Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
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Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
  Jordan lay in bed staring at the undulating shadows on the ornate ceiling high above her. To attempt sleep after Legolas’ visit would be an exercise in futility; she threw back the bed sheets and sat up, needing to work off her frustration before sleep could become a reality. A part of the night stirred before detaching itself from his place; movement in the distance caught the attention of Elf eyes. They followed the figure as it kept to the shadows, stealing across the wide, dark expanse of courtyard, until it disappeared into the tree line; the guards allowed the figure to reach its destination.   By moonlight, Jordan slowly picked her way through the dark woods. The sheltered glade had become her favorite retreat, no matter the time of day or night. The cold night air chilled her clothes, leaching the warmth from her body. Oblivious, Jordan stood motionless; an occasional soft breeze stirred her dark hair and ruffled her tunic.
Never touch the blade. Always use the hilt. Take good care of it; there will be a time when it’ll be the only friend you’ll have.   Duncan’s admonition whispered in her mind.
With a humorless grin, Jordan unsheathed her Katana, running her palm lightly above the cold blade, drawing strength and comfort from the familiar weapon. The Immortal raised her sword high above her head; lowering herself into a deep stance, Jordan took a steadying breath, cleared her mind and began an intricate Kata.
                  :::                  Mt. Fuji, Japan
                                    1947

The sacred, conically shaped mountain’s valley was blanketed in a thick mist; though it felt like days, the tiny village nestled near its base was left behind hours ago, as the fledgling Immortal and her First Teacher hiked over thirty seven hundred meters. Wending their way up the steep mountainside, their ascent took them thru the low-lying clouds that surrounded the mountain’s base and reached its mid point. Scaling the sullen seventy to eighty degree steep path was not easy, for it was liberally strewn with rocks of various sizes deposited by volcanic activity; other sections had generous heaps of loose gravel underfoot—or both. Trailing behind her Teacher, Jordan kept her head low as she trudged along, concentrating on placing one foot before the other. The thin air made Jordan double her efforts to fill her lungs with oxygen.
                                    Exhausted, the young Immortal’s resolution to keep pace with Duncan was rapidly disappearing; her arms and legs ached beyond description. Goose bumps rose on her skin and her teeth chattered as a cold wind began to blow. The single torch Duncan held aloft was the only point of light on the dark mountainside. Thankfully, the full moon shone full and bright, helping to light the way. She narrowly avoided colliding with the Highlander and almost dropped her burden when he came to an abrupt halt. Duncan gazed out at the horizon. Black and gray nothingness stretched before them as far as the eye could see. Shrugging off his pack, Duncan instructed his student to sit and catch her breath while he studied the terrain, deciding the niche where they rested would serve his purpose; to one side of the path lay a large outcropping of boulders that acted as a windbreak. Sinking gratefully onto a dead tree stump, the torches Jordan carried clattered to the ground. With a groan, she gathered them into a somewhat ordered pile. Accustomed to sweltering tropical heat, the unpredictable wind’s determination to drive the cold into her very bones was a new and miserable experience for her; at least the effort of walking and hauling the torches up the mountainside kept her somewhat warm. Huddled into a ball, shoulders hunched, Jordan wrapped her arms tightly around herself, tucking her hands into her armpits in an effort to warm them. Like her, the Scot was clad in thin, loose fitting clothes, yet he appeared unaffected by the bitter cold. Jordan took the opportunity to observe her First Teacher. Recently discharged from his military service, the elder Immortal’s dark hair had grown long enough for him to tie back in a short queue. Jordan stared resentfully at Duncan’s back, not bothering to hide her expression when he looked back at her. She scowled as he winked at her. Gathering the torches, the Highlander set them alight, wedging several between heavy rocks; others were thrust into the ground, their pitiful lights shone bravely despite the whipping wind. Several torches lost the battle with the elements, their lights flared in a final attempt to shine, before flickering out.
“I c-can’t feel my hands; what makes you think I can h-hold a sword?” Jordan complained. The chilly air seared her nose, making it painful to breathe.
                                    “I know what will help you.” Duncan said.
                                    “A basin of saki?” Jordan asked hopefully.
                                    “You don’t drink.”
                                    “Right now, I’m willing to make an exception. If it’ll warm me, I’ll swim in it!”
                                    “Not if it’ll cloud your mind, you won’t! There’s something even better than alcohol—Katas!” Duncan said cheerily. Jordan groaned in protest.
“D-Duncan, can we do this when it w-warms up?” she plaintively asked, shivering violently.
                                    “You’ll get warm. Once you get moving you won’t notice --”
                                    “You’re not the one whose f-freezing certain body p-parts off!” she interrupted heatedly.
“As I was saying—once you get moving, you’ll be fine. Only because you're a Fledgling, the elements still affect you. Over time, your tolerance will build up; you'll withstand inclement weather that would otherwise kill you, if you were mortal. In the meantime, mind over matter, Jordie. You can’t let the elements distract you--especially during a challenge. Focus. You need to focus on one thing—and that’s keeping your head. Now come on—let’s go.”
                                    Striding over to her, Duncan grasped Jordan by her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Briskly rubbing her upper arms, he gave her an encouraging smile.
                                    “One day you just might thank me, Jordie.” He said softly.
                                    “For freezing me up here? I don’t think s-so!” she retorted. Nevertheless, Jordan took her place beside him.
                                    Standing an arm’s length from the Highlander, Jordan gritted her teeth against the cold; her jerked movements rough in comparison to her Teacher’s smooth, controlled gestures; she did her best to focus on muscle and breath control, a difficult task when you couldn’t feel your fingers; during her attempt to hold a kick, a sudden gust of wind showered the pair with pine needles and nearly blew Jordan over. Determined to not put her foot down, Jordan’s arms waved wildly; she took three small hops before recovering her balance. Stealing a glance at Duncan, she saw the twitch of his lips; the Highlander was unfazed by the gust, his balance perfect, his movements deliberate. The young Immortal bit back a scream of frustration as she resumed the pose. Eventually, Jordan’s discomfort, though not totally forgotten, faded as she concentrated.
While the Immortals’ hands and bodies moved thru the lengthy and elaborate exercise, the dark sky slowly lightened to pale orange-pink, before giving way to glorious, intense combinations of blue, red, orange and yellow as the sun broke thru, rising above the clouds. Completing the final gesture of the Kata in unison with her Teacher, Jordan’s movements were now controlled -- though not quite as graceful as the Highlander’s, as they returned to their original starting point. Before them the sun hovered, suspended between the cloud cover below and the Immortals above, as if it pausing for their viewing pleasure alone.
