(AN: Long time no update. Well, that's what you get when you've got The Tudors, IMVU, chores and job-hunting all to do at the same time: in short, no time for writing. I'm getting a bit lazy on this story, because I've already planned a second, non-crossover sequel that explains some of the back-story of an OC featured in The Great War of Oz and mentioned in Another World...Fellowship of the Ring. It will be about ancient history of Oz, according to me, but right now it's this tale that is bothering me. Part of me wants to see it through to the end, while another wants to change the story a little and then have our heroes whisked away back to Oz. That's where I need your ideas! Please, for my sanity, review!)

(And here we find the next chapter.)

Betrayal and the Fire-hill

The valley was filled with the sound of birds.

The death of the Dragon had brought them back into this valley.

They were now sitting around the fire.

A large spit had been made of branches, and a long one, sharpened to a spear-point, was laid atop the two ends. Impaled upon it was a heart the size of a wheel-barrow.

Sigurd's blond hair was blackened with the Dragon's blood that he had been baptized in at the conclusion of his battle.

Elphaba rested her head in Fiyero's lap.

"What in Oz's name came over you?" he asked. "You shouldn't have gone after the Dragon like you did."

"I don't know," she shook her head. "Fortunately, nothing bad happened."

They said nothing else, as Sigurd tended to the fire.

"So what exactly are we doing with this heart?" Fiyero asked.

"Regin asked for it," Sigurd answered. "Roasted."

"So we just wait for it to be done?" Fiyero asked.

"Should be done now." Sigurd stated.

With one hand he reached out to the heart.

"Hey, isn't it hot?" Elphaba asked.

"If it's done, it will be." Sigurd answered.

"Why not use a stick?" Fiyero offered.

"You can't really tell how tender the meat is unless you use your fingers." Sigurd returned.

He reached out and his fingers touched the roasting meat of the heart.

"OWW! Damn!"

"What's wrong?" Fiyero asked.

"Oh, it's nothing." Sigurd said, waving his hand. "Just burned my finger."

Quickly he brought his singed finger to his mouth.

"I think it's done now." he commented.

Suddenly, he halted, looking around.

"What is it?" Elphaba asked.

Sigurd held his finger to his mouth, indicating quiet.

All that they heard were the sounds of the wind blowing through the trees and the song of birds.

"Can you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" both Fiyero and Elphaba asked.

"The voices."

They both thought he sounded insane.

"Those voices, in the trees." Sigurd continued. "Small voices, like the sound of children, they speak!"

Fiyero looked down at Elphaba. She shook her head.

Both of them looked as if Sigurd was losing his mind.

"I hear it..." he continued. "Something about a woman on a hill surrounded by fire...and the curse of Andvari's ring...and R..."

Silence filled the dale.

Heavy foot-steps sounded from behind them. Turning around, Elphaba and Fiyero saw something that reminded them strangely of Gimli.

This Dwarf, however, was different. His hair and beard were black, like burned pitch in a dungeon at nighttime. The soot of years of working in a forge bestained his face, clothes and hair, seasoning them all with a light coating of gray. A grim fire burned in his steely blue eyes.

"Regin!" Sigurd greeted, turning to the Dwarf. "I have slain Fafnir, and the heart is here roasting. The gold still lies in the Glittering Heath, untouched."

To the surprise of all around, a smile cracked across the Dwarf's face.

"You've done admirably, my boy!" he cried out, a full laugh escaping from his bearded lips. "I have never been more proud to call you my apprentice."

The two noticed that Sigurd was looking rather oddly at the Dwarf.

"Come here, my boy." the Dwarf said, holding out his arms.

Sigurd walked slowly over to the Dwarf and opened his arms to receive Regin's embrace.

The two were now entwined together.

"You're a mighty warrior, laddie." Regin said, patting Sigurd on the back. "A mighty warrior indeed."

There was a flash of silver.

The Dwarf thrust his hand into Sigurd's stomach.

Then again, then over and over, the Dwarf stabbed the blade into Sigurd's chest.

"Sorcery!" growled Regin. "You've bathed in the Dragon's blood! It was supposed to flood your pit, drown you to death!"

"They were right." Sigurd returned, rising up to his full heigth. He was now walking slowly towards his sword.

Fiyero and Elphaba sat on the side, quite forgotten by the two.

