Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
Views: 4471 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
The stars twinkled brightly in the dark heavens high above; in the main courtyard, the silvery moon lovingly bathed the small gathering of Elves in its argent beams. Gifted with hyper keen senses, the Elysian beings needed no other source of light to see one another. The Lords, twin sons of Elrond, stood side by side; bright mithril mail peeked out from beneath their silver-grey cloaks. One after another, they clasped the Golden Elf’s shoulder in farewell.
“Quel fara, Melloneamin (Good hunting, my friends).” Legolas said
“Tenna' ento lye omenta (until next we meet).” Elladan replied.
Beside him, Elrohir sniffed. A peculiar expression settled on his face as he sniffed again loudly, his Elf eyes casting about in alarm. Resting a hand on his brother’s breast, Elrohir’s nostrils flared as he continued to test the air. Clutching the front of Elladan’s tunic, Elrohir pulled him close and sniffed ostentatiously, alarm on his Elven-fair face. Calmly, Elladan pried his brother’s fingers apart one-by-one. Loosening his twin’s grip, Elladan glared at him as he smoothed down his tunic and resettled his mithril shirt.
“Putta ile amada (stop, you fool)!” Elladan muttered under his breath. His brother ignored him. Instead, the warning spurred him on, for Elrohir began gagging.
“Mani naa ta (what is it)?”   Legolas asked, concerned.
The Wood Elf’s fair head swiveled about, searching for the menace. Elrohir stepped forward, then suddenly lurched towards the Mirkwood Prince, who easily caught the dark Lord when he stumbled and almost fell. Legolas hauled his friend to his feet, his capable hands supporting him beneath his elbow. Elrohir suddenly was unable to stand; his legs had inexplicably become boneless. Grasping the front of Legolas’ tunic in both hands, Elrohir sniffed loudly across the material, then close to Legolas’ neck.
“You! It’s – its you! Lle holma vee' edan (you smell like a human)!” Elrohir gasped, a look of mock horror on his face.
“Amin muula malia (I don’t care). I may smell like a human, but unlike you, you ARE human - at least one fourth of your blood is.” Legolas replied with a smile. Grasping their shoulders again, the golden Elf stepped back.
Despite his best effort, beside him, Elladan tried in vain to choke back his laughter, failing miserably as he gave the Mirkwood Prince an apologetic smile. Observing it all, despite the reason for their gathering, Lord Elrond’s lips twitched into a smile. It gladdened Elrond’s heart immensely to see his sons jest; for too long they were consumed with their self-appointed quest. Legolas grinned and pushed Elrohir away, but not before playfully cuffing him on the ear. Elrohir rubbed his ear soothingly, pretending great injury.
“Serves you right, amada (fool)!” Elladan said.
“Pay him no mind, Legolas. Ho dolle naa lost (his head is empty) and he is envious.” Elladan apologized on his brother’s behalf. It earned him a punch on the shoulder from his twin. Because they were good friends, the Golden Elf took no offense.
“Your allegiance is misplaced, brother – and the Lady Jordan would’ve come to her senses eventually and chosen me.” Elrohir said, while trying to slap the back of his twin’s head. Elladan sidestepped and ducked well beyond his brother’s reach.
“Lle naa haran e' nausalle (You are King in your imagination); if that was so, it would be you and not our fair friend here who wears her scent like perfume.” Elladan returned.
Clearing his throat, Elrond stepped forward. Immediately, the Lords sobered and faced their father. Legolas watched silently as Lord Elrond clasped first one dark-haired, grey-eyed son to him, then the other in a fierce embrace. The Ruler was no stranger to sadness of the heart; his only daughter had chosen a mortal life. Though pleased she found happiness with Elessar, the knowledge that the Evenstar would never join him in the Undying Lands pained him to no end. Orcs ambushed his soul mate, Celebrían, and her entourage while en route to Lórien. She had been held and tortured until their brave sons’ daring rescue; however, the damage was done, for she had suffered greatly. Though Elrond had used the full extent of his healing abilities, he was unable to heal his love of the darkness and anguish that continued to plague her soul.