It was a breathtaking sight. The gentle warmth of the first rays of sunlight felt like a welcome caress to the thoroughly chilled student. Turning to her, the Highlander smiled.
“They don’t call Japan the ‘Land of the Rising Sun’ for nothing.” He said. Beside him, Jordan nodded in agreement.
“Now wasn’t that worth getting up early for?” He asked. Jordan glowered at him. The Highlander grinned.
“Duncan?” she said.
“Hmmm?” he replied, still looking at the magnificent sunrise.
“I’m still cold.” Jordan said. Truthfully, she was. However, the discomfort was bearable now, though she was not about to admit that to him.
“No Immortal ever died of a chill, Jordie. Over time, the stronger you become, you will endure the elements – and injuries that would normally maim or kill you in your mortal state. Until then, try not to think about it.” He suggested.
“I already tried; it didn’t work.” She replied.
“Do another Kata.”
“I don’t feel like doing another one.” She whined.
Jordan was enjoying her childish game. Baiting her Teacher, though not necessarily wise, took her mind from the bitter cold. She considered it payback for dragging her from her warm bed and taking her on what he said would be ‘a moonlit stroll’; Duncan had distracted Jordan with interesting stories and anecdotes about his broad travels. By the time she caught on, it was too late to turn back. Jordan didn’t know how to find the way back on her own, and her Teacher held their only source of reliable illumination, leaving her no choice but to follow.
‘Moonlit stroll’ – ha!
“Jordie, Katas can help you in more ways than you can possibly imagine. You’d do well to do them often.   If you choose your battles wisely, you’ll have plenty of time to probe the deeper meanings of each movement. Watch me.”
Jordan settled back onto her tree stump and tucked her hands back into her armpits. The wind was still, granting a reprieve. Before her, Duncan began the Kata; for a large, muscular man, he moved with the grace and agility of a dancer, no doubt attributed to the many fighting styles he’d been exposed to – and learned thru the years; it truly was a pleasure to watch him. Unconsciously, Jordan found herself searching for the ‘deeper meaning’ hidden behind every gesture and nuance of hand and body. The Highlander’s movements became faster, more explosive, dynamic, and frighteningly powerful. Jordan stared in awe, recognizing but not quite believing it was the same exercise they performed side by side; watching Duncan perform it solo, its significance changed. Slowly, she was beginning to understand what he meant. When he finished, Jordan looked at him thoughtfully, though she remained silent. Duncan raised an eyebrow.
“You make it look easy.” She finally commented.
“You can do it too.” He replied; she snorted in response.
“It takes dedication, repetition and meditation. I didn’t learn this over night.” He said.
“How long?” she asked. He looked at her, his head cocked to the side appraisingly.
“A couple of centuries. And counting.” He said.
Jordan pursed her lips. She continued to think on the matter while she watched the clouds slowly recede and reveal the horizon. The sun rose higher in the sky, the chill in the air starting to lose its bite and thankfully, the wind still gave them a reprieve.
“The sword is your life. It is the soul of the Samurai; you DO NOT go anywhere without your sword. If you go down, your sword goes down with you. Understand?” Duncan said.
Reluctantly dragging her eyes from the sight before her, Jordan fixed her attention upon her Teacher. Unsheathing his Dragonhead Katana, Duncan held it just above the pommel; it balanced perfectly on his fingertip.
                                    “ ‘Those who live by the sword, die by the sword’.” Jordan quoted.
                                    “True. I hope you’ll not be on the receiving end of that proverb for centuries, Jordie; you’ll be challenged by men and women with centuries of experience -- men and women who live and die by the sword.   To give you a fighting chance, you must learn the finer points of swordplay. Observe.”
He quickly drew his sword, slicing the air as he spun, his movements so fast the very air hummed. Duncan sheathed his Katana in a smooth, quiet movement; save for a three-foot radius where he stood, the pine needles blanketing the ground around him remained undisturbed.
“The spirit, mind and body must be one.” He said.
Tossing his Katana to her blade first, Jordan leaped out of the way, landing in the dirt in an undignified heap. The sword was embedded in the stump, quivering.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked, annoyed. Jordan climbed to her feet, dusting herself off.
“Focus, Jordie. If you were paying attention, you could’ve caught it. Now get it and let’s begin.”
Pulling Duncan’s sword free, Jordan swung it around experimentally, adjusting her grip on the hilt. It felt heavy and unwieldy to her. Reaching into his pack, Duncan pulled out a wooden sword carven to resemble a Katana. Trading swords, he motioned for her to take her place beside him. Jordan swung it around, getting a feel for the mock sword.
                                    “Once you truly understand your sword, it becomes an extension of your body; fighting with your own weapon is preferred; if that’s not possible, you must work with what you’ve got. Adaptation’s the name, survival the Game. Now, let’s do it again.” Swords in hand, the Immortals began the Kata once more while the sun rose higher in the sky. :::
                                    After completing the Kata, Jordan felt centered and capable of rational thought, at least for now. To say she was confused would be an understatement. Just saying Legolas’ name sent shivers down her spine. The Immortal frowned. Having been burned once was bad enough; if she lived for centuries, no doubt it wouldn’t be the last time, but that didn’t mean she would knowingly play the fool again. Jordan wanted to go home. She couldn’t afford any distractions, especially one named Legolas Greenleaf. Focus. Yes, that’s what she needed to do.
Jordan stood and sheathed her blade quietly, listening to the stillness of the night as she made her way back to her quarters. There would be plenty of time to think about Legolas - - - after the hunt. Changing into her sleep shift, she brushed her hair and crawled back into bed.
“In more ways than I could imagine. You were right, Duncan.” She murmured softly; before long, she drifted into sleep.
                  >>>> = = = = = = >
Jordan indulged in a long bath before getting dressed. Although she slept, she did not feel wholly rested, as her thoughts dwelt on the forthcoming activities. Before her Immortality was triggered, bloodshed was not in Jordan’s easygoing nature; the Game, she mused, made it a necessary and sometimes distasteful act. In the overall scheme of things, it was and always would be a simple matter of survival.
“Those . . . ‘creatures’ deserve nothing but death.” She muttered to herself, rubbing her throat in memory.
Buttoning her vest, Jordan sat on a chair and quickly plaited her hair into two French braids, securing the ends with slender leather cords she found in a drawer. Reaching for her boots, she pulled them on then buckled her weapons around her waist, adjusting her Katana before slipping into her overcoat.   Ensuring her shuriken were secure, Jordan slung the satchel filled with Lembas, bandages, salves and other Elvish medicines over her shoulder.
