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.

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26: Fallen Into

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Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

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"Hey," Elrohir greeted Elladan at the kitchen counter, where he was partaking of Eowyn and Anatalia's brunch. "You think I should call our broker? Fortress and Altman stock are tanking like Isengard in water. Emmett promises he'll get it back on track. So we get it cheap and win in the end."

"We're wealthy enough," Elladan said wryly, "I don't want to get mixed up in it. Complicated."

"How's Legolas?" Eowyn inquired.

"Oh he's fine," Elladan replied, "We've all seen worse. Shouldn't expect him on his feet for a bit though… infamous stubbornness notwithstanding. How's the search going?"

"We're still ending up with nothing," answered Elrohir. "I'm hoping all the media hoopla will paralyze Wormtongue and his lackeys for awhile. Everything's unfolding nicely. Altman finally fessed up and said what Warrington's been blackmailing him about because it's for a lesser charge and liability than insider trading. It's some extralegal research on embryonic stem cells; more ethical problems than legal. Anyway, too bad for him, it's too late. Poor bastard. He really should have been more careful. Well. Either way… we have some time yet."

"So we have no names, no pictures, no nothing?" asked Elladan.

"Well it's going to take time," said Elrohir, "Remember we all kind of just stumbled into one another. All we have now are hobbit initials, and photographs from our memories. It's a big world."

"I thought we'd limit ourselves to the U.K. at least," Elladan said, and Eomer frowned at him, before his eyes lit up in understanding.

"Oh for the Valar's sake," the twin exclaimed, "we've been looking so hard our brains have turned inside-out. Of course! That would be around where the Shire had shifted. You're clever!"
"I know," Elladan said wryly, "I hadn't thought about it 'til just now, when I remembered that's where Grissom Warrington may have reclaimed the memories of Grima Wormtongue."

"I'll get to it right away," Elrohir said, putting one last bit of food into his mouth, "Thank you, good fare," he said to Eowyn and Anatalia quickly before vanishing off. He hurried away just as Adrian came down the stairs bearing his packed clothes.

"Where are you going?" Emmett asked him.

"Imladris," he replied, glancing at Elladan, who was smirking up at him proudly.

"I'll go with you," Elladan offered.

"I'll drive you to the airport," Ana offered, "I have to stay here awhile. I suppose you will meet us in the U.K.?"

"What's there?" Adrian asked.

"Hobbits," she replied with a shrug; she was still unsure of what those were.

"What's in Imladris?" Eowyn inquired.

"Aragorn," Adrian replied wistfully, "We're pressed for time," and heroes, Adrian reflected, "and it's going to be awhile before Legolas gets to his feet. We're going to need… we're going to need more than me."

She looked at him disapprovingly, and stepped toward him with an embrace, saying softly, "Do not sell yourself short."

He smiled at her. "I will see you soon."

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A cellphone was ringing.

Harding did not recognize the sound as his own, and therefore he simply coolly looked to the other occupants of the living room. He was surprised to find them staring at him expectantly, and he remembered that he was the one who kept Leland Greene's mobile.

Frowning, he weighed his options and decided not to draw it out just yet. He murmured his excuses and he rose to his feet, walking away from the living room where the strange batch of characters he had somehow fallen in with was crowded.

He strolled to an empty study and closed the door behind him. His companions did not seem surprised by the secrecy; they likely expected it to be Interpol business. The truth was, he was beginning to get the feeling he was getting in way over his head; they knew more of him than he did of them, and they were not making the time to tell him any more. First, it was because they were in a rush to retrieve Greene. And now, everyone was muttering something about beating Grissom Warrington to a bunch of… of… hobbits. He really had to get himself, and this demented little story together.

So far, he was sure of a few things. Indisputably, Grissom Warrington was guilty of blackmailing Zander Altman, industrial espionage versus Fortress Defense Systems International, insider trading, and a rather strange attempt of owning bioengineering and military weapons companies. He was also behind a rather sizeable batch of assassinations (although this likely cannot be proven), the attempted killing of Adrian Aarons, assault on the Austrian estate and damage of property, and the kidnapping of Leland Greene. He was also unfortunately still at large, on a quest for some mythical ring of power, and hell-bent on finding a bunch off… of… hobbits whom he believes has it in their safekeeping.

