pardon, lady, but I do not know your name."
"Captain Holly Short."
A strange name, thought Aragorn, but never mind. Holly was speaking again.
"Now," she said, "if you want to save your Faramir, you had better hurry. Frond knows what they could be doing now."
"Building the lightning conductor?" suggested Ron from the door.
"Likely, but we don't know for sure." Holly slid up her visor, handing Ron the Moonbelt. "I know the way. Follow, if you're fast enough."
Éowyn scrambled to her feet. "The stables are not far," she retorted. "The horses of the Rohirrim are the swiftest beings that have ever lived upon this earth."
Holly put on the Moonbelt and fired up her wings. "That's what you think."
The Dead Marshes, Middle-Earth, Fourth Age of the Sun
One of the worst places in the world to build a lightning conductor had to be a marsh. Artemis was very sure of that.
His foot sank into the sixteenth marshy spot that day and he stumbled, spilling metal rods into the mud. Groaning inwardly, he gathered them up, back aching. His clothes were absolutely ruined, and the less said about his shoes, the better.
"Hurry up," called Foaly from the solid spot he had chosen to set the conductor up. The centaur had already created the base, and they were now working on the rods. "The faster we get this done, the sooner we get out of here."
"Indeed?" asked the blacksmith apprehensively as he fixed up the rods as Foaly had instructed.
"Well, I hope so."
They heard more squelching noises behind them and turned to see Imhotep wading distastefully towards them, dragging Faramir. "Well, there's your blacksmith," he pointed out haughtily. "Join them if you like, and make yourself useful. You might as well be a working hostage." He turned on his heel and waded back to the Shuttle in as dignified a way as possible.
Hermione tramped over to Faramir with her armful of rods. "Is your head okay?" she asked concernedly.
Faramir stared around him dazedly. "If you mean to ask how it is, then I would say it feels better. How can I help?"
Hermione still wasn't convinced. She produced a large handkerchief from the sleeve of her robes and made a makeshift bandage for Faramir. Then they waded back to the group.
"Well, I don't suppose you could handle much," said Foaly, scrutinizing his wound. "Just help to hold up the rods while I nail them, if you don't mind."
When they had fixed the lightning rods, they started on the wires. That meant more wading. Artemis, Hermione and the blacksmith struggled back and forth, laying out thin metal strips: the closest thing they had to wires. Hermione was fervently missing her wand, which Imhotep had confiscated, and which would have made work much easier. Foaly connected the last strip to the battery source. "There." He turned and yelled at the Shuttle entrance. "Hey! It's done!"
Imhotep and Verona appeared in the doorway. "At last," purred Verona, flashing her demonic smile.
Holly saw Imhotep marshalling the prisoners into the Shuttle. She doubled back into the mist, where Éowyn and Aragorn were picking their way through the fen (they had left the horses by the road, and trusted they could find their own way back to Ithilien). "Hurry up, will you?" she hissed. "They'll be going anytime soon. You guys are taking forever."
Neither of the Mud People replied; most likely they hadn't understood the latter part of her statement. She looked down to check on Ron and saw him staring at the sky wide-eyed. "Holly? I think it's going to rain."
Holly looked up to receive the first plops of rain on her visor. Overhead, the uneasy sky above the Dead Marshes suddenly transformed into a rolling black maelstrom, where the wraith clouds were tossed like phantom galleons upon wave after wave of storm. The wind picked up and hurled the mist about their ears. Holly was buffeted backwards, as if struck by a mighty hand, and crashed into Aragorn and Éowyn.
"It's Imhotep!" cried Ron as they struggled up against the brutal tempest. Indeed, Imhotep was standing in the doorway of the Shuttle, arms raised to commandeer the heavens. Even as they watched, he brought both arms down, a diabolical expression upon his face. Lightning split the storm-washed sky in two, followed by a sickening crack of thunder. The bolt of lightning hurtled down to the marshes in a blinding pillar of light – missing the conductor by only inches.
