Without

By CinnamonGrrl

Part 11

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Crammed inside her tiny carrell with Buffy, who was accomodatingly holding an increasingly-tall stack of books, Corinne grimaced. It had to be Iris, the grouchier of the Anthropology Department’s secretaries, who would come in on a Monday (when the department was usually closed) and pester them. She’d hoped coming in this early in the morning would allow them to avoid everyone, but success was not to be hers that day.

“We are Finnish,” Haldir informed the woman calmly, as if that explained everything. Corinne clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, and Buffy bit her lip.

“Finnish.” Iris didn’t seem very impressed by the information, and Corinne could almost see the woman cocking her hip to one side, all attitude. “Why are you here, then, and not in Finland?”

The elves had no answer for that, of course, and so avoided the question entirely by asking one of their own. “Are you Finnish as well?” Haldir inquired pleasantly.

A long, protracted moment of silence met his question, as Iris was black and therefore extremely unlikely to be of Scandinavian descent. “No,” she said faintly, as if wondering if these two men might be dangerous in their obvious insanity. “No, I’m not Finnish.”

“Alas,” Legolas replied, polite as always. “For I am sure you would make an excellent Finn.”

“Alas,” Iris repeated, sounding very much in shock. Corinne decided to take pity on her, even as she realized she had to explain to them exactly why it was she and Buffy were telling people they were Finnish.

“Hi, Iris,” she said cheerfully, pushing her way out of the carrell. “It’s just me and some friends.”

Iris, always one to recover quickly, said, “You’re not supposed to have unauthorized people back here.” She ran a gimlet eye over the stack of books Buffy was emerging with from the carrell. “What are you going to do with those? Does Professor Ives know you’re taking them?”

“Well, that’s the other reason we’re here,” Corinne said with what she hoped was a charming smile. “I need his phone number on the Island.”

Iris folded her arms over her ample chest and surveyed the little group before her. She seemed to find them lacking in some way, because she finally said, “No way. You know he don’t want to be disturbed during the summer.”

“Yeah, I know, but this is important,” Corinne replied, a note of pleading creeping into her voice. “He sent me on an errand, and something’s gone horribly wrong, and I have to talk to him.”

“Can’t help you,” Iris said flatly. “And you haven’t turned in your outline for that Intro course you’re teaching this fall.”

“Course outline,” Corinne said, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “On it. You’ll have it by Wednesday.” She gazed anxiously at Iris. “You sure you won’t let us have Ives’ phone number?”

“Positive.”

“Should we render her unconscious, and search for the information we need?” Haldir asked silently.

Corinne considered the suggestion; it would certainly be a nice bit of fun after years of dealing with the difficult woman. “No, that would be wrong.” she replied at last, not seeming entirely convinced of that. “Ok, then,” she said aloud, and motioned for the others to load up with the books and follow her out.

“You can’t take those with you without permission!” Iris declared, coming after them.

“Run!” Corinne urged. “We need them!” And she bolted down the hallway, the others close on her heels as Iris huffed and puffed in pursuit. “Don’t bother with the elevator,” she said over her shoulder, shoving open the door to the stairs.

“Thank Elbereth,” Legolas muttered under his breath. Down and down they spiralled until they emerged into the lobby just as the elevator dinged. Dashing outside, they dodged pedestrians, phone booths, fire hydrants, vagrants, and Buffy’s desire for an Italian ice (“Oooh, watermelon!”) until they found themselves outside the downtown offices of Rent-A-Wreck.

“Why are we renting a wreck?” Buffy asked as Corinne entered the store. “I’m not sure I want to get in a car with you.”

Corinne grabbed a form and began filling in the lines. “We have to speak with Professor Ives. If we can’t call him, we’ll have to see him in person. Mass Transit doesn’t go to Orient Point without, like, five changes, and there’s no stop at all at Cutchogue—we’d still have to rent a car, or walk for miles and miles.”

“This does not seem like a wise course of action,” Legolas grumbled. Beside him, Haldir bore an almost-identical scowl.

Handing over the form to the attendant with her driver’s license and credit card, she smiled winningly. “Turn those frowns upside down, guys. We’re gonna see the ocean!”

“The ocean?” Legolas whispered, groping blindly for Buffy’s hand. “With gulls and sand and…?”

“And waves, and saltwater, and, ooh! Taffy, mmm,” Buffy was nearly hopping up and down with excitement. “Maybe we can stop and have some seafood somewhere.”

Ok, that was Legolas and Buffy won over, but Haldir just stared at Corinne. She batted her eyelashes at him and whispered to his mind, “The beach, Haldir. Sex on the beach. Remember?” Indeed he did, she realized when his eyes darkened and that indefinable current tightened between them. She held out her hand; the attendant slapped the keys to their car into Corinne’s palm. “Shall we be off?”

***

A few hours later, Corinne turned off the main street of the picturesque little town of Cutchogue. In the back seat, Legolas had begun hanging his head out the window about an hour before, and with his hair blowing in the breeze he strongly reminded her of a Golden Retriever only too happy to be out for a ride with his master. Buffy was snuggled up against his side, grinning widely and teasing him, which he ignored completely.

For his part, Haldir looked perfectly relaxed, slouched back in his seat with elbow propped out the window. If not for the ear-tips revealed by the wind gusting through the car (Legolas had insisted on having all of them open, the better to breathe the increasingly briny air) he would have looked as if he’d been in automobiles all his life.

Consulting the slip of paper in her hand one last time, Corinne pulled to a stop before a small house. Its cedar shingles had long since been weathered to a silvery-grey, and its blue shutters had faded to a similar hue, making the abode seem like nothing more than a boxy piece of driftwood. Masses of rosebushes, left to fend for themselves, had tangled with each other until they formed a nearly impenetrable barrier from the curb to the front door. The effect was both organic, guaranteed to delight Legolas, and inhospitable, guaranteed to delight Haldir. Corinne was just wondering how to breech the barrier of thorns to reach the front door when it was opened and a familiar face peered out.

“Iris called,” Professor Timothy Ives said without preamble. “I’ve been expecting you.” Beckoning them to come around to the back and gesturing to a narrow path skirting the side of the house, he shut the door. Obeying, they walked the path single-file, Buffy murmuring in comfort when Legolas whimpered at the first sight of the pounding surf at the end of the back yard.

At the rear of the house was a screened porch, and the door squeaked loudly when Ives pushed it open for them. He was a short man, deeply tanned from his time at the shore, barrel chest and bandy-legs revealed by his half-unbuttoned Madras shirt and battered khaki shorts. It looked as if he hadn’t shaved once since the last day of classes back in May.

“May… may I go to the water?” Legolas requested, his voice trembling. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright with unshed tears. Corinne had kind of thought it was funny, the way he became all ecstatic at the idea of the sea, but seeing how deeply affected he was touched her in spite of herself. As did the expression on Buffy’s face: it seemed to be saying, without words, “Say yes, because if you don’t you’re in for a world of deep hurting.”

“Of course,” Ives replied fortunately. “Enjoy.”

Legolas started out swiftly, but seemed to falter when the grass underfoot faded to creamy-gold sand. Buffy kicked off her daisy-bedecked shoes and he did likewise, his eyes fluttering closed in joy at the first touch of the warm, silky grains beneath his feet. She took his hand and urged him forward, hand over her eyes to shield them from the glare of the sun. At the very edge of the water, at the first touch of it against his toes, Legolas flung back his head and let out a single, sharp exclamation.

Looking back at Haldir, Corinne saw his usually impassive face had gentled, and he watched his fellow elf with a profound sympathy, if not exactly comprehension. “You don’t feel the same?” she asked in thought.

“I do not,” he confirmed likewise, “for my place in with Lórien, always with Lórien. But I am alone of my people in that.” She sensed a weary sort of acceptance in him, as well as a profound grief and loneliness before irritation and anger flowed through their link and, like a gate clanging shut, his mind snapped shut to her. Blinking, she saw he was glaring at her, and that Ives was watching them, forehead crinkled in puzzlement.

“Sorry,” she said to her professor, and entered the screened porch, Haldir right behind her. Inside was a conglomeration of mismatched furniture, all chosen for comfort rather than appearance, and it was cool and shadowy compared to the bright summer day outside. She dropped onto the dilapidated wicker loveseat, not surprised when Haldir sat beside her.

“So,” Ives said by way of introduction, ensconcing himself in a brightly patterned papasan chair and crossing his ankle over his knee. “What could possibly be so important that you’d steal books from the department and drive all the way out here?”

Corinne withdrew the cartouche from the recesses of her purse for the second time in as many days. “This,” she replied, and peeled back the linen. Ives leaned forward, elbows on knees, to study it a moment. He watched the sunlight glance off the richly figured surface of the gold, turning Aker’s two manes into living flame, and then he reached out a hand to trace the shapes

“No!” Corinne exclaimed, snatching her hand back and hurriedly wrapping the linen around it once more. “Don’t touch it.”

His gaze turned from speculative to shrewd, and he leaned back once more, reaching for a half-full beverage on the table at his side. “And why shouldn’t I touch it, Corinne?”

“Because it’s got some sort of weird mojo on it,” she snapped, feeling like he was mocking her. And, well, he was—if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by—and that put her in a distinctly bad mood. “I don’t even know how to begin explaining what’s happened since I bought it at that shop you told me about.” Haldir opened his mind to her again, and feeling her agitation, soothed her. She let her hand find his, and under one of the folds of her skirt, clasped it tightly, grateful for his strength.

“You should probably begin at the beginning,” Ives said, and motioned to the pitcher and some glasses. “Iced tea?”

***

An hour later, Legolas and Buffy had finally been able to drag themselves away from the water and joined them, ignoring Ives’ grimace when they tromped in, shaking sand free from wet feet and thirstily gulping their own iced tea.

“So,” Ives began, “You’re telling me that you made a half-assed wish, and the cartouche sent you to some medieval world where there are elves and various other fantastical creatures, and you and… Haldir, here, have some bond that makes you… keep in close proximity to each other, or suffer extreme discomfort?” Corinne and Haldir nodded solemnly. He turned to the other two. “And how are you two effected by the cartouche?”

“Not at all,” Buffy answered, brushing another pound of sand off her ankles. “We’re the moral support. Oh, and the muscle, if it’s needed.” Ives stared at her, obviously disbelieving such a short, slender woman with such a sweet smile could be much ‘muscle’. She just smiled all the more sweetly.

“You don’t seem too medieval to me, Miss Summers,” Ives told her.

“That’d be because I’m not,” she replied cheerily. “Born in 1981, sent to Middle-Earth in 2001.”

