Author: Mirrordance
Title: For Every Evil
Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.
14: He's There, You're Not
Flight, L.A. to Vienna
Mid-2004
Anatalia's cell phone rang, and she excused herself from the conversation with Elladan to speak to her barking and loving father.
'Where the hell have you been?' he asked her in Italian, 'I thought you've been abducted or murdered and dumped by that terrible man.'
She laughed nervously. 'I'm on a plane to Austria, Papa. I'm alive. I did leave word that I was taking a vacation.'
'Your mother was very worried,' Marcelo said.
'No she wasn't," Anatalia countered, 'She's actually very flippant about all this. I think she is dying for a grandson.'
'I did not hear that,' her father retorted, 'get back to work, child. I need you to go to an event for me. Its tomorrow night, in Rome. I will leave tickets for you and that despicable boy.'
'He's kind of busy…' she said tentatively.
'This is very important, Ana,' Marcelo said, 'Leave him if you must, I'd even be all the happier for it.'
'I bet,' she said sarcastically, 'I'll see what I can do. I love you. Send my hugs to mama.'
She hung up the phone, and turned to the open-faced elf sitting beside her.
"Did you know," he said, "that I can pick up about, say, one in every three words of Italian?"
"So many secrets," she chuckled, "I have to get back to work. Some people do that, darling."
He smirked at her shamelessly. "You said something about me being busy."
"It's a party," she replied, "One of those quasi-business types. I have to be there. You're invited too, but I know you're in the middle of something. Do not worry about it, all right? I have it covered. I can see you in a few days."
"Besides," he said dryly, "Your father couldn't possibly hate me any more than he already does."
"Actually," she grinned, "The less time we spend together, the more he'll like you."
Imladris,
Mid-2004
They took Elrohir's BMW and a cab to Imladris, since Elrohir, Elladan and Legolas did not really expect to return with 'additional baggage.' Anatalia stayed in the airport to fly to Rome, which made them one less but still unable to fit in the sporty car. Nevertheless, they all did arrive to where it was they were going, and the new arrivals looked up at the estate with awe.
"Welcome home," Elrohir helplessly said to Adrian, who stared at him, perplexed.
"That's kind of creepy," the adan commented.
Halvor welcomed them and recognized the King of Men. With wide eyes, he bowed before Adrian murmuring in elvish, 'My lord.'
"That's creepier, isn't it?" Elrohir grinned at Adrian, taking him by the arm and steering him up to Estel's old room.
"What did he say?" Adrian asked.
"He said 'my lord,'" said Elrohir.
"This is like getting Punk'd," Adrian muttered.
Legolas watched The adan from the vantage point of one of Imladris' grander balconies. Adrian was walking about the grounds and gardens, pensively. The sun was setting and the gracious land was awash in glorious gold, and a kingly man strolled through it in search of something he did not yet know.
Estel. Imladris. 2004. They're like a trio of unlikely dreams caught together in the restless night of a blue moon— having one was rare enough, two was virtually impossible and three… three simply does not happen.
And yet here we are.
He watched the body of an old friend walk through the lands of an old life with a new mind, likely a new soul. The sight was a comfort, the reality a persistent ache. More contrasts, there.
Step forward, step back. He paced, swayed, almost uncertain of staying or leaving. Maybe Adrian was thinking, Was it getting too dark? Was it still light out enough? Was he getting too cold? Was he needed inside?
Adrian wrung his wrists, curious little habit that did not quite fit with the more certain and driven Estel. Indeed, Legolas was at a loss with how to deal with an Aragorn who did not know what to do. And he was-- realizing just now—just as much at a loss over being in a position of sudden leadership.
Do I go to you, Legolas wondered, suddenly realizing that he too, despite the old body, the old soul, the full-knowing, was just as uncertain of what to do, just as much in search of something he was yet unsure of.
Taking a deep breath, he went out to the grounds himself, and made it just in time, since the adan was already making his way back into the house, and they met at the door.
"Is there anything at all that you remember?" Legolas asked him quietly.
