Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 14
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  Once in her quarters, Jordan shut the door and wearily leaned against it, her eyes closed. She was so tired and her body ached all over. Forcing herself to move forward, Jordan barely noticed the cheerful fire in the hearth; instead, her eyes were drawn to a large, silver tray set on a nearby table. The woman draped her tattered overcoat across a high backed chair and placed her weapons at the opposite end, admiring the etched surface of the domed lid. Laying a hand against the gleaming silver, it felt very warm to the touch. Swaying on her feet, Jordan shook herself awake, summoning the strength to raise the heavy lid, hoping sustenance lay beneath it; she wasn’t disappointed.
Inside was a large tureen containing a hearty stew; the tantalizing aroma wafting upwards made her mouth water and her stomach rumble loudly.   Unwrapping a linen covered lump, beneath lay a loaf of warm, crusty bread; honeyed nuts, assorted hard and soft cheeses, fresh fruit, and the ubiquitous Lembas completed the offering. Despite her hunger, Jordan carefully replaced the lid.
Unclasping Legolas’ cloak, she rubbed her face against it before burying her face in the soft material, breathing in the woodsy, clean scent, wondering if his skin smelled the same. How thoughtful of him to lend it to her, after seeing the condition of her overcoat. Jordan opened her armoire and carefully hung it up before removing her cleaning kit. Jordan turned her attention to her weapons. The Immortal wiped her sticks free of dirt and Orc blood and checked the locking mechanism, frowning at the nicks and dents marring the polished surface. Unsheathing her Katana, she laid it on the table and stared at it.
: : : : Mt. Fuji, Japan
         1947
                  After the long return trek down the mountain, the Highlander and his Student returned to the village, to the samurai mansion owned by Duncan’s good friend, Tsukino Nagayoshi. Weeping cherry trees lined the courtyard, filling the open area with their delicate, fragrant blossoms.   The Immortals sat side by side, Duncan’s weapons lay on the table before them, as well as two identical kiri, or wooden boxes; Jordan reached for the shorter sword, but snatched her hand back after the Highlander gave her a sharp, stinging slap when her fingers almost touched the blade. Rubbing her hand, Jordan gave him a surprised, hurt look.
“Never handle it by the blade, Jordie. Respect it, and it will take care of you.”
“You didn’t have to hit me.” She said, sulking.
“I didn’t. It was a gentle reminder. Believe me, you wouldn’t know if I had.” He answered.
“Our weapons are connected to us. The ‘hows’ and ‘why’s’ I’m not certain of. What I am certain, is that when
you truly understand your sword, it becomes a part of you. ”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Where ordinary weapons are susceptible to damage, yours won’t be, although there have been instances when an Immortal has broken the weapon of another during a Challenge; think of it as a measure of your will and strength, for when you receive a Quickening, it infuses your sword with strength as well. But that doesn’t mean you should neglect its care. Just like your skills, to remain effective, you must maintain it. Care for it as you would yourself. Now you learn how to clean a sword.”
                  Duncan removed the contents of his kiri, instructing Jordan to do the same. Placing the Tanto, the shorter of the two swords before her, the Highlander lifted his Dragon Head Katana and pointed to the wooden box.
                                     “This is your cleaning kit; it’d be a good idea to carry one with you at all times. I have several, ‘cause you never know when you’ll need it. Remove the blade from the hilt with this tool, the mekugu-nuki.” The Highlander selected a balled spike from the array of tools, removing his blade with ease. Watching her Teacher intently, Jordan picked hers up and fumbled several times before managing to separate the tang from the hilt. Duncan watched with patient amusement.
                                    “Take the abura-nuguishi; we’ll do the preliminary cleaning with this paper. Wipe from the bottom up – not too hard, now! Be careful to not put pressure on the tip” Jordan copied the Highlander’s wiping motion as best she could.    The Highlander held up a stick with a padded ball on the end.
“Clean the blade with the uchiko, the whetstone powder.” The Highlander patted the blade with the ball uniformly from the base to the tip, then turned it over and did the same from tip to base.