“You’re aging well,” he commented. “You don’t look a day over twenty.”

“Well, aren’t you the sweetie!” she replied, delighted. “I’m 39, actually, but if you think I’m well-preserved, ask Pissy Elf over there how old he is.”

Ives raised his eyebrows over the nickname but turned toward Haldir, who muttered a rude word under his breath and left the porch to stand at the end of the grass and stare out over the water. “Was it something I said?” Ives murmured.

“He’s just been in a bad mood these last few centuries,” Buffy answered, then tucked her finally sand-free legs under her and snuggled against Legolas’ side. “What can you do to help him and Corinne? ‘Cause they’re both pretty unhappy about this whole sitch.”

“Well,” Ives said slowly, “I’m not sure what can be done. Even were I to accept that you’re telling me the truth—which I’m not persuaded of, by the way—I don’t know much more than Corinne does about the whole thing. My field of expertise is Greek stele featuring hoplites,” he explained apologetically. “Have you tried speaking to the whoever sold you the cartouche?”

“I would, if he were still there,” Corinne replied, a sour note entering her voice. “If nothing else convinces you, maybe that will. We went there yesterday, and it’s not an antiquities dealer any more, it’s a sari shop. The owner insisted they’d been there over thirty years.”

Ives frowned. “8080 East 59th Street is a sari shop?” he asked, incredulous. “For thirty years?” He seemed aghast. “But.. I’ve been getting stele there since I came to New York, back in ’73.” He stood abruptly and fetched a cordless phone and an aged notebook, bulging with scraps of paper and takeaway restaurant menus. Flipping through it, he apparently found the number he wanted and dialed with his thumb, leaning against the wall as he scrutinized the page before him. The shrill sound of a voice on the other end of the line carried throughout the porch, the rhythm of its Indian accent clear even over the waves on the shore in the distance.

“I’m sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number…” Ives began, and then got the most peculiar expression on his face. For a moment, it went utterly blank before a spasm of pain shook him and he dropped the phone from nerveless fingers. Corinne stood, about to go to him, when she heard a strange humming. Alarmed, she wrenched open her purse and found that the cartouche was glowing so brightly that even the linen around it seemed to be made of pure white light.

“Shit,” she muttered, just as Ives blinked and seemed to recover himself.

“You!” he said, voice incensed. “Iris called, said you’ve gone crazy!”

“Professor—“ Corinne said slowly, trying to calm him, but there was a wild light in his eyes.

“No! Get out!” he cried, and started toward her; but in his anxiety he didn’t look where he was going, and tripped over the phone he’d dropped, landing hard on hands and knees. “Get out!”

Stunned, Corinne allowed Buffy to drag her out of the porch while Legolas collected Haldir. “Professor Ives,” she tried again, but he was still railing against her as he lurched to his feet. Haldir ran to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her after him, and the four dashed back to the car.

Behind the steering wheel, she stared out the windshield a long moment. What the hell had happened? One moment her advisor, the person who could make or break her career, been perfectly fine and the next he was treating her as a pariah. A loony pariah, no less. Had ordered her, almost frothing at the mouth, out of his house, and even now was running toward them, yelling and waving his arms.

“Hurry,” Haldir urged. It broke into her baffled wonderings and, fumbling with the keys, she started the car. Flooring the gas pedal, they screeched away from the curb. Corinne drove blindly, not even aware of where she was going, only following where Buffy told her to turn until it was nearly dark and there was nowhere left to go.

“Turn the car off,” was Buffy’s last instruction, and so she did. Blinking, she looked around. In the twin beams of the headlights, all she could see were some sand dunes and waving grasses. “We’re… at a beach?” she said slowly.

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, opening her door. “Followed the signs. I figured it would be a good place to calm down, go over what just happened back there.”

Haldir came around to the driver’s side and pulled Corinne out, tugging her gently to follow Buffy and Legolas. The sand rose in a slight hillock before sloping down to the water’s edge, and he sat on the crest, pulling her down next to him and wrapping an arm around her waist. She dropped her head to his shoulder and allowed her panic and horror to flow, unchecked, through her mind.

What would this mean for her? All she’d ever wanted was to study, to learn, to prove herself, and to teach what she knew to others. In her whole life, it was the only goal she’d ever held that meant anything to her. And now it looked as if it were all crumbling. Everything she’d ever hoped for, everything she’d pursued and striven and sweated for—all gone, and in the merest whisper of a moment.

She felt a gentle nudge within her mind, and knew Haldir was there with her, offering comfort in that way just as he did with his arms around her. “I know of something that will ease you,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest against her ear.

“What’s that?” she asked, sniffing, and realized she’d started to cry.

“Look you there,” he replied, nodding toward the water. Corinne lifted her head to see that Legolas had shucked every stitch of his clothing and was now frolicking, naked as the long-ago day he’d been born, in the waves while Buffy laughed helplessly at his joyful antics. As she watched, Legolas dove into an oncoming wave as nimbly as a seal, and when he surfaced he slicked back the long torrent of his pale hair and sent his wife a grin that was pure sex-on-a-stick.

Buffy’s resultant gulp was visible even in the dark, even at that distance, even to Corinne’s mortal eyesight, and she couldn’t stifle a laugh as Buffy yanked off the sundress and tossed it on top of the discarded pink daisy shoes to run, clad only in her panties, to the water. Legolas grabbed her just as a wave crashed into them, and for a moment the moonlit spray surrounded them like a silvery halo.

Corinne hazarded a glance up at Haldir; he was watching his friends with a peculiar expression; not quite envy, not quite happiness, and yet both at the same time. “We cannot allow them to have all the enjoyment,” he told her gravely, and she knew he knew she was watching him. Then he stood and held out his hand to help her up.

Slowly, deliberately, Haldir removed his clothing and then stared at her until she did the same and, like Buffy, stood wearing only her knickers. “I see Dagnir is not the only one with a fondness for pink daisies,” he commented as he stared appreciatively at her undergarments. Then he threw her over his shoulder before striding down to the ocean.

Corinne would have protested if she hadn’t been so distracted by the sight of his marvelous peach of an ass right in front of her face, and couldn’t resist giving a bite to one of the firm, ivory-pale cheeks. If the feel of his rounded flesh between her teeth hadn’t been reward enough, then his most unGuardianlike squeal of surprise certainly was.

Of course, then he dumped her right in the water and stood there, hands on hips, smirking down at her when she resurfaced, sputtering and threatening dire consequences. To the side, Buffy and Legolas laughed, their arms around each other and hair hanging in salty, sandy ropes around their smiling faces. Then Haldir grabbed her hand and hauled her upright a second time, enclosing her in his embrace as another wave came forward to kiss the shore, and Corinne thought that even if everything was going straight to hell, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing, after all, if it meant she could have this moment with him, with them all.

Part 12

It was after midnight when they finally arrived back in Manhattan. After returning the car (thank God for businesses being open 24-hours in the Big Apple), they headed for Corinne’s dorm. “We’ll have to make it quick,” she said glumly. “I have no doubt that between Iris and Ives, they’ve called the cops. May have already changed the lock on me.”

Her euphoria had only lasted until they were heading back to the city and Buffy and Legolas had fallen asleep in the back seat. Neither Corinne nor Haldir being the chatty type, she’d driven in silence, which had given her plenty of opportunity to stew over the mess her life had become. Sometimes she felt the consoling brush of his mind against her, a fleeting whisper of comfort, but most of the time he seemed lost in his own thoughts, and left her alone. He’s got his own issues to deal with, Corinne reminded herself.

Creeping as silently as they could, they packed anything she’d left in the room (which, as she’d already brought most of it to Lórien, wasn’t too much) and tiptoed out again. Corinne gave her dorm one last, lingering glance before shutting the door. The quiet snick of the lock was apparently enough to signal their presence, because Sandra opened her door and stared at them.

“Corinne,” she said, “what the hell is going on?”

“Um, nothing?” Corinne replied nervously.

Sandra crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. “There were cops here asking about you, and Iris called like forty times.” She peered at the elves and Buffy. “This has to do with you guys, doesn’t it?”

“You got us,” Buffy said cheerfully. “We cause trouble wherever we go. It’s a gift. Well, that and the death.”

Corinne took a deep breath and counted to ten. “We have to go. Please don’t tell anyone you’ve seen us?”

Sandra grudgingly agreed, and Corinne surprised her with a brief hug before allowing Haldir to tug her away. Outside, the city was still bustling but in that darkly thrilling way that cities have. In spite of her general sense of gloom, she felt her pulse race and felt the urge to throw back her head and laugh in exhilaration. It was nighttime in Manhattan, and she was, marginally at least, ‘on the lam’. Anything was possible.

As it happened, however, and somewhat to her disappointment, nothing exciting occurred. They walked a few blocks to a modest hotel, Corinne extracted from her overused wallet a credit card to pay for a room with two beds, and they went to sleep. Neither couple complained about the lack of privacy, as all were exhausted by the day’s events to be much interested in the other besides their function as bed-warmer and cuddle-provider.

The next morning, Buffy and Legolas decided to venture out alone in pursuit of breakfast, leaving the other two alone to research contact information for her friends in California.

“Dammit,” Corinne muttered from her perch at the desk, where she was glaring at her laptop’s monitor. “This isn’t making any sense at all.” Haldir raised a brow at her from where he lounged on their bed. “None of the people on Buffy’s list are showing up on the white pages sites.”

So far, she’d had no luck whatsoever, and decided to simply try typing “Willow Rosenberg” into a search engine. What she found in the results made her gasp. “It’s an obituary,” she said in amazement. “Willow is dead, has been for years.”

“Dead?” Haldir sat up, suddenly on full alert. “That is impossible. I saw her through the portal, with my own eyes, when Dawn came to Arda.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said, typing in name after name, and coming up with the same results: Alexander Harris, Daniel Osborne, Cordelia Chase.

Buffy Summers.

“Something’s not right here,” Corinne said at last. “This obituary says Buffy died when she was fifteen, as a student at Hemery High in Los Angeles. This is all wrong.”

They had no time to consider the issue further, however, because the woman in question chose that moment to fling open the door and run in, Legolas close on her heels and bearing a large paper sack. “Did they rebuild them?”

“What?” Corinne sat back in the chair and pushed her glasses up on top of her head. Buffy was all windblown, with bright spots of colour on her cheeks, and her eyes were apprehensive. “Rebuild what?”

“The Twin Towers. Did they rebuild them?”

Corinne frowned. “Why would they rebuild them? Is there something wrong with them?”

