Submitter: Date: 2006/1/2 Views: 390 Rate: 5.00/2

If what I write makes you feel something, like that little tickle at the back of your mind telling you pay attention, let me know. We writers want to know if it’s working.

Fair Warning: From here on out, any fandom, any of them, is my playground. Sit down, hold tight, and let me push the swing.

Boundaries of Mirkwood

Chapter 21

“Lull”

Though by no means a morning person, Abigail was often required to function at early hours with or without sufficient sleep and long ago resigned herself to the hours her studies imposed upon her. Grouchy and somewhat irritable was often her disposition come 7 o’clock. A stiff cup of tea made for a handy crutch, but was never a solution. To compound her problems with sleep depravation, the ‘snooze’ button on her alarm was no more than a taunting contrivance. Tired as she may be, once disturbed from her evening rest she rarely managed to doze off a second time. The compounding of these two factors resulted in a shortened morning fuse and, back home, gave her reason enough to pay extra for a single dorm room while at uni, as opposed to a double and a roomie.

This morning Abigail awoke suddenly, shaken from sleep by a nightmare wherein she’d just thrown herself from a white tower and onto jagged spires below. Eyes open, she was somewhat startled to find herself in the woods lying on a straw mat aside Arielle, and off in the distance, what her sleep disoriented mind initially mistook for beautiful, waif-ish ghosts.

Elves. There was a frustrating tickle at the back of her fugue afflicted mind. The tickle had the feel of something particular she’d forgotten regarding elves, though she was certain she’d never met an elf before dying in a creek bed. Of course not. Not in the least bit possible because there were no elves on Earth; yet . . . it tickled.

The small elven company was scattered about the fringe of the tree line. Their voices were soft and stoic, light and crisp as autumn air. Several looked to her as she sat up; she smiled and quietly greeted them with, “Good morning.”

Either they did not understand or did not care. They turned back to one another without response. Apparently she was to be left to her own devices for breakfast and readying for the day.

To her left slept her companions. Arielle mumbled in her sleep, a bandoleer halo of weaponry about her head. Beads of perspiration bedewed Niobe’s forehead, which somewhat concerned Abigail, but not enough to compel her to wake the ill Jedi. Neko left Yumiko’s side, inquisitively mewing for something to eat. Jumping up, Abigail made her way around the sprawled legs toward Yumiko. Surely her bag would have a bathrobe and food.

Precisely where it ought to be, the bag lay to Yumiko’s left, but another, unexpected figure lay beyond. An elf, face up and staring into nothing without acknowledging Abigail’s presence. Being ignored was nothing new for Abigail and her attention returned to Neko.

“Do you eat ground beef? Tuna? I expect you would take to either.” Abigail reached into the bag, unsure how or if this would work. At first she felt nothing. Then, thinking of how tuna looked, smelled, tasted, and how it would be preferable in a bowl, her roving fingers came upon a rice dish. Somewhat surprised the enterprise had worked, she set the fishy prize before a purring Neko. The cat happily tucked in.

Going for a repeat performance, Abigail reached in again imagining the taste, heat, aroma, and texture of her favorite chai tea. Out came a steaming cup. After a test sip she deemed the drink near perfection.

The elf still hadn’t moved. She wondered if the poor elf woman might still be paralyzed from the spiders, so again Abigail said, “Good morning,” to test the theory.

The elf woman said nothing, but dry swallowed. There was a faint liquid sheen upon her cheeks and a mix of anger, sadness, and irritability both within her eyes and the press of her lips. Unfortunately, even after her morning tea, Abigail was not an apt student of socialization.

“How thoughtless, you must be thirsty. Would you like some chai?” She pointed to the cup, resorting to sign language in the event of a language barrier. “Tea?”

Still no response. Not entirely sure she’d received a yes or no, or any confirmation of paralysis for that matter, Abigail went and retrieved a second cup. After all, the elf may never have tasted chai and Abby came from a family who took joy in trying new foods for the surprise of finding they liked them.

“Here you are, nice and hot.”

The elf’s voice was a vacant as her stare. “I should like to be left alone.”

Typically, Abigail would feel affronted at an outright dismissal, but the elf’s misery did not slip past her, albeit weak and groggy, socialization radar.

“Are you alright?” Abigail asked. Now that she knew what she was looking for, the frown she received seemed to rhetorically ask ‘do I look alright?’ without so many words. “I see. Not up for tea. I’ll just leave it here, if you’d like it later and,” she reached back into the bag and pulled out a small box covered in red velvet and tied with a silver ribbon, “when I’m miserable, Indulgences make me feel a bit better. I’ll be setting up breakfast momentarily; you’re all welcome to it.”

To end the one way heart to heart, Abigail patted the elf lightly on the shoulder, grateful it hadn’t lasted any longer. She had no sense of bedside manner.

From the bag Abigail drew a light green bathrobe. Terrycloth, wonderfully soft with a pocket she could slip her wand into.

Below, Yumiko was waking, stretching broadly as though intending to make snow angles in the grass. Abigail dropped down to her knees, keeping her voice low. “Morning.”

“Ohayo.” Yumiko pressed a finger to her lips and whispered. “I keep quiet; one-san sleep. Yata, koucha! I eat now. Kawaii Neko-chan!”

“Speaking of food, I don’t think any of the elves have eaten—they couldn’t have.”

Yumiko snapped her fingers. “We have atsui choushoku now.”

Abigail was none too assured. “That sounds. . .appetizing?”