Unable to bear the soul agony, the Silver Queen sailed over the Sea to the Undying Lands where the Valar alone could restore and heal her. And there she remains, awaiting the arrival of her family. As for his sons . . . ever since Celebrían sailed over the Sea, the twin Lords ranged far and wide thru the lands, obsessed with avenging their mother’s kidnapping and torture at the hands of Orcs. Seeking and slaying all manner of fell creatures, Elladan and Elrohir often returned to the home of their birth, to replenish their supplies and remain for brief periods of time before departing again. So long as one Orc lived, they would not rest.   The Elven Lord feared for his sons, and often implored the Valar to impart upon them a triple portion of their grace.
“Uuma dela, Ada (do not worry, Father).” Elrohir said, trying to reassure his Lord.
“Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au' (My heart shall weep until I see thee again)” Lord Elrond replied, for it could very well be months before he may see them.
“Tenna' san', Ada (until then, Father).” Elladan said, speaking for his brother.
“Will you not wait until the morning, my sons?”
“Nay, Ada; we cannot. The Orc hunt has already delayed our departure. To ease your mind, we will remain within the borders of Imladris, then journey on at daybreak, for our Dúnedain friend awaits our arrival.”
The Princes saluted their father before leaping onto their mounts. They left without a backward glance, eager to resume their never-ending quest, for they were determined to spend eternity, if necessary, seeking out and destroying the very last Orc upon Middle Earth. With a heavy heart, the Elven Lord watched his sons ride away until they were out of sight. Sighing, Elrond walked towards his dwelling; Legolas fell into step beside him. The Ruler’s brow furrowed in thought, considering his words before he spoke them aloud.
“How are. . . matters between you and the Lady Jordan?” he asked; Elrond did not need his Gift to determine what had transpired between the Mirkwood Elf and his guest, for as his son observed, the scent of the woman as well as the unmistakable redolence of passion clung to the Wood Prince, but Lord Elrond would much rather hear it from the Elf himself.
“Well and good, my Lord.” Legolas replied.
“I am pleased for you.” They walked in silence for a time before the Ruler spoke again.
“Perhaps you had better return to her side.” Elrond said as he gave a meaningful glance to the Golden Elf.
The younger Elf’s serene expression gave nothing away, yet Elrond could see the faint flush creep into his cheeks. Imladris’ Ruler smiled inwardly. With so much death and destruction wrought upon Middle Earth, it was fitting that a valiant Member of the Fellowship find happiness for a time in the arms of a warm and willing partner. Legolas touched his hand to his heart, then his forehead before taking his leave. Lord Elrond watched him depart, an indulgent expression mingled with concern on his ageless face; the feeling that this . . . ‘moment’ would not last was growing ever stronger.   For not only was Lady Jordan mortal, Elrond had felt the stirrings of powerful magic. For ill or good, yet remained to be seen.
Eager to return to his lover’s side, the Legolas’ booted feet made no noise as he swiftly moved up the stairs. At the topmost landing, the Crown Prince paused, his heightened senses prickling in response to the strong currents of magic he felt. Standing still, Legolas strained his excellent senses as he looked about, intently studying the surrounding buildings before shifting his sharp focus to the trees in the distance. Despite his efforts, the Wood Elf saw nothing that was cause for alarm; Elven guards were posted throughout the trees and roamed the paths of Imladris. The considerable power of Lord Elrond, combined with that of its residents would be sufficient to repel any threat, especially one so near to this revered center of learning and peace. Yet Legolas was unable to shake the feeling of being watched. The Elf’s blue eyes narrowed. A creature of beauty and magic, like all Elfkind, Legolas knew spells that he employed on occasion. Now was such a time. He raised his hands . . .