Buffy was quiet a very, very long time. She took the sack from Legolas, who was watching his wife with concern, and began carefully, almost ceremoniously, arranging bagels and styrofoam coffee cups on the desk. She even laid out napkins and spoons and packets of sugar and those tiny plastic buckets of half-and-half. Then she began stacking the half-and-half into little pyramids and Corinne lost her patience.

“Buffy!” she yelled. “What is wrong with you?”

“We went for a little walk around, came to a park, climbed a tree. From the top of the tree, we had a pretty good view of downtown.” Buffy put down the creamers and turned wide eyes to Corinne. “Did anything happen, that you might recall, to the Twin Towers in 2001?”

The other woman huffed out a breath as she thought. “No. Nothing. Why?”

“Then, Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more. Because back on Earth—my Earth-- terrorists crashed planes into them, and they collapsed. There was a big hole in the skyline where they used to be. But they’re still up, and in one piece, here… if they haven’t been attacked, then we’re not on my Earth.”

Corinne stared in horror, and then comprehension dawned on her face. She nodded. “That makes more sense, then.”

“Not much is making sense anymore,” Buffy complained, and drained half of one cup of coffee in a single gulp.

“Look,” Corinne said, and turned the laptop so Buffy could read it. There, on the screen, was the obituary of one Elizabeth Anne Summers, 1981 – 1996.

“1996?” Buffy breathed. “That would mean… that in this dimension, I died instead of Merrick, that I never went to Sunnydale.” She looked at the others in turn. “It also means that I never met Giles. He won’t know me here, won’t trust me… hell, in this world, I’ve been dead for almost ten years.” In frustration, she slammed her fist down on the table, making the bagels and coffee jump.

“I believe that is the least of our worries at this time,” Legolas murmured, and they turned to see him standing with his ear pressed to the door. “They come for us; quickly, gather our things,” he told Buffy, who leapt up and began cramming everything she could into the monstrous duffelbag.

“How could they find us so quickly?” Haldir asked Corinne as she shut off the laptop and began packing their breakfast back into the paper sack.

“Traced the credit card,” she said breathlessly. “Dammit, I should have thought of that. I’m no good at this criminal evasion stuff. What the hell are we going to go?” She dashed to the window and flung open the drapes; there was a tiny balcony, barely large enough for a single person to stand on, and they were seven stories up. “You three could do some crazy Tarzan maneuver, I’m sure, but I’m screwed,” she stated plainly, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Not necessarily,” Haldir replied smoothly, and held up the linen packet that was the cartouche as a knock came at the door. It was already starting to glow.

“Management, open up,” said a man’s voice. “We’ve got the police here.”

Corinne looked around the room. The duffelbag was bulging and could not be zipped, but everything was in it; Buffy grasped its handles in one hand and Legolas’ arm in the other. “I won’t even need the incantation,” she muttered, pulling the linen off. “I really, really, really want us to be back in Arda, in Lórien, in Haldir’s talan,” she said, and obediently, the cartouche began to glow.

The police were banging on the door now, and there was the scrape of a key in the lock. “Hold tight, everyone,” Corinne instructed, clutching at Haldir as she wrapped her fingers around Aker’s little golden figure. The light flared brightly until they were forced to close their eyes against it, and they could hear the slam as the door was finally opened forcefully and the shouts of the police as their quarry simply vanished into thin air.

The last sound they heard, however, was of a gunshot.

***

“Let me get this straight,” Corinne said, her voice shaking as Buffy and Legolas tended to the new hole in Haldir’s upper arm. “You couldn’t just leave the bagels and coffee, and when you reached out for the bag, they shot you?”

“I am very hungry,” he replied simply. “We have paid for them, there was no reason to leave them there.” And he took a big bite of his pumpernickel bagel with extra cream cheese, managing to smirk even as he chewed.

“Uh, Haldir, maybe you better just shut up,” Buffy said, eyeing the way Corinne was clenching and unclenching her fists as she paced the sitting room of his talan.

“Better yet, Oscar, toss me one of those bad boys,” said a voice from the doorway, and all four turned to see Dawn leaning against the jamb, surveying them with a mixture of amusement and displeasure. “I find myself somewhat peckish after a panicked five-day ride with no sleep, ” she continued pointedly.

Buffy went pale and Legolas took a step backward. Haldir lobbed a bagel at her head—hard—which she caught effortlessly with one hand before coming forward. Corinne just watched with interest.

“So, Boromir and Mercas and I were in Minas Tirith visiting Faramir and Eowyn when we learned my sister and her husband were nowhere to be found, in all of Ithilien,” Dawn began conversationally, her manner nonchalant but her tone hard enough to break a diamond off of. She bit deeply into the bagel and continued while she chewed. “You can imagine the delight with which this news was received. So much delight, in fact, that the king himself has led a search party for them. He went west to Rohan, and Boromir and I came north. Woo, Elessar’s gonna be so happy to learn that his trip all the way to Edoras was for nothing…”

“Dawnie…” Buffy began, looking shame-faced, but her sister cut her off.

“Do you realize that he’s so worked up about the two of you going missing, Buffy, that Arwen went with him to hold him together?” All pretense at pleasantry was dropped; Dawn was, plainly put, incensed.. “And Gimli’s been having nightmares that you’ve been captured and tortured by orcs.”

“Gimli…” Legolas murmured sorrowfully, and Dawn rounded on him.

“You’re over two thousand frickin’ years old! How could you not think to even leave a note?” she demanded before turning back to Buffy. “We got here yesterday, only to find you used the very thing that’s caused all the trouble to return to Earth and EAT BAGELS.”

“Well,” Buffy said in a small voice, “That’s not all we’ve been doing.”

“Certainly not,” Corinne piped up indignantly, feeling compelled to defend her new friends. “We also went shopping.”

There was an ominous silence while Dawn took another vicious bite of thickly-buttered blueberry bagel, glaring at them the whole while. “Shopping,” she repeated flatly.

“We stole books from an institution of learning, and were chased by a woman who is most certainly not Finnish,” Legolas said, smiling hopefully. Then his face fell as he recalled the consequences of those actions. “But then she roused the authorities on us.”

“I was shot,” Haldir said, and help up his now-bandaged arm as proof. “It hurts,” he added a moment later.

“And we all went skinny-dipping in the ocean as my career went down in flames,” Corinne mentioned with more that a trace of self-pity.

“I like to think of it more as ‘a blaze of glory’,” Buffy told her with a sympathetic pat on the arm before turning to Dawn, all big hazel eyes and trembling pink lips. “We’re really, very, very sorry,” Buffy said, looking downright pathetic, “A *world* of sorry, Dawnie. Galadriel said Haldir was in trouble, and we just didn’t think.”

Dawn crammed the last quarter of the bagel in her mouth and brushed off her hands as she glowered at them, her face lumpy. When she could speak again, she said, “I’m gonna let Boromir deal with you. He’s even more pissed off than I am.” And grabbing one of the coffees, she stomped out.

Not thirty seconds later, Boromir entered the talan. “Greetings,” he said calmly, his gaze flicking over all of them to rest on Corinne. “I am Boromir of Gondor, husband to Dawn,” he said by way of introduction, bowing briefly.

“Corinne of New York,” she replied, trying (and failing) to curtsey. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said gravely. “It is my understanding that you are the reason for all the excitement, Lady Corinne.”

“Well, yeah, but not on purpose,” she hedged. “It’s all been one big, crazy mistake. I’m really sorry.”

“Please do not be,” Boromir replied with a broad smile, surprising them all. “I am in your debt, for providing me with a reason to leave Minas Ithil. If I had to spend one more day listening to farmers gripe about how many more acres their neighbours had received than them, I would have run mad.”

Taking a step closer, he whispered conspiratorially, “And do not believe what Dawn says about Elessar being upset. He is just as thrilled as I to have a reason to leave behind his tiresome duties and travel once more. Arwen is with him so they may adventure together, and I expect them here within the next week, as Galadriel has told her granddaughter to join us in this fair city.”

“But how close to Dawn’s telling is Gimli, truly?” Legolas asked with no small amount of trepidation. If the dwarf were truly angered, there would indeed be hell to pay.

“He is somewhat anxious, for it is not his elf-friend’s way to simply leave without a trace—“ here Boromir permitted a bit of reproach to enter his voice, and Legolas bowed his head accordingly, “—but he too was most pleased to have a reason to come see the fair elf-witch once more.”

At this point, Corinne tuned out of the conversation, preferring to submerge herself in more thoughts of gloom. Though she’d had been able to tamp down her increasing panic over the events of the preceding day, it was fast rising to a level she could no longer ignore or control. Their trip to New York had not only been a complete wash-out as far as learning more about the cartouche, but her entire life had been wrecked as well. She was jobless, and couldn’t even live in her dorm any longer.

As this realization dawned upon her she whimpered, “I’m homeless. A vagrant. I’m going to have to get a sign that reads, ‘Will teach socio-anthropology for food’. Then the guys who clean your windshield are going to beat me up, and I’ll end up a crack ho in Hell’s Kitchen who holds out on her pimp.”

Before she could get up a good head of steam on the pathos, however, Buffy sighed. “Could you *be* any more of a drama queen?” Standing, she slapped her hands onto her hips and gave Corinne a fierce glare for good measure. “As if we’d ever let anything like that happen to you!”

Corinne blinked, and then said with her usual eloquence, “Huh?”

Buffy sighed again. “We’re not going to just turn you out into the wild, you know. I’m sure there’s plenty you could do in Gondor.”

“I don’t want to go to Gondor!” Corinne exclaimed, furious tears streaming down her face.. “This isn’t my world! I want to go back to New York, to my dorm, to my life! I want everything as it was before it all went straight to hell!”

“We all want things we can’t have!” Buffy shouted back. “Do you think I wanted to come here? That I wanted to be separated from my sister, my friends, my home? I didn’t! But I couldn’t change it, and I learned to accept it and move on! And now I have a great life! And—what are you doing?” For Corinne was heeding her not at all, instead rummaging through her purse and then her pockets for something. “Oh, no you don’t,” Buffy said grimly as the other woman held up the cartouche. It was already starting to glow.

Buffy grabbed a paper napkin from the bagel sack and snatched the cartouche from Corinne, looking like she’d prefer nothing more than to pelt the other woman with it. Corinne rounded on her, fists clenched and eyes snapping with anger, and opened her mouth to speak.

Haldir stood at this point, and by force of personality alone drew the attention of everyone else in the room. “Everyone depart,” he commanded. “Not you,” he said to Corinne, who was almost out the door. Reluctantly, she returned. Grasping her shoulders, he pushed her gently into a chair and drew up another to face her. “This wound pains me, and all the shouting has made me surly,” he informed her, “so do not interrupt me, or you will not like the consequences.”