Dramatically throwing her arms about, a good show of exasperation for ridiculous English speakers, Yumiko said, “Morning meal. I get hot potato onion,” she paused as if finding the right word but not satisfied by what she conjures up, “omelet. It Korean. You will see, taste oishi. And peaches, 1200 yen from corner market and oranges; short rice, not bad Westerners make for the onigiri—”

“Right; best let you to it. I’m going to see if—” she wanted to find out where Tyelco had run off to, except she was confronted by the sight of some edhel/elf tentatively reaching for Arielle’s weapons and she immediately knew which arrogant buffoon had sent the unsuspecting subordinate to do his dirty bidding. Abigail pulled out her wand. “The devil! What are you—leave off I say!”

There were sparks crackling off into the air. The elf got the picture. His hands were up in a show of deference, and while Abigail certainly couldn’t understand a word from his mouth, she still heard: “This so was not my idea, I swear I’m just doing what I was ordered. Please don’t turn me into a newt.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous guns can be? And that’s even with normal people who have some vague notion of which end to hold, honestly!” Then she caught sight of a scowling Nessimon heading their way.

“Off I said.” Abigail shooed the underling-elf. “And you, Lieutenant, I have a few words for.” She smelled something foul, and it wasn’t Neko on the wrong side of her tuna.

“Of all the stupid, childish things to do. We’re perfectly willing to coordinate our defenses with you, co-ordinate. It’s much too dangerous for us to go unarmed and guns are too dangerous to be handled by anyone who doesn’t know the proper safety precautions.”

Nessimon huffed, “We and we alone are responsible for the defense of our wood and you have trespassed—”

“We hadn’t any say in coming—”

“Until the time you can prove—”

“Proof? We rescued your arses and not we have those things after us—”

“A convenient way to win—”

“We risked our lives—”

“Not a risk if—”

“Niobe could die! You think that a ploy?”

“For an urk?” He sneered.

“She’s a jedi! They all commit suicidal acts of compassion, no matter the evil seething from the crackpot!”

From the ringside Niobe’s weary voice added, “His name was Aegnor.”

Abigail shouted, “See there, you’ve woken them up,” though Arielle slept on.

Deaf to all adan, Nessimon continued. “Deception wears many clever masks and nothing I have seen of you eases my suspicions. It is well within reason that if you do not hand over your weapons peaceably I will have you arrest—”

POOF

Before Nessimon could blink, a purple cloud shot from Abigail’s wand. His once immaculate hair was instantly an unattractive shade of plumb. For a moment, the camp went silent, holding its breath to see if any further damage was to be done. It was Yumiko who broke the tension by doubling over, then collapsing to the ground in a fit of laughter.

Elves, (whose complexions are as near perfection as a flesh and blood creation can be) do not turn puce with anger, but Nessimon came as close as elvenly possible (though it may have been the tinge his hair now reflected). He was so enraged his voice momentarily failed him and Abigail took over.

“Now you see here!” She jabbed her purple-sparking wand in the general direction of his chest for good measure. “I could turn you into a pebble to carry in my pocket, or something edible so we could have breakfast, like the sack-of-potatoes you are. In fact, you couldn’t stop any of us. You’d be unconscious before you ever knew Arielle was there; Niobe could mislead you with a mind trick, and I’m sure Yumiko could put you in a state of blissful oblivion. The point is, I can think of a million ways to kidnap the lot of you that’d be far easier than the shit we’ve been through the past two days, and that’s without getting creative.”

“You’ve made my point, adan. You’re dangerous.”

Two simultaneous, surprising things happened; Nessimon was at a loss for words, and the once-vacant-elf lady-who-was-now-quite-alert was glided to Abigail’s side. It suddenly struck the tiny girl just how tall and imposing an elf could be. “Nessimon, that’s enough.” Her long, shaky fingers clung to the heart-shaped box. Her eyes glimmered wet with tears, her appearance hovering between shock, hysterics, and anger.

“Oh dear,” Abigail said, touching the poor lady’s elbow. “Are you alright? Why not sit for a moment . . .”

Hysterics must have given way, Abigail supposed, because the lady smiled in an I-only-laugh-because-I-don’t-want-to-cry sort of way. The lady took her hand, displaying the chocolates. “My husband is dead; you have eased my grief. There are no words to express my gratitude.”

Abigail was caught in her own stupor. Every elf in the glen was staring and she hadn’t the faintest clue what she’d done—it was just tea and chocolates. . . “Chocolate? Are you having a psychotic episode over candy—”

“Is that what they are called? You must forgive me; I was not listening when you told me before. Did you not also call them Indulgences?”

“That’s the name of the brand, or at least the sweet shop I get the chocolate from back home. It’s off Fifth Avenue in downtown Wellington. They sell wine and cheese too. A little piece of heaven. But there are all sorts of places that make chocolate, and factories, and there are thousands of kinds. . .I see you had the expresso truffle; excellent. Try the dark forest ones. And the White Russians. Doesn’t your kind have chocolate? Sort of standard comfort food, isn’t it? Or maybe your world doesn’t have chocolate. I can’t imagine never having tasted chocolate before. Sounds awfully depressing” Taking a moment away from her self indulged rant, Abigail noticed that the elven lady’s eyes had grown strikingly wider against her face. “Sure you’re alright? Bother, sit down! You’re not well.”

“No, I think not; he is gone.” Fresh tears rolled down her face. “But I am better, better than I should have been without your help.”

