Disclaimer: I don’t own any recognizable characters or settings, they all belong to Tolkien. I’m not making any money from this endeavor.

A/N: I’m on Fall Break from college this week, so I got chapter 10 out pretty quickly. No guarantees on Chapter 11, though. Special thanks to Bill The Pony for beta’ing

Enjoy!

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Xiaoli paced around her hotel room in a fury, she had to consciously curb the impulse to throw every object in sight right out the window.

Her employer had lied to her. He had withheld important information, he should have TOLD her that these Elves were skilled in combat. At least one of them was, anyways. The other two, she wasn’t so sure, but she hadn’t been about to stick around to find out if they were as skilled as the first.

Snarling in fury, she yanked a towel from the rack in the bathroom, and wound it around her right hand. Her fingers were still bleeding from where he’d sliced them open with her own throwing dagger. If she hadn’t dropped her katana, he most likely would have sliced them completely off, and now she had to buy a new katana as well.

Her cell phone rang, an obnoxiously cheerful melody that she hadn’t figured out how to change yet. Perhaps it could be the Dies Irae from Verdi’s Requiem, anything but the god-awful Fü r Elise it was playing now. Xiaoli yanked the phone from its holster on her hip and answered in terse Japanese. The conversation was short, and she snapped in clipped tones at the voice on the other end.

“Adiosu.”* She growled the farewell, and turned off the phone. Tossing it on the bed, Xiaoli pulled her hair down and shook out the ebony tresses around her shoulders. With a sigh, she threw her soiled black clothing in a heap in the corner, and walked into the bathroom stark naked.

Her golden skin was set off nicely by the cream tones of the bathtub, the lovely contrast in colors soothed her nerves. As she sank back into the steamy hot water, she studied herself in the mirror set into the wall across from the tub.

Her figure was muscular and well defined, her legs long and slender, her shoulders well muscled, but still feminine. Her face was not unusual for a Japanese woman, but striking to the milky white folk who inhabited this part of the world. With a stubborn jaw, full lips, and slanted eyes - the exact color of midnight - she was an exotic wonder to these men. Just last night, she’d been forced to break the nose of some jerk-off who had the nerve to pinch her ass on the street.

Xiaoli bit back a chuckle as she recalled the satisfying snapping noise his nose had made under her fist. Rolling over in the tub, she contemplated the situation. According to her employer, a man she had only ever known as ‘Rex’, they were heading for New York, to seek out some transient called Micheal, or Maggie or something like that. She was to stop them before they found him, Rex didn’t say why. Rex never said why.

“New York,” She rolled the syllables around in her mouth, and contemplated how much easier it would be to kill them in the large city.

How much easier it would be to dispose of the bodies.

Smiling blissfully now, she stretched out on her back again, and sank down deep into the hot water. Tomorrow, she would catch up with them, tomorrow, she would put an end to them. Stupid Elves.

~*~

Legolas sighed in relief as Elrohir pulled the last throwing star from his chest. The wounds there still burned like fire, as the salt his would-be assassin had coated the blades with did its work.

The younger twin had finished bandaging Legolas’ right arm, where the majority of the salt-laced blades had struck, and had thoroughly cleaned the deep cut on his cheek. Now it was just a matter of the scattered wounds on the left side of Legolas chest, where his arm had not protected him.

With the last star removed, Elrohir rinsed the salt from the wounds as gently as he could. “This would be easier if you would sit still, Thranduilion.”

Legolas glared silently at the younger twin for a moment, then abruptly changed the subject. “Do you think Logan believes what Elladan told him?”

Elrohir shrugged, and began bandaging Legolas’ chest. “I hope so.”

Outside on the front porch, things had not gone well between Elladan and Logan.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that you, and those other two, are elves?” Logan’s look of incredulity made Elladan feel inexplicably silly.

“Like Santa Claus? Do you make toys?”

Elladan rolled his eyes silently, not quite sure of the reference, but understanding the sarcasm in Logan’s tone. He didn’t interrupt though, and Logan continued on his tirade.

