The eighth chapter! Please enjoy responsibly!

Chapter Eight

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It didn't take long for that smile to vanish completely.

Naomi was hardly a foolish girl; she knew full well that her physicality left much to be desired. In fact, it was primarily for that reason that she had made such an effort to hone her wit. She would never be able to entice men with her body; nor would she ever be able to muscle them out of her way. All she could hope to do was impress them with her witticisms.

But this plan had its faults; namely, that she herself could be muscled out of the way. And the Elven prince had taken a shockingly short amount of time to figure this out.

The first time, she had thought it nothing more than a mere accident. Legolas had bumped into her while serving himself breakfast, hard enough so that she winced; but he had quickly apologized, and she soon forgot the incident.

What became harder to ignore were the suddenly constant mishaps. Just in the hour or so before they broke camp and returned to their journey, he managed to knock into her no less than seven times. She had bit back several choice comments about the supposed graces of the Elves, reasoning that he was obviously still in a snit over her previous comment. No, it would be far better to let him let his guard down. Then, and only then, would she launch her attack.

Fortunately, her chance came rather sooner than she thought. When they stopped for lunch, the Elf accidentally-on-purpose knocked her hand when he handed the Dwarf his food. Seizing her opportunity, Naomi promptly dropped the bread she had been holding. Staring in exaggerated horror at the now dirt-encrusted bread, she gasped heavily and put her hand to her mouth in mock shock before she launched her tirade. "Oh! My lord! What a wonderful thing you have just done!" The Elf stared at her warily. She continued mercilessly. "Why, you've managed to dispel every myth about the alleged gracefulness of the Elves in a single morning."

The Elf seemed to think that she would leave it at that, and that had indeed been Naomi's initial impulse. But when she saw the look of derision on his face she threw caution to the winds, seized Legolas' hand and began to pump it energetically. "Really! It is a tremendous accomplishment, I simply must congratulate you!" The Elf's face had turned a rather gratifying shade of puce, so Naomi relented and sat down.

No one talked again for the rest of the day.

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As they made camp that night, Naomi would have been a fool not to notice the constant vitriolic looks Legolas cast at her. But she quickly reasoned to herself that mere looks were harmless and shoved any thought of them to the back of her mind. After all another event, far more dire, was consuming all of her attentions; the voice had returned.

It had been a mere whisper during dinner, as if the voice was regaining strength after its long rest. Naomi had paid no heed to it, hoping against hope that it was merely the rustling of the grass.

But the murmurings remained constant, a low buzzing in the bottom of her consciousness that rose in volume and insistency. By the time she went to sleep she was able to make out distinct words, but they were merely the stuff of incomprehensible ravings.

In the middle of the night, the voice's power returned with a vengeance and Naomi was jolted back into awareness by a sudden pain in her finger. With a wince, she tried to bend the joint in question and realized that she must have suffered from another one of the stress breaks.

It was a mark of her stubbornness that her first instinct was to find a way to hide the break from Legolas. But all too soon, the voice intruded upon her plans for further Elf torture.

What have you accomplished? the voice hissed. Immediately, Naomi recalled her Elf-embarrassments; if those did not count as accomplishments, what did? But the voice disagreed. A sinuous pain began in her lower stomach and burned its way up her torso, forcing her to convulse and shudder. As the ache intensified, so did the voice. Foolish girl! What do you think I care for your petty quips? There was a sound like a snort. I need to know if they trust you!

Naomi instantly recalled the looks both Legolas and Aragorn had directed at her when they had been inspecting her broken fingers. They had been suspicious then, and the fact that she had a new break would do nothing to alleviate their misgivings. On the other hand, the Dwarf was quite happy with her; he disliked the Elf greatly and any fool could see that every barb Naomi used against Legolas was a mark in her favor with the Dwarf.

The voice apparently saw each thought as soon as it passed through her mind. He made sounds of disgust over her memories of Legolas and Aragorn, but those of Gimli seemed to please him. The voice hmmed softly. Well, he mused softly. So you aren't as useless as I had thought.

The pain began to drip out of her body. Don't forget me, Naomi, the voice murmured, the volume decreasing with the pain. I'll always be watching. Had the circumstances been any different, Naomi would have burst into laughter; the words were so hopelessly clichéd, but she was too terrified to do anything but hope the pain would vanish.

It soon did, and Naomi immediately set about finding a means to disguise the break in her finger. She began to make her way over to where they had laid their packs earlier, before settling down for the night. She walked as quietly as she could, putting each foot down with great care.

After a short time, her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and she was able to make out the sleeping shapes of both Aragorn and Gimli. Of course, the Elf might be anywhere; he had no need of sleep, and Naomi suspected that he spent the nights scouting the terrain ahead.

Naomi was a mere four steps from the packs when she caught sight of what looked like flame. It took her a few moments to be sure; the light kept on shifting out of her vision, only to flicker back uncertainly. At first she ignored it, and only continued to where she was sure the packs were. But they weren't there; the Elf must have needed them.