Abigail still didn’t understand what exactly she’d done. “Help? What did I do this time?”

The lady laughed for the earnest look on Abigail’s face, tears still rolling out of her eyes. All the elves were still watching.

“I am ill adan, ill with grief as only my kind can be, and your Indulgences have made the grief easier to bear.”

“Oh! That’s just the endorphins and caffeine from the espresso bean. And sugar. Rather a lot of sugar. It’s enough to give you a lift, but the rest is up to you. Just don’t eat too much of it; you’ll give yourself a stomach ache.”

It then occurred to Abigail that more could be at work here than simple endorphins; after all, she was a witch and in Harry Potter, chocolate had healing properties after dementor attacks. Was it possible that the chocolates the elven lady had eaten were magical chocolates? Best not to mention it, Abigail thought after glancing at the irate Nessimon.

The lady shook her head bemusedly, bent down, and embraced Abigail. “I shall not forget you, nor your advice. . . “

“Abigail.”

“Abigail. I am Ondolle. Would it be alright to share these with my sister, Vé?”

It was then that Nessimon found his voice. “No! You have no idea what spell she’s placed upon them, what it’s doing to you—”

Ondolle soundly rounded upon Nessimon, her outrage distorting her smooth features. “What evil is there in sparing me a mortal death? What evil was the act of rescuing us? I heard every word Tyelco has said, I know they risked much. Is it too much to risk a little for them?”

Nessimon then said something in his own language which left Ondolle in such a state that Abigail felt certain she’d hit the stupid man.

“You go too far.” A dark haired elf, really the only dark haired elf, inserted himself between the two. “She has lost her husband, and you have the tact of an orc.”

“Stay out of these matters, Noldor—you are a visitor in our wood. You have no say in matters of security.”

“Well, being as I and the ladies are the only ones not directly under you command, someone must speak the truth; you are paranoid. And if Captain Nusirilo were alive, you’d have been reprimanded to speak to a lady so!”

Abigail patted Ondolle on the elbow again as they both turned away from the argument which had progessed back into elvish. “Don’t bother with what the tosser says, Ondolle. You should have heard the horrible things he accused Arielle of, and she’s the most honorable woman I’ve even met, even if she is American.”

Ondolle blinked. “What’s an American? Are they not usually trustworthy?”

Abigail opened her mouth, then closed it.

It was best not to remark on the trustworthy bit (who knew what Arielle might overhear even if she appeared to still be sleeping through this racket). It was also sobering reminder of where she was. “Sorry. I keep forgetting that I’m not in my world anymore. I mean, imagine no one ever hearing of a country as big and bullish as the States, let alone a little island at the bottom of the world.”

Her lip quivered, her eyes stung. Yumiko had made her way over and gave Abigail a hug. Huffing as the tears fell, Abigail said, “I, I think I need some chocolate too.”

Niobe waved them all over. The three mortals and the elf sat, ate a little chocolate. As Yumiko’s breakfast came together, they laid out on a long picnic cloth surrounded by little sitting pillows, with civilized chop stick and plates to eat the food with. Enticed by the food, the rest of the elves slowly made their way over, while Nessimon sullenly watched at the wayside. Before all food was gone, Ondolle wandered to the wood with some chocolate, and a few moments later returned with a somewhat broader-shouldered lady and properly introducing her as Vé.

The rest introduced their selves, if less enthusiastic and somewhat more skeptical: Altéru, Falion, Veryatur, and Hereno rounded out the group.

They weren’t a noisy bunch, by any means, but even the half-oblivious Abigail had noticed their numbers were one short and that Tyelco and Niobe kept one eye each upon her.

Arielle, Arielle who had not slept in days, had not awoken with the rest of them.

A little while longer, Abigail told herself rubbing the wand between her hands, the wood clicking every time it struck her platinum ring, Just a little while, and then it’s the old evernerate for her.

oOo

Arielle had three dreams that night. The first began with everyone clamoring into the ol’ family station wagon affectionately named “Bertha”. The passengers were her older twin brothers, Lucas and Ian, and Morpheus, King of Dreams of Gaiman’s The Sandman. She drove, Ian had shotgun, and Lucas took the back with a glowering Morpheus (who pressed himself into the darkest corner, his sharp red eyes reflecting in Bertha’s rearview mirror).

In silence Arielle drove them to a white beach where she and Morpheus disembarked. Lucas drove the car away.

Morpheus was a sight to behold: his skin stark white in the glaring bright sunlight, his bedhead black hair the color of the ether. His glowing eyes reflected in the sand, speckling the crystalline white granules with red. He chose the spot. He sat. She lay down nearby to avoid having to suffer the beautiful, harsh light reflected from the perfect blue water.

It was the winter solstice. Arielle was sure of it, as sure and all knowing as one can only be in a dream. Morpheus could only withstand the light here on this day, at this time, and he hadn’t a ride this year. He never would have asked for one. He never needed to.

The sun slipped half-past the horizon.

“Thank you, Elle.” She could hear the gravelly, jagged black font in his endless voice. Eddie Tsang used to call her Elle, as in Elle Driver of Kill Bill, and the memory made her smile.

“No problem.” Arielle sat up.

Morpheus took a handful of sand, kissed her forehead, and walked away.

Her second dream began. The beach was normal again with the usual sand, water, and palm trees. And it was morning anew.

“Surf’s up. You in?” Leland Chapman asked.