“Now we wipe the uchiko and old oil off with the nugui-agami before returning the tang – by itself -- to the scabbard.” The Highlander held up a piece of thick, wrinkled paper and expertly wiped the blade clean.
“Saki for your thoughts.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get it right.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.” He reassured her, soaking a different piece of paper in clove oil.
“Now for the finishing touch – a thin coat of Choji.” The Highlander carefully slid the tang out of the scabbard and applied a thin, even coat of oil with the abura-nuguishi.   Jordan copied him.
“How’d I do?” she asked.
“Not bad for a beginner. You just need to get the technique down; and here’s your chance.” Duncan said, moving his weapons to one side.
Jordan followed the direction of his gaze. With a slight nod of his head, three female servants came forward, two had their arms filled with swords and daggers, the third bore a tray laden with tea, and rice crackers. Drawing near, they bowed respectfully.
“Arigatougozaimasu (thank you).” Duncan said as they laid them down before Jordan.
“Douitashimashite (you are welcome), Duncan-San.” the servants bowed again before they left, giggling softly, they threw shy smiles over their shoulders. The Highlander looked after them, a big grin on his handsome face. Open-mouthed, Jordan could only stare at the pile before her.
“But -- ”
                                    “But nothing. I suggest you get started. Don’t worry, I’ll be right here, watching you.” Duncan poured himself a cup of hot, steaming tea. Jordan reached for the longest sword in the pile. Unsheathing it, she glared at her Teacher.
“Don’t even think about it, Jordie.” Duncan said, unconcerned as he sipped his tea.
She reached for the mekugu-nuki instead. : : : :
Jordan smiled at the memory as she cleaned, oiled and reassembled her blade. Returning it to its scabbard, she reached for her overcoat, extracting the bundle from the pocket. Unwrapping it, her smile vanished as she studied the distorted shuriken. Eight were beyond recognition, four were intact, and all but one was stained with dark blood; of the four, one had both reddish-brown and black blood.
Carefully, she cleaned the intact stars, before attempting to salvage the rest, managing to not slice her fingers open to the bone on the sharp, twisted metal. It was a daunting task, but she had to try. Tiny sparks danced about her hands as her Quickening instantly healed the superficial cuts on her fingertips. With a curse, she gave up.
The Uruk was thorough in its destruction; the Orcs and Uruks got their posthumous revenge, for their tarry blood appeared to have a corrosive quality. Studying the areas she did manage to clean, Jordan could see the pitting in the metal; it was especially bad where the dark blood had pooled. Resigned to the loss, Jordan secured the four remaining stars to the leather sash; the rest she placed in a small woven basket. Sighing, Jordan buried her head in her hands. The day’s events were starting to catch up with her; weariness had long set in, making her very bones feel like lead. Pushing herself to her feet, Jordan was glad to find the pitcher on the dresser filled with fresh water. Using the washbasin, Jordan cleaned her hands and face. Walking to the table, the Immortal raised the heavy lid with her good arm. There was enough stew to feed four; she ladled out a generous bowlful and settled down to eat. Lifting a spoon, Jordan halfheartedly dug into the stew, chewing slowly as she ate; the delicious taste brought a smile to her face in appreciation of the hot meal. Sopping up the thick, savory broth with bread, Jordan’s mind was blank. Her hunger finally sated, she sat back in the chair, and gave a loud, satisfied burp. The Immortal contemplated collapsing in the bed as she was, but decided against it; looking out the window, the full moon had begun its ascent into the night sky.
With a sigh, Jordan climbed to her feet. Slowly stripping to the skin, she winced as she peeled away her shirt; the throbbing pain had reduced to a dull ache. Experimentally, she rolled her shoulder and raised her arm; Jordan now had full range of motion, though the healing was incomplete. She estimated it would be at least another hour till she was as good as new. Neatly folding her clothes, she placed them on the chair nearest the door. Jordan pulled on a robe, cinching it at the waist and gathered another robe, her sleeping shift and toiletries, then made her way to the bathing room.
