Can I just repeat what I said about detesting a poisoner? I can just add it to the long list of strikes Leilanni has against her.

Something -- or someONE, I should say -- makes quite forceful contact with my side. And then again.

I manage to grab a hold of what's hitting me. It's a foot. I hear Leilanni make a yelping noise. I can't quite seem to get my eyes to focus, and my head is pounding so hard that any noise hurts and I can barely hear anyway. I drag the foot back towards me and sink my teeth into whatever's closest, as hard as I fucking can.

Leilanni screams, and my head explodes. Well, not literally, but it sure as hell feels like it. I bite her again, just for good measure, taste blood, and then shove her away. I hope it fucking scars.

I would like to apologize for the excessive use of profanity. If you'd just been poisoned, and had the freaking grandpappy of all headaches, you'd curse too.

"Bitch," Leilanni whines.

I manage to crack my eyes open. She's doubled over, clutching her shin. There's blood staining her fingers, and I feel a surge of satisfaction. Yes, I realize it's petty. No, I don't care.

I very carefully move my head to examine my sorroundings. If I can look around with my head staying attached and not hurting more than it already does, it'll be a good day. Or, at least, a better day than it has been so far. At least for not knowing what day it is. We are in a room, a stone one, which really isn't a great deal of help, since all of Minas Tirith is stone. How can I tell we're still in Minas TIrith. Elementary, my dear Watson. The stone is all white. The don't call it the White City for nothing, you know.

I slowly maneuver myself into a sitting position, keeping my one barely-open eye on Leilanni. She makes one move before my head is back on straight, and I don't care how much it hurts, I'll kill her with my bare hands.

"You know," I say conversationally, leaning back against the wall. "Someone who has this much of a jilted-bitch response to losing a guy she never had is in serious need of counseling."

"Shut up," she mutters, poking at her bleeding shin.

"It's kinda sad, actually," I continue, slowly moving into a crouch. "You didn't love him, not really."

She shoots me a quick glare. "How do you know?"

I shrug. Ouch. Moves the head, remind me not to do that again for a while. "You don't even know what love is. It's obvious. Neither one of you knew what love is. Mitanna didn't know, otherwise she would've known enough to back off when she saw that Aragorn and Arwen were together. Nothing can compete with that kind of love."

"Legolas is different," she mutters, still glaring at me.

I get my feet more firmly underneath me. The room has stopped spinning, which is a definite plus. Everything's very focused now, like it is during battle. "Yeah, Legolas isn't Arwen's betrothed." I smirk at her. I know I'm egging her on, and I know I shouldn't. Knowing doesn't stop you from doing something stupid, though. As I think I'm proving. "Legolas is mine."

And before everyone starts going on about how no one owns anyone, and everybody's their own person -- I KNOW. You're preaching to the choir, baby. But that's not how she thinks, I'd bet a month of my pay. And I make quite a bit more as a leader in Minas Tirith than I did flipping burgers.

She shrieks and leaps at me like some kind of avenging harpy. I brace myself and bare my teeth. Bitch going DOWN.

I clench one fist, bring it up and under her chin, knocking her back and flat on her perfect ass. Then I bolt for the door. Just not fast enough. She grabs my ankle and latches on, but doesn't think to use her teeth. See, I'm just more creative in the ways of pain than most. Lucky me, eh?

I kick the foot back, nail her in the face, and take off.

I go racing out the door, and I'm around the corner and smack into the wall before I realize I don't know where I'm going.

111

It has recently occured to me that I spend far too much time unconcious. Lack of food and rest, blood loss, blows to the head, wine, and solid stone walls are excellent ways to enter and maintain that state for long periods of time. Trust me.

I sit up and clutch my head. Head pains? Also getting far too common.

Leilanni folds her arms and glares at me. "How many times am I going to have to catch you?" she snarls.

Hmm. How about until you grow a brain under all that blonde and learn to tie up your prisoners? Bimbo. "Get a clue," I snap instead. "You have to keep poisoning me and bashing me over the head just to catch me, because you know you're no match for in a fair fight. And, if we're completely honest, the only reason that you're doing this at all is out of some twisted sense of inadequacy. Legolas is never going to love you, Leilanni. And if he ever agrees to do anything for you, it'll be because of me, because he's afraid for me, and I would die before I would let you put a single one of your nasty claws on him. So do your worst, bitch. Everything you've wanted since you've got here is denied to you. And you have no one to blame but yourself."