“Hella yeah!” Arielle sprinted after him in a striped yellow and blue bikini, happy to be in the Hawaiian paradise. “I had the biggest crush on you when I was nine. Three brothers and a dad, so figures we watched the show all the time.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “You’re still hot.”

They both burst out laughing, and he splashed into the surf.

Arielle liked brunets. Tattoos turned her on. Following the massive gothic cross rippling over the muscles on his back, her eyebrows raised in approval, and she followed him into the ocean with her own large, red board. With a light heart, she rode waves heavy with buoyant salt. Time flew to noon, and Leland had to drag her soaked, giggling form from the water over to the luau. Tim and Dog were roasting fish (which meant Beth was ‘supervising’. Tim’s wife was cuddling with him by the fire). There were blonde and native Hawaiian children everywhere. Leland managed to snatch up one of his boys, hug him tight and turn the monkey upside down before the boy squirmed loose, shrieking with laughter. At some point, Ian and Lucas showed up and struck up a lively game with Duane Lee consisting of who could tell the filthiest joke.

The chaos only slowed enough for food to be shoveled into hungry mouths.

Herein, Arielle found she had the opportunity to ask the burning questions her nine-year-old’s mind was plagued by

“Do you hate Mexico? You know, not the whole place, but the idiots who wanted your arrest?” Arielle asked Leland, too interested in their meeting to eat anything. Besides, food in dreams never really tastes like anything. “I always wondered because I hated them for what they did. I hated the marshals and judges because they were wrong. I mean, I know they had their laws, but that still doesn’t mean what you did was wrong. I didn’t understand it.”

Leland laughed, which only made his lovely brown eyes glow. “No, no. Hate’s a strong word. And I was willing to own what I’d done.”

“But why not hate them? You did what they couldn’t or wouldn’t do and they were embarrassed and took it out on you. Why else would they ever want to hurt the men who stopped, of all people, Andrew Luster, serial rapist? Eighty counts of rape against him! I hate people like that. I want to hurt them right back!” Arielle did not mind sounding ten in front of Leland Chapman. She could not imagine him holding it against her.

“‘If they bleed red, they’re your brother’,” Leland quoted in a manner imitating his father, but stifled the laugh he nearly let slip since Arielle was pouting. “It wasn’t exactly a one-way pride street. Dad swore to catch Luster, boasted he was the best, and catching him was the big kahuna. There was too much pride on both sides. You remember what Eddie Tsang said about Oedipus?”

“Absolutely,” said Dog, joining in. “But I also wanted justice And when I saw Luster and his crazy eyes staring right back, I knew that all my days of bounty hunting lead me to that, and there’s no turning back.”

“Pride and fate,” Leland explained. “Of course, the charges against us had more to do with the fact that by catching him we challenged Mexico’s sovereignty, and that upset them more than us stopping a serial rapist from assaulting their women. But there’s no question. I’d do it again. It was the right thing to do before it was legal.”

“In spite,” agreed Tim and Dog.

Arielle found herself interested in the possibility that what they’d done was something they’d been compelled to by Powers that Be. Because sometimes, now and again, she got the same feeling. “It was fate. I could feel it too. That’s why—you see my scars?” Arielle proudly showed them the scar running through her skin streaking over her sternum. “I always wanted some cool scars ever since I was little. That’s probably why the idea of the surgery didn’t bother me much. When I was under, the doctors had a lot of trouble getting my heart to beat again. No one told me about how hard it was to start up after I was off the table and in ICU. I only know because I just came up to the surface near the end of surgery, my eyes closed and all drugged up and not feeling pain. I wasn’t breathing at all. Everything in me was still, and I wasn’t afraid. I could hear a nurses’ voice—she was worried. I wasn’t. I knew I was fine because I could feel I wasn’t done yet. I just wondered ‘how does one breathe? How does one make a heart beat? Oh, yes’ and they started up again, just like that—” Arielle snapped her fingers. “And this is where I got shot.” She pulled the bikini top a bit to the side, revealing the pale sunburst scar against her freckled breast. A swelling of pride welled up in her as all the men were impressed at the ruggedness of her scar. “I felt it again when I was shot; that I wasn’t going to die because I hadn’t met my moment yet.”

“It will come,” Leland assured and pointed to the darkness amid the palm forest.

The third dream began.

The blackness sucked her in; she was in the palms; the scales of their trunks scratching and pressing her in for the Nothing, C.T., was strangling her. To her surprise, Arielle recognized his face! She knew his name; she’d seen a picture of him once and here he was choking her in palm trees. She was struggling, but could not escape from his grasp. She was dying. Using all her strength she warred against his fingers, losing moment by moment without strength enough on her own, her own red blood trickling down her palm bark scratched body, bloody red, red everywhere, red eyes, she needed—“Mor-!” She choked, drowning on her blood from the inside.

Morpheus! It never made it past her lips.

Arielle saw red starbursts behind her eyes just before awaking from Abigail shaking her. And pain. Pain in breathing, such pain everywhere.

“Ah!!!” Abigail shouted. “You hit me!

Yeah. She’d done that. There had been a nightmare . . . it was fading . . . she tried to hold on . . .

Gone. Nothing.

“Ty-Ty!” Arielle wheezed, trying to even out her breathing. Once the first few treacherous breaths were over, breathing became bearable. “Tylenol!”

“Hai!”

Arielle blessed that which was dependable.

Small, thin fingers clasped her hand and placed three round capsules inside.

