Surprise! I managed to get two chapters out of the finale. Count 'em—TWO. Yep. Hope to get the Epilogue posted sometime next week. I'll try, I promise!
By the way, just a brief warning: these two final chapters were prepared under heavy influence of Evanescence's "Good Enough" set on repeat. Just so you know.
Well, here we go… hold on tight…
Chapter 10
If I hadn't set my alarm clock, I doubt I would have woken up. Battling representations of the Nine on a Friday night drains a lot of energy, after all. I mean, who the heck sets an alarm clock on a Saturday?
Unless, of course, it's Homecoming Saturday.
Oh, God. Homecoming Saturday, the biggest day of the High School Year after the first and last days, even bigger than the Friday Game that struck the final note of the autumn football season. The day for which underclassmen girls buy dresses months ahead of time, the defining night for this year's crushes and couples across the school—
Girls, crushes and couples. Great.
I was so skipping the dance this year.
Just going to the dance is difficult enough, emotionally. Who doesn't love getting dressed up in an awesome shirt and tie to stand around through a pounding force field of rap music and watch the girl of his dreams go sailing by, looking absolutely gorgeous and tangled up in some football player's arms?
It's more fun to just meet up with friends. Sure, that's what they all say. But when the couples start appearing during the slow songs, even "just friends" folk like me start hurting really badly.
It hurt now, and I even had a date this year—the proverbial elephant. No one had any idea what had happened on the field last night, and no one was going to bother asking. But no one was going to forget, or let me forget, and no one was going to act like it didn't happen.
So I drifted off to sleep.
The next thing I knew, about three o'clock in the afternoon, Legolas had somehow gained entrance to the apartment and perched himself on the edge of my bed. Not only was he gently shaking me awake—or so it merely felt to a strong Elven warrior—but the ends of his hair were rubbing themselves all over my face like a petulant cat, and I practically woke up sneezing.
"Dude…" I slowly tossed the covers aside. "I'm trying to sleep here."
"No, you're not, Edrian." The Elf seemed to dance where he sat as he offered me a wide grin. "Today is Homecoming."
"Exactly."
"And you are still in bed."
"Yes."
His face softened in confusion. "You are not going?"
"Nope." I determinedly cast myself back into the little nest I had created, fluffing the blanket pointedly around myself.
Legolas seemed almost mournful. "Why?"
I explained the pointlessness of it all, to which he reacted with obvious shock, even bordering on disgust.
"Edrian!" he exclaimed, "this is a celebration! Not just of that ridiculous football game, but of Mortal youth and life! You must go."
"Yeah," I muttered in sardonic agreement with his first statement, "it's a celebration of gorgeous girls and their unwavering devotion to blockheaded jocks."
The black humor fell flat with the Elf, and he didn't bother to hide it. "Edrian," he began slowly, quietly, "what you accomplished last night was incredible."
"It didn't feel like as much of a battle as it should have. Not much epic action."
This time, he laughed. "Because you were focused. Much of the action, as you call it, is completely lost to the mind and memory during such a fight. But believe me, Edrian," Legolas said soberly, his blue eyes lightening, "it was incredible. I watched you, my friend. I watched you take each foe and cast it away just for a moment so you could manage another, and then return to the first—all merely to defend yourself, not even ready to kill. That was the work of many warriors, not just one."
I smiled a little. "We did make an awesome team."
He returned the flicker. "Adhémar, you fought like a king. You showed courage and determination and honor. You spared their lives and released them, save the one betrayer—" his voice grew bitter for a moment—"something no one thought was possible. Elrond, Mithrandir, and even I all thought that they were merely tortured servants unleashed to destroy, not beings of equal honor as you revealed them to be." Legolas leaned in close, uncovering a bit of the eternal sadness he carried as he named my forefather. "Tell me, Adhémar, would Aragorn have missed his own coronation?"
"No… but this is Homecoming, not—"
The Elf's quick fingers settled on my lips in a purely straight gesture—merely to silence me. "Edrian, go to the dance. Take a chance and claim Alix." He paused. "You are my king, Adhémar, and tonight is for you and your queen."
My queen. Alix, she who had even stood beside me last night as I prepared to meet a deadly and mysterious enemy. My Queen Evenstar, Undómiel, the brightest star of the night.
I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders in a way I felt sure Aragorn would have done. "So it is," I said. "To Homecoming."
There is very little romance to a school dance, especially Homecoming.
