And here we are, finally, at the end of this infernal nonsense. I'm just as impatient to get this over with as you probably all are to read this, so here goes.

I own nothing. Thankfully.

Dark Chest of Wonders, Chapter 5: This Would Never Work In Reality, But Then Again. What In These Stories Would?

I shan't do it,Feanor decided. I shan't fight the thing. I'll simply walk away, leave the fools to clean up their own messes. The Valar have no power to stop me there, ha! Not as long as they continue their pathetic attempt to keep up the pretense of benevolence. The instant they raise their hands with ill intent, their plots over these thousands of years shall be made plain, and my people shall rally behind their true King once more! They dare not stop me; they shall not. Good riddance to them, and to the fool who has the gall to call himself my son.

My son… He remembered the instant of searing pain as Maedhros had died the second time, remembered his inner protests against the act of standing up to Daemon as an act of idiocy. My son, who spent his entire life running away from his duty to me…yet did not desert his goal against impossible odds on that beach. How dare he! How dare he place this sorry group of misfits above his own father! How dare he care for them more than…

Unbidden, another voice echoed in his head, a memory only; he tried to brush it away, for the speaker was yet another traitor. Yes, he cares for them, and he counts you as one of them. He loves you. You're his father.

Then he should act like a son, Nerdanel, Feanor told the memory, just as you should have acted like a wife.

He could almost hear her laughter, see the sunlight glance off of her warm red-brown hair. Hasn't he?

He hardened his heart and purpose, yet in the back of his mind a new seed was germinating. I'll beat the blasted thing, he decided, if only to spite the fool who could not.

o0o

Landing lightly on the sand, Feanor found himself the unknown observer of heated arguments, valiant attempts, and mass carnage.

Raistlin and Ken were quarreling furiously over something or other; the boy held a long silver lance in one hand and was vehemently protesting to the mage; Feanor caught the phrase "Dark Spore might take completely over" amid the ranting. Lyon and GranKuwagamon sought to hold Lucemon Shadow Lord Mode off, the latter still practicing his swooping attacks and the former holding a book in one hand and casting energy blasts with the other. Roger and Anakin were unconscious on the ground.

Feanor tapped Lyon on the shoulder; the young man gave an involuntary start, crying out "Who are you!"

Cursing, Feanor realized that neither Lyon nor Roger would recognize him. "Never mind that," he snapped. "Just what exactly are you attempting? That menace could swallow your scrawny body in a heartbeat, crush you underfoot and not even notice, yet still you persist. Do you have a plan of attack? A method to defeat the monster?"

"I'm just doing the best I can, sir," Lyon replied meekly; Feanor scoffed, completely forgetting that several thousand years ago, he himself had set off for a seafaring voyage without first building any ships.

"The best you can? Ha! I expected you to know something; I see now that was a grievous miscalculation. What have you discovered thus far about it? Has it any weaknesses? ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME! WHAT CAN I USE TO DEFEAT—"

Lyon's head snapped around as Lucemon dove in; from his hands a blast of power erupted, pushing the dragon away yet inflicting petty damage. Turning to Feanor again, he bowed his head, cheeks flushed. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I interrupted you. You were saying?"

Sighing heavily, the elf turned away. Hopeless. This was really hopeless. Yet…he had never let anything defeat him before. Striding back the way he came, keen mind running through all his possibilities—yet mostly drawing a blank—he couldn't help snorting as he saw Raistlin, struggling to hold the gigantic lance, attempt to mount the giant insect.

"And what do you believe—" he began.

Ken, who was helping Raistlin, whirled around. "You!" he cried.

"Yes, me," Feanor snapped. "What are you attempting!"

Raistlin looked up and smiled, a hard cruel smile. "Nothing," he replied, tossing down the lance; it landed at Feanor's feet. "You can heft that with ease, can you not?"

Feanor saw where this was heading. "Of course I can. So you expect me to straddle that monster and ride to my doom? Are you so eager to be rid of me? Not a very warm welcome, mage!"

"That thing, as you so charmingly put it, is a dragonlance," Raistlin replied forcefully. "We are combating a dragon. Need I explain further?"

"This is madness," Feanor muttered as he picked up the lance. "Absolute madness."

o0o

"I can't see a blasted thing! My faculty of sight has been completely obstructed!"

"Shut up! You think this is easy!"

Stay calm, both of you!

"Out of my head, mage!"