She stares at me for a second, and then her big blue eyes fill with tears. I throw up my arms. Oh, for the love of...

"It's not fair," she whispers. "It's just not fair. Everything I did since I came here was for HIM. And he chooses YOU! You're...you're..." She seems at a loss for words. Not surprising, considering her brain capacity. "You're not even PRETTY!"

I laugh slightly. She sounds like me, for a second. "I'll agree with you."

"What does he see in you?" she hisses.

I think about that for a second. Do I know? No. And you know what? I'm OK with that.

I look at her and shrug. "Maybe it's the fact that I see him for HIM, and not for his lineage or his title or his power. Maybe because I listen to his stories and his songs and don't try to shimmy my way into his pants. Maybe because I love him for his mind and his life and those stories, not because he's pretty." I sigh. One thing I never expected to feel was pity. It's not a lot, but there's a bit there. Of course, it's currently being overwhelmed by anger and satisfaction at watching the bitch's downfall. But hey, someone has to educate the ignorant. "You don't get it, do you? It's all of him. Not just the looks and the title, which I'm sure you never even got past. It's all of him. And someone like you could never understand that."

She scuffs her shoes over the stone floor. "You can go home," she blurst suddenly, and fishes a gold pendant out of a pocket. She holds it out ot me. "You could go home, Kayli. Just use this pendant, and you could go home."

Oh, yeah. I believe her, no fear. "What am I supposed to do, click my heels three times and say 'there's no place like home?'"

She frowns. "I don't know," she mutters. God, she's not even clever enough to think up a plausible lie. "Mitanna made it, and she didn't tell me how to use it. I think she just thought that we'd end up where we wanted and not have to use it."

"Mitanna was a moron," I say. "She should've at least told you how to use it. And you should figure it out and use it. I'm not leaving. I would love to see my family back home, but I can't loose what I have here. I don't want to kill you, Leilanni, but if you try to hurt me or the people I love again, I will."

She suddenly snarls at me and chucks the pendant at my head. "Take it and go, Kayli. That Elf will be mine."

I pick up the pendant and pocket it. "Dream on, bitch."

She storms out.

One reason the bad guys never win? They're dumb. The good guys are much smarter. Very rarely does an intelligent protagonist leave a live enemy behind. Now, how to get back to the palace...

111

Elessar was pissed. Seriously. He does not like having that bitch loose in his city.

That was three days ago. Count them, three. Now she's busted out the bow and is attempting to play sniper whenever I go out into the city. Which means I would go all the time, if I wasn't agraid she'd pick off some of the unsuspecting populace. Her aim sucks.

And before you start in on me about how I'm supposed to be a smart protagonist, I didn't have a weapon.

And if you think Elessar is pissed, dig on Legolas. I have never seen him so angry. Never. He's ready to fly off the fucking handle if he sees her. He, and everybody else, let's face it, has taken to carrying weapons with them wherever they go. Legolas, however, is very intent on using them.

I'm kind of hoping he finds her, actually. It'd be funny, if nothing else.

We got through Faramir and Eowyn's wedding. But we have one more thing to do before everyone once more goes there seperate ways and settles into their new lives.

Yeah, you guessed it.

I only have one week left before I am, officially, a married woman. Well, actually, it's only six days and about five hours.

Please, could someone just kill me? Please?

And to think, thought the fittings for the bridesmaids dresses were horrible. Oh, no. It's nothing compared to this. We should have fucking eloped. Do they have elopement in Middle-Earth? Something to look into.

The dressmaker sighs and makes a noise suspiciously like a snarl. "Will you hold still?"

I frown and cross my arms over my chest. No, I cannot hold still. Would you be able to hold still?

She folds her arms over her own chest and glares at me, then throws up her arms, as if she just can't believe her posture was so horrible. Ha! I have that effect on people.

Frustrating them, not making them slouch. I'm scrambled. Just ignore me.

Faramir pokes his head into the room, and Iariel immediately flies off the handle. She's almost as nervous about the damn ceremony as I am. "He can't see the bride!" she shrieks, swinging her apron at Faramir's head.

