Hey everyone! I know that this chapter took a little bit to get up! To the people who wrote me with advice and comments, I didn't ignore you! I couldn't find email addresses in the FanFiction note things… email me again, and I will write you back! Here is the newest chapter, please review!

ON THE STRIP

My feet hit the pavement and I feel sick. Not just the kinds of sick that I've been feeling, but really sick, like, stomach-ache sick. I don't even remember the last meal I had, I just have a vague feeling it was before the ceremony yesterday. Was that yesterday? Good God, it could have been a month ago, and I wouldn't even know! I stop, and take a deep breath. I am going to destroy this thing, but I have to keep myself as sane as possible to accomplish that. I need to eat something. The very thought makes my stomach turn, but I will force something down, even if it comes right back up. At a corner a man steps in my path, and I'm not sure that until this point I had even realized how close I am to snapping. I could punch this man in the face right now and not even feel bad about it. He tries to hand me a slip of paper. If you're in Vegas long enough (about an hour) you'll either get very good at dodging these things, or accumulate a nasty little pile of business-card sized smut. Despite the fact I'm a woman I'm still given the things. A friend who was in Vegas on a business trip was pushed to take these things while walking down the street with his wife, and their baby in his arms. I push the peddler away, and for a second I think he'll take it in stride.

His face begins to smile a 'can't blame me for trying' smirk, but then twists into a look that frightens me. He snarls and demands my wallet. But he's staring at my pocket. Either he noticed me clutching at it (possible), or he senses… something… about what I have (this seems more likely to me). I take two steps back, and poise myself to run, but he moves with surprising speed and grabs my wrist. Now I draw back my hand and slap him across the face. In the self-defense classes I took in high school (it was that or gym class) they taught us to scream "fire" when attacked, but I can't bring myself to say a thing. I'm terrified of having another person join in this fray, if they do, they may wind up with this thing that is so horrifyingly precious to me. I start to claw at his eyes, but he's stronger than I am, he grabs my free hand with his free hand, and tries to restrain me with a one-handed grasp. It dawns on me that he is going to use his other hand to go for my pocket, and I grab his hands with my own, wishing I have longer nails to fasten myself to him more completely.

A tall man comes up behind my attacker, and I'm not sure if I should be relieved or give in the panic that now is overwhelming me. Fortunately, for me, the tall man grabs my assailant and I'm free. They struggle for a second, but the intervening stranger is obviously stronger than the smut peddler. I turn, and feeling a sudden pang of guilt over leaving my hero alone to fight this battle for me, I run into the street and am almost hit by a cab. I run around to the driver's side, and throw myself in the back seat. My luck must be running high tonight (can you feel the sarcasm?) because I happen to have a twenty in my pocket. I throw it over the seat, and yell out an address less than two blocks away. The driver forbears to yell at my lack of caution in favor of taking the extra money. As we pull away from the curb some of my guilt bleeds away. The stranger who had ducked into the fray to help me has overpowered the other man, and now has him against the wall and is somehow calming him. I allow myself to go limp in my seat.

HOLDING A STRANGER AGAINST THE WALL

Elrond was at turns grateful the woman had fled, and furious she had left without speaking to him. Her absence had resulted in the man who had attacked her going almost limp. Already he looked amazed with himself. He was obviously not someone normally given to violence. Elrond released him, and looked around desperately. He had followed his uneasy feeling out of the casino and had felt his complete attention drawn to the woman. He had continued trailing her, her hand had stayed constantly clenched around her pocket but no one seemed to pay any mind. Until she had locked eyes with the man on the corner and hell had broken loose. The odd feeling and her strange manner had not been conclusive of his suspicion, but the near maniacal look in the man's eyes as he had pulled him away from her was proof enough to Elrond. She had the ring.

Keeping his eye on the car she had jumped in, he flagged down a cab and pointing said "follow that car!" The cabby turned and stared at him for a moment and Elrond cast a twenty over the seat. The driver shrugged and hit the gas.

RECITING EPIC POETRY TO NOT GO INSANE

"Sing in me Muse, and Through me tell the story,

Of that man, skilled in all ways of contending,

The Wanderer…"

The same six verses of the Odyssey is cycling through my head. The first chorus of the play outlines the entire story, and we all memorized it when I was in high school. When I used to jog on the streets of Seattle, if I didn't have a walkman with me, I would run the poem through my head to help me keep the rhythm. It has a soothing beat and I started silently reciting it in the cab almost unconsciously. Now I'm saying it out loud, but there is no one around to notice, or think me strange. The poem has a strange side effect of making my mind have some semblance of order. It as though it is drowning out a touch of the insanity. I'm fumbling through my keys, searching for the one that opens this particular door. When I started preparations for construction I asked for an office close to the strip to avoid having to drive or be driven unless necessary. The result had been a small office two blocks off the strip. Normally the cost of rent for a place like this would be prohibitive for use as a mere office, but this space belongs to the owner of the casino I've designed and is between uses. Next month they'll move me and make this place something else, but for right now it's mine.

I find the key, and stumble inside. There are floor plans, scale drawings, a few really cool looking models, but these things that normally consume me don't even phase me tonight. I stumble to a setup where we've stored some tools and fumble through the items, discarding them on the floor until I find what I was searching for. A blow torch.

"…Skilled in all ways of Contending, the Wanderer,

Harried for years on end after he plundered the Stronghold…"

I snatch the handkerchief out of my pocket and in slow motion remove the ring. For one moment I have an overwhelming urge to put the thing on, "On the proud height of Troy, He traveled the Homelands…" but the steady recitation is helping. It's distracting me just enough to resist. I want to torch the thing, but this is a tool capable of great heat, and I would rather not, even in this mad state, burn down the building I was entrusted with, along with myself inside. I walk the ring and the torch to a work bench, and manage, without touching its metal, to fasten it in a vice. I hold the torch up, and almost fire it up, before remembering I need a mask to protect my face and eyes. Fortunately one in hanging by the bench, or else I may have simply paid the price and gone blind to get this act over with. "And learned the minds of many distant men, and strove only to bring his own men home…"

Finally, I have the ring in a vice, a mask to protect myself, and I fire up the torch. I touch the torch to the ring, and wait for it's speedy melting.

Nothing happens. I continue holding the flame to the ring. Nothing happens. Almost unconsciously, I turn off the torch and push up the mask. I stare at the ring. It looks completely unharmed. Dropping to my knees I start to cry.

FINALLY…IN A REALLY NEAT OFFICE

Elrond almost missed her, his cab had just turned the corner, as hers had driven off, but he had made the assumption that it had let her out, and he was now begging the Valar that he had been right. Passing a door, he noticed a fiery light flare brightly for a few moments, and then disappear. With an almost helpless desperation he grasped the door handle, and tried it, surprised when it turned easily and the door swung open. He quickly strode through it, and was startled by the sight of the woman he had been pursuing on her knees sobbing into her hands. She had not even noticed him yet, and he took a moment to searchingly scan the room. There were careful plans rolled in stacks on tables, a couple carefully unscrolled and being held down by paperweights on each corner. Some of the drawings were of individual rooms, and structures he couldn't determine in their plan-form. There were also some graceful little models, some almost obviously correlating to the meticulous drawings. His eyes lit upon a small sparkle of gold caught in a vice. There was a discarded blowtorch lying on the floor beside the kneeling, still sobbing figure, and the slow realization dawned on Elrond.

She had been trying to destroy the thing.