This was not going well. Feanor had climbed aboard the giant insectoid, lance in hand, only to be told by a wincing Ken that, instead of fighting the dragon proper, he would have to dive into the black ball of energy it was holding, for all the "dark power" seemed to be concentrated there. This, in Feanor's opinion, negated the need for a special dragon-fighting weapon, but the boy was in obvious mental pain and likely not in any condition to conjure another weapon. Lyon continued to preoccupy, if not wound, the dragon itself; Raistlin had gone to help, but still chimed in mentally as he had when outlining his plan back in the shop; Roger and Anakin were still unconscious (hail the mighty warriors, Feanor had thought as he stepped over their bodies); and that just left him, Curufinwe, against the beast. So it always was. But such, he figured, was the price he had to pay for his obvious superiority.

He hadn't counted on the insect having an attitude problem.

"Hang on tight; the sooner we get there, the sooner Ken won't be in pain anymore!"

"I give nary a damn how Ken feels, except insofar as it has affected his position outside on the ground and my position—"

"I thought you were a glory seeker. And one more bad word about Ken and I'll pitch you off."

"Be careful you do not find yourself affixed to the weapon I hold."

Funny, I thought the child had stayed behind.

"I thought you remained behind as well due to your incapacity to—"

Keep your eye on the goal or it will not be me with the incapacity.

"I shan't even deign to answer that."

I believe you just did.

It was hard going inside the Dark Area. The very atmosphere repelled the flying steed and its rider, yet bit by bit they made progress. A form, silhouetted by the dimness, appeared before them. Feanor blinked; he'd expected almost anything, but a golden-winged, red-eyed, white larva was not on his list of probable incarnations.

"You," it sneered; the voice was Lucemon's, except more sinister, almost sultry. "You, who laughed at me. You, who thought you'd outwitted me at every turn. You, who held me back. Who's dominant now?"

Feanor held up the lance. "That is what this battle will decide."

Lowering his weapon, he ordered GranKuwagamon to charge.

o0o

"Please, Lord Namo, show me!" Maedhros begged for what felt like the thousandth time. "It's my fault he's in this position, I have to—"

"And what do you think you can do for him should he fall?" the Lord inquired; humbled and chagrined, Maedhros bowed his head in subservience. "It is up to Curufinwe now. You must learn what is your place and what is not."

"I know," Maedhros sighed; behind him, a light flashed, and a familiar boyish voice moaned "Owwwww…."

"Lucemon," said Namo darkly. As Maedhros turned around, he saw the creature, now an angel again, pick himself up and dust off his toga. "You disobeyed the Pledge."

"I took advantage of the situation," spat Lucemon. "You can't force me to give up my dreams just because you don't like them. That's not fair!"

"Yet it's exactly what your utopia would do."

"Well, that's different."

"How?"

The question caught the would-be dictator off guard. "…..It just is!" he finally protested. "Because it's Me! Want to make something of it?"

Namo turned to Maedhros. "Nelyafinwe. What is the punishment for a group member who regresses?"

"What? Oh!" Rummaging in his pack, he produced the Fell Deeds handbook and flipped through it until he found the page. Then he blinked; perhaps there had been a typographical error? "It says…ah…Lord Namo, what is written here is the word "filing.""

"Filing?" Lucemon squeaked. "Torture? Slowly whittling away at my body while—"

"Filing," Namo repeated; out of nowhere, several thousand sheets of paper materialized over Lucemon's head and dumped down all around him. "Paperwork. Death, you see, is big business. And business is good. I am need of a clerical assistant…and I also must keep close tabs on you. You shan't be going on any missions anytime soon."

"But my father?" Maedhros interjected. "What of him?"

Namo sighed again. "Your father, and the other members of your Group who wish to, shall be sent forward in time. There is a good chance you can alter a prophesied future, and save a hopelessly fallen soul, if you help the Elves win a battle."

"Very well," Maedhros said, taking out his sword and limbering up. "Who is our foe?"

"The Dark Lord Sauron."

Now it was Maedhros's turn to shout "That's not fair!", but his plea too fell on deaf ears. The light flashed, and he found himself staring at someone he hadn't been sure he would ever see again.

"Father!" he cried, running into his arms; the older elf turned away.

"I won your fight, Nelyafinwe. But that does not mean all is forgiven."

"No," said Maedhros as he turned towards the sounds of battle, "it doesn't." But it does mean we've been given another chance. That you shall not be punished for your most recent infractions. That maybe someday, we can be a family again, and you will acknowledge that all I have done, the good and the bad, I have done in your name.

Closing his eyes, he kissed his blade, savoring the thought of battle with an almost guilty anticipation. Father, this mission…this fight…is for you.

o0oo0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

And so, over 6 months after it began, the story that has plagued our mortal existences is over and done with. Now I can focus on the next story in this cycle and on the Interviews. So please, stay tuned for "Once Again," the latest installment in the never-ending (and don't I know it…JK, I love these guys) series of Recovering Evil Madmen Support Group stories. To everyone who's still reading…I LOVE YOU ALL!