Slipping into the warm water, Jordan swam to the deepest part of the pool and sank slowly beneath the surface; exhaling, a steady stream of bubbles marked her location, and then disappeared. The surface of the pool became calm and serene once more, the soothing sonance of the fountain the only sound in the empty room. Lying on the pool’s floor, the Immortal remained submerged for a long while, her hair swirling above and around her in a dark cloud; the woman’s tired limbs were weightless, buoyed by the water, as it gently cradled her body in its soothing embrace, her mind willfully blank. Feeling a bit rested, the Immortal sat up; pushing her swirling hair back, the woman crouched down, and then pushed off from the bottom of the pool, propelling herself upwards. Breaking the surface with a large splash, Jordan slicked her hair back and waded to the edge; turning, she sat on a low step, slouching down till the water came to her neck; she laid her head back on the ledge, letting the swirling, warm water massage and soothe her sore body.
Picking up a sea sponge, she reached for a scented bar of soap and lathered up, washing away the dirt and sweat of battle. Inspecting her left bicep, all that remained of the deep gash from the Uruk-hai’s arrow was a thin, pink line; even as she watched, the sparks of Quickening appeared, leaving her skin whole. The superficial scratches on her face had healed as well, the scabs scrubbed away, leaving behind smooth, unmarred flesh. Probing her cheek, the deep scrapes from the Orc’s slap had almost fully healed; she could feel the thin lines with her fingertips. Not much longer for that to completely heal, either.
Jordan’s thoughts returned to the recent battle. Elves may be beautiful, but they certainly can be deadly as well, she mused. Not wanting to remember the recent carnage, nor the hideous visages of the Orcs and Uruk-hai, her thoughts turned to Legolas; despite the warm waters, she shivered, remembering his kisses and the feel of his hands on her face. And body. Where exactly were these feelings going?
What do I feel for him? She asked herself.   It was too confusing.
Whether they were talking, or sitting in silence, Jordan was happy to be with him. His mere presence assured her that everything would be fine. The physical attraction she felt for him was undeniable, yet there was something more—a feeling of…belonging. The Elf was dangerous. The feelings he evoked from her more so, for in his company, home and Duncan felt to be more a distant memory, not her reality. Disturbed, she banished the thought from her mind, willing it to be blank as she finished her bath.
Returning to her room, Jordan brushed her hair dry before the fire; comparing the uneven ends in the mirror, the Immortal decided she preferred the shorter length, liking the way it blended in with the shorter layers of her hair, the ends curling up slightly. Making a face at herself, she decided to deal with her hair in the morning. Despite her bath, and her weariness, the woman was unable to sleep, her mind too alert. Restless, she stepped onto the balcony. The soft night breeze brought the sound of ethereal voices singing, the haunting melody struck a chord within her, awakening a longing that she didn’t understand and couldn’t name.
Toying with the leaf at her neck, Jordan felt inexplicably alone; she did her good deed. Surely helping rid Middle Earth of a few Orcs would be payment to the powers that be, and she’d return home. Home. Where was home? Did she still exist, or was she simply . . . erased? Did she truly want to return -- return to the same routine of work and quality time with a book? Aside from Duncan and Joe, there was nothing. Just thinking about it made her head hurt; it took too much effort. Her thoughts turned to her co-workers, wondering what they were doing, if they noticed her absence. Was she missed?
Through the years, she had had boyfriends, but her relationships never lasted more than a year, two at the most; always, there was a restlessness that would surface, a feeling there was someone out there she was meant for. Immortality gave her the luxury of time, but it didn’t fill the void, nor did it quell the sense that something was missing; so far, no one inspired her to share her heart or her body with her past boyfriends and dates, although they certainly did try to persuade her otherwise. Jordan thought about the past and her parents. After her Immortality had been triggered, her past was all she had left to cling to, that defined and anchored her—that and Duncan, those first tumultuous years she learned the Game. And it was because of her love for her parents that she clung to her (by today’s standards) out dated upbringing.