#
Gregory lifted the black cloth, revealing what lay hidden beneath. Silver edging on the black velvet pillow gleamed in the light, and upon that pillow sat a crystal ball. Most extraordinary was the nervous, crackling energy in the air -- even Joe could feel it.
                  “It’s, uh, black.” Joe remarked, gazing dubiously at the seemingly plain object.
“Why yes, it is.” Gregory replied, a smile in his voice.
“I thought you said it was a crystal ball.” The Watcher said, confused.
“Not all crystal is clear.” Their Host explained sagely.
“What exactly is it?” Joe asked. He glanced at the Highlander, hoping to take a cue from his friend. Unfortunately, Duncan was staring at the ball like it was a lifeline. Methos stepped up beside the Watcher.
“It’s called a Seeing Stone.” He murmured, eyes fixed upon the globe.
“Among other things.” Gregory agreed, gazing at the Stone as if it were priceless.
Feigning interest, Joe nodded; he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Half the size of a man’s head, it was the deepest black in color. Even if it was a ‘Seeing Stone’, Joe couldn’t figure out how anyone could see anything in its dark surface, for there were no cords or other lines to plug into a power source that would light it up from within.
Hell’s bells – you’d think it was the Holy Grail on that damned pillow. the Watcher thought privately to himself, looking between the Highlander and his host.
I came, I saw, I’m not impressed. Joe snorted inwardly.
                  “Yeah, okay. Well, that was fun. If you don’t mind, I need to get some air.” The Watcher said. He’d much rather peruse the rare books and maps.
                  “It is a little stuffy in here, isn’t it?” Gregory said.
                  “You ain’t kidding. I think I’ll head out side.” Joe said, turning to leave.
“Why don’t you go this way?” Gregory suggested. He stepped further into the shadows and drew aside another partition to reveal a door. Joe wondered how he managed to not see the partition that was directly in front of him.
“Gotta get my eyes checked.” He mumbled under his breath.
“Pardon -- did you say something?” Gregory asked as he twisted the doorknob.
“Nah, just talking to myself.” Joe replied.
Gregory swung the door open. Followed by Methos, their Host stepped outside into the hazy sunshine; the two men strolled leisurely side by side.   Eager to escape the close confines of the small room, Joe hesitated, looking at his charge.
                  “You comin’, Mac?” Joe asked the Highlander.
                  “In a minute, Joe. I’ll catch up with you.”
                  “Suit yourself.” The Watcher replied as he stepped outside.
~ ~ ~
                  The Highlander stared back at his distorted reflection in the opaque globe’s smooth, dark surface. With a renewed sense of purpose, Duncan concentrated, blocking out all distracting thoughts as he fixed an image of Jordan’s face in his mind’s eye; once again, he summoned the Immortal Nakano’s knowledge of the mystical arts. Faintly at first, then stronger, the Clansman felt the tingling, pounding rush of some mysterious, unnamable force fill him, spreading outward as he exerted his will. His pulse increased, singing in his veins until his blood roared like the sea in his ears as the crystal ball flared to life . . .
#
                  Was it dawn or twilight – the Highlander couldn’t tell. Jordan used her staff to fend off more of those weird creatures. Duncan watched with pride as she dispatched them, frowning when his student was soon out numbered. The Highlander didn’t breathe again until he saw Jordan make short work of the four creatures that surrounded her. The scene changed; Jordan was kneeling over someone. He recognized the look of concern on her face as she bent close.
                  The Highlander read her lips, saying ‘don’t move’. Jordan gazed intently at something over her shoulder as she reached for her shurikens.
What’s happening?    He wondered. The images fuzzed as Duncan’s concentration wavered. The Highlander focused and the image sharpened.
“Where are you, Jordie?” he murmured..
