Disclaimer: Yeah, you know the drill. Anything you recognize is from DL. I also don't own England, James Bond, or LOTR.
This chapter and the last are dedicated to Rivin Tarinius Majere, my Shalafi, best friend, well of ideas, sometimes Beta, and partner in crime (Elven wine... hehehe...) She helped me bring the last chapter from it's original, most pitiful state, to what is (hopefully) a much better romantic tragedy. I can't thank you enough for your constant help and support.
By the way, if you haven't already, please, please read the note at the very end of Chapter 6 – it's really important. Thanks.
Impaled on My Wall, My Eyes Can Dimly See
There were a few chairs, as plush as the one she'd found herself in when first coming to in this strange place surrounding a table with a basket of fluffy bread and a bowl of fresh fruit. Some of the fruit she recognized, such as apples, oranges, and grapes. Other things however, were totally alien, such a slightly heart-shaped blue/purple fruit in the center. Eyes wide with wonder, she sat down and helped herself to bread, fruit, and a bit of water from the pitcher on the table. She stayed away from the liquid that looked suspiciously like wine, not because she was such a goody-two-shoes she wouldn't drink underage, but because in movies, if someone was being drugged, it was always in the wine.
Catherine took a tiny bite of the apple, and found it sweeter, and somehow more real than anything she'd tasted before. Soon, she forgot all caution she had about the food, and was eating hungrily. How dangerous could it be, anyway? If that man wanted to do something to her, she'd been unconscious for a while already. She sat back, contentedly. The rest of the food had been just as delicious as the apple.
Suddenly, Catherine felt quite exhausted. She stumbled to the huge bed, and pulled of her clothes, exchanging them for the black pajamas on the bed. She tired was she that she didn't wonder how they were exactly her size. She climbed into the bed and sighed at how soft it was. As her eyes closed quickly, she realized it was the water that had been drugged.
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After a few hours of a deep sleep, Dalamar woke once more to the morning sunlight pouring into his room. He stretched, weary from his long night. At first, he felt a bit confused; thinking the events of the previous day might have just been a very odd dream. But then, he remembered – it had started when he was scrying, and unless this was an extremely long bad dream, it was real.
Then, Dalamar turned his thoughts to his guests, and one in particular. Thinking of him, he brightened considerably. Interrogating the young man who'd attempted to attack him promised to be quite amusing. Dalamar put on his robes and waved his hand, and suddenly, he was standing just outside of the small room in which the gang leader was locked.
Dalamar realized abruptly that he was missing a couple of things. However, that was quickly remedied with the help of the spectres. Within seconds, he'd accumulated a few truth potions, the spell scroll needed for a strong protective barrier, and a bit of food for his captive.
With the spectre preceding him, Dalamar glided into the room. The boy was sitting on the one, hard chair in the room, looking daggers back at him. With a snap of his fingers, a comfortable, plush chair from the room upstairs appeared for Dalamar. He loved how easy it was to transport things within the tower! He sat down with a sigh.
"Now," Dalamar began, addressing the glaring teen. "We shall begin. If you cooperate, there will be no trouble. If, on the other hand, you attempt to lie, or attack me, I will magically bind you, and force you to drink this truth potion. Understand?"
The teenage continued to glare. "Who the fuck are you, you freak? And what the hell gives you the right to bring me here and lock me up? I have powerful connections, you know." He motioned threateningly at the Dark Elf.
Dalamar smiled slightly. "I'm sure you do," he murmured. "I'm sure you do. Now," he raised his voice slightly so that the weak-eared human would not have to strain to hear him. "To start, what is your name? Remember, no lies."
The bully spat at Dalamar, his nature unchangeable. "I'm ... the Queen of England. Now who are you?"
Dalamar raised one delicate eyebrow. "Did I not tell you to speak the truth? However, if it will help, my name is Dalamar. Never the less, I suggest you not attempt to try my patience again." He steepled his fingers and slowly tapped them together.
It seemed not even this sinister gesture could shake the teenager. "All right then, the name's Bond. James Bond." The bully crossed his arms in defiance.
Dalamar sighed. "I'd hoped that it wouldn't come to this, but I see you'll force me." He waved his hand in a bored fashion, and the boy found himself being secured to the chair by two disembodied hands, as two more held his legs. Dalamar slowly got up and walked over with his vial of truth serum.
The teen tried to moved his head out of Dalamar's grasp once he realized the spectres weren't letting go. He snapped his mouth shut with all of his strength, however he was no match for the dark elf, who's hands, though slender, were strong as iron. Dalamar forced his mouth open, and poured the potion down his throat. With a snap, he allowed the boy's mouth to close, and he held the teen's nose to force him to swallow.