Corinne opened her mouth again to speak, and Haldir quirked a brow, waiting. Wisely, she decided to remain silent. “Excellent choice,” was the last Buffy could hear him say as Boromir closed the door behind himself.

Tilting his head to the side, Boromir gazed at his sister-in-law a long moment. “I am glad you are safe,” he said at last. “Though it would not have inconvenienced you much to tell at least one person you were coming here.”

“Argh!” Buffy groaned, ire still up from dealing with Corinne, and descended the stairs to the ground. “Enough with the guilt, already. The point has been delivered, received, and is currently lodged right between my eyes, ok?”

An odd whistling noise could be heard from somewhere to the left; Legolas looked thoughtful, and caught the axe in mid-air just before it would have embedded itself into his shining golden head. “Friend Gimli,” he said calmly, “I fear you have misplaced your weapon.”

The dwarf rounded an especially large mallorn and stomped toward them. “Gimli son of Glóin never misplaces his weapon,” he growled with great menace. “Nor do I miss, as well you know, accursed elf.” He turned to Buffy. “Be you glad I have just the one axe, Dagnir, else you’d have been plucking one from the air as well.” He would have continued his tirade then, but Buffy hugged and kissed him (she was aiming for his cheek, but with so much hair she just figured anywhere on the beard was close enough) and he quite lost his train of thought. “Hmph,” he settled for saying, and snatched his axe back from Legolas.

“How’re the renovations coming?” she asked him, linking arms with him as they walked toward Galadriel’s and Celeborn’s talan.

Gimli heaved a huge sigh. “They are why I am not more angry at you,” he admitted, “for those dwarves are indeed hard to cope with, and long do the days seem after battling with them to follow plans.”

“Be of good cheer!” Legolas suggested from where he walked with Boromir behind them, “for after you complete repairs in Minas Tirith, there is all of Osgiliath to mend!” Then he made a noise suspiciously like a giggle as he scampered out of Gimli’s reach, and the two of them commenced a rousing game of ‘tag’ through the trees of Lothlórien.

“Geez, and they say we humans are immature,” Buffy pretended to complain to Boromir. “So, how pissed is Dawn, really?”

He grinned. “She is considerably calmer than when we arrived here and learned of the situation. I believe she is more angry that you did not think to consult with her before going to Corinne’s world, and put yourselves in grave danger… have you forgotten her training with Giles?”

“Oh, crap,” Buffy replied, slapping her forehead as they rounded a curve in the path. Even after a year, she still tended to think of her sister as ‘little Dawnie’ instead of a grown woman with a research career before she’d given it all up to join Buffy in Middle-Earth. “I did forget, completely. She must know all about this Weshem-ib thingy!”

“Yeah, I do,” Dawn said from her seat at the base of the steps leading up to Galadriel’s talan. She’d finished the coffee long ago and had proceeded to peel the styrofoam cup into little white puffy shreds. Standing, she jammed the cup’s remains into her pocket. “When are you going to accept that I’m an adult now, Buffy? I’m married, I have a son. What else will it take, grey hair and wrinkles?”

“I doubt even that would work,” Buffy replied, and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Dawn. I really am.”

Dawn sighed. “All right, you’re forgiven. This time. And only because you were smart and brought me a present.”

“Present?” Buffy looked a little panicked until she remembered something. “Present! Yeah! Sure did! Of course I did! I wouldn’t forget my Dawnie, nope, not me.” She craned her head around, looking for her husband. “I’ll just go find Legolas and get your… er… present.” And she darted off in the direction she’d last seen him and Gimli.

Dawn and Boromir just exchanged a look over Buffy’s head. “She *so* did not get me a present,” she said as he put his arm around her waist.

”But watching her pretend she has is present enough, is it not, sweet?” he asked with a grin, and kissed her forehead.

Part 13

Corinne could barely see through the tears in her eyes as Haldir sat opposite her. “Are you going to lecture me about how much life sucks, too?” she asked with a bit of sulk.

But his answer was not what she expected; instead of anger, or disappointment, or anything else she might have thought possible, he said, “Elves are beings of great power. It is most obvious in Galadriel; she has cultivated her gift over many centuries. But all of us have some latent abilities.” He apparently read Corinne’s confusion on her face, because he explained why he was saying this. “I have been shielding you from the brunt of my mind, thinking you unable to accept such a large amount of information… so many years of memories.”

“I haven’t shielded anything,” she said hesitantly. “Does this mean you know…” she trailed off as horror dawned within her.

Haldir nodded. “I know everything about you; every memory, every thought. No, do not be ashamed,” he urged, pressing her hand between his own as she hung her head, allowing her hair to swing forward and hide her flushed face. “It is what keeps me from being very angry with you at this moment. I know the depths of your despair, and do not fault you for them.”

He lifted her chin with a finger. “But that does not mean I will allow it to continue. I wish to share myself with you, Corinne, all my thousands of years. It will not be easy, nor enjoyable, but I believe you will… gain wisdom from it, and become able to endure this travail.” He paused a moment. “And think not with the desire the cartouche has brought to life within you for me… this is no trivial matter. Will you accept me?”

Corinne struggled to separate her body’s insistent urgings to join with him in every way possible from the pure, cold logic of her mind. Haldir had information and knowledge that could help her; it would be foolish to refuse it. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “I don’t know how much more I can take today.”

“I will not leave you,” Haldir said quietly. “You run always from the pain, you submerge yourself in that which causes none, but pain is ever in the world, Corinne. Better you learn to endure. There is naught wrong with weeping; weep, if you must. Scream, if you must. But to shut yourself from the pain and flee from its cause… ai, doll-nîn, that will deaden you long ere you are deep in the ground.”

Clenching her hands on his, Corinne nodded slowly. “Ok,” she said at last. “As long as you’ll be here with me. Do it.”

Haldir touched her eyelids with a gentle fingertip, then traced her nose to the tip and brushed over her lips. “Be at ease,” he urged in his deepest, most soothing tones. Corinne let the tension flow out of her as she felt the familiar nudge of his mind against hers, as if asking permission. She gave it, and felt the tendril of his consciousness penetrate her own. “Be at ease,” he thought to her, and then the memories began to surge into her, softly, like small waves lapping at the shore.

Haldir as a child, with his mother and father: warmth, comfort, safety, love. His parents, with Orophin as an infant: protectiveness, tenderness. Haldir as a young adult, his martial skill swiftly realized and recognized: pride, confidence, ambition. Orophin as a gangly teenager standing beside Haldir, who carried the toddler Rúmil as they buried their parents: grief, fear, trepidation. Haldir raising his young brothers, making more mistakes than he would have liked: affection, devotion, frustration. His few tentative forays into physical intimacy: satisfactory, but always lacking the singular, essential element of love.

Galadriel and Celeborn making him one of their march-wardens: joy, honour, satisfaction. Haldir fighting in the first war of the ring, watching such stars of the elven world cut down in their prime: guilt at surviving when the likes of Gil-galad had perished, anxiety, victory. Centuries of patrolling the forest of Lórien, gaining intimate knowledge of each tree: familiarity, fluency, expertise. Being named Guardian of the Golden Wood: past the point of pride, now; just deep delight, and knowledge of his suitability for the task.

Haldir finding friendship with the strange mortal woman who fell from the sky, and then pleasure: contentment, but a faintly hollow ache taking root deep within, loneliness. The second war of the ring, and Buffy taking Legolas for her husband: bittersweet joy on their behalf, but faint envy, and the hollowness a bit more pronounced. Haldir requesting a new station on the eastern marches, where he could see the river: restlessness, dissatisfaction.

And then… her. Haldir with Corinne: instant attraction, relief, a sense of completion, but also confusion and fury for his own lack of control. Realizing they were in the grip of some mystic power: profound disappointment, and a longing for his emotions to have been genuine, sadness. His anger, hurt, and chagrin when she blithely told him she would only stay a fortnight, as if he were to be used and discarded when her time was done.

Their first night of sex, such as it had been: blinding pleasure, and deep relief of the gnawing hunger within to sate himself in her body, only slightly lessened by the lack of actual intercourse. The four of them in New York: trepidation, excitement, anger at how Iris and Ives had dared to treat Corinne, impotence at his inability to lash out in retaliation. Resignation that the cartouche’s reach was far beyond his understanding or prevention, unease that it could be a symptom for yet another evil force trying to gain control over not only Arda, but multiple dimensions at once.

Haldir watching Corinne and Buffy scream at each other, and Corinne fumbling desperately for the cartouche, wrenching pain and terror bleeding from her mind to his. Fear she would leave him, the need to console, the urge to subdue her fears with lovemaking, offering whatever comfort that could provide. The realization that lovemaking was the last thing that would work, and that he had to share himself as he had not yet done.

Corinne opened her eyes; her lashes were so sodden they threw little sparkles around her range of vision, making Haldir’s face before her even more of a dazzling vision than it usually was. “You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured in awe. “There was nothing compulsory about it. What you just shared with me… that had nothing to do with the cartouche.”

Haldir opened his eyes then, fixing them on her face, gaze caressing as it always did. “Did it help you?”

She nodded slowly. “I see how foolish and selfish I’ve been… worrying about something so petty, when there’s a much bigger issue at work… so much more than just my own life, my own existence. I didn’t realize…I’m so sorry.”

“It is not to me you should apologize,” he said, and she hung her head once more.

“I know.” It was a whisper of sound, and she couldn’t even be sure she’d said it—perhaps it had only been a thought? It didn’t seem to matter. Haldir knew; he always knew.

And once more he raised her face, and leaned forward to kiss her. It was not a kiss of desire; the touch of his lips, warm and soft, healed her with their promise. “I will not leave you,” Haldir said. “Never fear for being alone. Even if, when we are free of the cartouche’s thrall, you decide you cannot love me, you will always have a home with me.”

Corinne blinked in confusion. What had he just said? Before she could give the matter any thought, however, his lips were on hers again, but this time it was a kiss of desire—probing, teasing, tasting, encouraging. The flames of her lust for him—only ever banked, never extinguished—roared to life and she slid her arms around his neck. She was dimly aware of her clothing being removed, but then her skin was against his and any thoughts she may have had receded into a muzzy grey void where there was nothing but sensation and lust and oh, such devotion and gratitude for this beautiful creature that held her.

Halfway back to Haldir’s talan, Buffy’s sensitive ears picked up on the unmistakable sounds of passion. “Jeez, they’re at it again. That cartouche is like weird evil Viagra,” she complained, spinning on her heel and returning to Galadriel’s once more. Legolas, too, had heard, and with a saucy grin he turned as well. Boromir, Dawn, and Gimli had not noticed anything, but under those circumstances were more than happy to take Buffy’s word for it.