As if in response to his question, the scene changed again. It was nighttime. Jordan was asleep. Suddenly, her eyes opened and she sat up, looking right at him as she pushed her tousled hair out of her face. Blinking, Jordan clutched the bed sheet to her bare chest. Duncan frowned. One point he often insisted upon was to never sleep in the nude, for you may then have to fight in the nude. Jordan had primly assured him she never slept in the nude.
If – Duncan corrected himself
When I see her again, we’ll have to have a little chat about that.   The Highlander thought as he continued to watch.
                  “Jordie . . ?” Duncan whispered, wondering if she could hear him. He saw her relax, a shy smile on her face. Suddenly, his student was gone, her image lost as the ball darkened.
“No!” Duncan cried aloud.
Desperately, the Highlander commanded the Seeing Stone to respond to his will. It flickered but revealed nothing. Gritting his teeth, Duncan clenched his hands into fists as he willed Jordan to appear again -- to no avail. She was gone.
#
Jordie . . ?
“Lietha guldur (dispel magic).” Legolas murmured, finishing the incantation.
The feeling of being watched by unseen eyes dissipated. Legolas cast a glance over his shoulder and murmured a word of power to reinforce his spell. . . just in case, before continuing on his way. Entering his lover’s quarters, Legolas was surprised to discover Jordan sitting up in bed, the sheet clutched to her chest.
I’m dreaming. The Immortal told herself.
One moment she was lost in the oblivion of rest, the next Jordan swore she heard Duncan’s voice in her ear, plain as day, whispering her name. The Immortal visibly relaxed when she saw Legolas; blinking, Jordan could hardly sit upright as she hid a wide yawn behind a delicate hand; she gave the Wood Elf a soft, sleepy smile, making a valiant effort to keep her eyes open, briefly unsure if the Elf was a part of her strange dream. Jordan thought no more of her dream when Legolas’ lips curved in a slow, sexy smile in return. Hair tousled from his hands, the woman radiated contentment and satisfaction, still flushed with the afterglow of their lovemaking. Jordan bit her bottom lip as she watched her lover approach, turning the two words over in her mind. Her lover.
She liked it. With a lazy smile, Legolas divested himself of his clothes and leisurely stalked towards the woman, nude.   The Elf’s graceful movements would make a cat jealous. Legolas claimed Jordan’s lips in a devastatingly tender kiss, branding her once again as his. Gently pushing her back onto the pillows, the Elf stretched out beside the Immortal and watched his reflection in her eyes.
“I thought you were gone.” she murmured; Jordan’s voice was so faint -- even to her own ears, the Immortal wasn’t sure if she thought the words or said it aloud.
                  “I will not leave you, Melamin.” He murmured huskily, nuzzling her neck. Raising himself on an elbow, Legolas cradled his head in his hand and trailed his free hand down Jordan’s side, smiling as she quivered beneath his touch.
Cupping her breast, Legolas gently kneaded it as his thumb brushed over her nipple, teasing it to a hard bud. His mouth soon followed. Jordan turned onto her back and closed her eyes as he began to suckle and kiss her breasts, reacquainting himself with her flesh. Much as she wanted to repeat the experience, unfortunately, all Jordan could do was sigh with delight; she was simply too exhausted to do otherwise. Even Immortals needed to rest. The Elf grinned widely. If Jordan were willing, he would make love with her again – this time well into the morning. After all, he thought, Elves are superior to Men in so many ways. Alas, his lover was clearly not up to it . . . not yet, he thought smugly. Legolas watched Jordan’s eyelids droop before fluttering open; the cycle repeated itself several times. It would be a matter of seconds before her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and Legolas wished to spare her the indignity.
                  “Go to sleep, Melamin.” The Prince whispered in her ear.
                  “I can’t when you’re doing that.” Jordan replied tiredly.
                  “Doing what?” Legolas queried.
                  “That.” She murmured as his hands and mouth fanned the recently stoked embers of desire.
