Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
Views: 4470 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer below.
Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
After her meeting with the Elf-Lord, Jordan felt much better than she had all morning. Fully expecting Lord Elrond to deny her petition, to the Immortal’s surprise, the Elven Lord granted her request. By obtaining his permission to join the hunt, Jordan felt she’d won a major concession from the Ruler of Imladris, and rightly so. At his whim, Lord Elrond could easily restrict her movements in Rivendell and revoke any liberties Jordan currently enjoyed. Despite this success, all was not well with the Immortal. The woman hadn’t slept well—ever since parting with Legolas after their walk in the woods. The concerted effort to resist her increasing desire to be with the golden Elf, and the uncertainty of returning to her own reality, left Jordan emotional drained.
How did this happen? Or more accurately, ‘when’ did this happen? I know I’m attracted to him, but when did it turn into this burning desire to be with him at all times? This can’t be good . . . or normal.
Jordan lost track of the many times when she was sorely tempted to seek Legolas out and explain her actions to the Elf—but the voice of reason always won in the end.
We survive in secrecy . . . Duncan’s words echoed in her mind during those moments of weakness.
It didn’t, however, change the fact that Jordan missed Legolas’ company, his kisses, and the way his hands lingered, as if it were the most natural thing to do. She just plain missed him.   Thinking about the Elf, Jordan walked with no particular direction in mind. Her face took on a dreamy expression as she relived their last kiss, her mind replaying every detail, her memory supplying every sensation.
“Well, I guess that won’t be happening any time soon . . . ” Jordan muttered dejectedly to herself.
To add to her misery, she willingly volunteered (albeit reluctantly) to face the hideous Orc creatures again. In her heart, Jordan felt if she never saw another Orc again, it would be too soon. Stopping to rest under the wide canopy of a shade tree, Jordan laid on her back, looking up at the sky thru the verdant leaves. Running her hands lightly over the velvety carpet of grass, Jordan plucked a long blade, stroking her face with it as she thought about her meeting with the Elven Lord.
It wouldn’t do to have a guest get maimed or killed while under his care. I should be glad he didn’t toss me out of Rivendell. It’s his House, his Rules. There are worse things than being lectured by the Alpha-Elf. I’m here. For how long is anyone’s guess. Maybe I’m supposed to do a good deed or something; a crystal ball would be handy right about now--this waiting is going to drive me nuts!   Irritated, Jordan sat up, turning her face upward to the sky.
“Duncan, where are you?!!!” she bellowed up at the sky.
“Do you hear me, Highlander?!” fluffy, white cumulus clouds floated lazily in the fair sky overhead, unmindful of the perturbed woman below. Balling her hands into fists, she slammed them into the ground, succeeding only in bruising them.
“Owwww!” Jordan climbed to her feet, rubbing her sore hands.
Great; that accomplished much. No use wasting the day—there’s things to do, people to see, weapons to tend . . .
Jordan’s sensible side took over, mentally ticking off details that needed tending to before the hunt. A part of Jordan welcomed the challenge of pitting her skills against creatures that, up until now, existed only in fantasy novels and films. Passing Ceallach in the breezeway, Jordan asked the servant where Gimli could be found. To her surprise, the woman found she actually knew where the she-Elf was directing her. Making a quick trip to her quarters, Jordan grabbed her gear before setting out to find the Dwarf.
Elves, Dwarves and Orcs—oh my! Maybe I’ll write my own fantasy novel and become disgustingly rich . . . Jordan thought.
The more she considered the possibilities, the more she liked the thought; the only glitch being she had to find her way back home. Arriving at an open field flanked on three sides by towering trees, Jordan spied Gimli in the distance. Calling to him as she neared, the Dwarf raised an axe in greeting; taller than she expected, fiercer than she imagined, Jordan made a mental note to set the fairy tales straight when she returned home. Dressed in rough woolen breeches and a suede-like tunic, Gimli’s coarse, red hair was clean, his abundant beard kept in order by braids; the Dwarf’s stout feet were shod with sturdy boots, buffed to a dull shine. Gimli was busy practicing with his small throwing axes; as she neared, Jordan looked with interest at the various axes laid out on a table, as well as the Elf-friend’s helm, as well as cleaning and sharpening supplies; placing her weapons on the table, Jordan set the sash near her Katana; carefully taking her shurikens out, they caught the sunlight, twinkling like fallen stars. Turning towards the Dwarf quietly observing her, she forced a bright smile on her face as she greeted him.
