"...margarine, nightshade, Oedipus, plant, quail, race, soot..."
"Shut UP!" Falcon snarled, "The plan, the plan-- does it involve Legolas? That dark-haired friend of yours? Think of the plan, of why you are here!"
"Now I have to start over," I said irritably, thinking of an assortment of things unrelated to any plan. He would not know. I resumed thinking of words that fit the first letter of the alphabet. "Apple, bear, crystal, devious, elephant, fish, gold, hatter--" I was stifled as Falcon pressed a hand over my mouth. Desperately seeking a way to prevent my mind from returning to the inevitable, I mentally began to list the periodic table of elements.
Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen...
"You can't control your thoughts anymore than I can," he said angrily. "Think. The plan. Which plan?"
Ah, I had a new plan. It had just popped into my mind. He was wrong, I could control my thoughts.
Before Falcon could comprehend it, I replaced all my thoughts with those sure to distract him. I remembered the last time I had been here in vivid detail. How close Falcon had gotten to me, how frustrated he was that I was not open to his advances.
How close he was, how frustrated. Frustrated, angry, he was desperate. He felt deeply how much he wanted me, how he wished I were his--
"Stop it," Falcon snapped. "I am not--"
"Then do not try and read my thoughts," I suggested. "It is not a hard choice for most people. If you don't like what you see, stop looking."
"You're distracting me," he hissed.
"Good," I replied, pleasantly. I resumed arranging my hideous collage of memories in my mind.
Falcon came for me, in the night. He leaned over me, holding a knife to my throat. He was so close, he could see every detail of my face, smell my scent clearly--
"STOP!" Falcon said again, more forcefully. It came out more like a plea than an expression of rage.
This was too easy. Wickedly grinning, I couldn't help myself.
Falcon, his green eyes meeting mine, his face closer and closer, his breath hissing by my ear. I was powerless as he lazily, carefully, placed his lips on my neck...
He blinked, abandoning his attempts to overcome my mind, instead overcome with something else. Holding his purpose above all else, he seemed to be winning his mental battle until I recalled another detail.
Chains. I was chained and couldn't move. Falcon approached me again, like a predator hunting his prey...
I could invent things. I could fabricate thoughts, twist his reality. I had powers now he couldn't ever have.
Falcon roughly pushed me into him and kissed my forcefully, his hot breath hitting my face...
"Gianna, you--no--the plan..." he trailed off, breathing heavily.
"Perhaps I am showing you the plan," I said, in my best seductress voice. "Pay attention."
So badly wanting more, he did not withdraw from my mind, so I weaved another memory. And another. He reached for me and held me down again, trying to hold what he could not have as one's fistful of water eventually closes on air.
I did not stop.
"You seek to...distract...me with this?" he exploded vehemently.
"Maybe," I purred, though I moved away from him. "Concentrate, now, perhaps you'll be able to decipher the plan."
I still felt like throwing up, and the horrible twisted feeling in my gut was certainly not helped by this mind manipulation.
He moved towards me once more; I reached to my belt and felt the sunstone that was hidden there. I could do it now, I could reach for it and smite him with the sword of light.
But something held me back. Other Remnants would inherit his dark power, they would grow to be even more terrible. In any order, all must die, and as they do, each one will be stronger than any before him. So spoke Lórien.
There had to be a way to draw them out, from their dark and secret places...
Ah, I had more than one weapon on me.
Falcon coming ever closer, I took the chance to consider my options.
The dagger given to me by Legolas was still in my boot; I would be able to reach it less obviously than Almiraë. If he was injured enough that he called for his men, I would have a better chance
at taking more out at once.
I let him approach me, his chest heaving and eyes wild, like a feral animal.
I reached up and seemed to pull him closer; really what I was doing is feeling for his rib cage. Naturally, he didn't protest.
Right as it seemed he would overtake me, I made a decision.
In one swift motion, I drew the dagger from my boot and thrust it through his back. It cleanly slid between his second and third rib, puncturing the lung beneath.
My heart raced uncomfortably at the gruesome contact.
He didn't notice until he started choking on the blood that filled his left lung. He may not feel pain and he may be immortal, but he still had blood.
Before he could react, I withdrew my dagger and pieced him again, this time in the front, as he recoiled.
"What?" he muttered. "How did you get this past security?"