Chuckling softly, Legolas stopped his ministrations; now that he had claimed her as his own, the Elf would wait. Already Jordan’s eyes were closed as she passed into slumber. Studying her features, the Elf wondered how many winters Jordan has seen; in reality, there was precious little he really knew about the woman beside him. No matter; that too, would change.
Though the elements did not affect him, for Jordan’s sake, Legolas drew the bed sheet over them and wrapped an arm around her waist; pulling her close, Legolas spooned Jordan against his groin as he curled up around her, his elfhood stirred to life at the nearness of her; however, there was nothing he could about it. For now. In the meantime, the Legolas concentrated on bringing his body under control, contenting himself with breathing in the sweet and unique scent of his lover’s skin. Kissing her shoulder, Legolas snuggled Jordan closer to him as his mind drifted into a light reverie.
#
                  Gregory looked down at the Eldest who was seated upon a fallen log; he sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Remember Thanatos: whether or not we tread the path that lies before us or veer away from it . . . and for those who walk beside us or fall away – there is always the freedom to choose. ”
                  Methos looked up sharply but said nothing. He hadn’t heard that name in centuries, and the Ancient One didn’t care to be reminded of his past . . . misdeeds. He watched the older gentleman slowly make his way back to his shoppe, passing the Watcher on the way.
                  “I’ll see you inside.” Gregory said. Joe nodded; he wished to stay outside a bit longer.
                  “Nice little forest. Anything else to see other than trees?” the Watcher asked, squinting up at the trees. Overhead, the squirrels chattered loudly, scolding the noisy birds in the leafy branches.
                  “There’s a village not far from here with a most delightful drinking establishment. But I must warn you – the folk can be quite colorful.” Gregory answered.
                  “‘Colorful’. That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.” The Watcher mused.
                  “You should see it for yourself sometime.” Gregory replied.
                  “Maybe later.” Joe said.
                  “Indeed.” The older gentleman said with a strange smile on his face as he walked away. He was almost to the door when the Highlander emerged, clearly distracted.
                  “Duncan, are you all right?” Gregory inquired.
                  “No – yes; I don’t know. I think I need some air.” The younger man said. His host nodded.
                  “Take your time, Duncan.” He replied as he disappeared back into the shop.
                  The Highlander’s mind reeled with what was revealed to him. He needed to sort it out and make sense of the situation. Up ahead, he saw the Ancient One seated upon a fallen log. Methos looked lost in thought, not reacting when Duncan made his way towards him.
                  “Methos – are you ready to head back?” He called as he approached his friend.
                  “Yeah, sure.” The Old Man replied; he seemed preoccupied.
                  “Everything all right?” Duncan asked.
                  “It will be.” Methos answered.
“What about you? Are you ready to leave?” the Ancient One asked the younger Immortal. The Highlander nodded.
Methos climbed to his feet. Walking in silence, the Men were busy with their own thoughts as they followed Joe back inside.
#
After bidding Gregory goodbye, the Immortals dropped the Watcher off at his bar before continuing on to the barge. Brooding, Methos sat at the stern watching the waves lap against the barge. Sunlight reflected off the water made it look like a sea of brilliant, glittering diamonds; the cool breeze off the water ruffled his dark brown hair. On deck, the Halcyon was seated on the green park bench, watching his reluctant host pour him a cup of coffee. It was up to Caine to break the stony silence.
                  “Its been a long time, Duncan.” The Halcyon commented.
                  “Not long enough.” Came the snide reply.
                  “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”
                  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Duncan replied sarcastically. He had half a mind to throw the blonde Immortal overboard.
“Oh come on, MacLeod – you won. Kalas is dead. Thank you, by the way. You did the Immortal community a huge favor.” Glaring at his Elder, Duncan hesitated before nodding.
“You’re welcome.” The Clansman replied.
“Besides, it must’ve been some Quickening, eh? No hard feelings?” Caine asked, holding his hand out.