“Good morn, Gimli, I believe we were to compare weapons.” Squinting up at her, he gave her an appraising glance, noting the shadows in her eyes.
“Are you up to it, Lass?” The Dwarf asked, the kindness in his eyes tempering his stern words as he studied the woman before him.
“What, are you trying to back out?” She asked the Dwarf archly, a grin on her face. Gimli’s brows knitted together as he gave a snort of indignation.
“Step up to the table, Lass, and show yer mettle.” Gimli growled; despite his tone, his face was good-natured.
Jordan and Gimli spent the remainder of the day showing each other their weapons, and demonstrating their skills before trading arms. She found the Dwarf’s axes heavy and unwieldy for her taste, but admired its brutal effectiveness.   Though he would never say it, the Dwarf thought Jordan’s weapons, albeit extraordinary and atypical in design, were flimsy, especially her Katana, which, to him –felt light as a feather; Jordan saw the Dwarf frown as he handled her sword.
“Different, isn’t it?” she said. The Dwarf gave a noncommittal grunt.
“I’m sure it . . . serves a purpose.” Gimli said, in a rare attempt to be tactful; he carefully placed it back on the table.
Looking around, Jordan searched for something suitable for what she had in mind. Gimli crossed his thick arms over his barrel-shaped chest, watching her in amusement.
“What are you up to, Lass?” he asked, curious.
“You’ll see.” Jordan said, her tone mysterious as she continued her search.
As the last resort, she tugged a ribbon free from her sleeve. Jordan picked up her sword and tossed the ribbon high in the air as she adjusted her grip on the Katana. They watched as the gossamer fabric fluttered lazily down; holding her sword with the cutting edge up, the delicate fabric separated into two pieces when it come into contact with the blade. Reaching for the ribbons, Gimli held it up, inspecting it. The ribbon was neatly cleaved in two; so clean was the cut that there was no evidence of fraying.
“It serves my purpose.” Jordan said with a smile.
“Aye, that it does.” The Dwarf grunted with grudging admiration.
“In days long gone, the sword smiths proved the great Katana’s worth . . . ”
Jordan intentionally let her words trail off; pausing dramatically, she looked at the Dwarf as she returned the Katana to its scabbard, sliding it in smoothly and quietly, without so much as a whisper of the metal.
“ . . . By it’s ability to cut a slave’s body in half with a single stroke.” Jordan said.
Gimli regarded the unusual sword with a newfound sense of respect, watching the way she handled it with something akin to reverence. In his long life, Gimli could not remember seeing a woman fight the way Jordan does, not even the Shield-Maiden of Rohan, the Lady Éowyn. Jordan winked at the Dwarf before returning her attention to the axes. As the woman studied the geometrical designs on the Dwarf’s axe head, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gimli hold up a shuriken, the star flashing in the sunlight. Curious, he exerted gentle pressure, testing its strength, and then pressed harder when it refused to bend beneath his fingers. It was stronger than it looked.
Just like it’s owner the Dwarf thought to himself.
Turning it, Gimli studied it from different angles. Using his index finger to lightly touch one point of the star, the metal sank into his finger tip as easily as a hot knife thru butter; the Dwarf sucked his breath in in surprise, slicing a calloused finger tip open on it’s razor-sharp edge, the pain registering in his brain shortly thereafter.
“Careful Gimli! It’s sharp--!” she called.