Eyeing the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table, Jordan instead reached for the Lembas in a covered dish and broke off a healthy piece to nibble on the way out. She pivoted sharply, her overcoat snapping smartly against her heels as she descended the balcony steps. The Immortal arrived in the main courtyard to find the hunting party already assembled, checking over last minute details. She noticed some Elves were armed with long spears and swords; slender, curved knives of varying lengths were strapped to their bodies as well, blades adorned with ornate etchings that shone brightly in the early morning light.
Close by, archers warmed their bowstrings, testing the draw weight. The quivers on their back were full; extra arrows were in a separate quiver ingeniously strapped to their thighs, in a way that allowed access without limiting movement. It was bizarre to see these fabled creatures outfitted for battle; under their gentle natures was an obvious capacity for violence and warfare. Were these the same beings that sang so marvelously and danced ever so gracefully just days ago? Jordan couldn’t quite reconcile the image of the beautiful, elegant beings so dangerously armed. She was still pondering the thought when she felt a touch on her arm.
                  “Jordan, you’re up at this blasted hour too, eh?” Gimli’s blustery voice sounded at her elbow. Dressed in his gear, he looked every inch the fierce warrior, his axes gleaming in the early light.
                  “As you are, Master Gimli. What’s the game plan?” Her eyes twinkled at him. At his look of confusion, she clarified herself. “How are we going to do this? Are we riding out or going on foot?”
                  “We’re to walk to the areas the scouts sighted Orcs.”
                  “Is Legolas going with us?” She asked, trying to keep her tone nonchalant. The Dwarf looked at her, his eyes shrewd.
                  “Nay, Lassie, he left late last night with the other scouts. They sent word on where to go, and that’s where we’re headed.” Jordan nodded, absorbing that piece of information.
Silhouetted in his westward facing window, Elrond observed the gathering below, his eyes resting on the woman. Glancing up, Jordan met and held his gaze. She touched her heart and forehead in a gesture of respect. The Elven Lord nodded in return; at his signal, the assembly silently headed towards the borders of Rivendell. As planned, five of the ten elves took to the trees, the rest fanned out, noiselessly moving thru the forest floor. Making their way thru the wooded area, Jordan knew it would be a good day for battle, for the ground was dry, the sky above cloudless.   It wasn’t long before they encountered a handful of Orcs. The miserable creatures gave a worthy struggle, but were no match for the Elven warriors or their lethal arrows.
The Elves piled the carcasses in a heap. Jordan watched as they went about their grisly task; silently, the archers collected spent arrows before beheading the creatures for good measure. Lunch was eaten on the run; Jordan wasn’t the only one who thought to pack Lembas, for the Elves brought it out from their tunic pockets, unwrapping and breaking off pieces to eat. With a conspiratorial wink, Gimli brought out dried meat, passing her three long strips. They continued in that fashion for the duration of the day, encountering and eliminating pockets of Orcs, the tree-born Elves rotated with the ground team. Given the advantage of advance information and the element of surprise, Jordan was beginning to think it would be a relatively simple task of extermination; at the rate they were going, she believed they’d surely make it back before mid night. It was towards dusk when it all changed.
Suddenly, shouts of warning came from the trees as arrows flew towards them from all directions, landing in the ground and trees with a thud; several whizzed past Jordan. She quickly reversed her satchel, using it as a makeshift shield as she scrambled for cover. Nimbly dodging the deadly projectiles, the archers on foot lobbed off a return volley of their arrows into the shifting shadows, as the nightmarish forms of Orcs and what must be the Uruk-hai swarmed towards them. With a growl of anticipation, Gimli rushed to meet them. From behind the protection of a tree, Jordan again reversed her satchel and peeked out at the ruckus.
There’s so many . . ! Gathering her courage, Jordan drew her Katana and stepped forward into the fray.
Oh boy, here we go . . ! she thought. Adrenalin coursed through Jordan’s veins. She was about to join the
Dwarf, when from the corner of her eye, she saw an Elf go down, a black-shafted arrow protruding from his left shoulder. Keeping her head low as she ran to him, Jordan dragged him to a sheltering copse of bushes. Willing them to be invisible, she kept a watchful eye on the melee surrounding them as she shrugged off the satchel, searching for the salve that would stop the spread of poison and staunch the bleeding. The Elf’s jaw was clenched tight against the pain, his breathing shallow and rapid.   All around them, the fierce cries of battle rent the air.
“My Lady--”
“Shhhh—what’s your name?”
“Maeglin Lossëhelin” Jordan raised an eyebrow at the unusual name, but continued to work.
“Well, Maeglin, I’m Jordan—bite down!!”
Kneeling over him, she stuffed an herb filled sachet in his mouth, the anesthetizing vapors released as he bit down; lines of pain were etched in the Elf’s noble face, a sheen of perspiration appeared on his brow; Jordan gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Working swiftly, she cut away his tunic and examined the wound, relieved to see the arrowhead jutting from his back; the Elf’s bright red blood coated the black shaft. On the arrowhead itself was a thick, oily substance that Jordan didn’t like the look of. Keeping him on his side, with a swift stroke of her sword, she cut the arrow, leaving half an inch of the shaft above the wound. To his credit, the Elf didn’t move. Jordan looked at Maeglin; he gave a quick nod, his hands clutched the scabbard of his sword.
“I’m sorry. Hang on.” She said.
Jordan grasped the arrow carefully, quickly pulling it out; the Elf’s body lurched in pain. Smearing the entry and exit sides of the wound with salve, she covered them with a bandage; Jordan was reaching for more bandages when a roar made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand. Looking up, the largest, most hideous creature beyond her wildest nightmares was striding towards them, a lethal looking spear in its hand. Legolas’ and Gimli’s description of the improved version of Orc didn’t do it justice; it had to be at least seven feet tall, heavily muscled, and bent on utter destruction.
Oh. No. . !   she thought.
Jordan needed both hands free. Laying Maeglin on his back, she applied pressure to bandage on the Elf’s wound with her knee while she readied her shuriken. Below her, the Elf gasped in pain as her knee dug into his wound. Jordan spared him a quick glance.
“Sorry about that - - here, press down on this.” She said, placing the Elf’s right hand on the bandage. He struggled to raise himself on his left elbow.
“Don’t move! Your bandages aren’t secured.” She snapped. Obediently, the Elf lay back down. Jordan turned her attention back to the Uruk-Hai.
Their armor is weak at the neck and beneath the arm . . .   Legolas’ words came back to her.
Eyes narrowed in concentration, she calmly waited until the creature was ten paces away; its muscled arm drew back, ready to skewer them; aiming for it’s unprotected throat, Jordan threw four shurikens as hard as she could in quick succession. The Uruk-hai dropped the spear as it fell to its knees with a pig-like squeal. Out of nowhere, an arrow appeared in the creature’s throat. Keeping an eye on it, she hurriedly bound Maeglin’s wound.