The Highlander considered refusing the apology. Though he was an active participant in the Game, Duncan, like the Halcyon, preferred to live his life in peace. What he didn’t appreciate was being the butt of a practical joke—especially if it could potentially cost him his head. Still, he had to admit – it had been quite a Quickening.   The Clansman considered his options; his circle of friends diminished over the years, and Jordie’s disappearance had driven that unpleasant fact home. Other than his propensity for practical jokes, the Halcyon was basically a decent guy at heart; in addition, that he was married to another Immortal validated the Elder’s moniker. It would be nice to have friends who were still among the living. Duncan grasped the Halcyon’s hand, squeezing it a little harder than necessary. A grin of satisfaction spread across his swarthy face as Caine winced.
“No hard feelings.” The Scot replied. Pulling his hand back, Caine flexed his fingers, trying to restore his sense of feel.
“What have you been up to, Caine?” Duncan asked.   The older Immortal’s lips lifted in a quirky grin.
                  “I live – obviously. And thanks to Meredith, I love. Mostly I write, occasionally I fight. Life goes on as usual. Same old, stuff, different day. So, what about you, Duncan – what brings you to the City of Love?” Caine asked. The mischievous grin on the older Immortal’s face irked the Highlander, for it reminded him of the ignominious time they first met. But then again, Duncan was fairly new to the Game . . .
: : : :
The Knave’s Haven
London1671 A.D.
                  After a night of drinking and carousing, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod decided to call it a night. Pleasantly tipsy but still in command of all his faculties, the Highlander stepped outside and breathed deeply. The cool night air was a welcome change from the closed, stuffy pub. Still, it was his kind of place; the ale was good, the music lively and the buxom bar wenches friendly; though the air reeked with the smell of unwashed bodies and tobacco smoke hung heavy in the air, it reminded the Highlander of his happier days back home with the Clan. Taking a step, Duncan tripped over his feet and almost tumbled to the ground before catching himself.
Chiding himself for taking more drink than usual, Duncan argued with his inner self; wasn’t it his prerogative? After all, he’d just celebrated his 79^th birthday. Alone. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, for he would be hard pressed to explain to the Clan why he hadn’t aged, or the fact that he healed fast. Faster than what was natural. The Immortal turned his thoughts away. It was easier to not dwell on his banishment, for that life was lost to him forever. Duncan hadn’t gone far when he noticed a scruffy bloke watching him intently from across the way. Not in the mood for a scuffle, the Clansman kept to his side of the street, close to the buildings. Behind him, the scraping of footsteps on the cobblestones alerted him to the fact he had unwanted company.
                  Duncan continued on his way and started to weave, pretending to be more inebriated than he appeared. It wasn’t long before five scoundrels stepped away from under cover of the shadows and slowly approached.
                  “I don’t want trouble.” The Highlander said, holding his hands out.
                  “I doon care what ya want. I want yer coin purse, ya dumb bastard -- give it to me!” The leader of the pack snarled; his thick Cockney accent made it hard for the Highlander to understand his words.
                  “I doon think so.” the Highlander replied, deliberately slurring his words. His dark eyes counted the number of men surrounding him. Five to one – unfair and just the way he liked it.
                  “Let’s change his mind, boys.”
At his signal, the others followed, drawing their knives and swords. Whipping out his broadsword, the Highlander prepared to defend himself. Momentarily cowed, the bandits hesitated; their prey wasn’t as helpless as they thought. With a shout, they leaped upon the Highlander.
Caine Spencer ambled down the cobblestones in search of a pub in which to quench his thirst when he felt the Buzz. An Immortal. Following the pull, his footsteps slowed as he came upon a free for all in the middle of the street. Bandits had set upon a hapless man, intent on robbing – and possibly more. Cloaked by shadow, the Immortal took a minute to gauge the situation, studying the sword technique of the embattled man. Thwarting two ruffians, the Highlander thought he was doing well – until he felt a blade slash his back as he was briefly distracted by the Buzz.