Jordan was about to caution the Dwarf when she heard his startled intake of breath; her warning came too late Dropping the shuriken, Gimli watched in wonder as blood oozed from the cut, still not quite believing he’d received hurt from such a small and seemingly innocent object. Waving her aside, the Dwarf wiped his finger on the hem of his tunic; it continued to bleed.
“It was deliberate! I but meant to trim a callous and went a wee bit deep. I’m fine, Lass!” Gimli said as he hurriedly placed the bleeding digit in his mouth.
“Oh, Gimli—I’m sorry! I should’ve said something earlier.” Jordan belatedly apologized, upset that she hadn’t warned the Dwarf sooner.
Jordan spent many nights (and a good portion of it) sharpening her weapons, throwing herself into the familiar and comforting task—it helped take her mind off her unusual circumstances, resulting in extra-sharp edges on her weapons. Jordan quickly went to Gimli. Prying the finger from the Dwarf’s mouth, she examined it. Just as she thought—despite the Dwarf’s tough, calloused skin, the shuriken had sliced deeply; fortunately it was a clean cut, and Gimli’s hands weren’t too dirty. Unfortunately, it was located on the very tip of his finger—a tender spot, and subject to much use and pressure, which would cause it bleed freely until healed. Instructing the Dwarf to hold his freely bleeding finger above chest level, Gimli watched in amusement and a certain amount of interest as Jordan took another a shuriken from the table and lifted her gown, slicing a strip of cloth from the hem of her chemise. Placing a wad of the cloth on his finger, Jordan applied pressure on the cut to stem the bleeding. Wrapping the remaining fabric around it, Jordan tied it with a fine knot, making a crude band-aid.
“You’re lucky the star’s clean, Gimli, otherwise I’d have to give you a tetanus shot!” Jordan teased the Dwarf.
“Lass, nobody shoots a Dwarf and lives to tell about it!” Gimli sputtered indignantly; his brows drew so close together it appeared as one bushy brow. Laughing ‘till her side hurt, Jordan laughed harder at the Dwarf’s fierce expression.
“It’s not what you think; a tetanus shot is, well, never mind—you’ll be fine.” Jordan said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.
With a playful grin, Jordan kissed his fingertip, laughing again as the Dwarf turned beet red; Gimli quickly snatched his finger back, muttering beneath his breath. Despite his chagrin at cutting his finger on a bit of (extraordinarily sharp) tin, the Dwarf enjoyed the fuss Jordan made over it. The odd woman was a breath of fresh air, delighting him to no end—especially since the pointy-eared Princeling is so affected by her, losing his composure in her presence. Wound tended, Jordan turned her attention back to their practice.
“Look.” She said.
Gathering five shurikens, Jordan eyed the target before her, glad there was no wind, as it could potentially altar her stars’ course. Concentrating, she drew back her arm and threw the stars in rapid succession at a target placed fifty paces away, where they landed dead center in a perfect pentagon. With a whoop of victory, Jordan turned to the Dwarf.
“What do you think about that?” she asked smugly, pleased with herself.
Gimli grunted, suitably impressed, as the sound of an arrow whizzed thru the air. Taking a deep breath, Jordan attempted to steady her jangling nerves; the arrow landed with a thud in the center of her pentagon and a slight increase in the Buzz simultaneously alerted her to his arrival. Turning, the woman and the Dwarf watched Legolas make his way toward them from fifty paces away, a small smile on his handsome face.
Poetry in motion   Jordan couldn’t help but think to herself.
The look the Elf gave Jordan made her pulse quicken. It had been five days since she’d seen him; five days of pure misery without him, reliving the feel of Legolas’ touch, imagining his kisses, and seeing him across the room, so close yet so far away. Remembering her vow, Jordan reluctantly looked away, studiously rearranging the weapons. Legolas’ smile faltered before it died, his perfect features settled once again into its usual serene expression.
“Ah, the pointy-ear arrives. Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Gimli muttered; despite his words, the affection in his voice was plain.