                  “My Lady, is he safe to move?” An archer dropped from the trees, providing cover for her as she tied a knot on the bandage.
“Hurry—before I have to do the same for you. Get him out of here!” Quickly stuffing the contents back into the satchel, Jordan slipped it on.
Sword in hand, she kept watch, making sure no creature interfered with the evacuation as the Elf lifted Maeglin to another waiting in the trees.   Looking up, she saw they were gone. Going to the Uruk-hai, Jordan sheathed her sword and quickly retrieved her shuriken, wiping them on her overcoat hem as she surveyed the battle.
A short distance away, Gimli and other Elves were making short work of the Orcs foolish enough to attack them, yet more of the fell creatures seemed to take their place. All around her the bodies of Orcs and Uruk-hai lay strewn about the forest floor. Looking around, Jordan saw an Elf among the carnage; hurrying to him, she crouched at his side. There was nothing she could do for him; he’d been disemboweled, his sightless eyes gazing up at the sky above; Immortal, but not invulnerable. With great sadness, Jordan closed his eyes, and arranged his cloak to cover the exposed intestines. Soon the cloak darkened as it absorbed the spilt blood. Burning with impotent anger that one of these beautiful beings died, around her the battle raged on.
Before Jordan could stand, an Orc literally stumbled upon her. Raising a wicked looking dagger, it sprang towards her, fanged mouth open in anticipation of the kill. Jordan’s sticks materialized in her hands—all organized thought ceased as her training kicked in. It’s dagger swooped down, stopping mere inches from her face, caught in the crux of her sticks as she brought them up; her arms trembling with the effort of keeping it at bay as the Orc tried to press it home.
Damn they’re strong!
Above her sticks, their eyes locked; he was so close she could smell his rancid breath. With a grimace of disgust, Jordan used her legs to propel herself to a standing position, pushing the Orc back and away; the creature sprang towards her, dagger poised for another stab. With her sticks, she caught the dagger in the crux again, wrenching it from the Orc’s grasp with a quick twist. Bringing her leg up, she kneed it in the groin. The creature clutched itself, shrieking in pain and fury.
Holding her sticks as a bat, Jordan swung as hard as she could; it connected with a satisfying crunch. The Orc’s jaw shattered from the blow as it landed facedown on the ground with a howl. Dropping to one knee, Jordan scooped up its fallen dagger, plunging it deep into the back of its neck, giving it a vicious twist. It’s spinal cord severed. The Immortal watch detachedly as it jerked spastically before laying still. Attracted by the commotion, another Orc came towards Jordan; he barreled towards her, intent on the seemingly easy target. Jordan stood her ground. Hissing, it circled her; the Immortal warily tracked it, her sticks held in readiness, her eyes studying the subtle nuances of the Orc’s movements. It swung its scimitar at Jordan, quickly stepping back beyond her sticks’ reach when she countered his attack. Circling each other, the Orc continued to test her--striking, then backing away, attacking from different angles, testing her.
It’s toying with me!   she realized, incredulous.
He’s smarter than he looks!
With alarming swiftness, the Orc lunged at her, swinging his scimitar at her torso. She leaped back, hearing the whoosh as it passed. Before the Orc could complete the arc of his swing, Jordan launched a rapid series of offensive strikes, trapping the Orc’s wrist with her sticks, she pulled him closer to her, immediately countering his attack with a simultaneous stick strike to his neck; stunned, it faltered, dropping its weapon. She continued her assault with a series of rapid strikes rendering the Orc incapacitated. With her left foot, Jordan delivered a crippling kick, knocking his right knee out of alignment; pinning his knee to the ground with her foot Jordan followed up with another stick strike to the jaw and a swift and hard knee kick to the throat, breaking the jaw and crushing his windpipe. As he fell to the ground, Jordan kicked him in the throat again for good measure, before turning and running away, leaving it to suffocate to death.
Locking her sticks into a bo as she ran, Jordan hadn’t gone far when she tripped on a hidden tree root. Sprawled ignominiously in the dirt face first, her bo lay just beyond her reach. Mortified, Jordan was glad Duncan didn’t witness this moment—he’d never let her live it down. Coughing, she pushed herself on to her knees, reaching for her staff; it slipped from her grasp as she was lifted up roughly by the collar of her overcoat, then roughly shaken and turned around.
This can’t be good she thought dismally. A sense of déjà vu came over her as she looked at the creature that held her suspended. This time it was an Uruk-hai
Why does this always happen to me?
Thinking fast, Jordan spat out the dirt that was in her mouth into the Uruk’s eyes, distracting it. Quickly lifting her arms
straight up, she slid out of her overcoat and landed on her feet in a crouch, leaving the momentarily confused Uruk-hai with the empty garment.
The faster you draw your sword, the more precise your cuts, the surer your chance of victory. Duncan’s words whispered in her mind.
From her angle, she could see an opening where the breastplate fell away from his torso. Seizing the opportunity, Jordan swiftly drew her Katana and sprung at him, using the force of her momentum. She ran the creature thru with her sword, her blade sinking into its flesh with surprisingly little resistance. Yanking her Katana out, Jordan whirled, her blade flashing. Flicking the foul blood from her blade, she sheathed it and bent down to retrieve her overcoat. The Uruk’s head fell away from its shoulders, its face frozen in a surprised snarl as its body thudded forward. Jordan adjusted her collar; using the toe of her boot, she flipped her bo up in the air, catching it neatly. Taking a moment to get her bearings, Jordan spied an Orc stab an Elf in the side; unlocking and holstering her sticks, she ran towards them full tilt. The Orc was about to deal a deathblow to the fallen Elf. She wouldn’t get there in time. Jordan reached for her stars; taking careful aim, she quickly threw them as hard as she could. They buried themselves in the Orc’s arm and hand.   It was enough to divert the killing blow; with a screech, the Orc turned to meet Jordan—then lost its head. Falling to her knees before the Elf, she quickly set to work.
“Whew, almost didn’t make it in time -- thought you could use some help. Don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jordan.” The Elf blinked at the woman hovering above him as she chattered breathlessly.
“Your timing is most welcome. I am Camthalion Tasardur, Lady Jordan -- and thank you.” He gasped; his smile was more of a grimace as a wave of pain washed over him. Jordan could see the dark spot on his brown tunic grow larger.