The bully swallowed reluctantly, and Dalamar let go, walking back to his chair. "What the fuck was that shit?" The teen was still struggling against the spectres, whose only problem was resisting the urge to suck the life out of the boy.
Dalamar rolled his eyes. Perhaps this wasn't going to be as amusing as he'd thought. "I told you already – truth serum. Now, answer my question. What is your name? And you must answer, or the potion will hurt you."
The bully rolled his eyes, also tired of their game. "Arash Matar. Happy now?"
Dalamar hadn't even started at the boy's last name. He'd expected as much. He idly wondered how many other children Kitiara had given birth to. Now, though, he just smiled. "Quite. Now, you will tell me why you were harming my daughter." His voice was like ice – cold and hard.
Arash smirked. "She was hitting on me." He grinned. "Guess your ol' truth potion didn't work so well, now did it?" As he finished saying that, an angry red weal spread across his face, as though he'd been slapped very hard. His mouth opened in shock, for there weren't even spectres in sight, other than the ones holding his limbs.
Now it was Dalamar's turn to smirk. "No? Thank you for telling me." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Now, answer me. Why were you hurting my daughter?"
Finally, the bully's tough exterior was wearing away. "Look, me an' my friends were just having a bit of fun. No harm done. I wouldn't have done it if I'd known this would happen!"
Though Dalamar was furious at the boy's idea of fun, he couldn't help but smile. Arash reminded him of some of the Elven princelings he'd been forced to serve during his days in Silvanesti. Tough as long as they had control, but petrified once someone stronger came along. "Fun, was it? I see. Now, what would you say if I told you I wanted to have some 'fun' with you?" The dark elf smiled menacingly.
Arash looked at the elf in shock. "What the fuck do you mean, pervert?"
Dalamar rolled his eyes. When making cynical statements, one usually guesses that they're based on the other person's previous, generally idiotic statement. Obviously this human didn't know that. "I mean why don't we have a little fight of our own. My magic versus your fists. We'll see who's having fun then." He smiled as the true meaning of his words hit Arash, and he was gratified with a look of terror.
"Look, mister, I'm sorry I hurt your daughter and all. I didn't know, and I won't do it again. Now, could you let me go? Kidnapping's illegal, where I come from, anyway!"
Dalamar smirked. What was it with these children and kidnapping? "Well, I'm sure you will beat people up again for the 'fun' of it, because that's how you are. As to kidnapping, illegal here as well, but I've never exactly played by the rules anyway. I'll let you go back sooner or later, though. But, before I let you go, you can answer a couple more questions for me."
Dalamar smiled in his most intimidating manner. "Now, remember to be perfectly honest with me. Who are your parents?"
Arash spoke, his voice forced. "My parents are Lucifer and Delilah Asmodeus." The teen felt a phantom nail start to rip across his arm, and he started speaking again rapidly. "Well, they're not my true parents." The pain stopped. "Both of my parent's died when I was young. I don't remember them at all much. I carry my mother's surname."
Dalamar looked at the boy. He was finally talking. "Are you sure you remember nothing of your true parents?"
The teen looked surprised at this new personal question. "Yo, why're you prying into my family?" Dalamar raised his hand as if to call back the spectres. Arash quailed. "Well, not much. I vaguely remember a flash of light, and my father going around to different houses, trying to find foster parents for me. I don't know, it may just be a dream, or something constructed later in life from stories." He shrugged.
Dalamar nodded. That made sense. "What about your foster parents? What kind of people are they?"
Arash thought for a minute, having decided already it was much safer just to talk. "Well, they look kind of like me, tall with dark hair. My mother was a spy for the U.S..." He cried out in pain. "All right! She was a spying on the U.S. for another country. She was supposed to spy for the U.S., but turned rogue."
Dalamar motioned for him to continue. "My father..." He hesitated, and Dalamar raised one eyebrow, promising pain if the question wasn't answered. "My father is the leader of an underground group connected to the church. They cause pain to the scum of the earth – Jews, blacks, homos, and all that crap. Sometimes, I join him."
Dalamar was disgusted! He would have left the boy to the spectres, but he felt the child might still be of some use. He was disgusted by the boy's prejudices, and callus way of talking about them. There were many adjectives used to describe Dalamar Argent, but (so he hoped) prejudiced was not one of them. He'd always felt that next to rape, hate crimes were some of the worst. As a dark elf, I should know about hate crimes, Dalamar thought wryly to himself. Without another word, he left the sadistic Arash in the room alone with the tray of food. Dalamar didn't bother opening the door – it would slow his departure.