The tables were turned, they were. It amused the Dwarf greatly to see the Elf seek out the woman at every chance possible. Through all their travels, Legolas always caused the female heads to turn—human and Elf-kind alike, some maidens going to great lengths to display their feminine charms, yet Legolas, never gave them more than a passing glance, always treating them with the utmost courtesy. The Elf skillfully extricated himself from undesired female attention in a way that left the aforementioned feeling it was their doing. As their wanderings came to a close, the Dwarf sensed the growing restlessness in the Elf. The Dwarf liked to believe he knew the Elf as well as any Dwarf could hope to understand an Elf—given their extraordinary friendship. Thinking back, Gimli was certain the restlessness set in motion after the valiant Elf caught his first glimpse of the sea from the White City. Not long after, the Lady Jordan literally appeared.
To see Legolas so besotted with Jordan was a source of joy and concern for Gimli. It appeared she and the Elf forged a relationship of sorts, when just as suddenly, it ended. Not overly romantic by nature, the Dwarf remained silent on the matter, watching the events unfold; however, as the situation between Jordan and Legolas continued in its present state, he was genuinely puzzled; when Gimli casually broached the subject with his friend, the Elf refused to discuss it, saying nothing more of the matter other than ‘Jordan would return.’
It didn’t bother Gimli; Legolas will certainly not lack for female companionship, the son of Glóin knew the pointy ear will share his thoughts when ready, and only then. As for Jordan, the woman took to hiding herself away in the House of Healing, or would suddenly remember a task or errand that bore her away in the opposite direction from the Elf and the Dwarf. Gimli’s brows drew together as a thought came to him.
Should she find her way back ‘home’, what will become of the pointy-ear? His musing was interrupted at Legolas’ words.
“Quel re (good day). Comparing skills, are we?” Legolas said. Nodding to Jordan in greeting, he stopped before his friend
“Is your finger all right?” the Wood Elf asked his friend; Gimli muttered something unintelligible to Jordan’s ears. The Elf however, smiled widely and chuckled before turning his attention back to the woman.
“Seems like the right thing to do before we leave.” Jordan said.
“Leave?” Legolas frowned. “Manke naa lye autien (Where are ‘we’ going)?”
“There is a hunting party, and I’m invited.” She said lightly, pleased she actually understood what the Elf said—practicing with the Head Healer definitely paid off, even if it mainly consisted of common key phrases and short sentences. The Dwarf and Elf simply looked at her, twin blank expressions on their faces. With an exasperated sigh, Jordan clarified herself.
“Orcs.” Jordan said, looking at Legolas, waiting for his reaction. The Elf glanced at Gimli, seeking confirmation; the Dwarf merely raised a bushy eyebrow, silently watching the exchange between his companions as he rested his hands atop his great war axe.
“By whose direction?” The look of concern on Legolas’ face didn’t go unnoticed by Jordan.
“Lord Elrond himself” she said quietly, watching the expression on Legolas’ face darken. Gimli discretely busied himself with his helm, polishing it industriously with a cloth as the woman and Elf talked. Coming to stand in front of her, Legolas felt his stomach lurch in warning.
“Jordan—this is not a game, it is dangerous; I fear for your safety. The Orcs you battled when we found you are fierce. When we hunt, there may be Uruk-hai, or a Berserker in their numbers as well. They are larger, faster and stronger—their sole purpose is but to kill.” Unable to help himself, Legolas raised a hand to caress her cheek.
Jordan shored her determination, stepping away from the Elf before he could touch her, hating herself when she saw the hurt in the Elf’s eyes; Legolas dropped his hand to his side, his lips pressed together briefly in anger and frustration, bright gaze darkening slightly. Just as quickly, it was gone.
“Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine. This time we’ll be fighting together instead of you two rescuing me, right? Legolas, I need to do this. ”   Jordan looked at him, her chin lifted in defiance, as if daring him to try and stop her.
“Is there no way to make you reconsider?” the Wood Elf asked.
Legolas’ blue eyes pleaded with her to reconsider. Feeling the need justify her competence for the second time that morning had the Immortal fuming. Noting the stubborn set of the woman’s jaw and the determination in Jordan’s face made the Elf feel frustration—something he hadn’t felt in ages.