***

Buffy sacrificed the green and silver sari she’d bought for herself to the cause of placating Dawn, who was delighted with her gift. Against the emerald silk her hair shone like mink, and the glint in Boromir’s eyes indicated that he rather liked it, too. Galadriel, too, was quite pleased, and immediately wrapped the blue and bronze silk around herself. It was a striking contrast to her usual floaty white frocks, and her golden hair and blue eyes seemed even more vivid than usual. After seeing her in it, Celeborn’s lips seemed permanently curved into a mysterious smile the rest of the day.

Corinne offered her golden-yellow sari to Buffy as a peace offering, and Buffy tried it on to model it as Dawn and Galadriel had done, but refused to keep it. “No, Haldir’s panting to see you in it,” she told the other woman. “I couldn’t disappoint him like that. Besides, I have my shoes. I’m good.” She held out one of her legs, proudly displaying the pink daisy shoes that hadn’t left her feet since their return from New York. “Besides, yellow’s not my colour.”

And just like that, the tension between them was over. Corinne was amazed that Buffy was so generous and easy-going; she herself was much more likely to carry a grudge for a while, but just the same, she was pleased to let it go as they had far more important things to deal with.

Elessar and Arwen finally arrived, late one afternoon. Corinne was only just recovering from Buffy’s piercing squeal of joy as she pelted toward the king and demanding a hug, when she caught her first glimpse of Arwen Undomiel, queen of Gondor and Arnor. Tall and slender, impossibly graceful, with dark midnight-black hair tumbling in rich curls past her hips, Arwen was a fantasy come to life.

As for Elessar, he was handsome, and somehow both regal and personable at the same time. There was a light in his eyes that spoke of his deep passion for his land and its people, and she knew he would die for them. A strange emotion she couldn’t identify seized her, and she was almost overcome with the urge to weep. Thoroughly cowed by both of them, she had to be dragged forward by Haldir, and didn’t say a word as he introduced her.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dawn asked after the newcomers had been ushered off to bathe and eat before returning for the big briefing. “You’re acting all weird.”

“I’ve never met royalty before,” Corinne replied through gritted teeth. “It’s… daunting. I don’t know what to do. I mean, I met Ed Koch once, but he wasn’t even mayor at the time, and I just shook his hand and told him I voted for him, but that was a lie because I’ve voted Libertarian for the past ten years. People don’t vote here, or shake hands. They kiss them, and curtsey, and I can’t curtsey because I fall over and look stupid.”

Dawn lifted wide eyes to Buffy, who was watching and trying not to laugh. “That was a babble worthy of Willow. I don’t think I understood half of what you just said,” she told Corinne, turning back to her.

“Me neither,” Corinne replied miserably. “Can’t we talk about the cartouche now? I’ve been waiting patiently all week but if we don’t figure something out soon I’m going to go completely insane and start killing people.”

It was an abject lie; she hadn’t been waiting patiently at all, and had herself been threatened with death on numerous occasions for harassing various people on the issue. Only Celeborn’s time-tested method—plunking a huge book in her lap—managed to distract her, and even now he was coming forward with The First Age: Simply Forgotten, or Does No One Care?.

“You think you can keep derailing my train of thought,” she complained to him. “I’ll have you know—hey, this one’s got diagrams!”

It was just that easy.

***

When Arwen and Elessar were comfortable and clean once more, Dawn finally relented to tell them what she knew about the Weshem-ib.

“Aker has been unhappy with his status for a good long time, it seems,” Dawn began. “He wants to wreak a bit of havoc, control a few important destinies, but his powers aren’t up to snuff. Doesn’t have the juice for it. So, he created the cartouche. It’s been used for millennia to lure stupid people.” Her gaze flicking tellingly over Corinne, who scowled. “The promise of obtaining your heart’s desire proves to be a powerful one, and many have been wrung dry by it.”

“Wrung dry?” Elessar asked, hand rubbing his chin contemplatively. “That sounds… disturbing.”

“It’s pretty awful for the wringees, but the big picture is worse than that,” Dawn told him. “After the deal has been made—usually with a blood sacrifice—the cartouche has a bond with the user, and it channels the force of the user’s desire to Aker, who—as far as I can remember—stores it somehow. Apparently, once he has enough of this desire-energy, he’s going to use it to… hm, lemme think…”

Dawn frowned, chewing on her bottom lip, sunk in thought as the rest waited. “Corinne, Aker presides over the gateway to the land of the dead, right?”

Corinne nodded slowly. “Right. It’s said he can be fickle about who he allows to pass through…” She paused. “He also controls passage of the sun, and it’s said that when eclipses occur, it’s Aker forbidding the sun from moving across the sky.”

“So… when we had those dark days back during the war, that was him?” Buffy piped up.

Dawn looked thoughtful. “Could have been a sort of dry run for him,” she said slowly, then groaned. “If only I had Giles’ books… or Willow to do a ‘reveal truth’ spell, or Cordelia to contact the PTBs…How are we supposed to figure these things out when I don’t have my usual resources?”

“Could not Gandalf be of some assistance?” Boromir suggested.

“Gandalf! Yes! Honey, you’re brilliant!” Dawn exclaimed, sitting in his lap and planting a noisy kiss on his cheek before turning to the king. “Where’s Gandalf?”

“I do not know,” Elessar replied. “He had mentioned traveling far north, past even the hills of Evendim, and then going to the Havens to take counsel with Círdan, but…” He stopped, and rubbed his chin again. “He mentioned that we should go to Radagast if we had need of a wizard.”

“Would Radagast give us an audience?” Legolas asked. “For his home is Rhosgobel, a mere day’s ride from Mirkwood’s edge, and he has been cloistered within for many centuries.” He smirked a little. “Long has my father wanted his help in battling the dark forces in the forest, and long has he rebuffed every request.”

“And your father’s requests are always so… civil,” Arwen murmured, sliding a sideways glance at her fellow elf. “It shocks me not that Radagast would thumb his nose at the mighty Thranduil.”

“I know nothing of Radagast’s thumb, nor of his nose,” Legolas said gravely, “but my father is ever severe when the wizard’s name is mentioned.”

“Sounds like they had a bad breakup,” Buffy said with a grin. “Did Radagast forget to call the next day, or something?” She pouted when only Dawn and Corinne laughed.

“I know nothing of this Radagast,” Boromir said, his face apprehensive. “If he has not helped Thranduil after so many years, why would he help us, who arrive at his doorstep with hands out like beggars?”

“And it was Radagast who told Gandalf to attend Saruman in Orthanc, before the War began,” Elessar added. “If he could not see Saruman’s treachery; what could his skill be?”

“Gandalf could not see it either,” Gimli reminded the Men. “Was he not confined atop that tower for nearly two months? And it was because of Radagast that Gwaihir rescued him from his prison, and then again came to drive away the Ringwraiths during that last battle, at the Black Gate.”

All fell silent in recognition of the truth of Gimli’s words. Actually, Corinne was silent because she was listening carefully to Haldir’s silent explanation in her mind of what was being said. “Wow, giant eagles?” she murmured aloud. “Cool.”

“Beyond cool,” Buffy agreed before turning to Elessar. “I agree with Gimli; Radagast seems to have done good things for our side during the war, and if Gandalf says we can trust him, I think we can.”

Legolas looked doubtful. “I have seen how Mirkwood suffers because of Radagast’s neglect,” he said. “He is Yavanna’s own, sworn to protect the earth and its animal children, but the great forest of my birth has suffered terribly from the evil that inhabited it so long. How many trees and beasts languished and perished, and there he sat in his home of sturdy bricks, safe from the evil the befell the rest?” He sighed. “I will not gainsay if you decide to see him, but neither will I hope to his assistance.”

“So, is it settled?” Dawn asked from her seat on Boromir’s lap. “Are we off to see the wizard?” She pouted when only Buffy and Corinne laughed.

“It would appear so, sweet,” Boromir told her when everyone else seemed to nod.

“Who will be in our party, then?” Elessar asked.

“Gimli son of Glóin shall be the first name spoken,” the dwarf announced, making Corinne grin. He was a kick, and she couldn’t wait to talk to him about his people.

“Legolas and me, and Haldir and Corinne of course,” Buffy began, counting on her fingers. “Dawnie, you and Boromir coming with?” At her sister’s nod, she ticked off two more fingers. “Elessar, you up for another fun trip?”

“Indeed I am, Dagnir,” he affirmed. “Shall you stay with your grandparents, a’melamin, or journey with us?” he asked Arwen.

She stretched with languor. “I think I shall join you, hervenn-nîn,” she replied, smiling slowly. “It has been long ere I’ve had a satisfying adventure.”

Elessar got a certain glint in his eye and before the others knew it, he and Arwen were making perfectly transparent pretexts in excusing themselves.

“Newlyweds,” Buffy commented, as if she weren’t married only a few months longer than them.

“Are we not still as randy?” Legolas asked with faux concern. “Are you tired of me already? Is it time for me to begin wearing costumes, the better to incite your lust?”

Corinne got a rapid series of bizarre images parading through her mind at that, and began laughing helplessly. “Legolas the Pretty Pirate!” she gasped, slumping against Haldir in a fit of giggles. “Avast! I’m gonna walk yer plank, me buxom wench! Prepare to be boarded! Harrrrrrr!”

“Legolas the Dirty Doctor!” Dawn suggested between snorts. “Say ‘ahhh’, Nubile Nurse Buffy!”

Legolas frowned; he hadn’t intended his joke to go this far, and was now fairly certain he was being made fun of. Buffy was laughing so hard she was crying.

“Legolas the Naughty Nazgûl,” Gimli offered, a grin splitting his beard.

“Legolas the Gitty Gollum,” Haldir murmured with a smile. “And Dagnir is his Preciousssssss, who leads him in a merry chase over hill and dale.”

“Legolas the Amorous Orc,” was Boromir’s entry to the contest, and when Celeborn said, “Legolas the Excited Ent,” giving new meaning to the phrase ‘sporting wood’, everyone (except Legolas himself) shouted with laughter.

“I am not convinced this is as amusing as you all seem to think,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. Everybody sobered, looking a little sorry for teasing him.

But then Galadriel said, “Legolas the Hungry Hobbit. Is that a carrot in your pocket, Legolas, or are you just very pleased to see her?”

And damn, that was just too funny to not laugh at.

*doll-nîn = my dusky one
hervenn-nîn = my husband
a’melamin = my love

Part 14

In retrospect, the trip itself was much easier than the preparations. Much less stressful, in any event.