She used her sword to slit his tunic apart, keeping a calm expression on her face as she assessed his wound: bright red blood oozed from the puncture wound, the uneven rise and fall of his chest; reaching for his hand, she felt his wrist. The Elf’s pulse was rapid; he was starting to wheeze, his breathing grew labored, and his lips had a slight bluish tinge. Not good. Glancing at his eyes, she was glad to see they were still clear. Checking to see if there was blood pooling beneath him, her concern grew when there was none. Worried about possible internal bleeding, Jordan applied salve and a pressure dressing on the wound, binding it with more bandages. Already blood was starting to seep through.
                  Punctured lung Jordan thought grimly. As if in answer, the Elf coughed weakly. She looked up into the trees, immensely relieved to see the same Elves from the previous evacuation making their way towards her. Jordan gave the Elf’s hand a squeeze
“Get the lead out, guys! Let’s go!” she called. She looked at Camthalion.
“Here comes your ride out, Camthalion. Don’t you die on my watch!” she said fiercely, touching his cool cheek. The Elf’s
face was pale, yet his eyes were still bright.
“I will . . . do my best . . . not to. . . Lady.” He whispered with a smile. Despite the gravity of the situation, Jordan smiled back. The Elves dropped lightly to the ground, helping the wounded Elf onto his feet.
“Quickly—take him to Læurenthail! Run!” Though her voice was low, the urgency was unmistakable.
Glad to see them gone, Jordan retrieved her stars and was en route to join Gimli when five Orcs surrounded her. Advancing on her with their weapons drawn, their snarling and hissing made the hair on her arms stand. Eyes narrowed, Jordan took out her sticks, locking them. Whirling it slowly to get the proper balance, she tracked their positions; Jordan spun her bo with lightning speed around her, then struck a hard fighting stance, noticing their heads were bare. She smiled. Intimidated, the Orcs hesitated for a second before leaping upon her as one.
Furiously spinning her staff about, Jordan stayed safely out of their weapons’ reach, keeping them at bay as she parried and blocked their thrusts, her bo dealing more than its fair share of hurt as it solidly connected with Orc flesh numerous times. The Immortal’s flowing spins, slashing staff strikes and arching kicks gave her the appearance of a wind devil. Snarling, the creatures were forced to keep their distance, unable to reach her. Jordan drove the end of her staff into the ground; hoping her weight didn’t break the locking mechanism, she used it to launch herself into the Orc in front of her with a hard front kick. She felt her heel connect solidly with the Orc’s lower jaw, his head rearing back.
Changing her grip on the staff, Jordan used the ends to give the Orc two quick and solid whacks across the temples, then used all her weight to bring it down hard on his skull; the sound of bone shattering filled the air as the Orc spun and landed on the ground, unmoving. Another Orc soon took its place. Without hesitation, she planted the end of her staff in the dirt; her left leg lashed out in a spinning sidekick as she brought her bo crashing against the Orc’s jaw, whipping its head to the side. With a quick jab, she ran the tapered end thru its neck. It fell to the ground, rolling in agony, a gaping hole in its throat.
Anything and everything is allowed; don’t forget you have two hands . . .
Dropping to one knee, Jordan threw two stars at the Orc closest to her. Squealing in pain, it clutched it’s neck; dark blood bubbled around the shuriken edges, the creature fell to the ground, it’s foul blood rhythmically staining the dirt beneath with each beat of it’s heart. Leaping to her feet, Jordan twirled her staff forward, and in a backspin until it blurred, varying the combinations; unable to guess her next move, the two remaining Orcs snarled their frustration, unable to get close to her -- driven back by the Immortal’s unfamiliar attack. Instead, they feinted and retreated, circling--trying to disrupt her focus.
Deciding she had enough, Jordan lunged at the closer Orc, pushing him back with the end of her bo. It grabbed her staff, and tenaciously hung on. Behind her, the other Orc rushed her back. Using her bo to jerk the Orc towards her, with a quick, hard thrust, she pushed it back, and let go; the unexpected maneuver threw the Orc off balance as she dropped onto her knee and whipped her sword out; pivoting on her knee, she brought her blade up in a high, wide arc, beheading the Orc behind her.
Instinctively diving to the side, a ‘whoosh’ rent the air where her head was a second ago; Jordan rolled and leapt to her feet. The remaining Orc stood, her staff in its hand. Snarling, it hurled the staff at her like a spear, barely in time, Jordan threw herself to the side, the staff missing her by inches. Scowling, Jordan faced the Orc. The creature picked up a hooked sword from it’s fallen companion. Brandishing it with a scream akin to nails on a chalkboard, it ran towards Jordan. Fanning her blade, Jordan gripped her Katana firmly with both hands, and rushed to meet him, their blades ringing with a reverberating clang as they met, each trying to gain the advantage over the other with brute force, yet for the moment were evenly matched.
“I will eat your heart while you watch!” It snarled. Surprised the Orc was capable of speech, Jordan’s eyes narrowed.
“Sorry, my heart’s already taken---and its definitely not by you!” she retorted. The Orc’s sword pressed closer. Suddenly, its dark tongue snaked out, wriggling obscenely.
“I will taste you first!” it leered. A look of revulsion crossed the Immortal’s face.
“This conversation’s over!” Jordan declared.
Gritting her teeth, she brought her right knee up, driving it into its groin, then swiftly hooked her right foot behind his leg, causing it to stumble back. The sword slid from its grasp as its arms pin wheeled, staggering back. It had the presence of mind to backhand the Immortal as he went down. Instinctively, she turned her head to avoid the brunt of the blow, but not before the Orcs clawed hand left four deep scratches across her face.
“That was your last mistake.” She said, her voice low. In answer, the Orc snarled defiantly.
Jordan kicked his feet out from under him; driving her sword down, she pinned the creature to the ground. The Orc’s hands scrabbled uselessly against her blade. Wrenching her blade free, the Immortal brought it down on the creature’s neck, relieving it of its head in one smooth stroke.   Jordan flicked its dark blood from her Katana. Breathing hard, she wiped away the sweat from her forehead and neck, gingerly touching her stinging cheek as she looked around and gathered her shuriken. Elves were busy holding their own, their gleaming blades flashing; she spied Gimli in the midst of a cluster of Orcs,
Flying high on adrenalin, Jordan fought her way towards the Dwarf, protecting his back as more creatures converged on them.
“Where’ve you been, Lass?” the Dwarf asked, swinging his double-headed axe at an Orc’s head.
“Oh, here and there.” Jordan panted.
“Plenty to go around, there is!” Gimli said. He jabbed the face of an Orc with the end of his axe before slicing its neck open. Jordan wiped her forehead on her sleeve and brought her blade up to block a blow from an Orc. Jordan saw the Dwarf do a quick double take when he glanced at her face.
“Do you think I’m ugly, Gimli?” Jordan joked, dodging a thrust to her side.