I do not remember a female giving me this much trouble the Elf thought to himself, bewildered..
            “Jordan, you could get hurt or even killed —I will not allow this!”
“Its not your decision to make. I’m going” Jordan said, voce sotto.
“I cannot abide the thought of harm coming to you.” Changing tactics, the Elf tried cajoling her with his honeyed tone.
            “That’s sweet, Legolas, but I’m a big girl—I’ll be fine; I’m not a stranger to war. I only ask . . . if anything should happen, don’t let them cut my head off and mount it on a pike, please?” Jordan replied.
“As you wish.” Legolas said curtly, not knowing what to make of her odd words, the Elf decided to consider the matter a stalemate.
How do I make you see reason before its too late? the Elf thought to himself.
In the time remaining before the hunt, Legolas hoped to make her see reason. how remained to be seen. The Elf’s bright blue eyes were troubled, but he gave no further protests; instead, Legolas nodded, studying Jordan’s face, searching for an answer to his unspoken question before turning to inspect the weapons laid out on the table. Apprehensive at first, Jordan was prepared to go another verbal round with the Elf, but was thankful Legolas did not pursue the matter further; in fact, his attitude was courteous and businesslike as he maintained his distance. Jordan followed his lead, her heart heavy, aching for his touch.
‘Keep your distance’ -- you got what you wanted. Why does it feel wrong?
Gimli looked between the two; he knew the Elf well enough to see the hurt flash across his features when Jordan stepped away from him. The woman herself did not appear sincere in her desire to be apart. Suspecting the reason for Jordan’s actions, Gimli kept his opinion to himself, his perceptive eyes taking in all the minute details, as he quietly continued to observe the pair. Strangely disappointed Legolas did not insist Jordan stay in Rivendell, the Immortal missed the brief, calculating looks the Dwarf occasionally cast her way while the trio inspected their weapons. As they prepared their gear, Jordan was careful to keep Gimli between her and the Elf, a gesture not lost on either male as they gave Jordan pointers on how to bring down Orcs, Berserkers and Uruk-hai, and the differences between the fell creatures. Taking out his long handled white knives, Legolas gave Jordan a brief demonstration of its use. She admired the way he moved—gracefully, effortlessly. The Elf’s economy of effort was innate, efficient, and judging by his arrow’s placement, his aim left no doubt to its lethal accuracy. Legolas certainly was the personification of his skills: beautiful, sure and deadly. Bored, the Dwarf watched the Elf show off, when suddenly, inspiration struck.
“Legolas—Jordan’s sticks are similar to your knives; perhaps the two of you could spar, see what the other has to offer.”
And work out this tension betwixt you. Gimli added silently.
With an enigmatic glance at the Dwarf, Legolas sheathed his knives, then looked at Jordan to see her answer. Leaping at the chance to learn from the Elf, Jordan nodded her assent. With a shrug and a graceful sweep of his hand, Legolas indicated for her to precede him as they left the weapons table, walking to the open training field. Grasping her sticks in her hands, Jordan wished she wore pants.
Facing the Elf, Jordan assumed a fighting stance: her legs shoulder width apart, hips turned just so, arms raised to chest level. Her hands held the sticks perpendicular, one to block, the other to stab.   It was hard to concentrate with the handsome Elf standing before her. Quicker than thought, Legolas reached behind his back and whipped his white knives out with a flourish, mirroring Jordan, the movement too fast for the eye to follow. Jordan swallowed hard
            Great—what’d I get myself into?!   she thought for the second time in the day with a sinking feeling.
The handsome Elf arched an eyebrow at her in an unmistakable challenge. Taking a deep breath, Jordan gripped her sticks more firmly as she struck first, testing the Elf’s strength and speed; Legolas’ eyes never left hers, his knives and her sticks clacked together, one-two-three-four, hitting high, low, center. Gimli leaned against the table; as he watched the two trade blows, the Dwarf congratulated himself on the stroke of pure genius.