"We have seconds," Holly pointed out, "before the Shuttle gets recharged. Strategy, anyone?"
"No," replied Éowyn, her face set, knuckles white as she gripped her sword hilt. "We attack as fast as possible, gain entry to the machine and kill anyone who gets in the way. That should do."
Holly nodded, flicking up the settings on her Neutrino. Despite her inborn prejudice against Mud People, she was beginning to have a grudging admiration for Éowyn. Not your typical Middle Age damsel-in-distress. This woman had guts.
Another bolt of lightning flashed through the sky, striking the marshes. The lightning conductor trembled from the electrical charge in the air. They had no time to lose. "Now!" yelled Holly, shielding and opening the throttle on her wings. Ron pulled out his wand as they were lifted into the air. Aragorn and Éowyn charged after them, swords raised, battling the whistling gales as they attacked the Shuttle.
Imhotep brought down the third lightning stroke just as Aragorn smashed him into the wall. This time, his aim was true. The lightning conductor leapt into life, electricity running down the conductors and wires, fizzling towards the battery. In the Control Room, the dashboard returned to working order, lights flickering on and off. Foaly opened his mouth to make a comment about that, when Imhotep fell through the door.
Éowyn grabbed the blacksmith by the arm. "Leave and run as far as you can," she told him, pushing him out of the door. Then, hoisting her sword up, she rushed in after Aragorn, but stopped dead. Imhotep had recovered swiftly. He now had Faramir with a curved sword-blade at his throat. The Egyptian's eyes darted from opponent to opponent, shining with triumph. Aragorn and Éowyn froze. Their eyes locked with Faramir's across the room. A desperate stalemate.
"I knew he would come in handy," whispered Verona to Aleera, delighted.
That was when Captain Holly Short unshielded to fire.
The laser beam caught Imhotep on the hand. Imhotep yelped, dropping his sword and releasing Faramir, who attempted to make a run for it, but was caught by a furious Imhotep. Faramir wrenched himself free and fell over the dashboard.
This action had serious implications. In his fall, Faramir had unintentionally hit two important buttons. His left hand had landed on the Open/Close door button. The rescuers heard in dismay the door hissing shut. The second button was the Revert Button. This button automatically entered the coordinates that had last been given: in this case, namely Castle Dracula, Transylvania, 19th century.
There was no time to waste, however. Éowyn swung her blade at Imhotep, who blocked it with his own, which he had managed to grab in time. The two entered into rapid swordplay, while Aragorn desperately held off Verona. Marishka went for Holly, who spun her off target with a well-aimed blast. Ron ran over to Hermione and began to rip at her bonds in vain. Aleera grabbed him and swung him into the wall.
Harry and Root decided they had done enough watching and joined in the fray. Harry shoved the computer chair into Aleera's back, knocking the Bride over. Root rushed to the aid of his officer, whacking the back of Marishka's head with his blaster's barrel. Faramir, for lack of a better weapon, grabbed a leftover metal bar and brought it down on Imhotep's bald crown. This gave Éowyn a chance to draw blood with her blade tip on their enemy's arm. Imhotep roared and thrust his sword at Éowyn. The shieldmaiden parried the blow and forced his blade to the side, while Faramir repeatedly hammered the Egyptian with the metal bar.
All the while, the coordinates were running back to the 19th century.
The bleeping from the dashboard momentarily paused everyone. In the following silence, the Shuttle door slid open. And neither the rescuers or the prisoners liked what they saw outside very much.
"D'Arvit," swore Root in disbelief.
Imhotep picked himself off the floor, with his familiar sinister smile despite his wounds. "Welcome to Transylvania," he said, in malicious delight.
End of Chapter
Next chapter coming... Welcome to Transylvania
In which they meet a warm reception, Captain Jack Sparrow gets things explosive and something extremely nasty happens to Holly.