"The birds told me you were planning my death," Sigurd said. "It wasn't my well-being you wanted, just a servant. When the Dragon has been slain, you'd just walk in and take your share of the treasure...as much as you could carry, if not everything."

The Dwarf charged at him again, roaring like a bellows.

Sigurd stepped aside, holding his leg out to trip the Dwarf. Regin fell forward onto his face. Sigurd turned him over and placed his foot on the Dwarf's chest, holding him down. With one hand, he seized the Dwarf by his beard and lifted him up to his level.

"I trusted you, you worthless little maggot!" Sigurd growled.

Before either Elphaba or Fiyero could guess what he would do next, Sigurd's second hand split Regin's beard into two forks. These he pulled back, until they could go around his back: it was rather painful and the Dwarf roared in agony. Sigurd now was holding the Dwarf from behind by the two forks of his beard.

As this, Sigurd pushed Regin, his former master, face-first into the fire-pit.

"What the hell are you doing?" Elphaba cried out, jumping to her feet.

"Don't try to stop me!" Sigurd answered, still in the heat of his rage. "I know what I'm doing."

Fiyero ran after him, but Sigurd swatted him with his hand and Fiyero fell down upon the earth, unconscious.

His hand then returned to the Dwarf, pushing him closer to the fire.

Whether by reason of her condition, or her power failed her at the sight she saw, or perhaps because her power meant for her to do it.

Elphaba fainted.

Morning dawned cold and gray.

"Wake up," Fiyero pleaded, nudging Elphaba's shoulder.

Elphaba slowly lifted her head from off the turf and saw Fiyero looking down upon her.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Beats me." he answered.

She noticed that his nose has been broken.

"You're hurt!"

"That Sigurd character," Fiyero answered, with a smirk. "He hits like a hammer."

"Where is he?" Elphaba almost cried, the memories of last night slowly dawning back upon her. "Where's the Dwarf?"

Silence fell upon the two of them.

Uneasily, Fiyero turned his gaze towards the smoldering remains of their fire.

A large, slightly misshapen skull sat atop the charred wood.

"Do you mean he...?" Elphaba looked like she was about to be sick.

Fiyero grimly nodded.

"Where is he?"

Fiyero gave her a blank stare.

He didn't know either.

A loud neigh brought their eyes towards the one who made the sound.

"Nessa?"

The horse turned her head towards the hill, whose bank had a cave and at its mouth lay the dead dragon.

The Glittering Heath.

A few moments later, the two Ozians were back atop faithful Nessa, who took them from their camp through the soft, wind-blown grassy valley up to the hill-side.

The sound of a horse neighing and a man grunting made them certain.

He was in the cave.

And Grani was with him.

Inside the cave the Ozians discovered a huge mountain of gold - more than they had ever seen in their entire lives put together. Coins, cups, bars, chests, and all manner of precious stones in great heaps and piles.

And between them and the gold stood Sigurd and Grani.

"Hey!" Elphaba called out.

Sigurd did not respond.

He was too busy throwing large bags of gold atop Grani's back.

"Now you listen here!" she returned. "That was the cruelest thing you have ever done! Now I'm beginning to wonder if we shouldn't have listened to the old man."

"Why?" Sigurd returned. "Because I gave that scruffy bastard what he deserved?" He was not even looking away from his gold.

"Deserved?" Elphaba queried aghast. "If you wanted to kill him, you could have killed him without burying his face in the fire."

"It's his own fault!" Sigurd answered. "He's been taunting me ever since the King sent me to his tutelage. Every thing I did wasn't good enough for him, and even though I have done all, he tried to kill me. Only the dragon's blood...and the birds...saved my life."

He threw another heavy bag on to the back of the horse, and a golden helmet slid out of the mouth.

"And that justifies your brutal murder of him?" Elphaba returned, crossing from the other side of the horse. "Is that all you know? How to kill things?"

Sigurd's attention was on the helmet, as he bent down and picked it up with both hands.

This angered Elphaba.

"Are you even paying attention?" she spat. "Did your mentor's life mean so little to you that you won't even listen to me when I accuse you of murdering him?"

Out of sheer curiosity, Sigurd placed the helmet upon his head.

"Look at me!" Elphaba roared, placing her small, pale hands on his shoulders and turning him around.

A scream escaped from her lips and she jumped back in fear.

Even Fiyero found his legs locked, unable to move.