First, Celeborn and Galadriel requested that they cross the Anduin there at Lothlórien and travel up its eastern shores, the better to patrol the new territory of East Lórien (as the southern part of Mirkwood was now known) and bring messages to the elves newly settled there from their Lord and Lady.

Legolas was not happy about that.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t have asked if they thought we were truly in danger,” Buffy said, but he frowned.

“The risks of southern Mirkwood are not to be trifled with,” Legolas stated. “No matter that the Golden Lady has flung down the gate to Dol Guldur, the area is not purged of the centuries of evil.” But then Galadriel asked very nicely, smiling her sweetest, and Legolas lost that argument.

Then Haldir and Rúmil had a disagreement about bringing Tatharë along. She wanted to return to Mirkwood to introduce her betrothed to her family, and since Rhosgobel was on the way, it was a reasonable request. Unless you were Haldir, at least.

“No,” he said flatly. “This is no pleasure journey; I would not have her in danger.”

Rúmil squinted at his brother. “The journey would be no less dangerous if our purpose were benign.”

“Our purpose isn’t exactly malignant,” Corinne felt compelled to point out. “We’re not off to fight the great Orc war, just to get some advice from a wizard.” Then she sat down with her hand on her forehead, marveling at how bizarre her life was to have just said such a thing in all seriousness.

Even Haldir’s armour of protectiveness couldn’t withstand the cold knife of logic, and he lost that argument.

Then Boromir and Elessar started to bicker about how many soldiers would accompany them on their voyage, and how many would return to Minas Tirith. The king gave the distinct impression of pouting. Oh, he didn’t look any different—his bottom lip wasn’t stuck out, and he wasn’t frowning or saying anything untoward, but the petulance rolled off him in waves. Arwen was hard-pressed not to laugh at him, which was not exactly conducive to remedying the situation.

Boromir, for his part, was not pouting: he was just angry, and had not suffered to keep his displeasure to himself. “It is folly to have a monarch traipsing through lands that were the hostile dominion of Sauron a mere twelvemonth ago!” he told Elessar through gritted teeth. “You have heard Legolas; that fell place has been his home for millennia. Who better to know the perils of such a place? Will you not take his counsel?”

“I do not dispute his knowledge!” Elessar replied. “Just your insistence that we must be a huge, unwieldy force as we journey north! As a small group, we can slip unnoticed right past any who would threaten us.”

“But you wish to have only the core group of us!” Boromir said, outraged. Along with Haldir and Corinne, there would be Buffy and Legolas, Boromir and Dawn, Elessar and Arwen, Gimli of course, Tatharë and Rúmil, and if both Haldir and Rúmil were going, then Orophin refused to be left behind. That made twelve. “You cannot think to have only a dozen people on this mission, five of them female!” Then Boromir fell silent, knowing he’d just stepped in it, and stepped deeply, as Buffy, Arwen, Dawn, and Tatharë all rounded on him.

Arwen stepped forward, as queen and spokeswoman—er—spokeself. “And are you saying, mellon, that we cannot protect ourselves? For I very much doubt that even a rough warrior as yourself would be so unwise. Especially in the case of Dagnir.” It was said in a voice as dark, sweet, and deadly as poison-laced chocolates, and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple was very visible as he swallowed.

“He can say it about me all he likes,” Corinne said from behind the feminine throng around Boromir. “I’m useless in a fight. Unless I can hit an orc with a book, and somehow I doubt they’d just stand there while I did it.” Then she had an idea. “Ooh! But I’ve got mace, and my Tazer! I’ll just treat ‘em like muggers!” She smiled proudly.

Boromir glowered at Elessar over the women’s’ heads. “This will not do,” he said sourly. “We need to have an escort.”

“I do not want a great force accompanying us!” Elessar responded heatedly. “Twill draw attention, and assure that we be attacked!”

“What say you to a smaller escort?” Haldir asked from where he lounged against the wall, surveying the argument with a faint smile on his lips. “A select group of your soldiers, and my archers? No more than ten of each.”

“Twenty!” Elessar boomed. “In addition to our twelve? We might as well send out invitations to the orcs and tell them to come dine on us, for all the noise we will make.”

“Your men might make noise, but I assure you my archers will make none,” Haldir replied smoothly. “But if it concerns you, send all your men home, and our guard shall be completely elven.”

“I cannot do that either,” Elessar grumbled. “Twould be a grave insult.”

Corinne was beginning to get impatient and not a little bored of the issue; the king and the prince had been arguing over this for an hour already. She opened her mouth to chivvy them along when Haldir shot her a warning glance.

“Do not,” he told her sternly. “You must learn to wait; these people will not look kindly to your interruption. They are here to help us.”

She sighed and cracked another book from the pile she’d brought back from New York. This one was a tome in French from the 19th century, and its aged leaves were yellowed and crumbling at the edges. She found yet another illustration, a brass engraving this time, of the Cartouche of Weshem-ib, and the author had this to say about the works of the Bender of Reality:

Deux âmes, deux pensées,
Deux efforts irréconciliées
Avec deux idéaux guerrants.
Vérouillés dans un seul amour--
Trop pâle d’être Noir, et
Trop foncé d’être Blanc.
Et encore, il est.

It was a poetic expression of how things impossible were made possible, thanks to Aker. Mere coincidence that the poem pertained to matters of love, of course—or was it?—but the words seemed to echo through Corinne’s head… vérouillés dans un seul amour… et encore, il est.

Even as she was sunk into these thoughts, the men were bickering over the details of how exactly they were going to go and sever the tie between she and Haldir, and Corinne found herself unaccountably panicked by the idea of not having his love when this was all over. What would she do without it, without him? Et encore, il est.

They never should have met, never should have had the opportunity to form a bond. She would have to learn to live a life without him, that’s all, as she had lived her life prior to knowing him. Without, without. The word had never seemed so desolate before. Et encore, il est.

It was impossible, this love she felt for Haldir. Impossible, and doomed. Nothing could come of it. She was human,he was an elf, as foreign and exotic to her as anything possibly could be. She was mortal, and would die; he was immortal, and would live forever. She was plain, he was beautiful. He was a warrior, she was a scholar. Et encore, il est.

Corinne did not realize she had read the verse aloud until she finished speaking and realized there was dead silence around her. Then Tatharë handed her a square of linen, motioning for her to wipe her eyes, and she found she was crying. “Oh,” she said stupidly, blinking, and allowed Haldir to take her away.

No words were necessary; of course. He led her to his talan, to his bed, but did not undress them. Instead, he lay down and drew her beside him, curling his arm over her waist and directed her to look out the window, into the leaf-laden branches of the mellyrn around them.

“We must treasure the moments we have left,” he thought to her, nuzzling his nose against her neck just behind her ear.

“What if we don’t want the tie between us to be severed?” Her tentative question was fraught with all the fear and longing she felt.

He sighed, chest expanding against her back, and did not answer right away. “You should allow your hair to grow,” he said instead, twining a shoulder-length lock around his finger.

“Your hair’s long enough for both of us,” she said, twisting to face him. “Don’t change the subject.”

He looked at her a long time, pewter gaze flicking over each feature as if cataloguing them. “I do not want our bond to be broken, either,” he answered softly. “The idea hurts me like a sword-blow. But, at the same time, I cannot help but wonder if it is the Weshem-ib that puts these words on my tongue. I fear we will not know the truth until we can speak with Radagast.”

“We have a few weeks left, at least,” she murmured, snuggling deeper into his arms as if to hide from her desolation in his embrace. “Let’s enjoy it while we can.”

Day One

They left at dawn.

Elessar had finally relented and agreed to have ten of his men and ten of Haldir’s accompany them, and so with a force of 32 altogether, they set out. Without really organizing anything officially, they tended to settle back into the usual pairings from when they were in the War—Gimli behind Legolas, Buffy and Haldir side-by-side (all the better to bicker with each other) Elessar and Boromir at the front, watching their perimeter with keen eyes. Rúmil and Tatharë were enrapt in each other’s company, and Arwen and Dawn seemed to be enjoying a good gossip together, so that left Corinne and Orophin.

She didn’t know much about him, save that he was Haldir’s brother, and Celeborn’s former student, so she figured he was fair game to question about issues she didn’t understand from her lessons with the Silver Lord.

Thank God for those riding lessons that her parents had forced on her, she thought as she nudged her mount closer to Orophin with her knees, leaving her hands free to pull out a notebook and a pen. “So!” she said by way of greeting, startling him for a moment, “What was the deal with Fëanor? Talk about a guy with a bad attitude… what crawled up his ass and died?”

Orophin blinked at her, then looked to Haldir to assistance. His brother only laughed at him and turned back to his conversation with Buffy, so Orophin guessed he was on his own. “Um,” he began uncertainly, “Fëanor was an elf with great passion…passion that overcame his wisdom.”

“Do you think that respect for his immense talent blinded the others to his personality defects?” she asked him briskly, pen poised over the paper, ready to record his response.

“Um,” he repeated, with a tinge of desperation this time. Another glance at Haldir, whose back was resolutely turned to them even though his shoulders were shaking with repressed mirth.

“How else can you explain how the Noldor followed him in performing such reprehensible acts?” Corinne wanted to know. “If rebelling against the Valar wasn’t enough, what about the kinslaying? Oh, and what hold did he have over his father and brothers, that they were always caving in to what he wanted? Seems to me that neither Finarfin and Fingolfin really wanted to come back to Arda but he talked them into it…” Here she paused and waited expectantly, eyes bright as a bird’s as she looked to him for a response.

It had been four centuries since Orophin had studied with Celeborn, but under the barrage of her questions he found the mindset swiftly coming back to him, now that it would seem he had no choice. “I am of the opinion that the majority of the Nolder mistook his brilliance for wisdom, yes,” he began, watching as she began to write. “After he created the Silmarils, he was considered a living legend—“

“Excuse me,” Corinne interrupted. “Do you mind if we speak in Sindarin? I’d like to practice it.”

“No, not at all,” he replied faintly, and shot an evil look forward as Haldir let loose a guffaw. “Where was I?”

“Living legend,” Corinne reminded him, and he nodded.

“Yes,” Orophin continued in Sindarin, “he was considered a living legend…”

three hours later

“I don’t believe it,” Corinne stated flatly.

“No?” Orophin asked with a smile, used to her by now. “And why is that?”

“I find it hard to believe that items of such beauty, value, and power would be allowed to just languish wherever they were discarded,” she explained. “I understand how the one with Maedhros would be hard to get your hands on—fiery pits aren’t very navigable, after all But surely someone has retrieved the one that Maglor pitched into the sea?”