Dalamar reappeared in his room. He was quite satisfied with that morning's work. His suspicions had been confirmed about Arash. He'd inherited many physical traits from his mother.
Once more, he was disgusted by humans' ability to be cruel. Sure, he was a dark elf, but there was a big difference between evil and sadistic cruelty! He shook his head. What else could be expected from a child of Kit and Ariakus? For that is who Dalamar was sure was the father of young Arash. Dalamar decided he needed a glass of his special vintage of Elven wine before questioning any of his other guests.
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Blearily, Fie rubbed his eyes. What had happened? Where was he? He looked around, still half asleep. Then, he remembered. After the fight, he'd passed out, and had awakened in this beautiful room. On the small table in the lounge area, there had been a letter.
'Young guest,' it had said, 'You are now safe from the bullies. More will be explained in due time, but for now, I invite you to enjoy my hospitality. Food and drink is on the table, and you will find clothes for the night on the bed. Make yourself at home. Signed, Dalamar, Master of the Tower.'
A naturally trusting young man, Fie had taken the letter on it's word, and enjoyed the delicious fruits and bread on the table. Now, he realized how stupid that was. He'd barely had time to change into the pajamas, (which were somehow the exactly the right size) when he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
Now that he was slightly more awake, Fie realized he must have been drugged. He thought, however, that he was in the same physical state he'd been the day before, so not much could have happened to him while he was asleep.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he found not a sink, but a bowl of water. Shrugging, he washed his face off. Going back into the bedroom, he looked around. On the plush armchair were some clothes, looking as though they'd fit as perfectly as the pajamas did.
Fie walked over to the clothes, and saw, to his amazement, that they looked like something that belonged as a costume in the Renaissance Fair. He looked around for the clothes he'd worn yesterday, and not being able to find them, decided it was better to be caught in breeches and a tunic than pajamas.
After changing, Fie wandered over to the table. He sat down, but didn't touch the food, having been made wary. He then saw another letter at his place.
In the same flowery script as the night before, this letter read: 'Dear Mr. Dante, I apologize for the potion in your food last night, but it was important that you not get in my way. I assure you, the food this morning is perfectly safe. At the tenth hour of the morning, one of the spectres will lead you to my study. Try not to be too scared by the spectre – they don't like that. I apologize once more for the fright. Sincerely, Dalamar, Master of the Tower.'
Fie put the letter down in shock, not sure what to make of it. How did the sender know his name? And how did the letter get into his room? And spectres? What in the world could be meant by spectres? What Fie didn't know was that at that moment, Catherine was thinking nearly the same things.
A couple of minutes later, Fie felt a freezing tap on his shoulder, and could not repress a shudder as he turned around. He hadn't even heard the door open! When he saw what was behind him, he understood why.
Hovering mid-air was a disembodied, ghostly hand. With one finger, the hand beckoned to him. Mute with shock and fear, Fie stood. He didn't want to find out what would happen if he displeased the spectre, which is what it surely was. He followed meakly out of the door.
After several flights of circular stairs, Fie reached what he assumed to be the study. He was pleased to see that Catherine was there as well, in a more feminine version of his own clothes. He would have liked to see her reaction if she'd been left with only a dress, but it seemed as though that wasn't a problem. The study was as magnificent as his bedroom had been, but better. Because, you see, on the walls of this study, there were literally hundreds of books. Fie's hands itched to go over and look at them.
However, after seeing the occupant of the chair behind the table in the center of the room, he decided against looking at the wonderful books, and the other interesting objects scattered around the room. The man -was it even human?- was wearing long, black robes. His dark hair flowed past his shoulders, and most incredibly, his ears were pointed! Fie gulped. This sure didn't look like the Lady of Lorien!
"Greetings, young Mr. Dante. As I'm sure you've surmised, I am Dalamar Argent, the temporary Master of this Tower of High Sorcery. Now, please sit down, and make yourself comfortable. If there's anything I can get you?" Fie shook his head. "Well, then, we have much to discuss."
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Well, I hope you enjoyed this; there may not be more for a while. I have a feeling my other stories need attention. Please review!
Jade: I'm glad you enjoyed, I think that my added note to the last chapter might give you the hint you need to figure out where I'm going with this.
Guan: Thank you. Sorry about the tragedy aspect, but I meant for it to be.
Casey: Your opinion most certainly does matter – I love my reviewers, and take their advice to heart. As I said to Guan, saying it was sad is really a compliment in this case, though I apologize if you didn't like the style.