“You were having a fit. Nightmare, I warrant? I didn’t sleep so well either; drempt of jumping off a white tower.” Abigail verbally shuttered. “It was the strangest thing. I bolted across a rampart and dove off head first. Imagine, me trying to kill myself, and he caught me by the ankle, just plucked me out of the air, and instead of being afraid of hitting the spires below I was terrified he’d die. . .”

“Who was this?” Niobe asked.

“Who?”

“Him.”

“Errr. . .dunno. It just felt like a boy. What did you dream about, Arielle?”

Arielle growled. She could smell something like bacon, raisin oatmeal, and spiced cider in the air and what was that ache. . .son of a bitch, she’d be getting her period tonight or tomorrow. She could beg tampons off Yumiko, if the kid even knew what those were. Talk about embarrassing conversations. She caught a whiff of something akin to rotten eggs emanating from the vicinity of an armpit. They all needed bathes. Opening her eyes, the faces of Yumiko and Abigail hovered before her vision. Trusty Yumiko displayed a steaming cup.

Because it was obvious she’d had a nightmare, Arielle didn’t feel obligated to elaborate on what she’d dreamt. Sitting up and glaring was hard enough work. And she couldn’t really remember what she’d dreamed anyway, nothing except red eyes. Not what, who. Think . . . Morpheus!

“Koucha! Oishi!” Yumiko pressed the cup closer as Arielle struggled to sit.

“Kouhi?” Arielle asked hopefully.

“Iiye!” Yumiko stuck out her tongue and made a face. “Koucha ii!”

“Do you follow any of this?” Abigail asked Niobe who rested on her mat a little ways off, behind the blonde by a cook fire, warm food steaming nearby. Laid out on a long cloth were the remains of a large breakfast.

“None.”

Arielle finished swallowing her tea, finding it the source of the cider-y smell. “How you holding up, Niobe?”

“I fear I have caught a fever. And the painkillers have worn down a bit, though I cannot say I miss them.”

“Bummer.” During Niobe’s reply Arielle noticed she had an elf observer sitting at the foot of her mat. He was the only elf around at all. “Hello.” And then to Niobe, “Why do I get the feeling I missed out on all the fun this morning?”

Abigail quickly stepped in, though not with a direct answer. “Arielle, this is Ristar.”

Ristar inclined his head, a faint smile on his lips, and held out a hand for her to shake within easy reach. Of course, Arielle accepted with pleasure.

“Nice to meet you.” Arielle meant it.

“I taught him to shake!” Abigail interjected.

“I teach him to bow,” added Yumiko. “He star student. You learn next. You do it wrong, Arielle.”

Abigail continued. “He’s from another elven realm west of here. Imladris. Am I saying it right?”

“Yes, quite accurate.” Ristar confirmed his voice a pleasant soft timbre. “I am an old-accustomed visitor of Mirkwood, at least in this corner of the woods. I’ve been given you as charges for the time being. My hosts have gone to bid their kin safe journey to Mandos before carrion cause further damage.”

“Funeral,” Abigail whispered in Arielle’s ear.

The cogs in Arielle’s head slowly turned, first making her feel embarrassed for asking, then mortified for being a cause of some of the physical ‘damage’ herself, and then blind panic.

“Where?! Are they idiots?! We can’t split up.” She reached for her gun and ammo to find them missing.

“Here.” Abigail groped about behind her, and then produced the weaponry. “I had to take it. That oaf Nessimon—”

“Lieutenant Oaf Nessimon.” Ristar corrected with a smile poised on his lips.

“Lieutenant Oaf Nessimon suspects we’re up to no good.”

Arielle snorted, taking her gun, muttering under her breath.

“And he wanted us all disarmed. It’s lucky I was already awake—”

Yumiko covered her mouth to suppress a fit of giggles.

“For while I generally agree that guns are a detriment to, and obsolete in modern society, we’re nowhere near modern society and being as you’ve proven yourself responsible enough to handle it safely—”

“I cherish your vote of confidence.”

“—And that it has proven to be an invaluable source of protection for everyone, I felt it in our best interest that you retain sole ownership as you’re the only one who knows how to operate it. I mean, honestly! Nessimon—”

“Lieutenant.”

Abigail clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Fine. Lieutenant Nessimon hasn’t the faintest clue of what a gun is or how to work it or even how not to upset the safety! It would be like passing a bomb off to a three-year-old child for safekeeping. The last thing I need is to wake up without a head. Again. And not that I mind you, Ristar,”

He inclined his head peaceably.

“But leaving us with naught but a babysitter for defense is a rather poor show of tactical prowess for a Lieutenant and I tried to make him see reason—”

And here a torrent of giggles spewed past Yumiko’s hand, shouting: “She curse his hair purple!”

Arielle sputtered out a laugh. It didn’t matter that it hurt to do so.

Abigail puffed up indignantly. “Only after he refused to listen to me, and I had to threaten to turn him into something useful, like the sack-of-potatoes he is because he wouldn’t leave off your gun, and then he threatened to have me arrested of all preposterous things, and only then did I turn his hair purple just to make sure everyone knew I could turn him into potatoes, were I so inclined.”

“Could you, really?” Niobe asked.

Abigail hung her head and sighed. “No. I couldn’t even turn a teacup into a tea cozy. I’m not even sure how I turned it purple; I’d intended to cover his perfect face in spots.”

If she weren’t already in a load of pain, Arielle would have found something hard to hit her head against. “You’ll be quiet if you want to maintain my confidence in you. So,” Arielle turned to Ristar, “was it Lieutenant Jackass’ idea to split up for a funeral?”