But that's just one guy. Then enters Emmett Rigare, who was informally booted from his uncle's company and basically belonged to a rag-tag team of folk who tasked a hacker to steal some information. Then enters two jobless twins who have so much money they can likely buy out half a continent with it. Bring in another socialite whose family owns one of the largest media companies in Europe. Bring in a detective in the LAPD…

They were all tied somehow, and between the little time he had in attempting inquiries along these last few days, he's only had one strange and persistent answer: Most of them were reincarnations of old friends who'd once fought a great evil. That is, save for the twins and Leland Greene who were immortal elves, the old man who was a wizard, and Anatalia Craxi who was new to it all.

He remembered the Fred fellow said it to him gravely. And then Brad the brother said it flippantly, saying he was still unsure but it's getting contagious. Adrian Aarons was more uncertain, though he too seemed to sway toward believing. Elladan said that they were once old friends, and that he, Haldir was a brave soldier from a magical land called Lothlorien. Eunice Rigare said she knows his face from long ago, but that she now remembers it as a cold, unmoving corpse.

Creepy, he decided. But he was curious. Besides, there was something here that begged for knowing; he certainly cannot dispute what the group's been able to accomplish thus far.

Harding already reported to his immediate superiors that Grissom Warrington was the villain and they were more than pleased that the threat of a secret hoarder of bioengineering and military weapons has been pointed out. He's to receive a commendation and likely, a raise too. He decided to leave out all the other strange details, however, in case they deem him insane and discharge him instead.

The duty of Horace Harding, Interpol agent, was officially done. But he remained, curious to see where this story would take him.

The phone was still ringing persistently. The call was registered as coming from a man named Rafe Montes.

"Hello?" Harding answered.

"Greene?" came the reply.

"No," Harding said, "This is a colleague of his."

"A colleague?" the man from the other end retorted, "You lying son of a gun, who the hell is this? This is his partner, man, and I don't know you. Where's Greene? What have you done to him?"

Harding frowned. "Detective Montes?" he hazarded.

"Yeah," Montes retorted, "Who the hell is this?"
"Agent Horace Harding, Interpol," Harding replied coolly, "Detective Greene is otherwise occupied."

"The hell he's occupied," hissed Montes, "You lying prick. Where the hell is he? It's all over the damn cable. Someone picked him up and tied him up and interrogated him somewhere and no one can find him. They blurred his face but I know that blasted shirt, my wife gave it to him last Christmas. My government got the original tapes, especially when a bunch of media tried to I.D. him and kept crowding the station. It really was Greene and everyone's going crazy here in the States. You're dead, you asshole, my department's onto you, my government's onto you and you're going to regret it when I meet you face to face. He'd better be alive. If something's happened to him—"

"Calm down, detective," Harding sighed, "I really am with Interpol. Look it up." He gave the man at the other end of the line a batch of codes and numbers. "He's fine. He's recovering."
Montes was at a loss for words. "He's really--? You'd better… I'm gonna look this up."

He hung up, and Harding looked at the mobile thoughtfully. He pocketed it again, and decided that if any answer could be trusted right now, it would be the answer of the Truth Serum patient up the stairs.

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Gandalf looked up from the book he was reading to find Horace Harding standing uncertainly by the door of Legolas' room. The wizard smiled at the new arrival invitingly, and the agent stepped toward them with caution.

"They warned me downstairs," Harding said quietly, "That his kind really does sleep with open eyes. It looks…" his voice trailed off. "I don't know what in the world they mean when they say that. 'His kind.'"

"You were once this way too," Gandalf said, sharing the same lowered tone.

"You would forgive me," Harding said wryly, "for not buying into any of this crap."

"I expected as much," Gandalf said easily, "It is not easy to believe." Gandalf closed the book and laid it on the nightstand. He rose from his seat by Legolas' bed and headed toward the door.

"I wondered," said the old man thoughtfully, pausing by the frame, "I wondered how long it would take you to decide to take advantage of his rather… honest predisposition."

"I don't mean to be invasive," Harding pointed out, "It's… it's part of my job, to want to find out…"

"I didn't mean it in the bad sense," Gandalf said gently, "Wake him. He needs to speak of these things too."