It takes a Dwarf to set things aright! He thought to himself with great satisfaction.
Pulling his pipe from its holder on his belt, Gimli took a pinch of pipe weed from a pouch on his waist and settled down to enjoy the show.   Feinting, testing, the woman and the Elf fell into a rhythm, striking and blocking in a figure eight pattern; concentrating on countering the Elf’s moves, Jordan didn’t notice how or when she and Legolas moved across the open field, their feet carrying them several times so close to Gimli, causing the Dwarf to duck, forced to dodge out of the way or be struck by a stick, knife or elbow. Despite her clothing, Jordan was able to keep her feet—just barely; moving back or pressing her advantage when the opportunity arose, she was under no illusion and knew the Elf was not exerting his full effort; the gesture both touched and irritated her. Legolas, on the other hand, was pleased to discover that the woman was adept in the use of her weapons; it allayed some of the fears he felt upon learning Jordan would accompany the hunting party.
At any moment, the Mirkwood Prince could easily disarm Jordan, yet Legolas held back; enjoying the simple physical exercise that provided an outlet for some of the frustration he felt at Jordan’s obvious avoidance of him, and her refusal to remain behind; versed in the art of weaponry as Jordan was, she certainly is no match for Legolas’ skill and prowess. An appraising look at the woman was enough for the Elf to end their sparring session. With a final, jarring strike to Jordan’s sticks—which she narrowly blocked, Legolas sheathed his knives with the same flourish with which he whipped them out, before stepping back from her. It took a moment for Jordan to realize they were finished—her right hand was finishing it’s back hand swipe to the Elf’s head when Legolas casually reached up and gently but firmly grasped her wrist, her stick less than an inch away from his face--which looked as fresh as if he’d just arrived from his quarters.
Not a single strand of his hair out of place; Jordan, on the other hand, did not fare so well. Her forehead was covered in perspiration, and a big, fat drop of sweat trickled down her temple. Her hair, previously worn loose, was now in wild disarray about her head, a stray lock of which fell across her eyes. Her nostrils flaring, Jordan was panting from their exertions. His blue eyes still fixed onto hers, Legolas inclined his head slightly with a crooked grin on his face.
            “Lle ume quell (you did well), Jordan.” The Elf said, brushing the errant lock of hair from her eyes with his free hand; his touch was feather light.
            “Thank you.” she managed to answer, trying to not sound so out of breath.
It didn’t help that Legolas’ thumb was deliberately caressing her wrist—right over her hammering pulse. The movement caused goose bumps to rise up her arm, as well as accelerate her already racing heart rate. As if reading her mind, the Elf’s thumb deliberately lingered over her pulse point as he searched her face. Unnerved by his steady gaze, Jordan closed her eyes as she averted her face. After a moment, the Elf gently released her hand, stepping away from her as he returned to the weapons table. Unsure of what just passed between them, Jordan took the opportunity to quickly blot the perspiration from her forehead and face with her sleeves, before raking her fingers thru her hair in an attempt to put it back in some semblance of order before she rejoined her companions. The setting sun signaled the end of the day; as Legolas and Gimli put the final sharpening touches on their bladed weapons, Jordan went to gather her shurikens. Drawing close to the target, upon closer inspection, she was astonished to see in the middle of her pentagon, Legolas shot not one, but two arrows, the second splitting the first perfectly in half.
A/N:
Mythbusters may prove the splitting of an arrow by another is impossible; I humbly submit if Legolas, Master Bowman he is, is ". . . lithe, immensely strong, able swiftly to draw a great war-bow and shoot down a Nazgûl, endowed with the tremendous vitality of Elvish bodies, so hard and resistant to hurt that he went only in light shoes over rock or through snow, the most tireless of all the Fellowship.—J.R.R. Tolkien on Legolas (Book of Lost Tales 2, pg. 333)", I'm willing to suspend my disbelief and deem him capable of splitting an arrow.
- 11
- 12
- 13
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4470 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer below.

Only One