The atmosphere: pounding rap'n'crap, a packed and high-energy dance floor full of people who can't tell—or who refuse to acknowledge—the difference between a school cafeteria and a twenty-one-and-over dance club. Oh, and jocks galore.
But the grand entrance is always fun, when the girls gush over dresses and long-lost friends as they exit from their boyfriends' cars and linger in the school foyer. Those of us not so fortunate prefer to stand back and observe who is with whom, who has been taken, who is still available, and whose territory has been clearly marked.
And, of course, we remark amongst ourselves as to who needs a serious crash course in shirts and ties. This may surprise you, dear reader, but sometimes we of the male sex do need to conduct one last review of our physical appearance before making such an important arrival, as well. A once-over, I think girls call it. But who needs that when one's best buddy is an Elf?
Elves are great dressers, by the way.
Imagine this: a legendary Elven warrior hidden to the eyes of adolescent society by the ruse of foreign British fabulousness. Yep, that's what I had to look good next to.
We hovered outside the school doors, checking for rumpled collars, wrinkles, and the possibility of my tie know having gone askew. I had settled on solid sapphire blue against a black dress shirt. After all, Legolas had been right—I was the King, and this was a celebration. We both had to look the part.
Legolas placed a hand on my shoulder, visibly satisfied. "You look magnificent, my friend," he said with a soft smile.
"As do you." I raked my gaze up and down one last time. The Elf had returned to his role of Cedric Greene, the sharp-and-stylin' British exchange student, in costume of black jeans and a white vest over a pale blue shirt that looked to be brocade. "I feel very human next to you."
He laughed. "Maybe so. But nevertheless, mellon, you are the King of Men. And as a mighty King of Men you certainly appear. Aragorn would be very proud."
His slight smile, and the determination it carried, chased away the audible sorrow hanging below the surface of his voice; tonight was not a night to linger over grief. I returned it, more of a firm nod, and prepared to open the door.
Then I noticed that Legolas—Cedric—had rolled up his sleeves, albeit rather messily, to reveal smooth marble forearms, and that his collar stood up against his neck in a way a dress shirt never would.
Hmmm… lumpy rolled-up sleeves and queer collar. I grinned, realizing the garment's true identity and just why it was so familiar in my mind. "Peter Jackson and his design crew nailed the Elvish tunic, didn't they?"
"That he did," the Elf quipped. He set his jaw in preparation and turned to face me. "Are you ready?"
I was.
.................................................................................................
We slowly surveyed the festivities from the outskirts of the crowd. Time continued on, one rap song after another with the occasional techno-remix anthem and overplayed pop-rock radio hit. Surprisingly, no catfights broke out over dates or dresses, and no one got a grinding-related expulsion, probably because no one was dumb enough to get caught.
But I saw no sign of Alix Evanston.
Legolas—Cedric—seemed to hear my worry. "Perhaps we are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time," he managed to whisper in my ear over the blasting Flo Rida. "You will find her, Edrian, she is the Queen. She must be here."
His timing was ridiculous, because just then the DJ boomed, "All right, ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment you've all been waiting for. It's time to crown this year's Linden High School Homecoming King!"
The cheering was absolutely thunderous as the rest of his announcement was blasted out of the water. But we all knew what came with the territory: the King's Dance with the Queen, and Royals' Choice.
Legolas followed me around the side of the crowd as I strained to find a clear shot between the various six-foot-something heads that hovered above everyone else. Alix was Queen. She HAD to be right there.
And she was.
Oh my God, she was beautiful, standing right underneath the lights of the DJ's booth. Underneath her emerald-and-silver royal sash, her dress was mint green and probably vintage, cut off the shoulder. She'd curled her hair, too, big luscious curls half-piled up at the back of her head with something sparkly woven in.
Talk about Elvish.
Two perky, tanned blondes and a brunette in nearly identical dresses—flouncy, pink and purple and blue, very Student Council—crowded around the mic next to Alix. "Um, hey, everybody!" the blonde in purple smiled. "Hope you're all having fun. As you know, this is when we announce this year's Homecoming King—"
"GO, BROOMER!" some beefy wrestler bellowed, trying to climb over his buddies' shoulders in the middle of the dance floor.
The Three Preps giggled coyly amongst themselves. "This year's Homecoming King is…" the brunette in pink began, obviously reading off a slip of paper in her hand.
"Nathan Moscovetz!" her ladies-in-waiting chorused behind her.