“You’re as comely as the day I first saw you, Lass.” Jordan laughed, for she was doing the same thing when they first met—fighting Orcs; she did not look her best then, and Jordan was certain she looked a fright now.
“You sweet talker you!” she exclaimed. Ducking beneath a blade, Jordan the hilt of her sword to punch the Orc in the face and quickly reversed her grip to slice its head off.
“Fight now, talk later, Lass!”
The Immortal and the Dwarf fought back to back for what seemed an interminable amount of time; in the heat of battle, Jordan didn’t notice she was moving away from Gimli. Jordan quickly sheathed her blade and reached for her sticks, wanting to put as much distance between the Orcs and herself;. Swinging her staff around, Jordan swept the legs of an Orc out from under him, and then stabbed the creature thru the eye with the tapered end. Pressing her full weight on the staff, Jordan took a moment to catch her breath. An Elf and an Orc swept by her as they fought; pulling her staff free, she threw a star with her free hand. The Orc tensed in pain as the shuriken buried itself in the side of its thick neck. It was all that the Elf needed to end the Orc’s miserable existence. Readying another shuriken, Jordan searched for a suitable target.
Jordan’s arm was drawn back, poised and about to throw another star when warning bells in her gut made her head turn, her braids flying; her left bicep stung with a sudden, intense pain as she heard a loud thwack, thwack, thwack uncomfortably close in the tree behind her.   Hearing Gimli yell her name, she stepped towards him when she was jerked back, her staff falling to the ground. Jordan couldn’t move. At Gimli’s shout, she looked up to see an Uruk-hai walking towards her. Realizing the sounds were that of crossbow bolts landing in the trees behind her, the woman saw with alarm two had pinned her overcoat and sleeve to the tree, the third skewered one of her braids.
Awwww hell! she thought to herself.
Confident she was held in place, the fell creature leveled his crossbow in line with her heart. Time slowed—everything moved in surrealistic slow motion around her, when she heard thunk!
“Move, woman!” the Dwarf roared.
Time snapped back into place, sound returned in a rush. Spurred into action, Jordan lunged forward out of her overcoat, and not a moment too soon, as another thwack! sounded. Rolling to a crouch, her eyes went to the arrow that would’ve pierced her heart.
“Dirty bastard—that was an ARMANI!” Infuriated, she leaped to her feet, her hands a blur as she threw her remaining shuriken.
One landed deep in its cheek, another in its neck, missing the artery; the rest were buried in the Uruk’s thick leather armor and muscled arms; unfazed, it stared curiously at the stars buried in its chest and biceps.   Dropping its crossbow, the creature casually plucked the shuriken out one by one, before easily crumpling them in its heavy fist like tin foil. Jordan gasped in disbelief.
“Hey!” she shouted. The Uruk gave a harsh guttural laugh, if one could call it such.
Touching a clawed finger to its check, it licked the dark blood then plucked the star out. Studying it, the Uruk’s malevolent eyes narrowed before snapping to Jordan.   Not waiting to see what it’d do, the woman pulled out her Katana, clutching it with both hands and ran at the Uruk-hai; quicker than she believed it was capable of moving, it threw the star. Her shoulder jerked back with the force of the impact; ignoring the sharp pain in her shoulder, Jordan willed her left hand to tighten its slackening grip on the blade as it flashed once, twice, leaving the Uruk without its forearms. The Uruk roared its pain and fury.
Unwilling to cede defeat, its thick leg lashed out, kicking Jordan in the gut. Caught off guard, she flew back, her katana   clutched tightly in her right hand. Jordan’s head thudded painfully against the hard ground; she stared up at the sky above, the wind knocked out of her. Unable to draw a full breath, she fought to remain calm against the rising panic.
Mind over matter, Jordie . . the woman could almost see Duncan’s face, his dark eyes intense.
Hyperventilating, she struggled to her feet. Doubled over, clutching her abdomen, Jordan straightened with difficulty. She glared at the Uruk-hai, who was striding towards her, ready to give her another kick. This time she was ready. Mentally blocking the throbbing pain in her gut, somewhere from deep within her, Jordan summoned the energy to execute a spin kick, planting her heel in its face - - quite a feat, considering the disparity in height between the combatants. The Uruk dropped heavily to the ground.
“I guess you won’t be doing that again, will you?” she said in a harsh whisper, looking down at the creature; it rolled onto its side, struggling to stand.
“You will die!” the Uruk sneered at her over its shoulder.
“Not today. I have other plans.”   She replied. The Immortal kicked him in the gut; the Uruk merely laughed at her.
Jordan kicked him harder in the ribs. This time, the Uruk flipped onto its back, panting. She planted her boot in its chest, holding it firmly in place. The Uruk’s bleeding arm stumps beat impotently against her leg, his lower body writhing in an effort to dislodge her.
“Let me up and I may let you live!” the Uruk demanded. Jordan gave a bark of laughter at his ludicrous words.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Jordan said sweetly, drawing the tip her Katana slowly across its exposed throat. His next words were lost in a wet gurgle.
Jordan watched indifferently while the Uruk’s life ebbed away; it took a few moments for her to realize the din of battle was dying. Although the fight seemed to last a lifetime, in reality it must have been a few minutes, she realized. A sharp, throbbing pain caught her attention. Looking down, the shuriken thrown by the Uruk was buried deep in her left shoulder. Though her vest covered the growing bloodstain, she felt the spreading, sticky wetness beneath. Making her way to a tree, the woman leaned heavily against it. Swallowing hard, Jordan gingerly grasped the star, wincing at the pain it elicited. Gritting her teeth, she counted to three and quickly pulled it out, biting her tongue to stifle her scream of pain.
“Damn that hurt!” she muttered aloud, looking at the blood stained star. Breathing heavily, Jordan winced, and gently probed the wound before taking a peek beneath her vest; already her Quickening had stopped the bleeding; unfortunately, this wound was too deep for it to heal instantaneously; it’d be at least several hours for it to fully heal.
I should’ve taken more heads. She thought wearily.
Experimentally, Jordan moved her arm. Now that the crisis was over, the aches were manifesting themselves. Jordan was able to raise her arm halfway before the pain stole her breath away. Favoring her injured shoulder, she pushed away from the tree and straightened cautiously. With her right hand, Jordan curled the fingers of her left hand around the hilt of her Katana.
Breathing heavily, she looked around her; Elves were putting the creatures that hadn’t yet expired out of their misery; some were helping those with minor injuries to walk. Other Elf Warriors were retrieving arrows and wiping their soiled weapons, their dead placed on litters constructed of tree limbs, whose branches were interwoven to support their burdens, then borne away by able-bodied Elves.