"I'm nowhere near the door!" Legolas yells from somewhere...not near the door. Let's just say...out of the two of us, I'm not the only one who's edgy. Legolas is teetering scarily close to the brink of insanity.

It's another effect I have on people.

Yes, I do love it. It's an empowering feeling, knowing that you can drive a guy absolutely crazy without even really trying. Of course, most chicks go for a less harmful type of insanity, but I'll take what I can get. 'Sides, I am definintely not like most girls. I like it that way.

Am I babbling? I am, aren't I? I told you I was nervous.

Faramir bats Iariel's apron away from his head and glares at her. He does not like being forced to spend time away from his new wife.Hey, that's OK. I'm not exactly having fun here, either. "Elessar sent me," he snarls. "We have a problem. Leilanni has gone to the Orcs of Mordor for allies. Our informations says they're planning to attack."

I say something really foul I picked up from Elladan and start to get down from the stool thing the seamstress has me on. Iariel apparently sees me heading for the door, about to head out in my spiffy, incomplete wedding dress, so she squeaks, grabs my arm, and shoves another dress at me. "He can't see the bride!" she shrieks again.

"Fine, fine!" I yell, ducking her apron. I do not know WHY she is so crabby. Her own campaign is going well. Brioc is completely stuck on her. So why she's swinging her apron at people is kind of beyond me.

"I'm across the bloody room!" Legolas yells. Legolas NEVER yells. This is getting out of hand. I swear at Iariel and gesture Faramir out of the room. He holds his hands up in surrender and leaves. The seamstress mutters something about losing a whole days work and storms out.

This is so not my day. Can it get worse?

Oh, shit. Way to go, Kayli. Way to jinx yourself.

This day is not going to end well. Why did I want to do this again. I head out of the room and catch sight of Legolas, standing by the window, downing another glass of wine. Oh, yeah. I remember now.

I walk across the room and appropriate his wine glass. I'm pretty sure he's had enough. It's the middle of the freaking afternoon. He does NOT need to be getting sloshed. "Do we know what they're planning to attack? Not even Leilanni is dumb enough to march on the City."

"Guess," Legolas say sarcastically.

Ithilien. Naturally. "Great," I mutter. "So, when do we leave?"

Brioc folds his arms over his chest and shoots a nervous glance at Iariel. She's making him paranoid. "Are you always so eager to do battle?"

"I'm not eager. I want this bitch dead and gone."

"Here, here," Hal says cheerfully.

I glance around the room, taking a quick head count. Both brothers, Hal, Legolas, Brioc, and Iariel, standing in the corner, looking lost. She has no idea what she's supposed to do when we're standing around discussing battle. I kinda feel sorry for her.

"Elessar wants us to leave as soon as we've gathered our Men," Boromir says. "You and I will march out in the morning. Brioc is leaving with a contingent to escort Faramir and our Elven friends to their own troops."

"Eowyn wants to come," Faramir says.

I shrug. "Good. We could use another blade."

He laughs. "Now I know why she likes you so much," he says. "Unlike everyone else, you WANT her to fight."

I shrug again. "If you don't want her with your Rangers, she can come with us."

Boromir's eyes widen. "Now, wait just one moment --"

Legolas cuts him off. "The Dwarf is accompanying us," he says to Faramir, mostly to prevent Boromir from making an ass of himself. "As will my brother."

"I still say we should give her to your father," Hal says. Didn't I tell you he was evil? I'm liking him more all the time.

Derinsul pokes his head into the room. "Elessar is yelling," he says casually. "Does he do this often?"

"Not usually," Brioc replies. "Who is he yelling at?"

"The Steward. I believe the word 'traitorous' came into play. He's almost as impressive when he's angry as our Adar."

Boromir and Faramir both wince. Oddly, they have a pretty easy time believing that their Adar would work against the King. Oddly, me too.

Did I just use the word Adar? Ugh. Too much time with Elves.

Somebody help me.

TBC...

OK, for everybody's who's interested, FFN will not allow you to put addresses, email or websit, into fics or reviews. Interesting, no?

So, I'm gonna try to cheat.

paigedarkefic at yah oo groups dot com.

Ain't this fun?Here's hoping it works.