Nathan Moscovetz. It so figured. The guy was a total cross-country machine, the epitome of Prince Charming to unwitting underclasswomen, and he was in all AP classes. He could probably model for Abercrombie or American Eagle in his spare time, if not Calvin Klein or Dolce & Gabbana. And worst of all, he knew it. But the gray-and-burgundy tie wasn't bad with khakis and a white shirt.
He swaggered through the crowd, savoring his victory—and probably the dance privilege that came with it. I wasn't the only one who felt the way I did toward Alix Evanston. But for Nathan Moscovetz, this was his one chance, because Alix Evanston was entirely too smart to fall for guys like him. Not to mention that jocks rarely dated outside of the prep-princess circle. It was bad for Image.
Alix Evanston felt the exact opposite—it was marked clearly on her face. But although she did not like Nathan Moscovetz, she was going to enjoy this dance even if it killed her, and she was going to rub it in the other hopefuls' faces with her nose proverbially in the air.
Palms curling, I bit my lip. First I had to endure watching Alix Evanston dance with someone else, let alone Nathan Moscovetz, and then I would have to watch her pick her next partner.
This was why I had wanted so badly to stay in bed this afternoon.
Legolas, on the other hand, sure had a knack for sensing my thoughts and assuaging whatever negative emotion they carried at the moment. "Edrian," he murmured, "you have no reason to fear, Adhémar. Have faith in your Queen. Do you remember nothing of the game last night?"
Of course. Alix Evanston had said hi to me, stood next to me, told me her middle name (which she claimed she had never told anyone), let me hug her—heck, even followed me down the bleachers and tried to insist on staying beside me as we began our march to The Other Side. I sighed, decided to have faith as Legolas suggested, and focused on that single particular memory.
It rocks to have an Elf as one's best friend.
The song—the DJ had somehow managed to find a fairly recent slow song he could tie into Homecoming, memories, and what little romance there was to be found in the strictly ceremonial dance between a newly-crowned King and Queen who didn't even run in the same social crowds—began to wind down at last, and I ever-so-slightly relaxed the muscles in my jaw. But my teeth remained clenched.
The DJ, of course, was all too jovial for a guy stuck in a high school cafeteria at nine o'clock on a Saturday night. When the last strains of Nickelback's "Far Away"—maybe because our football team had been "far away for far too long"—had faded away, he boomed, "Ladies and gentlemen, please clear the floor for your King and Queen; this is Royals' Choice."
Nathan Moscovetz immediately broke away from Alix—God, did it hurt to watch him do that—and wandered through the crowd. He returned to the floor with a tiny corn-fed-bikini-body blonde in a silver halter dress, obviously his girlfriend.
I watched Alix Evanston as she scanned the crowd. She eventually started in my general direction; I gulped and whispered a quick split-second prayer.
A few jocks in front of me banded together before their Queen. Again, the opportunity to dance with Alix Evanston sang—er, rapped—its siren song to her other distanced admirers of the moment. So unrequited adoration really was rampant among others besides the geeks.
My breath caught sharply as she disappeared from my view. I could not even see her face, her eyes, any feather-slight gesture capable of relaying her thoughts, her decision to reject—I hoped—her current and ill-positioned suitors. It was obvious that they were trying to bring her to them and then win her over until the next girl came along, instead of having the guts to actually ask her out and treat her right.
Then the waters parted, almost literally, and Alix Evanston slipped past the barrier, slowly and shyly coming even closer to where I stood.
Finally she stopped in front of me, obviously trying not to stare at the linoleum. Dance-floor atmosphere aside, I could barely hear her meek attempt at my name. "Edrian…" She looked up at me hopefully with her big blue eyes, softly lined with a hint of dark makeup, and I understood. After all these years, she was asking of me the greatest pleasure, the greatest honor, I could hope for my earthly life. I understood.
These boys—the jerks in the hallways, the cocky rejects watching us now—had no idea how to act before crowned royalty, even Homecoming royalty. I was going to show them just how to show the due respect to such a lady.
I knelt slowly before her, not caring who saw me do this, or what might be said. This was our moment, the revamped and uncheesified fairy-tale moment I had wanted to give her for so long. Urging myself to stay calm, I took her hand in mine—her tiny, slender, warm hand—and gently brushed it with my lips. I kissed Alix Evanston's hand.
"I would be honored," I said.
You know, I actually kind of miss having "Far Away" as the prime slow song of the night like we did back in middle school *sigh*
Well, I've got to go to bed now LOL Until next time…