Numbly, the Immortal walked to the tree, surveying the damage. Her overcoat was in a sorry state. Streaked with grass and sweat stains, dirt and Orc blood, the once sumptuous, flowing designer fabric was now pierced through with arrows; the Immortal could see the tree bark thru the long, gaping tears. Jordan sighed. Gimli’s small throwing axe was embedded in the tree as well, her unraveling braid dangling from an arrow. Angrily she yanked it out, releasing it; holding the severed locks in her hand, she measured the loss of twelve inches of hair, before tucking it inside her vest; she ran her hand absently thru her shortened hair, shaking it lightly; twigs, leaves and dirt rained down; her hair now reached the middle of her shoulder blade.
It’ll grow back. As for the Armani…maybe the Elves can repair it So absorbed in her thoughts, Jordan didn’t notice Gimli stood by her side until he spoke.
“At least you’re still alive, Lassie.” The Dwarf said gruffly.
“Couldn’t you have aimed closer to the arrow, Gimli?” The Dwarf looked at her with an incredulous expression. The twitching of her Jordan’s lips gave away the laughter she now felt inside, glad the Elven casualties weren’t numerous; it could have been worse.
“I needed a hair cut anyways, it was getting too long.” After a look of surprise at her change in mood, Gimli gave a shout of laughter; Jordan joined him, tears streaming from her eyes, as Legolas appeared before her.
>>>>========>
Backtracking from River Loudwater, Legolas and the other scouts regrouped, en route to the outskirts of Rivendell. Surely the Valar had smiled down on them, for their mission was a success. Under cover of night, they had sighted several parties of both Orc and Uruk-Hai Scouts, eliminating them with ruthless efficiency, no easy feat considering the Orcs were creatures of the night; other groups were monitored and tracked, allowed to move closer to the Elven haven. As the night turned into day, the Elf scouts slipped quietly thru the foliage, keeping pace with their quarry, tightening the net. The group they were currently shadowing was at least eighty strong; when the time was right, the trap was sprung. Arrows rained down on the fell creatures; Legolas estimated fifty managed to escape, and were heading towards the ground team. Two scouts ran ahead to warn them, the rest continuing to mete out death. Knowing Gimli would not let harm come to Jordan, he and the other Elves continued with their grim task. After ensuring none were alive, they swiftly made their way towards the ground team, who were on the verge of being overwhelmed.   As the Valar would have it, their timing was perfect. He spotted Gimli with Elves at his back, holding their own. Legolas’ concern grew for Jordan.
Where is she?!
His sharp eyes searched the combatants until he saw her slender form dart out and drag an injured Elf towards a clump of bushes, his arrows picking off Orcs that posed a threat to the rescue attempt. Momentarily out of arrows, his face drained of color as he saw an Uruk making it’s way toward her, a spear poised. Running in the trees towards her, his knives ready to throw, he saw Jordan kill the Uruk with her shurikens, then the creature was pierced with an arrow, from Elves in the trees above, providing protection for her and the wounded one.
The Mirkwood Elf needed to replenish his quiver quickly. Landing lightly on the ground, he swiftly gathered arrows from the dead on the forest floor, killing Orcs and Uruks that dare move in her direction. Legolas lost sight of Jordan when she darted off in another direction. He continued to work his way towards where he saw her last, his progress delayed by several Elves needing his swift and deadly assistance. Legolas was momentarily engaged with three Orcs when he heard Gimli shout in warning to her. Hurriedly killing his foes, he continued towards her; what he saw next almost made his heart stop. Jordan was pinned to a tree by arrows, a large Uruk scout advancing upon her.
Nooo!
Horrified, he sprinted towards them when he saw Jordan on the ground.   She leapt to her feet, her sword drawn, then suddenly, the Uruk’s forearms fell to the ground, but not before he kicked her away. A white-hot rage overcame him. However, retribution was not his to give. Jordan staggered to her feet, the Uruk was about to put his boot in her again, when the woman executed a most extraordinary kick before pinning the creature to the ground. Legolas came to a halt on the periphery, far enough to be unnoticed, close enough to let fly an arrow.
Legolas looked on as Jordan slowly drew her sword across its throat, watching her watch the Uruk bleed to death before she stumbled away to lean heavily against a tree. Something niggled at the back of the Elf’s mind. An assassin himself, he killed when necessary, most times without compunction. To see this woman do the same, gave him gave him more than a slight pause. This Daughter of Man is more than a Shield Maiden; that she is able to suffer the physical and mental demands of combat . . . to receive the same physical punishment Men and even Elf kind regularly endure in a battle . . . and walk away virtually unharmed is quite extraordinary. Already the battle was over, the forest eerily silent, save for the squeals and coughs of Orcs and Uruk-Hai in their death throes.   Gimli was at Jordan’s side, and Legolas went to join them, questions swirling in his mind.
>>>>========>                                    >>>>========>
Legolas quickly clasped the Dwarf’s shoulder in greeting and relief at his safety. Turning to the woman, Legolas gently but firmly gripped her chin in his smooth fingers, inspecting her face. Despite the deep scrapes on her cheek, forehead chin and nose, the dirt and Orc blood smeared on her face, she never looked more beautiful to him. Releasing her, he stepped back; the Elf’s eyes surveyed the scene: Jordan’s dirty, tired face, the partially dismembered Uruk; his sapphire gaze settled on her overcoat hanging on the tree.
Legolas’ eyes narrowed as he took in the sizeable, open gash on her left upper arm. When he reached to examine the wound on her shoulder, Jordan twisted away.
“Its just a flesh wound.” She said, keeping her tone light, avoiding his piercing gaze.
“Tis more than that, Jordan.” Legolas said quietly. Jordan blinked. Did nothing escape this Elf?
Jordan’s eyes widened in surprise when Legolas placed his hands on her shoulders, biting back her yelp of pain at his touch; he turned her this way and that, ignoring her indignant protests as his hands roamed over every inch of her body, checking for other injuries. The Dwarf raised an eyebrow, discretely coughing and smiling behind his gloved hand. Satisfied with his inspection, Legolas stepped back.
“Are you quite done?” she asked indignantly, hoping to distract him.