“That might well be,” Orophin allowed. “Perhaps the Valar have retrieved it… it would not be beyond the scope of Ulmo’s powers, nor of Ossë’s, for that ma--.”

“Enough!” Haldir said, slowing so they could catch up with him, and plucking Corinne from her mount to sit sideways before him. “You have been at this all day, and I weary of it.” Her notebook and pen flew from her hands and she glared up at him until he captured her lips in a searing kiss. Predictably, she melted against him, and all those around them suddenly found fascinating things elsewhere to look at.

“Mmph… Orphnmph, Hldr, stop,” Corinne protested, dragging herself from him. “God, you are just too good at that. It’s not decent. Orophin,” she called to him, “Can you grab the stuff Haldir made me drop?”

“It is a pleasure to do your bidding, milady,” Orophin told her gravely, and slid with careless grace down to the ground, nipping up the fallen things and stuffing them back into her saddlebags.

“It’s a pleasure to do my bidding,” she told Haldir with a grin, and poked him in the chest. “How come you never say things like that to me?”

“Because my mouth is usually too busy bringing you pleasure to waste time saying the like,” Haldir rumbled in her ear, making her shiver.

“Oh, yeah,” she agreed breathlessly, thinking about that skillful mouth of his. “Are we going to have some privacy tonight?”

His faint smile was pure sin. “I will make sure of it.”

Day Seven

“Aye, lass, I’m delighted to teach you Khuzdul,” Gimli said from his perch behind Legolas. “The first thing you must do is learn how to address me, as a dwarf of rank. Repeat after me, lass: ‘Ezbadu men’.”

“Ezbadu men,” Corinne repeated obediently, as Legolas rolled his eyes.

“Excellent,” Gimli beamed, teeth glinting through his beard. “Next: how to greet someone. Repeat: ‘Vemu ai-menu’.” When she had said it to his satisfaction, he nodded. “Very good. And now, a farewell. Repeat: ‘Tan menu selek lanun naman’.” She repeated. “Now, here are some other phrases you would do well to learn. Repeat! ‘Men gamaju’.”

“Men gajamu.”

“Excellent! Repeat! ‘Targ menu bundul gazaru’.”

“Targ menu bundul gazaru.”

“Superb. Repeat! ‘Men eleneku menu o bepap opetu ezirak’.”

“Men eleneku menu o bepap opetu ezirak.”

“ Repeat! ‘Ekespu menu men o targu men’.”

“Ekespu menu men o targu men.”

“Perfect! Now, should you ever meet a dwarf, should you tell any of those things to him, I assure you he will be most delighted.”

“I would say so,” Legolas murmured. “You would count yourself lucky to escape a marriage proposal.”

Corinne frowned at Gimli, who grinned unashamedly back at her. He was actually rather handsome, for a short guy with a huge beard. “Speaking of marriage, is there a Mrs. Gimli sitting at home darning your socks while Gimli Junior is playing with Gimliette?” To her surprise—but no one else’s—he blushed bright pink and his hand hovered over his chest, as if guarding something kept there.

“Er—no,” he answered at last. “Gimli son of Glóin suffers no ties. His heart is free and untamed!”

“His heart is bound by three golden hairs as tightly as chains of strongest steel,” Legolas corrected gently. Gimli blushed harder, if possible, and turned his head away. “He is smitten by Galadriel,” the elf explained.

“Ooh,” Corinne said on a sigh. “I thought courtly love was dead… that is so romantic, Gimli.” He glanced shyly at her and ventured a smile. It was rather strange to see this fierce warrior embarrassed by his crush, but at the same time she felt deeply for him—she knew well what it was like to have a hopeless, doomed love. “You should write a song about it. There’s nothing better than a rough soldier expressing tender emotions.”

Gimli looked delighted at the idea. “I shall! And it will be in Khuzdul! Gazardul menu ked gamelu pethem!”

Corinne replied, “And ekespu menu men o targu men, ezbadu men to you too!” Then she smiled proudly at her excellent pronunciation and inflection, though she had no idea what she’d said.

*The poem:
Two souls, two thoughts,
Two unreconciled strivings
With two warring ideals.
Locked in one love--
Too light to be Black, and
Too dark to be White.
And yet it is.

Ezbadu men = exalted lord
Vemu ai-menu = Greetings to you
Tan menu selek lanun naman = May your forge burn bright.
Men gajamu = I apologize.
Targ menu bundul gazaru = Your beard speaks of your wisdom.
Men eleneku menu o bepap opetu ezirak = You mean more to me than an endless vein of mithril.
Ekespu menu men o targu men = You mean more to me than my beard.
Gazardul menu ked gamelu pethem = Your wisdom is as ancient as stone.

Part 15

Corinne was having a wonderful time on their journey. Sure, she was dirty most of the time, and it sucked having to pee behind a bush, and sleeping on the ground wasn’t very fun (so she started sleeping on Haldir, vastly preferable for a variety of reasons). But after living in cities most of her life, it was amazing to see the unbroken dark stretch of Mirkwood to her right as they travelled north, and the rushing silver waters of the Anduin to the left.

Even when it rained, the smell of it was clean and crisp, not dirty and mildewy, and she rather enjoyed tasting the drops of moisture on her tongue. Of course, sticking her tongue out for any reason was sure to be commented upon by Haldir, and there was that one time he’d tugged them behind a small copse of trees and taught her about the ancient elven custom of bathing in the rain. It had eventually resulted in happy smiles for them, and deep glowers from everyone else who’d been waiting for them to finish.

When she wasn’t enjoying her surroundings—or Haldir—she was pelting the others with questions. Orophin got the brunt of it, but he didn’t seem to mind overmuch, and in fact plied his drawing skills to sketching various things Corinne wanted a pictographic record of, like the Gladden Fields where Gollum had found the Ring so many years after its loss, and the Carrock clearly visible even so far in the distance.

Boromir she asked all about being Gondorian; and when she exhausted his life story, began asking about the kingdoms around Gondor. She was very disappointed indeed when the extent of his knowledge of Rohan consisted of “Er… they’re very fond of horses.” Dawn rolled her eyes and motioned Corinne over.

“C’mon, I’ll tell you more,” she said, then added, “no, put the notebook away. I don’t want you writing as I talk. Feels weird.”

Disappointed, Corinne did as she was told and then faced Dawn expectantly. However, the other woman didn’t seem too inclined to discuss Rohan or anything else scholarly. “So, how are things between you and Haldir? Pretend I care.”

Corinne shot her a cool glance. “If you mean the sex, it’s great. Mind-blowing. Pardon the pun.” Dawn smirked. “If you mean our emotions, they’re shot to hell. We can’t decide if we want to break our bond or not.

“Then there’s the things we’re feeling independently… he’s ashamed he’s not able to fight it, because he’s used to having total control over himself and he perceives it all as weakness on his part. I, on the other hand, feel debilitating guilt for putting this whole debacle in motion in the first place.” She heaved a mighty sigh. “Of course, I think I was tricked, but still.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Enough about me, it’s depressing. Tell me about your life. Got a kid, I hear? And Buffy tells me your best friend back on Earth was a vampire. That’s gotta be interesting...”

They’d had only a few skirmishes with what the others were calling “fell beasts” and “dark creatures”. At the first sign of trouble, Haldir stationed himself on her right, and Orophin took position on her left. She got out her pepper spray and Tazer as promised, but between the two brothers there was nothing for her to do beside try to breathe through her mouth so she didn’t accidentally catch a whiff of orc pong.

She was particularly pleased one day when a smaller orc slipped by Orophin and she got a chance to do a little damage. When everything settled down and Buffy called out, “Everybody alright?” she happily replied, “Super! I kicked an orc!”

“It was already wounded,” Dawn felt it necessary to point out.

Corinne frowned at her. “Don’t spoil my fun. I’ve never kicked an orc before.” She glanced down at it, where Haldir was just standing after slitting its throat. “Maybe next time I’ll get a chance to mace something.” Her voice was wistful.

Her chance came sooner than she realized, when a group of Mirkwood spiders emerged from the forest one night in search of some fresh dinner. One of Elessar’s soldiers was on watch, and his cries swiftly woke everyone in camp. The spiders were everywhere, and amazingly quick—no fewer than three came after Corinne, and she Tazed the bejesus out of them before pulling the long knife Haldir had given her and stabbing them in the space between their heads and bodies, just as he’d shown her.

The last one popped when she stabbed it, blowing yellowish gunk all over her, and she stood there a long moment, disbelieving she was covered in spider guts, until everyone else started laughing at her expression. “Haldir?” she asked in a small voice, trying not to open her mouth too far for fear of ‘something’ getting in it.

“Yes, doll-nîn?” he replied, striving elf-fully to keep from laughing at her.

“Wash me?”

“Yes, doll-nîn,’ Haldir told her, lifting her gingerly and bringing her down to the riverside to clean her off.

“That,” she declared when she was rinsed of bug spooge, “was disgusting.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but this.. this makes it worthwhile, does it not?” He had removed all her clothes, “to get them clean, too,” he’d said, but now he was naked as well and Corinne was positive he hadn’t been gooped on…

“Have you got soap?” she asked breathlessly, loving the wet slide of his skin against hers. “Dear God that feels good.”

“I do not think we need soap,” Haldir replied, lowering them to the grassy shore. Above them, the wide bowl of the sky was darkest blue, and spangled with stars almost as bright as his eyes.

“Ok,” she agreed on a moan as his fingers delved within her. “No soap necessary.” The feel of the soft grass under her caressed her back and legs, the soft breeze dried their bodies and raised faint goosebumps, and Haldir’s taste and flesh filled her mouth… it was ecstasy, pure and simple, and she had no way of knowing the depth of the pity directed her way when her cries of love for Haldir were easily heard back at the camp.

***

They were only a day away from Rhosgobel, and arrived at the Old Ford to refill their water skins to find an old woman crouched in the shallows, scrubbing at a shirt. Long, straggly grey hair escaped from a cap of tattered cotton lace, and the shadows thrown by the sun over the craggy hollows of her face made her even uglier. Her dun gown fit her loosely, like a sack, and had been mended many times.

“The stains shall not come out,” she said sadly. With a final twist to wring the shirt dry, she spread it out over a rock and stood. She squinted up at those who stood watching her from horseback, and when her beady gaze passed over Haldir, it sharpened, as if she recognized him.

Then her body seemed to melt, squashing down shapelessly before reforming, and then she was a bird—a massive rook with plumage so black it was almost violet. With a single, piercing caw, she spread her wings and took flight, spiraling up over them before heading east.

“Should I take her down?” Legolas asked Elessar, arms rock-steady as they aimed his bow at the fleeing bird.