“Not bad. . . he could use some pointers, though.” Caine said to himself, watching the stranger deflect several knives, their wielder’s intent on plunging the blades into their victim’s flesh. Cain’s eyes searched out each individual; Duncan met the Halcyon’s eyes.
“A fellow Immortal requires my assistance.” He murmured.
Caine drew his sword and rushed to help. With the arrival of his benefactor, the Highlander and the Halcyon drove off the last scoundrel. Panting, Duncan warily nodded his thanks, dividing his attention between the Immortal and the scurrilous bandits as they skulked back into the shadows, soundly defeated. The Highlander doubted they’d molest anyone else for a time.
“I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan Macleod.” The Scot’s brogue was heavy. Caine smiled.
“Caine Spencer. I’m not here for you.” He said, nodding towards the broadsword the Clansman wielded. The Halcyon thoughtfully appraised Duncan MacLeod.
                  “You’re new to the Game, aren’t you?” he asked. Silently, the Highlander sized up the Immortal before him, trying to determine if he could be trusted.
“I can help you --- teach you the finer points of swordplay.” The Halcyon offered. Duncan snorted.
“You? You’re but a mere boy! What can you possibly teach me?” Duncan scoffed in disbelief, looking the Halcyon up and down. He doubted the youth before him could offer anything of value.
“Never underestimate your opponent.” Caine replied coolly, sensitive about his youthful appearance. At times it proved to be detrimental, for other Immortals he encountered often had similar reactions, and refused to take him seriously. But then again, sometimes it was advantageous during a Challenge.
“En garde!” Caine struck the Highlander’s broadsword with his blade.
“I doon think so.” Duncan replied, backing away.
Caine followed. Surprised with the ferocity of the youth’s attack, it was all Duncan could do to hold him off. Before the Highlander could counter, the Halcyon lunged and stabbed him thru the heart.   The look of disbelief on the Scots face was comical. Caine watched him sink to his knees as his life slowly drained away.
Wiping his blade on the Highlander’s shoulder, Duncan swallowed hard as Caine’s sword rested against his neck. The Highlander closed his eyes in anticipation of the killing stroke. It never came. Instead, he fell, face forward onto the cobblestones. With a heavy sigh, the Halcyon sheathed his sword. They needed to take this lesson elsewhere, away from mortal eyes.
The Highlander revived with a gasp, the dull ache in his chest evidence of the mortal wound he’d received from Caine Spencer. Sitting up, Duncan looked around. He was in an alley, refuse strewn about the ground. Dusting himself off with disgust, the Highlander climbed to his feet. Seated casually upon a wooden crate was the Immortal whose acquaintance he’d just made.
“Took you long enough.” The Halcyon complained.
“How did you get me here?” The Highlander asked. Surely the youthful looking Immortal hadn’t carried him all this way by himself? Looking about, Duncan saw so no other soul around.
“With my magic carpet. What do you think you dolt? I carried you.” Caine answered.
“Why didn’t you take my head?” Duncan asked, suspicious as he struggled to his feet.
“You were at a slight disadvantage. Besides, I don’t kill for pleasure.” Caine replied calmly as he drew his blade.
“Pick it up.” The Halcyon said, indicating Duncan’s broadsword. Caine jumped off the crate, calm and confident. Sword in hand, he approached the Clansman, the tip of his blade pointed towards the ground.
“Your move.” The Halcyon said. Duncan looked at him, flabbergasted.
“I doona want to fight you.” The Highlander insisted.
“Sometimes your wants don’t matter in the Game. Survival does.” The fair Immortal said.
Caine lunged again; this time, Duncan managed to block his thrust. Unfortunately, the Highlander lasted all of ten minutes – eight minutes longer than before, when he was stabbed thru the heart again. The Halcyon retreated to the crate and sat down, grinning.