The old man/wizard left, and Harding looked upon the open-eyed sleeping 'elf' uncertainly. He cleared his throat, and called upon the detective. "Greene."

The 'elf' blinked several times, before breathing a long sigh and turning toward the voice who called to him.

"Haldir," he said.

"It's me," the Interpol agent winced, "Harding. I have to ask you a few things."

The 'elf' shifted, and pushed himself up to his quaking elbows. He was frowning, and was not very pleased with himself at all. But he needed to rise… there were things that needed doing. And besides, the fact that he still felt considerably ill assured him he was still going to be dreadfully honest and uncontrollably forthcoming, and he did not fancy the interrogations of a seasoned Interpol agent while flat on his back, especially since this agent came in the form of the even more formidable Haldir.

Legolas leaned against the head rest and leveled his eyes at Haldir's face. "The hobbits?"

"Whatever they are," Harding replied, "They've not been found."

This was making the elf a bit agitated, and he shifted again, his eyes turning to the door as if he was contemplating making a menace of himself in the ongoing search downstairs.

"They are taking care of it," Harding assured him, reading the telling expression on his face.

"I'm sure," Legolas murmured distractedly, "But I cannot just stay here and do nothing."

"You might want to settle a few things with me instead," Harding offered.

"Actually, I don't," Legolas said wryly, running a shaky hand over his weary face. But he looked intently upon the agent nonetheless.

"I've been hearing crazy things," Harding said, "But I cannot argue what you've all accomplished here. Perhaps there's some truth hidden in all this, somewhere."

"Truth is very relative," Legolas muttered, finding himself displeased that he was once again in this untenable position.

"Nevertheless," Harding insisted, "Tell me of it as you know it. Who are all you crazy people? What do I have to do with everything?"

Legolas stared at Harding for a long moment. The drugs were running out, he thought, for the answers were no longer too quick out his mouth. But they needed saying, he knew that well enough. He'd likely need to have a conversation like this with Brad as well, later.

Well, he sighed inwardly, It was bound to happen.

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Imladris,

Vienna, Austria

Mid-2004

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Elladan left him in the room, and simply supposed that he would know where to go.

He thought the 'elf' was crazy, but the strange thing was, his eyes and his feet did indeed lead him to precisely where it was that he needed to go.

The sword was like an offering to him, shining, timeless Anduril… The word slid past his tongue like a dream, it was so familiar, it was so right. He ached to discover how that hilt fit in his hands, how it's cool surface will lend him calm, how that weight will lend him assurance. The word in his mouth felt missed and true, and he was yet to touch the thing yet.

His hands were shaking. He's come to a decision way back in Italy, how hard was it to reach over, and reclaim 'himself?'

Who will I be, he wondered with a tinge of sadness.

Strange, he reflected, as if he was mourning the loss of some part of himself. It was not altogether so much of a leap; he will not lose Adrian Aarons, not really. He was all of all that he ever was, all at once. But there was an innocence to the life he once led too, with far less weighty responsibilities, far less weighty truths…

But as he said. This decision's already been made. He was needed, and that was all that there was to it.

Besides, he thought wryly, I've gone this far… And anyway, things will never be the same again.

He took a deep breath and made a grab for the hilt of the sword, thinking perhaps if he did it suddenly, he'd not have to think too much of it…

It was indeed cool, and reassuring, and so irrepressibly fit. He was not quite sure what he expected—for the world to flip on its head, perhaps, perhaps for wild colors and an elevating feeling, perhaps, perhaps a sudden rush of memories that would drown him with their intensity…

He did not expect the empty silence that accompanied the raising of the sword. He waited a while, closing his eyes, willing and willing to take what it was that was meant to be his.

Aragorn, he invoked, Awaken.

Claim me.

Reclaim me…

Whatever suits your fancy, he thought fervently, As long as you are here.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! Thanks for reading and especially for the reviews. I'm up to chapter 29 right now and I've taken our jet-setting group to Sinop, Turkey, hahaha. I know what you're thinking—is it ever going to end? Haha (but I hope you don't really think that ;))

Chapter 27 brings Legolas closer to Jimmy Goran :) 'til then and review if you can; I understand that we're all pressed for time after all :) I hope you had fun!