I was going to ask who made him a TSA agent but stopped as he tried to speak and nothing but blood came out.
Perhaps the wound had already sealed, as it did when I had accidentally shot him so many weeks earlier, but the blood was still there, blackened and clotting. While he wiped the foul, viscous liquid from his mouth, I wiped the blade of the dagger on my tunic, though I grimaced at the action.
"Guards!" he shouted, still able to walk regardless. Two men walked in to the room, evidently stationed outside previously, and stood at attention.
"Search her," he spat, literally spitting. A clot of black blood hit the stone floor and I gagged, very near to expelling the (admittedly few) contents of my stomach.
They didn't seem to be men like Falcon, carrying a fracture of darkness in them, though I hadn't a way to tell. I just guessed--there was only one way to find out.
Horrified with myself and the bloodshed to come, I steeled myself for whatever came and clenched my fist around the leather-wrapped hilt of the dagger.
Knife and dagger throwing was my best skill.
As they both approached, I reached for Almiraë, and drew.
Both guards seemed ready to tackle me to the floor, but with a flick of my wrist, I launched first one dagger and then the other towards them. The first hit its target, the blade embedded up to the hilt in the guard's neck.
He fell to the floor. His comrade flinched and tried to duck, but Almiraë met its mark (albeit a bit crookedly) and still pierced through the man's esophagus.
Both did not rise again; it seemed I was correct in my initial assessment.
I gingerly tried to pull on the hilt of the first dagger but (as it was embedded in his spinal cord) it did not budge. Falcon seized this chance and raced at me, throwing me to the ground, weaponless.
But not quite weaponless. I figured that Falcon would recoil at witnessing the purity of the sword of light; I therefore tore the sunstone from its pouch and held it next to my moonstone. Falcon watched, fascinated, as they gently tapped together, but recoiled in shock when the sword erupted from the two jewels.
"Away, demon," I said, more than pleased to resume my outwardly hateful attitude.
He circled warily, momentarily confused. "What is that?" he hissed.
"The only thing that can end you."
"It's a nice thought, is it not?" Falcon said absentmindedly, apparently not confused at the glowing blade I now held. "Unfortunately, it is not possible. Your magical elven ruses have nothing to do so with me."
He didn't believe me? Incredible.
"This is no ruse," I countered, looking at him.
"There is hardly a point in lying."
"I do not make a habit of lying to people who are dying."
"I am not dying." Falcon said, more irritated than afraid.
I held up the glowing sword. "Your soul cannot be saved."
"I don't need salvation," he said angrily, scowling. "Do not be ridiculous. Give it to me."
He held out his hand.
"If you ask," I shrugged, knowing that he couldn't touch it without extreme pain.
I walked a few paces forward and handed him the sword, pommel up, as one does.
He took it and screamed, a thousand tones behind his hoarse exclamation. The sword made a strange, hollow, clattering sound as it hit the floor.
"Be careful!" I admonished, "This is a priceless artefact!"
He looked at me, his tone fearful. "What is this?"
"I already told you," I said calmly. "The only weapon in heaven or hell that can end you and your kind."
"That is not possible."
"This again?!" I exclaimed, exasperated.
"No matter," he snapped, irritably pacing again. "You can still be killed. So be it. I value myself above your petty mortal life."
"Clearly you've never been in a relationship." I muttered.
He backed away. "Guards!"
Two more guards-- not at all concerned that their comrades were dead on the floor--came in again.
"Fetch my men, do it now!" he barked.
The two scurried out of the room, leaving Falcon warily circling me once more.
"You do not have long," he said assuredly, though he eyed the glowing blade I still held.
"Heavens, and here I thought it was the opposite." I remarked, swinging the blade around nonchalantly. I saw him flinch.
The door burst open again and a stream of people entered, swords drawn. My eyes darted around to those who surrounded me, all Remnants, I knew. They were the strongest and could not be killed by a simple knife throw, as the others had been. Their spirits would linger until I smote the last of them.
I was surrounded. I could not fight here, I would surely lose.
I instead ran towards the open door, holding the shining blade in front of me as I went. As I struggled to push past them, I jabbed the light sword through one in front of me. Though no injury showed, their body, devoid of the darkness inside, crumpled to the ground. Almost instantly, the one next to him turned on me with renewed vigor.