"I'm new here," Adrian said with an apologetic smile, "I'm sure whoever it is you think I am, I'm not it. Maybe I'm just like, the default guy. I mean, everyone else is dead…"
"Maybe you're just being stubborn," Legolas insisted, "If you open yourself up to the possibilities, mayhap dreams would come to you, distant memories. Such that when you walk here, when you touch things, you know you've been around once before. I have an idea. Something that once was truly and absolutely yours lies in rest here in the house. Perhaps you and I, we can go--"
"Listen," Adrian cut him off, beginning to get irritated, "It doesn't happen that way. I live in the real world. Or if you think your world is just as real then let me put it another way to you. I live in the now world. You sound like a new-age quack doctor. 'Open yourself up,' 'let down your guard,' et cetera. I am here, aren't I? And I find that nothing here matters to me any more than that I find them beautiful. None of these was ever mine. None of the memories you talk about. None of anything that you've said to me. And this face," he motioned at himself, "This is mine now, to do with as I will. Your friend is dead. It's my time. Accept it."
Legolas set his jaws in annoyance, possibly even in repressed anger. The man's irritation, his indignation was justifiable, the elf tried to convince himself, tried desperately to understand. Adrian Aarons didn't know what he was talking about, it's all right. He'll find out…
He'll see, Legolas thought determinedly, He'll see.
"I'm just me," Adrian said, in turn thinking,
You'll see.
Elrohir looked up from his fervent reading in the library to find Brad just entering the vast space, bearing a steaming and enticing cup of coffee and looking around with interest in his fiery eyes. The adan did not seem to know he was not alone, and Elrohir watched him a long moment.
Brad ran his fingers reverently atop the opulent tables, the intricate frames. Curiously, Elrohir found him drifting and pausing by the section of the library that kept the records of the Third Age, particularly the War of the Ring in which Brad's likeness –Boromir- played an important part.
Elrohir's skinned crawled… it was like seeing a ghost that did not know it was dead. Absently, Brad ran his fingers over the books, mind not knowing what they contained though it seemed the body somehow did.
Great, Elrohir thought, not quite appreciating the irony that the one guy he did not want to remind of the past seemed to be the only one remembering it.
"Good morning," Elrohir greeted him suddenly, making him jump just a little. Brad cursed at the steaming coffee that spilled over his fingers, and Elrohir winced a bit at the imagined scolding he'd get from Lord Elrond should that drink have gone to the books instead.
"Sorry," said the elf sheepishly.
"It's your house," Brad shrugged, walking over coolly and looking over Elrohir's work, only to find them in Elvish and therefore, incomprehensible. "What is that? Some kind of Arabic? Rune? Some secret language you and your brother invented 'cos you rich brats didn't have anything else to do?"
"Ha," said Elrohir, "It's Elvish."
"Right," Brad said in mock seriousness, "Right. So you elves. When Santa makes his list in English and checks it twice, and he gives it to you guys so you can make toys, how do you understand it then?"
Elrohir bared his teeth at the adan. But did not dispute that the facts were indeed hard to believe. He really was as likely as a Santa Clause or an Easter Bunny.
"You saw the test, lab rat," Elrohir snapped, "You know there's something different about me."
Brad shrugged. "There are a lot of things that are yet to be documented."
"And there are other things that have been forgotten," Elrohir pointed out, "Why are you being so clever anyway? You're here already, some part of you must think it's remotely possible."
Brad shrugged. "My friend is here, isn't he? Idiot needs some looking after. And well my brother's here too, 'cos he thinks I need looking after. And then there's this little thing of someone blasting the hell out of my workplace. I really might as well."
"What would you do if everything we told you was true, hm?" Elrohir asked. "What then?"
"Then it's true," Brad said simply, chuckling a little, "And anyway, it's not my problem since you'd likely tell me what to do then too." He nodded at Elrohir's work. "So. What are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for any entry in these annals that could possibly resemble our situation," Elrohir answered, "You know, reincarnated heroes, et cetera, et cetera. I want to see under what context it was done, what they did, who their foes were."
"Reincarnated heroes?" Brad smirked. "Including me?"
Elrohir smiled slightly, "Yes, including you."