She began to make her way in the opposite direction, towards the fire, reasoning that it must be Legolas. The ache in her finger was increasing every second, and by now Naomi was more than ready to take whatever criticisms the Elf might offer, if only he could off her relief from the twinge.

She was right; the Elf was staring into the flames with a super-human degree of concentration. Every few seconds, he would apparently see something that displeased him, for he would frown, mutter under his breath, and then throw still more wood onto the blaze.

Naomi hardly dared to approach him; he looked as if any sudden shock would snap his psyche in two. But as she moved forward, her finger brushed against her hip. The flash of pain acted as a spike in her determination, and she continued to make her way to the Elf.

Certain that she hadn't been noticed, Naomi stopped when she was just inches from the Elf. Reasoning that she would simply have to wait him out, she sat next to him.

After only a few moments, he began to speak. His voice was wispy and dry, as if he had not used it for a very long time and his vocal chords were still regaining their strength. Even so, the sudden sound still made Naomi start. Her lips began to form some incoherent apology to the Elf when she realized that he wasn't speaking to her. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying and almost fell into his lap when she heard the Elf say "Janthea…"

Before Naomi could control herself she heard her voice blurt out "Who is she?" Immediately, she cursed herself for her stupidity as the Elf came out of his stupor with a sudden jerk.

Legolas turned to her. He did not look particularly mad, but Naomi edged a bit away from him, just to be safe. "Who is who?"

"Janthea," Naomi said nervously. When the Elf showed no indication of answering, she continued. "You…you said her name?" Much to her disgust, her voice quavered. Naomi gestured to the fire. "You were staring into the fire, and you said Janthea. I've heard the name before, I know I have!" Her voice gained strength as she became more confident. "Who is she?"

Sighing, Legolas turned back to the fire, and for a moment Naomi feared that he would slip back into his reverie without answering her question. She had to know; the voice had mentioned Janthea, and Naomi was desperate for any clue that would lead to the voice's identity.

But she need not have feared, for Legolas turned to her and began to speak. His voice had somehow returned to normal, but speech clearly took a great effort out of him. "Are you familiar with the wizard Saruman, Naomi?"

Naomi shook her head. He nodded grimly.

"Of course. You hardly would be." He paused to take a great breath. "He was…is…a Wizard, one of the greatest of all time. He was once the head of the Istari, the White Wizard." He paused again and coughed harshly, taking great gulps of air that moved his entire torso. "But he always had an undercurrent of evil, and now he is ruled by that nuance. Janthea was his lover, many Ages ago."

He coughed again and leaned closer to the fire, obviously desperate for warmth. Now that his face was illuminated, Naomi could clearly see that his face was ashen and his eyes bloodshot. Tentatively, she asked, "What happened to her?"

She had expected the Elf not to answer her question, when talking was clearly still a tremendous exertion, but he continued to speak. "Saruman killed her." He apparently noticed Naomi's shock, for he hastened to add, "Oh, it was an accident of course. She was wounded, and he tried to heal her. Unfortunately…" Legolas laughed. It was a strange, cold sound that sent tremors down Naomi's spine. "Well, unfortunately for her, Saruman didn't have enough control over his power. When he tried to heal her, he managed to flood her body with power, far more than she could handle. She simply…" Legolas gestured vaguely "exploded."

Naomi nodded slowly. It was a lovely, if rather bare, tale, with the all the necessary elements of sadness and love, but it seemed rather pointless. Legolas was ostensibly thinking along the same lines, for he said, "But that's not why people remember her. No," and he shook his head, "Janthea is remembered for her prophecy. You see," he said, turning to Naomi for the first time, "Janthea was a fire spirit, a sort of demon. When she died, her remains burned into the ground, supposedly forming some sort of foretelling."

Naomi's breath caught in her throat. The noise must have been audible, for Legolas looked at her and laughed again. This time, thankfully, it was a normal laugh. "No need to get so excited. No one knows what the prophecy was. Well," he amended, "no one except Saruman, but he's hardly spreading the information around. But that reminds me," his voice turned suddenly harsh, "how did you hear of her? Of Janthea?"

Naomi opened her mouth to reply, fully intent on some fabrication, when Legolas grabbed her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was unlike anything she had heard before. Harshly, and far more seriously than he had ever spoken before, he said, "Do not lie to me, Naomi. I will know if you do."

The next moments happened too fast for Naomi to have any reaction to them. With an almighty roar, the voice reared from the back of her mind, shouting incoherently. Seconds later, Legolas sprang away from her with a cry of fear. The voice disappeared as abruptly as it had come.

Legolas stumbled to the ground, but immediately regained his balance. He made no effort to get closer to Naomi, instead choosing to look at her with a mixture of dread and revulsion. After what seemed an eternity, he finally spoke. "What in the name of the Valar are you?"

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