Raised and groomed to be the perfect socialite; her mother also strove to ingrain within her daughter a strong sense of self-respect and duty to the strict social mores of that time, always admonishing her to not cause the family to ‘lose face’; her father, on the other hand, was ahead of his time, a true renaissance man. When Jordan came along, nothing was too good for her. As she grew older, he insisted his daughter be educated as any male would be. Garret Waters was determined to nurture within his only child a sense of independence and confidence--much to her mother’s chagrin.
Late at night, she would sneak out of bed and sit on the stairs, watching them thru the rails; her father would put a record on the phonograph and dance with her mother. Sometimes she could overhear their conversations, her mother fretting to her father that their only child would never find a man of ‘proper’ means who would be willing to marry their daughter because of her headstrong ways and unconventional ideas. Her father would snort and reply that no man would then be worthy of his little jewel. She was delighted to see her father sweep her mother up in a tender embrace, silencing her mother’s protests with a loving kiss. Jordan wanted the kind of love shared by her parents. And now that she was Immortal, she was willing to wait.   Actually, she had come close, once . . . Jordan shoved those thoughts aside; she didn’t like to dwell on the unpleasant memories.
Immortality definitely had its advantages. Not subject to the diseases - - sexual or otherwise - - that ravaged the mortal population, Jordan was certainly free to live any lifestyle she wanted or take as many lovers as often as she wished, but she wanted something more than an empty, casual encounter, no matter how physically satisfying it may be.   She often teased Duncan about his many conquests, but it appeared that even the Highlander had become selective of late as to who he shared pleasure with, especially after the loss of Tessa. It was astonishing to see how a dead woman could still hold a man’s heart. Jordan’s lips tightened. She knew that only too well.
The numerous offers for blind dates by well meaning acquaintances and coworkers eventually decreased till virtually no one was interested in trying to fix her up. That suited her just fine. Except her best friend, Collette wouldn’t hear of it. Dear Collette; she was forever trying to fix her up on a blind date. The irrepressible blonde was relentless in her pursuit to see Jordan paired up with someone. She’d nag, bully and wheedle Jordan into a double date; the Immortal occasionally gave in, just to pacify her friend, and only because Collette took such a sincere, vested interest in her happiness.
There were times when she felt romance was overrated; it appeared true fulfillment could be found only in romance novels, where the heroes were perfect and the heroines lived happily ever after. Collette often teased her, informing her her standards were too high, and no man could be what she expected.
But Legolas isn’t a man    the small voice in her head whispered. She tried to ignore it.
: : : “I don’t understand you, Jordie. You’re not gay --” Collette began one day.
“Isn’t the proper term ‘a lesbian’?”
“Whatever – stop trying to change the subject. You love to fix other people’s love lives, yet you don’t want help with yours. You tell everyone else there’s someone for everyone, but you won’t give anyone a chance. What gives?”
“I’m complicated.”
“Well, you’d better simplify yourself, ‘cause you’ll end up alone. Is that what you want?”
“What I want is for you to accept the fact that I like being single.” Jordan said, gritting her teeth. Didn’t they just have this conversation?
“You’re going to end up an Old Maid! ” Collette warned, exasperated when another blind date she arranged for Jordan complained of being stood up.
“How do you know I’m not an old soul trapped in a young body?” Jordan asked, teasing her friend.
“Look—all I’m saying is that before that young body becomes an old body to match that old soul, you’re entitled to a little fun before you die – you’re only young once! No one lives forever. ”
If you only knew, Col . . .                    : : :
Leaning against the stone balcony, Jordan stared out at eternity, contemplating forever.
>>>> ==== >
                  The door swung noiselessly on its well-oiled hinges as Methos closed it softly; his eyes adjusted to the dark room. The furnishings were thrown into sharp relief by the moonlight streaming in thru the large picture windows. Making his way to Duncan’s desk, Methos sat before the computer. Everything was state of the art—nothing but the best available technology would do for the Highlander. At a touch, the computer sprang to life with a quiet whirr; the hard drive softly chirped, lights winked as it went thru its self-test. Methos accessed the Internet; logging onto the application he needed, within seconds, the screen revealed his former student’s visage, the resolution so clear that the Ancient could make out the different hues of blue in the painting that hung on the wall behind his friend.   Despite holding the title as the second oldest living Immortal, Caine Spencer appeared to be in his early 20’s
                  “Marriage agrees with you.” Methos said. “Is Meredith home?” he inquired.