"I'm flattered," Brad said, "But I'm not crazy."
"I'm also," said Elrohir distractedly, "looking for ways of… well, I've been looking at potions and spells. The kind that remind people of who they once were. The situation is hard enough, without us constantly having to encounter complaints and disbelief from within our own ranks." He paused in thought, "Brad… is this place not familiar to you at all?"
Brad shook his head. "This mausoleum? No."
Elrohir sighed, glanced at his work. He was yielding nothing of importance. Surely this incident has happened at least once before?
I mean everything and everyone is happening twice, he thought exasperatedly, Why can't I get any supporting document that could help me, at least…
Elrohir and Brad looked up at the arrival of Elladan, who was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt, having come from a drive to a nearby, back-country bread shop that he loved to frequent. He was holding the basket of fantastic-smelling breads on one hand, and a tabloid on the other.
"Good morning," Elladan greeted the pair, sitting down upon one of the elaborate desks strewn about the room, putting down his bread basket and lifting up the tabloid table of contents that featured Anatalia's photograph on the corner. "You see? That's my girl."
His twin rolled back his eyes, and looked at Brad sardonically. "Can that face get any prouder?"
"Yeah, it can look exactly like yours," Brad said coolly.
"Hey brother," said Elrohir, nodding at the cover Elladan was still looking fondly upon, "Are you blind? Isn't there a guy posing with her over there?"
"Grissom Warrington," Elladan read dispassionately, "Vice President of Fortress Defense Systems International, with Miss Anatalia Craxi, President of Craxi Publishing, wearing a stunning vintage Valentino. See page 11."
"I haven't seen you in the papers," Elrohir teased, "Wasn't that photo from her party last night? How quickly you've been replaced."
"Oh, but he's old," Elladan pointed out, making Brad's eyebrows raise in disbelief.
"Aren't you a hypocrite," said the adan.
"So now you believe we're old!" Elrohir exclaimed triumphantly, "Just when it's convenient for you!"
"I think I walked into some other conversation," Elladan murmured, glancing at Anatalia's photograph.
It was at that moment that Fred and Adrian stepped into the room, looking fresh and wide-awake.
"What's the commotion all about?" Fred asked.
"Ana's replaced Elladan!" Elrohir said excitedly, wanting to get a rise out of his twin.
Adrian craned his neck to look at the photograph. "He's got nothing to the look of you, Elladan."
The elf grinned. "That's why you've always been my favorite."
"Then again," Adrian added in a sing-song way, "He's there. You're not."
Elrohir laughed aloud shamelessly, just as Legolas and Gandalf entered the room each bearing a cup of tea.
"Legolas!" Elrohir exclaimed, "Gandalf, look! Ana's—"
"Oh go do something else," Elladan retorted, folding over the page, "It's getting old, brother."
"You say that word with such clever spite," said Elrohir, "Careful I might one day take it seriously and thereafter take offense."
Legolas smirked at the exchange, turning to Elrohir expectantly. "Ana's what?"
"She's replaced him," Elrohir replied impishly, to Elladan's dismay.
"At least he's not very good looking," Adrian pointed out.
"But then again," laughed Brad, saying it alongside Elrohir, "He's there and you're not."
"Don't you folk have anything better to do?" Elladan asked.
Elrohir sighed. "I've been reading since before dawn. I suppose you can say I've been craving for levity."
"That ought to account for your particularly ill-behaved predisposition," Elladan said.
Laughing, Legolas took the tabloid from Elladan and leafed to the page until he came upon the picture in question.
For an elf who's always had an eye and great appreciation for beauty, it must have been quite a stunning fellow Anatalia Craxi had for a companion such that Legolas did not even notice the Italian beauty beside him. His head shot up toward Gandalf in alarm, and the wizard's brows rose in inquiry.
"Call her," Legolas said to Elladan urgently, "Call her," he repeated, striding over to Gandalf and showing him the photograph. Anatalia Craxi was smiling blindingly and beguilingly, wearing her stunning vintage Valentino as she was standing next to Grima Wormtongue.
TO BE CONTINUED…