Ristar spoke in a calculated tone. “Mayhap it was not the most tactically sound decision, for much at this time is uncertain. But it was a choice of devotion and homage for us, and may spare Ondolle the full force of Grief for her husband.”

“I empathize, really,” Arielle replied because she sort of could imagine it, “but I’d prefer not to have another funeral.”

“You misunderstand; they are the same thing.”

Incredulously, Arielle raised an eyebrow. And smacked herself in the forehead, glaring at Niobe. “Argh! Now you have me doing the eyebrow thing!”

Niobe shrugged.

With acquiescence, Ristar spoke. “I forget; you know little of our world, let alone elf-kind. Tyelco has told you elves are immortal, has he not?”

“Yeah.”

“And so we are, save for death by one of two causes. While mortals may die by any number of poisons, wounds, infections, illness, age, starvation—”

“We’re aware of the concept.”

“Elves may only suffer a mortal death by fatal injury or Grief. Ondolle and Alassello were bound to one another ages ago. Vé is sister to Ondolle and greatly bereaved. That Ecetince, uncle to Alassello, was also killed does not improve matters.”

“They’re the other group?” Arielle suddenly remembered that the number rescued and the body count hadn’t equated with the elves at Tyelco’s platform.

“It appears that the night before our talan was attacked their hunting party was captured in another part of the wood. Or nearly all. Herendil, a friend to the family and Hereno’s brother, is missing entirely. It is hoped that he escaped to safety, but I doubt he could have made it far. It is likely he was killed in the struggle, or alone in the woods, before help could be reached. Of the five, only Ondolle and Vé survive.”

“Did you know them, the ones who died?” Arielle asked, immediately wishing to stick her foot in her mouth, even if Ristar didn’t outwardly seem to mind.

“I met Ecetince many, many ages ago during a war you are not likely to have heard of, and again during the Last Alliance, which from your faces does not sound familiar either. Bowman by trade, harpist by hobby, Ecetince was. Alassello had a fine voice, though I met him no more than a few times in passing, and his wife not at all save this morning. Wistful it is, but I now regret never having the chance. Better did I know Captain Nusirilo and Ohtal from the guard. You must forgive me and ask after them later. I knew them only what could amount to a few years, but their abrupt parting keeps the ache near.”

Of its own accord, Arielle’s mind drew her back to the sight of Tyelco cradling his dead friend and felt a new blanket of helplessness shrouding the terrible mess. If what Ristar was saying was true and grief gave elves physical injury, poor Ty had suffered an injury at the river, one she could not fathom. While in her lifetime she had suffered her own grief—acute, miserable, and to some degree physical—she didn’t want to know what it felt like to have grief sharpened into a deadly weapon, twisting into the heart worse than a surgeon’s scalpel . . .

“So grief, all on its own, is deadly for elves? Is that what Ondolle meant?” Abigail asked in a somewhat impressed, inquisitive tone.

Sensing that this was about to bring about a barrage of intrusive questions on Abby’s part, Arielle snapped, “It isn’t a lecture topic, Abby. Try and be a little less sensitive.”

Ristar actually chuckled, somewhat subduing Arielle. He had that twinkle of laughter in his eyes once again, and it made her feel all of five-years-old. Elves seemed to have strange mood swings. Now was a good time to see what was in the pot for breakfast.

“I don’t mind,” Ristar assured. “I’ve found that explaining abstract attributes of elves to mortals promotes a far more sympathetic mindset toward the Eldar than berating them for being rude when it’s no more than innocent interest in something different.” Then he continued, somewhat pensively for Abby. “While we Noldor and Silvan elves are more alike than we pretend to be, it is fact that the Silvan elves here in Mirkwood have sequestered themselves from their mortal neighbors for several millennia. We Noldor from Imladris, or as I should have mentioned earlier, Rivendell, have a more or less regular stream of mortal visitors seeking our accomplished healers. It has made us a good deal more used to indulging the inquisitiveness of mortal curiosity.”

As usual, Abby’s mind had gone off on a tangent. “Rivendell? Now where did I hear . . . R-i-v-e-n-d-e-l-l? Why, that’s the password to log onto Professor Utz’s university account!”

Arielle had just picked up a spoon for the rice pudding, and accidentally dropped it back in the pot.

Niobe sat up straight. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! I used to post the syllabus for all the students who were early, but mostly we used it to play video clips from the internet or music and the password was ‘Rivendell’. And—this is so infuriating!—I know he told everyone a story or riddle and I guessed ‘Rivendell’, which he let slip was his password, but I can’t remember how I knew that was the answer. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten; Utz reminded me exactly of Professor Lupin, such a passionate teacher, and not the actor David Thewlis with that ridiculous mustache, because he looked exactly the way Lupin ought to have looked, only without the scars and very handsome besides—”

“You had a girlly crush on your professor, didn’t you?” Arielle accused, holding back laughter.

Yumiko chorused:

“You want to hug him,

you want to kiss him,

you want his ba—”

“Stop it!” Abigail was flushed with embarrassment. “Utz is handsome, speaks seven languages (and is learning French); he’s fun, and charming, and is head over heals for Chaucer (reads it in perfect Middle English, oh you should hear!), and so enthusiastic and,” Abigail found everyone smirking at her, so shouted accusatively: “You’d have a crush on him too!”

“Uh-huh,” Arielle muttered conversationally.