                  “No—she’s out shopping. A sale at Harrod’s or something like that. I’m minding the roost. I take it this isn’t a social call. What’s up?” Caine’ crossed his arms behind his head.
                  “MacLeod’s on a mission.”
                  “Isn’t he always? How is the bugger?” Caine asked. Methos’ image shrugged non-committedly.
                  “Ah well. I take it he’s still upset with me; we haven’t spoken since 1993.”
                  “He certainly can hold a grudge, eh?” Methos said, amused. Caine smiled wryly, recalling his run in with the Immortal Kalas, how he taunted him using Duncan’s name and an impressive Scottish brogue. It almost cost him his head.
                  “That wasn’t very smart.” Methos said; a smile on his patrician face gave away his delight at the prank. Too bad he didn’t think of it first. Then again, he and Duncan hadn’t met.
                  “Maybe not, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Either way, Duncan won; I heard he took Kalas’ head a year later.”
                  “He did us all a favor.” Methos said. In the screen, Caine agreed.
                  “Anyways. What’s Duncan’s mission?”
                  “He’s searching for someone; he. . . ‘lost’ a friend.”
“I’m not sure I follow; he ‘lost’ someone as in….?”
                  “Vanished.”
“Is he certain it wasn’t by choice?”
                  “He doesn’t seem to think so.”
                  “That’s too bad; anyone I know?”
                  “Jordan Waters. Do you know her?”
                  “No. Tell me why I should care.”
“Because you’ve never shied away from a just cause. Think of it as a belated penance for sending Kalas after MacLeod.” Caine said nothing. Methos knew he’d hit pay dirt.
“Are you still writing?” he asked.
                  “Yeah.”
                  “What about?”
                  “Oh, A little bit of everything.”
                  “Tell me, have you ever done research on historical subjects—anything along the line of legend?
                  “Not lately; I do know someone who is interested in that sort of stuff. Why?”
                  “MacLeod had this box. He claims a friend gave it to Jordan. The best part is that is glows in the moonlight. The only time I’ve seen something similar was in Arthur’s court.”
                  “Hmmm. Interesting.”
                  “This friend of yours---”
                  “I’ll get the number and address for you.”
Caine got up to retrieve the information; shortly, he reappeared in the screen again. A muffled sound caught Methos’ attention. Turning back to the monitor, the Ancient one placed his finger against his lips. In the screen, Caine nodded once, and started scribbling on a piece of paper, he held it close to his webcam for the elder Immortal to read; Methos reached for a notepad and plucked a pen from its holder. He quickly copied the information before silently waving good-bye. Closing the screen, the Immortal resisted the inane urge to stand as the doorknob turned and bright lights flooded the room; Methos blinked in the sudden glare.
                  “Methos?” Duncan’s muscular body filled the doorway, his Katana in hand.
“I thought I heard voices. Everything okay?” his dark gaze swept the room.
                  “Fine, fine. Couldn’t sleep. I was just surfing the Internet.   Sorry—didn’t mean to wake you.” Methos replied, looking properly apologetic.
                  “Oh. S’okay. I’m going back to bed.” Stifling a yawn, the Highlander stretched, his sword flashing.
                  “Leave the lights off, please, MacLeod.” Methos called.
Nodding, Duncan yawned as he shuffled out and shut the door behind him. Methos waited until the Highlander left before propping his feet on the desk. He read the name and address on the paper, a thoughtful frown on his face; sitting in the dark with a faraway look in his eyes, the Immortal watched the dark sky gradually give way to the gray light of dawn.
~ ` ~ ` ~ `
                  Methos pulled the zipper of his carry-on closed, securing it with a tiny padlock. With a last look around the room, the Ancient One was satisfied he left nothing behind.