“You think someone is chasing you, trying to kill you, because you were visited by the ghost of a friend you knew eight thousand years ago, and he told you a spell or riddle or whatever that holds the key to defeating The Devil.”

“Melkor.”

“Whatever. Now you want me to help you get to New York City, so you can track down this Maggie…”

“Maglor”

“Whatever. Track down this Maglor, so he can point you to some diamond that will save the world?” Logan threw his cigarette butt down, and ground it out with his heel, never taking his eyes off Elladan.

Elladan, for his part, sat silently, mulling over Logan’s words in his head. It did sound crazy, but Elrohir was certain that it was Maglor they had seen on the TV the evening before, and Elladan trusted his brother without any reservations. “Yes, Logan. That is what I told you. Will you help us?”

Logan buried his face in his hands and rubbed his aching head. “You want a ride to New York?”

Elladan nodded, “We aren’t from this world, we don’t even know how to get there. That’s all you have to do, take us there. Please.”

Groaning, Logan continued to rub his head. “Fine, I’ll take you there. But, I ain’t doing anything else, and for the record, pointy ears or not, I think the three of you are insane.”

“Fair enough, and you‘re probably right.” Elladan grinned.

~*~

Elrond lay in an aching heap on the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Morgoth give Thranduil’s unconscious form one last vicious kick.

The shining shoes clicked across the floor heading toward the door. They paused by Elrond, and a rough hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head up off the ground. The other hand grabbed his right hand, jerking Barahir off Elrond’s finger, then dropping the Elf on the ground, like garbage.

Melkor studied the ring in the light, turning it around in his hands a moment, then he knelt beside Elrond. “This really is fine craftsmanship, considering how very old it is, it’s held up quite well.” Elrond looked up at him balefully, but made no sound. “The last king who wore it was Aragorn Elessar, correct? The one you raised as your own son. You called him Estel, the Hope of Men. Well, Elessar is dead, and so is hope.”

Melkor dropped Barahir beside Elrond’s prone form.

“You, and your sons, have no hope. Thranduil held out longer than I expected, but there is a limit to the amount of pain even an elf can take, before they yield up information. I know they’re alive, and I know how to find them now. They will be dead by sunrise.”

The shoes clicked out of the room, and the door banged shut. Elrond lay unmoving on the floor for a long time, his body aching from the abuses Melkor had headed upon it.

To his left, Thranduil lay unconscious, blood pooling around his inert form. To Elrond’s right, Celeborn was propped against the wall, blue eyes staring vacantly as he dozed lightly.

Glorfindel was directly across from where Elrond lay, Melkor had not laid another hand on the Gondolin Elf; he was still bound upright to the steel post, with that horrible heretic’s fork still forcing his chin up to a gruesome degree. Elrond could hear his long-time friend and companion gasping for air, his airway constricted painfully.

Biting back a groan of pain, Elrond lurched to his feet, and staggered over to Glorfindel. Resting his head against Glorfindel’s shoulder a moment, he murmured, “I’m sorry, my friend, this is going to hurt. A lot.”

Glorfindel only gasped for air in return, but Elrond was certain he had heard. He raised his right arm to grasp the fork, only to discover his fingers would not function properly. He looked at the arm, and discovered, with an odd sense of detachment, that it was broken in several places.

He pressed the wounded arm across his abdomen, and gripped the heretic’s fork in his left hand firmly. He yanked it up out of Glorfindel’s collarbone, then down out of his chin as quickly as possible, the Gondolin Elf bit back a scream, then sighed in relief.

Elrond tossed the fork down, and untied the ropes binding his friend upright with fumbling fingers. Both Elves sank to the ground, leaning on each other for support. Glorfindel reached across the floor, to where Barahir still lay, and handed it to Elrond.

“As long as the Twins live, Mellon nin, there is hope.”

Elrond studied the ring a moment, then slid it back on his finger. “Let’s find a way out of here.”

~*~

*Adiosu - Japanese for goodbye

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TBC… Well? Any thoughts? Let me know, reviews make the world go round, mellyn nin!!!