Abby huffed. “Anyway, he tended to get sidetracked on rants every now and again, and I just know he told us the story behind that password. I knew it was ‘Rivendell’. I knew something about ‘Rivendell’, probably a lot on it, and I can’t help wondering if your home of ‘Rivendell’ has to do with Utzs’ ‘Rivendell’, since I’ve been having trouble remembering tidbits of books and songs and film. That, why that would mean I knew about this world!”

“The book thief!” Yumiko shouted, furious.

“Who?” Ristar asked, prompting Abigail to once again explain about the libraries in her head and how entire shelves of books and media were missing. Arielle knew something of the alleged change in their minds, as Niobe had described and shared a furtive look with the Jedi. Hearing it from this perspective was positively disturbing.

“C.T.,” she cursed softly.

“I may be of some assistance,” Ristar volunteered after Abby had finished. “After all, I have lived in Rivendell most all my days and its lore is dear to me. It seems that whatever captured your memories may not have been thorough, if you remember this detail. Often, in recovering lost memories, it only takes one thought to bring about the rest. Perhaps if you could better explain what ‘Rivendell’ was a password for, together we might be able to work out why your professor chose it.”

“Like I said, his online—oh heavens! You haven’t a clue what I’m talking about.”

Arielle snorted. “They live in trees, without toilets. No offense, Ristar. What were you expecting, Abby?”

“Shut it,” Abigail groused, then turned back to Ristar. “You like books Ristar?”

“Yes,” he confirmed cautiously. Arielle settled down with a nice bowl of cinnamon pudding for the show.

“Yumiko, I believe this calls for a demonstration. You wouldn’t be able to pull one of those cute e-books from that marvelous bag of yours, would you?”

“Hai!” Yumiko scrambled over to her bag, dug about for several moments, then held up the slim white device triumphantly before handing it over to Abigail.

“Me next!” Arielle dropped her bowl and scrambled over now recognizing the full potential of Yumiko’s bag, and only half joking said: “Santa, I want shampoo, an ipod with Smashing Pumpkins, and Nancy Sinatra, and Rage Against the Machine, and Evanescence. . .”

Holding down the power button to the e-book, Abby squealed as the start-up screen appeared. “It’s perfect!”

“I put all Harry Potter on it for you,” Yumiko explained, causing Abby to squeal and throw her arms around her.

Then, taking a second glance at the screen, she became quite disheartened. “It’s in Japanese!”

“What you expect?” Yumiko snatched back the e-book and changed the setting to English, muttering in mock irritation about presumptuous Westerners all the while, then thrusting it back as though the device were somewhat tainted now. “There!”

Abby accepted it, holding it and cooing as though someone had passed her a baby. Her gaze fixed, she began scooting up beside Ristar. “See Ristar? Isn’t it the neatest little contraption ever made?”

Quite rightly, Ristar was viewing the entire scene with intensely incredulous confusion. With an air of accepting something menial from a child as means to humor it, he tentatively looked at the tableau Abigail presented him with.

And looked.

And blinked, unsure that his eyes were still functioning.

“See here,” Abigail moved her finger over a delineated square surface at the bottom of the plaque. A pointed symbol on the illuminated top portion of the plaque mimicked her finger’s movement across what must have been what they referred to as English letters. “I select this just so,” the space around the letters darkened, the letters lightening, “And up comes Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, the entire book! I just select the scroll bar, and down we go, hundreds and hundred of pages. And with the illustrations, oh Yumiko it’s beautiful! What else is on here? Oh, manga, of course. I should have expected that, the dear.”

Words. There were no words in the tongues of elves, man, dwarves, halflings, not even black speech for something . . . something like this.

Tyelco had tried to warn them. Ristar thought he’d understood when Tyelco had insisted that the adan weren’t really adan; that they were altogether different, were not of Arda, were alive by sheer force of will-to-live, and were blessed with unimaginable power.

“Is . . . I know it isn’t alive, but how then . . .?” Ristar managed.

“It isn’t magic, if that’s what you mean. Just a clever machine.”

“It . . . thinks?”

Arielle burst out laughing, nearly choking on air, as she received her ipod from Yumiko.

“No, heavens no! At least, not like you and I think, as living beings. It’s programmed, meaning it isn’t alive; people use a code to set up cause and effect commands, and it’s not as if it can do anything without a living operator initiating the sequence.”

Ristar’s mind whirled. “But it gives off light and sound! I can hear it humming . . .”

“That’s because it’s run by electricity, silly,” Abby giggled. “Sorry, I just can’t imagine what it must be like for you. I mean, I can’t imagine my life without devices like this for music and movies and chatting casually with friends miles away, on the other side of the world in fact, as though they were at my side . . . all my creature comforts to make home wherever I may be. But without any basic understanding of the mechanics of it all, well, it may as well be magic, I suppose.”

“To answer the question you haven’t asked since Abby’s ranting,” Arielle interrupted, “Electricity is what makes up lightening. Something like that notebook doesn’t need a whole lot of electricity to run. The metals inside act as conductors, like lightning rods (I’m sure you’re at least familiar with barns having them, being immortal and all) and after that, there’s probably some chemical reactions and shit so complicated not even Abby understands and voilà; an e-notebook with enough memory to hold a million pages of text. Totally cool. Not as cool as lasers and DVDs and movies, but from the look on your face, your poor little heart probably couldn’t take the shock. Maybe we try again tomorrow, ne?”