Where Sigurd once stood there now loomed a twelve foot giant, with a body of black rock, eyes of fire and great horns like an ox's coming out of his head. Smoke billowed from out of his nostrils like the breath of a dragon. He did not speak, but a low growl hummed from between clenched teeth, more like black fangs dripping with dark blood.

Even Grani neighed in fright and reared up on his hind legs, terrified.

As soon as the frightful image had appeared, it was gone.

Sigurd was all that was left of it.

"W-What in Oz's name just happened?" Fiyero asked, fear still clutching to every last syllable he uttered.

Sigurd said nothing, but looked at the helmet he held in his hand.

"Let me see that!" Elphaba insisted, breaking out of the grip of fear and tearing the helmet away from Sigurd's hands.

As soon as she put it on her head, a very disturbing change came over her. Both Fiyero and Elphaba jumped back in shock.

The small, spindly figure of Elphaba hunched over, becoming thinner and more bony, and every sharp feature of hers became even sharper, until it looked like a dagger came from her chin and a beak from her nose.

That was when Fiyero noticed something else about her.

She was green.

"What? What are you looking at?" a voice asked.

It came from the form that was once Elphaba's, but it sounded nothing like her voice. It was harsh, venomous and unpleasant. A thousand saws grinding their blades against each other could possibly compare to the sharpness of this new voice.

"Take off the helmet!" Fiyero said.

"Why?" the voice sounded even more like a snarl than before.

"Please! Just take it off!"

Two green hands, that looked fearfully enough like the legs of huge, green spiders, reached up and pulled the helmet off the head.

They both stepped back, afraid of what it might reveal.

All that there was left was the small, dark-haired form of Elphaba, with her pale white skin glowing with the shine of the piles of gold.

"What just happened?" she asked. "You looked at me like you'd seen a ghost."

"Well, when you put that thing on you..." Fiyero said, pointing to the helmet.

"The Helm of Fear." Sigurd answered. With one hand he took it from her. "I took it from the trove and I claim it as my own..." He then held up his hand. "Along with this ring..." His eyes then turned to Grani, and he walked over to his horse, calming it down after the fear it had just endured.

"And all that I can put on Grani without weighing him down." he finished.

Elphaba didn't say anything.

What did she want with cursed gold, she thought. It wasn't like gold was of any use in Oz. Her father was wealthy, but she never got any inheritance of Frexspar's wealth - that was all given to Nessarose. She had spent years as a renegade in Oz, so she was quite used to poverty.

She might not exactly be a nurturing person, but that didn't mean she couldn't learn to be a mother, even a poor one, as long as she had Fiyero.

That was when her thoughts turned to the future.

And she didn't realize what Sigurd was doing.

Fiyero, however, was observant.

"So you killed the Dwarf, took the gold and now you're just going to leave?" he asked.

"Yes." Sigurd answered, as if that were the only possible choice. "I'm a prince, and now I have gold of my own. But I need something else."

"What?"

"The birds spoke to me." Sigurd answered. "They told me about the Valkyrie on Fire-Hill."

"Come again?"

"Valkyries," Sigurd began. "The choosers of the slain, shield-maidens, servants of the Alfadir. It's said the most beautiful and most powerful of his maid-servants, Brynhildr, was to marry the one who woke her from her eternal slumber."

"'Eternal slumber?'" Fiyero repeated. "You mean she's dead?"

"No, just enchanted." Sigurd answered. "I'm going that way, you can follow if you want to."

"Not until you explain what you did to the Dwarf last night!"

"Betrayal is a terrible evil," Sigurd stated. "What he got was less than he deserved, especially after his taunts."

Fiyero didn't say anything.

He was too busy thinking what his fate would have been for betraying the Wizard...

If such rules existed in Oz.

"Elphaba," Fiyero said, turning back to his love. She still had a very vacant look on her face. "Elphaba! Are you with us?"

She blinked, her head swaying about as if she were drunk, and then turned to Fiyero.

A sharp nod came from her direction.

"Wait for us," Fiyero said. "We're going with you."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes,"

They were both surprised to hear who had spoken.

"The old man said we should," Elphaba continued. "I think we should stick with you."

(This chapter just went on forever. I'm running out of ideas here, and I don't know how much longer I can keep up before I decide to leave this story behind [I don't want to, but I'm quickly losing choices]. I've got the next story planned, but it's finishing this one that's becoming a trial.)

(Please leave questions, comments and ideas in the review section)