                  Things were not looking good. A month had passed with no sign of or word from Jordan. Clinging to the hope that she was out there somewhere, secretly, the Highlander was starting to despair. Out on the balcony, Duncan sat in a lounge chair.   Grabbing a six-pack of beer from the fridge, Methos went to join his friend.
Popping the tab on the can, Methos stole a quick glance at his brooding friend. Nudging Duncan with his foot, Methos held the beer out for him. Absently, the younger Immortal took it. Opening up his own can, Methos took a long pull, relishing the unique taste of the brew and waited in companionable silence. Duncan didn’t disappoint.
                  “I don’t get it. Vanished. It’s like she literally dropped off the face of the earth.” Duncan said.
Methos arched an eyebrow; the Highlander was taking her disappearance hard; perhaps harder than Connor’s loss. . . as if there was something to prove. To whom? To himself? To her? Methos took another swig from his can.
“C’mon, MacLeod; Joe’s on it, and so are the police. What you need to do is take a step back. Get your bearings. You’re too close.”
                  “How can you be so blasé about it?” Duncan said angrily.
                  “ ‘Blasé’? who said I was?   I know what its like to lose somebody. We all do. At least you know there’s hope. There wasn’t for -- ” Methos broke off, his nostrils flaring in anger. He calmed himself.
                  “Look at it this way, MacLeod: no news is good news. Before we cross swords, hear me out. As of this moment – Joe said there’d been no confirmation of her death – if there was, you’d feel her death – yes? And we know that if a mortal killed her, she’ll eventually be okay. You are her Teacher, so that makes her capable of taking care of herself – yes? You didn’t find Connor overnight, and it looks to be the same way with Jordan. Like it or not, you’re going to have to wait. In the meantime, you’ve done everything you possibly can. You’ll find her. We’ll find her.”
                  Duncan sighed and stood up. He knew his friend was right, but it didn’t seem to matter. Jordie was still missing. Duncan poured his beer in the flowerpot. He wasn’t thirsty.
                  “That, my friend, is a sin of epic proportions. You do not waste beer. Ever.” Methos said, half serious. Duncan looked at him. Methos gave him a sardonic grin. He followed the younger Immortal into the loft.
                  “Just trying to lighten the mood, MacLeod. Let’s get out of here and check on Joe.” Methos suggested.
                  “Maybe you’re right. I could use a break. Let me grab my wallet.” Duncan said.
                  “I suggest extra clothes and your passport, as well.” Methos sauntered to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of German beer. Twisting the top off, he tilted his head back, letting the dark, bitter brew slide down his throat. Delicious. He walked around the kitchen counter and took a seat at a barstool.
                  “Why?”
                  “Because, MacLeod,” Methos spoke slowly, as if talking to a child “Joe is in Paris.”
                  “He is?”
                  “He is.”
                  “He didn’t tell me that.”
                  “It’s a free country. You’d better start packing.”
                  “And you think we’ll catch a flight there just like that?” Duncan snapped his fingers.
                  “I know we’ll catch a flight, ‘cause it’s going to leave in. . . ” Methos glanced at his watch “ . . . an hour.”
                  “How’d you manage that?” Duncan asked.
                  “I booked the Concorde.” The Ancient One struggled to keep a straight face.
                  “I thought Adam Pierson couldn’t afford it.” Duncan’s brows drew together; he had a feeling something wasn’t quite right.
                  “You’re absolutely right. But you can.” Methos grinned.
                  “What?!” Duncan couldn’t believe his ears. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised.   The Old Man had a habit of pulling this kind of stunt, and usually at the Highlander’s financial expense.
                  “Come on MacLeod; forty five minutes left. The cab will be here in ten.”
                  “If I paid for it, the damned plane can wait for me!” the Highlander snapped, grumbling as he went to pack.
Methos’ grin faded as soon as the Highlander was out of sight. The Ancient One refused to second-guess himself. He took another pull of his beer. Ten minutes later, the Immortals were ready, bags in hand. Walking to the closet, Methos reached for his overcoat and tossed the Highlander his. Picking up his bags, Duncan followed his friend out, shutting the door firmly behind him.
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Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer below.

Only One