It occurred to Ristar that all of Middle-Earth could not withstand the shock. “Then your weapon—“

“Doesn’t work like that notebook.” Arielle replied in sharp staccato. “Just old-fashioned propulsion and black power. And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m not stupid enough to tell you. Or anyone for that matter.”

The red-haired woman suddenly went silent, and what faint rouge had brightened her freckled cheeks drained.

“Are you alright?” Abigail asked. “You’ve gone pale. Is it your chest?”

“No. This is a bad idea. Bad juju. We shouldn’t be telling them this stuff.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“If word of this technology gets out, they can be dangerous. Ten seconds ago I was ready to pass out CB radios so we could split up, but think about it. This is a military installation; the mortals and immortals don’t get along all that well. Think about it! If I ask you, Abby, how to make an atomic bomb, well, how? And I’d bet good money you’d be able to tell me how to do it, in theory at least, right?”

Abigail went unnaturally pale, her skin puckering at the roots of her hairs as mortals had wont when afraid. Whatever the poor female adan knew, it was certainly something she did not wish in the hands of either enemies or friends. As such, Ristar was not foolish enough to ask after it, nor speak of it ever again. In his time, he had heard tales of too many things which, in one hand was a boon, in another a bane. By nature, elves were far more inclined to let things be as they are in nature than to pull them apart to uncover their inner workings.

The girls sat silent for a moment.

Niobe sighted. “I am disappointed I did not think of it sooner. After all, I believe it is a Star Trek prime directive not to share technology with less advanced worlds, and the New Republic had similar, sensible regulations in place.” Niobe then murmured, “I despise being ill.”

Ristar heard Arielle mutter, “Watching you be ill’s worse,” though he did not believe the other heard her.

Arielle thethen, out of the blue, solemnly stated to Ristar: “I’m not gonna shoot any of you elves, you know that, right?”

The gift of the Valar allowed Eldar to see something of the soul in the eyes of others, especially when invited. There was much fire in her eyes, a sign of one quick to temper, but Ristar could see its kindling had more to do with love than outright anger.

“I believe it would be an unimaginable, insufferable elf, one which would have to be of great annoyance and much deserving for you ever to shoot an eldar, Narielle.” Ristar chuckled, imagining an Arielle subjected to Rivendell’s trouble-makers-in-chief, the twins. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Not that I won’t show my teeth now and again,” Arielle warned.

“Only to be expected.” And it was of four young . . . whatever these females were . . . caught among strangers, surrounded by unfamiliar danger.

“So we have an understanding? Bad idea for us to share stuff?”

Not the most eloquent of treaties, but entirely understandable. For the first time while visiting Mirkwood, Ristar wished Lord Elrond or perhaps a stray istari were around. Old as he was, he was not used to thinking in terms of world-wide repercussions. He was not an elf cut out for such things. “Speaking for myself, yes. I do not know the knowledge you speak of, and were I to know it, I cannot be sure I am suited to predict the impact of such things—” and here Ristar indicated the e-notebook, “—upon our kind. But I imagine the four of you have drawn much attention these past few days, not all of it friendly. I know not how such knowledge may be refashioned, so I find it best to leave it to you until, perhaps, those wisest in the ways of our world might judge it. I will speak on your behalf, as Tyelco has and I’m sure will continue to, and not of what you have shown me. But I am not of Mirkwood. Truly, they have suffered much in a short time. Do not expect them to exert much energy in understanding, not in the wake of their loss. Be patient with them. You four are . . . disquieting. Whatever happened the other night left Lieutenant Nessimon in a state of near-hysteria. If he received such a shock as I have, his life in the balance besides . . . be most patient with him.”

“I’ll talk to jackass when he gets back,” Arielle assured. “Privately. People are stupid, a person is smart, so the saying goes. We’ll talk gun safety. As in, when the gun is with me, the gun is safe.”

So entirely like adan, so entirely not. “It will be a start.”

“You know what else we should do before everyone gets back?” Abigail asked excitedly.

“Nani?” Yumiko inquired.

“Baths.” Arielle asserted.

“Ice cream!” shouted Yumiko.

“Chocolate truffles,” Niobe added

“Bathes,” Arielle reiterated.

In a very short time, Ristar found the conversation and business turning to the far more mundane topics of the immediate—what to feed the elves when they finally returned (and here he had to assure them that elves did not typically fast after funerals, though it was unlikely they would be terribly hungry), finding a way to take proper bathes, medicine, standing watch. Now and again, he heard snatches about missing toilets, which strangely sounded to be everywhere in their world, as Yumiko claimed to never have not used them before arriving in Arda.

He also found it odd that Yumiko seemed to instinctively know where to find the nearest hot spring, the location of which he confirmed. The way in which they set about planning a trip to the springs made Ristar realize that these girls were not in the least bit acquainted with restriction of movement. For while their eye might scan the woods for danger now and again, none seemed keen to include the likely response of the Mirkwood guards to such an excursion.

But there was one thing Ristar, who had many century’s experience with mortals and Silvans, was certain of: these endearing young ladies who had saved his life were less in danger of this vague see-tee they spoke of than the prejudices of Silvan elves.

Glossary:

One-san (J): my older sisters

Yata, koucha (J): hooray, tea

Kawaii (J): cute

Atsui choushoku (J): hot breakfast

Koucha (J): tea

Oishi (J): yummy

Kouhi (J): coffee

Iiye (J): ew

Koucha ii (J): tea’s good

Nani (J): what?

Kirei (J): pretty

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