I could not help but whimper weakly as two figures pushed me forwards, sidestepping my outstretched sword arm. I slashed through them determinedly, eventually seeing the shadowy hall only a few metres away. "Do not let her escape!" commanded Falcon coldly from somewhere behind me.
His venomous voice only motivated me to get out faster. While swinging wildly the sword I carried, I punched as many of them aside as I could, though it was of little use.
They wore thick steel armour which left my knuckles bloodied, but I hardly noticed. I put a foot over the threshold of the door and celebrated too soon when, relaxing, I was roughly grabbed from behind.
I gasped and tried to run forward, but the thick metal gauntlet of the man grabbing me only dug into my wrist. I swung the sword backwards, and almost slashed myself in the ribs, which fortunately didn't matter with this sword, but it hit him squarely in the abdomen and he grunted and fell backwards.
Without hesitation, I ran, faster than I had ever run, making split decisions on whether to turn left or right. I had no way of knowing if I was going deeper into their lair or closer to my escape, but whichever way I went, I only hoped it was the latter.
The group that had shadowed me from Lothlorien would surely be nearby if I could make it outside; when the Remnants were drawn out, it would be easier to face them.
I approached a door with no turn away; I heard the footsteps behind me approaching.
I prayed to all gods that the door was not locked.
I lifted the latch just as I crashed against the door at full speed, and by some good grace it opened.
However, I was not in the correct mental state to anticipate the fact that it opened into a totally dark chamber, and as I continued, I realised I had actually gone farther into the deeps of this hellish pit. I sucked in a breath and plunged into the darkness. I felt my feet slipping off of rocks and boulders, and cried out as my foot skidded off a flat piece of something and hit a large stone.
I blindly careened through the blackness, my eyes hardly adjusting at all. I gasped for breath, exhausted from constant sprinting, but continued, the glowing sword illuminating not much more than a few inches in front of me.
I was the chaser. I chased others. I was not built to be pursued, like a hunted animal. Panic threatened to overcome me, even when considering that the sword, in a combination of the moon and sun stone, did not trigger the elevated emotion of just the moonstone alone.
I still fought to ignore the pit in my stomach and my shaking hands as I continued. Finally, I reached a small cave in the rock that looked like a squinting eye, and I dove into it, immediately recoiling at the slimy interior.
I felt spiders crawling through my hair, leeches sucking at my spine. I felt ghosts of worms burrow through my ears and centipedes curling and uncurling through my clothes, their crunchy legs brushing against my skin.
I felt all of this and knew that most of it was the terrified imaginings of things, things that could be making their home in this cave. I crawled forward still, crouching low and even still feeling a trail of damp grow on my back, whether it be from sweat or slime. I scrabbled for a handhold, blindly, not knowing where I was going.
I will die here, forsaken, feast for the beasts of the deep earth and undiscovered.
I continued.
I suddenly felt the air around me shift, and stopped, chest heaving. I held out the sword with a shaking hand in a vain effort to see something, anything, and was struck with the perception that there was nothing around me. I had emerged into an open space, a cavern of sorts.
I experimentally coughed, and the harsh sound reverberated throughout the darkness.
I slowly inched forward and hung an arm over the edge. I could not feel the end of the space.
Holding the sword tip down, I stretched it downwards as far as it would go, hoping to catch sight of anything that would redeem this place.
A faint glimmer caught my eye and I strained toward it. It moved, and I flinched, only to realise it moved with me.
The light of the sword was reflected in a pool of water. I knew not how deep it was, or where the water lay, but that proved there was a bottom.
I put a leg over the edge, then another, slipping on the wet rock. My intent was to slowly inch forward and see if I made contact with anything with my feet, but before I could do so, my fingers slipped on the slick surface and I fell forward, crying out.
I put my hands out and heavily fell into a few feet of water, making contact with the rock bottom so strongly that I felt a prickling shock run up my arms, temporarily numbing them. The pain came next, shooting up my left wrist in snaking tendrils.
The water was cold, and there was no exit. There was no way to get out of here and no telling what evil had befallen these caves in the time of Sauron.
I groped forwards again, my clothes weighing me down heavily. I collapsed, exhausted and shaking and reached out in my mind for any who would listen.
Valar, help me.