Jordan’s chin lifted slightly, doing her best to sound haughty. Legolas said nothing; instead, the Elf’s bright eyes slid down her body; he noticed she was careful to keep her right side towards him. Without her outer garb, Jordan’s clothes left nothing of her form to the imagination. Her white under tunic was molded to the swell of the woman’s bosom and waist by a form fitting leather bodice; rough black leggings revealed all contours of her legs, hugged the gentle flare of her hip and accentuated Jordan’s nicely rounded backside. The Wood Elf was not pleased to see how her leggings clung to her shapely calves before disappearing into her knee length boots. A peculiar expression crossed his face. He frowned, a surge of possessiveness welled up. Legolas certainly did not wish others to see so freely her slender hourglass shape as well. Unbuckling his quiver and knives, Legolas shrugged them off and thrust them into an unsuspecting Gimli’s hands, then leaned his tall bow against the startled Elf-Friend. The Elf unclasped his cloak, removed it from his shoulders and settled it around Jordan’s shoulders, arranging the folds to completely cover her before fastening the clasp at her neck. The Elf ignored Jordan’s questioning gaze. Legolas looked at her, his head cocked to the side as he finished his inspection of her. Oddly, the right side of her hair was still braided, but the left side had come undone and was noticeably shorter than the other.
“What happened to your hair?” Legolas asked. Jordan and Gimli looked at each other before bursting into laughter at the Elf’s puzzled expression.
>>>>========>
                  Legolas paused, listening; excusing himself from the Dwarf, he walked to Jordan, who was sitting on the ground, her back against a tree. Wordlessly, he handed her the small bundle. She accepted it with a smile of thanks. Looking inside, her stars lay, crushed and twisted beyond recognition. Jordan stuffed it into her mangled overcoat’s pocket, not having the energy to deal with it. Instead, she studied the Elf, who was quietly conversing with Gimli. Judging from his relaxed posture, Jordan could tell he wasn’t expecting trouble. The muffled thunder of hoof beats could be heard. Riding bareback, several Elf scouts had returned with spare horses in tow; among them was Legolas’ noble steed. Spying his Elven master, Arod trotted to his side, tossing his mane and neighing in greeting.
“Did you train him to do that?” she asked.
“Arod permits me to ride him because he is my friend.” Legolas explained, extending his hand to her; taking hold of the Fair Elf’s hand, Jordan allowed him to pull her to her feet.
For once, Jordan was glad to ride a horse. She just wasn’t up to the long walk back to Rivendell.   Mindful of her injuries, Legolas gently lifted Jordan upon Arod, before helping Gimli up on a brown gelding, and securing the reins to Arod.   The other Elves had doubled up, and were quickly borne away by their steeds. Gracefully leaping up behind Jordan, the Elf settled himself and gathered the reins; he spoke softly to the horse. Arod tossed his head and took off in a smooth canter.
Riding along beside them, Gimli recounted his part in the battle, filling Legolas in on the events he missed; the Dwarf added thirteen kills to his total. The Elf obligingly made all the correct responses, and asked several strategic questions, all of which had the Dwarf chattering incessantly. Jordan sagged; her shoulder throbbed, and she could feel the many cuts, scrapes and bruises.
“Lean back against me, Melamin.” Legolas murmured in her ear. Gratefully, Jordan did; she was beyond caring. Never mind the Elf was neat and clean while she looked like she took a dirt bath.
“Why do you call me that?”
“Why not? Sooner or later you will accept it. It is inevitable.”
“You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you?” In answer, Legolas kissed Jordan softly behind her right ear, and gave her a gentle squeeze, chuckling at her involuntary shiver of delight.
                   The battle weary group rode silently back to the Homely House; Legolas could feel the tension and impatience radiating from her. Knowing she wished to see how the injured fared, Legolas untied Gimli’s mount in the main courtyard and helped his friend dismount.
“Go on with you, Lad – take her to the House, she’ll be needing a bandage or two.” Gimli said, waving the pair away.
“Gee, Gimli, I didn’t know you cared!” she teased.   The Dwarf’s ruddy face reddened slightly. Jordan smiled before blowing the Dwarf a kiss.
The Elf leapt again onto Arod’s back, taking an alternate path leading directly to the House of Healing.   As they neared, Jordan eyed the stairway with dismay. She wasn’t looking forward to the climb. Legolas’ grip around her waist tightened a notch then loosened immediately as she sucked her breath in. Her midsection still ached from the Uruk’s kick.
“My apologies, Melamin.” He said, nuzzling her neck.
“I guess you’ll have to make it up to me.” She said; the words were gone before she could stop them.
“I intend to.”
Legolas spoke to Arod, and to her surprise, the horse mounted the stone steps, his hooves clattering loudly. Jordan was convinced Legolas was going ride the horse into the House itself, when – to her relief – they stopped at the great arched entry.
“I shall wait for you, Melamin.” The Elf said. Jordan was starting to get used to the endearment. She liked it.
“No, please – do what you need to do. I’ll be fine. Really. And thank you.” She said.
Grateful for his thoughtfulness, Jordan kissed the Elf’s cheek as he helped her down. Legolas held her gently fast, his mouth capturing hers; the possessive, almost rough quality of his kiss was tinged with an edge of desperate relief that left her breathless.
“This will do for now.” He murmured.
Jordan wanted more than anything to remain in his arms, to see where the kiss would lead, but she needed to know how Camthalion and Maeglin were doing. Reluctantly, Legolas released her; he watched as she made her way inside, his cloak billowing out behind her. Inside, the House was a blur of activity; workers tended the wounded as their kin waited impatiently in the hallways. Thankfully, there were many with minor wounds. Standing off to the side, Jordan’s eyes searched for the Elves she aided. Stopping an Apprentice, Jordan asked after them and was directed to an inner sanctum. Lingering in the doorway out of sight, Jordan looked on in amazement.   Certain their conditions were grim at best, the sight that greeted her eyes was welcome indeed. Maeglin and Camthalion were sitting up in their cots, laughing and talking with their kin and friends by their sides.   Seeing them well and in good spirits was enough for her.
Wonders never cease in Rivendell Jordan said as she smiled to herself. Turning, she quietly left. Running into Laurenthail on her way out, she stopped the Healer and asked about their conditions.
“Jordan, I’m pleased to see you—you are hurt. Come, I will tend your wounds.” The Healer’s sharp eyes traveled slowly over the Immortal’s face, then went to her shoulder and arm.
“I’ll take care of it. It’s just a scratch. Really. I’m okay.” Jordan said. The she-Elf held Jordan by her shoulders.
“What happened to your hair?” Smiling at Læurenthail’s puzzled glance, Jordan replied.
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. How are Maeglin and Camthalion? Will they be okay?”
After answering her anxious questions and assuring Jordan they were quite comfortable and were expected to make a speedy recovery, Læurenthail excused herself to supervise the apprentices tending to the injured. Jordan’s steps and heart were lighter as she made her way out. Læurenthail watched her leave, a puzzled expression on the lovely she-Elf’s face as she saw Jordan’s hair from the back.
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Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Only One