“No,” Elessar said after a moment. “We do not know if she were a changeling of evil or of good. I would--”

“Strider,” Buffy interrupted, catching his attention. “Look at Corinne.”

He turned to find the woman standing frozen in a circle of the others, hands clenched on Haldir’s sleeves as she stared up at him, her face the very picture of horror. She was speaking rapidly, her voice panicked. “The washer at the ford… ill omen, a rook… Morrighan… can’t be, isn’t possible…”

“What is she talking about?” Boromir demanded of Dawn, who was looking almost as unnerved as Corinne.

“The washer at the ford,” Dawn told him faintly, looking back at where the old woman had been scrubbing the garment. “Is the shirt still there?” she asked, and he went to fetch it. “It’s an ancient Celtic legend, where a woman is seen scrubbing bloodstains from the clothing of a warrior fated to die soon…”

Her words trailed off as Boromir came back with the sodden fabric in his hand, because it was the exact duplicate of the tunic Haldir wore, exact in every way right down to where the trim was pulling free of the collar. The only difference was in the bloodstains that liberally decorated the one the old woman had been washing.

“No, no, no, no,” Corinne began to chant, rocking back and forth a little, and Haldir began to look worried for her. Tatharë stepped forward, wetting a square of linen from a small bottle, and pressed it to the woman’s nose. Almost immediately, Corinne slumped against Haldir, unconscious. Arwen reached out to take the tunic but before her fingertips could touch it, it began to fade and blur, and then it was simply gone.

“Ok, that’s reasonably freaksome,” Buffy commented. “Anyone else feeling pretty wigged out?” Dawn immediately raised her hand.

Haldir stared skyward. “We have six hours of daylight left, perhaps seven. Let us make haste, for I would have shelter at Rhosgobel this night.” Elessar himself held Corinne as Haldir mounted, handing her over to her lover before climbing astride his own horse and spurring it to a fast canter.

They rode hard all the rest of the day, turning off the Old Forest Road when Legolas directed. The path became rougher and more winding as they penetrated deeper into the forest, and when the light began to fail, torches were lit to guide their way. In Haldir’s arms, Corinne slept, insensible to the anxiety of those around her.

“Water in the distance,” Legolas murmured. “A stream.” They came to it, and Elessar instructed only one to cross the rickety wooden bridge at a time. By the time they came to the end of the path, it was almost entirely dark.

The house that squatted before them was, at the same time, both the most disreputable and most welcoming, comfortable sight most had ever seen. Small and low, of brown mud-brick, an unruly thatched roof bristled a faded gold in the deepening gloom of twilight. Its bright blue shutters were flung open and warm yellow light shone from the windows to form wavy squares on the ground outside.

A lopsided chimney, listing to starboard and seeming about to tumble at any moment, emitted puffs of fragrant smoke that trailed lazily skyward, joining with the few low-hanging clouds above as if linking this humble abode with the heavens. Gardens lined the walkway from the dirt path to the cerulean door, but not gardens of flowers; these brambles boasted not roses, but berries-- so fat and heavy with juice that they bowed the branches with their weight.

Elessar dismounted, as did Arwen, and together they walked to the door but just as he lifted his hand to knock, it opened. The man who stood there tilted his head to the side and smiled crookedly. Of medium height, dressed entirely in shades of russet and earthen-brown, his most notable characteristic besides a drooping mustache of indeterminate colour were his eyes: piercing and jetty-black, they saw all, and missed nothing.

“You made good time, I see,” he said by way of greeting. “The barn is behind the house; settle your horses for the night, then join me for a bite.” And he began to shut the door.

Elessar was not king for nothing; he wedged his foot between door and jamb before it could close all the way,. “You are Radagast?” he inquired somewhat testily, and gestured back to where Corinne was still lying insensible in Haldir’s arms.. “We have a—“

“Yes, I am, and she is fine. Tend your horses.” Radagast looked pointedly at the intruding foot and Elessar pulled it back. The door snicked shut in his face, and he turned to the rest of them looking mightily disgruntled. “You heard him,” he grumbled. “Tend the horses.”

It was fully dark by the time all the animals were ensconced in their new temporary home and they could tramp back to the house. Buffy had long been hungry, and started to eat the berries from the bushes that surrounded them at every turn. “Mmm, honey, try one!” she encouraged Legolas, holding up a particularly luscious specimen to his mouth, her own lips stained red with juice.

He leaned down and kissed her swiftly. “Delicious,” he declared, his voice pitched low so only she could hear, and she found herself hoping for a private room that night. Studying the house as she entered, she didn’t feel very optimistic—it was absolutely tiny, and she had no idea how they were going to fit thirty-three people inside for dinner.

Brightly lit from candle-sconces every few feet, the aged floor was worn from centuries of feet treading upon it, but clean-swept. A table took up most of the space, but one corner held a spinning wheel while another was lined with racks from floor to ceiling, racks from which dangled all manner of metal implement and tool. In the massive fireplace at the back end of the room, what appeared to be half a deer was turning slowly—and independently—over the flames, drippings running from it to crackle and sizzle on the hearth.

The brick walls were whitewashed, and a high shelf ran all around the room near the ceiling, holding various sundry items—baskets overflowing with vegetables, dried flowers and herbs, and other things—moving things. There was, along one wall, a most amazing collection of jars and bottles in every imaginable shape and colour, and the firelight glittered through the dust coating them.

Buffy’s attention was torn from them, however, when one of the baskets began to jostle from side to side and first one kitten, then another and another and another, leapt out. They padded on silent paws along the ledge, effortlessly skirting anything in their path before coming round to the mantel of the fireplace and hopping down to it, and from there to the floor, the better to twine themselves around the ankles of the newcomers.

Her doubts for fitting everyone were soon allayed. Though it seemed small on the outside, somehow the cottage was large enough to handle all of them with perfect ease. In fact, it seemed to expand with the entrance of each new person, but that couldn’t be possible, could it? She was just about to dismiss the idea when Dawn and Boromir entered and suddenly a second fireplace sprouted on the far side of the room. It, too, held a generous haunch of venison on a spit, and the air was doubly perfumed with the smell of roasting meat.

“I saw it as well,” Legolas confirmed in her ear, and she became aware her mouth was gaping in astonishment. “Look you at the table.” As they watched, and more of the elven archers and Elessar’s soldiers sat down, it expanded to create two more seats on either side, over and over until there was a place for every single person.

“Welcome,” Radagast said, and even though he hadn’t raised his voice, was clearly heard throughout the now-sizeable chamber. He came to stand beside Haldir, and touched the tip of his finger to the centre of Corinne’s forehead. Immediately, her eyes opened and latched on Haldir’s face above her.

“What—“ she began, confused, then seemed to remember because she searched the crowd until she found Tatharë, and glared at the elleth. “Did you really need to knock me out?” she asked, wiggling until Haldir put her on her feet.

“Perhaps not, but 'twas easier,” Rúmil answered for his betrothed. “You were shaking like a leaf.”

“Hmph,” she replied, nose in the air. “Who’s this guy?” she demanded, jerking her thumb at Radagast. “This is a question no one particularly wants to hear, but after the weird presto-chango deal with the old girl at the ford, how can we be sure he’s on our side?”

Haldir’s face took on that expression he wore when he was mentally chastising her, and Corinne’s face similarly acquired the expression she wore when suffering said chastisement.

“No, do not scold her,” Radagast said, his mustache smiling faintly. “For she is correct; even with the One Ring destroyed, still there can be evil afoot. Or,” he paused a moment, “awing.” And then the edges of his shabby form shimmered and blurred, and he seemed to melt before them, convulsing until he stood before them, a rook once more. One of the archers reached toward him but, fast as a flash, he flew away and transformed in mid-air to the old woman.

“Of course,” she continued in her reedy voice, and gave them a gap-toothed smile, “you are not to know what is evil and what is not.” Another shimmer, another melting of form, and Radagast was again the man he had been. “The inability to discern which is which is what has landed you in the stew-pot, is it not?” He addressed the question to Corinne, who stood staring in awe before nodding numbly.

“It is a skill that can elude even the eldest of us,” he said, and there was a wistful tone to his voice, as if thinking of mistakes he’d made himself. “I am Radagast the Brown, Istari and Maia of Yavanna.” He swept an imaginary hat from his balding head and bowed low. “At your service.” It would have been more impressive if not for the thread of mockery running through the words.

“What was all that at the ford?” Dawn demanded. “How did you know about the washer? You scared the crap out of Corinne, was that really necessary?”

“I wished to meet you before I met you,” Radagast replied enigmatically, unperturbed by her hostility. “I took a form that would have meaning to the one who set all in motion.” His black eyes under bristling brows were intent on Corinne’s face. “Ever have you been impetuous, child. You need to better learn how actions are followed by reactions.”

“Thank you, Buddha,” she muttered, scowling at him even as she snuggled deeper into Haldir’s embrace, trying to shake off the residual terror she still felt at the thought of his impending death.

Radagast smiled once more. “I propose we eat, and then sleep, for tomorrow will bring more adventure, and a visitor that I believe you, young Greenleaf, will be… interested in seeing, if not exactly pleased.”

Legolas looked alarmed, and entreated the wizard to explain his meaning, but Radagast would not elaborate. The food and drink was pronounced delicious by no lesser a critic than Gimli himself, and when all were finally sated, their host showed them to their rooms. Once again, any worries of being crowded were dispelled as the hallway lengthened and stretched, pairs of doors on either side popping into existence as each previous set were filled.

Corinne pushed open one door and found a small but comfortably appointed chamber. In it was a bed for two, lumps at its foot indicating that hot bricks had been placed within to warm the sheets. A lone candle illuminated the space from a low stool by the bed, and pegs on the wall waited to hold discarded clothing.

In spite of her lengthy Tatharë-induced nap, she found herself yawning as she undressed and was very glad to finally slide into bed and feel Haldir’s arms wrap around her. “He’s pretty weird,” she said sleepily. “But at least no more sleeping on the ground.”

“'Twas not you sleeping on the ground,” he corrected. “As I recall, you slept on me, all the better to press me into the stones and pebbles that would lodge themselves into my backside.”

“Poor backside,” she commented mischievously, her fatigue suddenly not seeming so severe, and reached around to massage the injured area. “Should I kiss it better?”

His eyes gleamed down at her. “I think you had better,” he replied gravely. “It would be the wisest course of action.”

“Wise?” Corinne laughed a little before trailing moist kisses up the column of his throat. “Not really. But desirable?” She pushed him to his back and began to shimmy down his length, tasting his skin as she travelled south and darting her tongue into his navel. “Oh, yes, indeedy.”

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