Sometime later, Duncan’s eyes opened. He turned towards the crate to see Caine seated comfortably on top. Stifling a groan, the Highlander climbed to his feet, using his broadsword to assist.
“En garde.” The Halcyon took up a fighting stance, a half smile on his face. This time, Duncan was determined to best him and wipe that grin off his face.
“Uhnhgh.” With a sigh, Caine seated himself once more upon the crate as Duncan kissed the filthy cobblestones. The Halcyon winced.
“Sorry, Highlander – I thought you were going to fall on your side.” The Halcyon told Duncan’s lifeless body.
The Halcyon waited for him to revive. When the Highlander’s eyes opened, Caine remained seated. Growling with frustration and anger, Duncan brandished his broadsword aloft.
“Come on!”
Taking his time, Caine got of his crate. The cold night air rang with the sound of their blades scraping. Sparks flew as they fought. With a quick flick of his wrist and a twist of his sword, Caine disarmed the Highlander and stabbed him thru the heart. Again. With a heavy sigh, the Halcyon settled once more onto his crate, wiping the blood on the hem of his cloak. And waited. When the Highlander revived, Caine reached a hand down. With a glare, Duncan caught it.
“Point made.” He grudgingly told the Elder. The Halcyon smiled as he pulled Duncan to his feet.
“C’mon, I’ll buy you a pint.” Caine offered, clapping the Highlander on his back. It was a small, yet hard learned lesson; Duncan would think twice about judging someone based on appearances alone. : : : :
                  “To answer your question, I’m taking a break from . . . things.” Duncan said, reluctant to go into detail. He poured himself a cup of coffee. The Halcyon studied the younger Immortal.
                  “Look, I know why you’re here, Duncan. Adam said you were searching for someone; I hope you find her.” the Halcyon said sincerely.
                  “I hope I do, too.” The Highlander replied. They sat in companionable silence, sipping their beverages, each thinking their own thoughts.
#
Tossing and turning in bed, Duncan moaned; the woman’s shrill voice rang in his ears.
MacLeod - - you will bury many women, but you will marry none – you will always be alone! Do you hear me?! Alone!
The Highlander sat up, wild eyed and drenched in sweat; he looked around the dark room, searching the shadows. Calming, Duncan untangled himself from the bed sheets and ran his hands thru his damp, tangled hair as he thought about his past Gypsy lover. After all these years, Carmen’s words were self-fulfilling. Hopes and dreams . . . joy and pain – Immortals felt the same emotions mortals do, albeit to varying degrees; were they so very different from the mortals they silently moved amongst thru the Ages? Duncan seriously doubted it, for They loved and hated, as well. Immortality did not nullify their humanity. Were they doomed to walk the earth alone -- was he? The battles that never ended, the lovers moving in and out of his life like shadows, never to stay beyond what amounted to him as but a fleeting moment in time. The Immortal friends he lost.   The losses weighed heavy at times; it was an extraordinary amount of emotional baggage to carry around for centuries. It didn’t matter. If he had any say in the matter, Duncan planned to keep the friends he did have as long as he could. Prophesy or not.
                Jordie. His eyes narrowed; he repeated her name in his mind like a mantra.
The Scot threw the sheets back and pulled a shirt on. Walking to the sofa, he briefly debated to wait until a reasonable hour of the day before deciding there was no time like present. Duncan shook his friend awake. Not a good idea; the Highlander felt the Ivanhoe’s steel bite as Methos’ single handed broadsword rested against his neck.
                  “Whoa, wake up, Methos.” Duncan said calmly, waiting for Methos to fully waken..
“MacLeod?! What the bloody hell are you doing? I could’ve taken your head!” Methos blinked.
Slowly, the Highlander pushed the blade away from his neck. After a moment, Methos sheathed his sword. Even Duncan had to admit startling the Paranoid One from sleep was a death wish. For someone who wasn’t an active participant in the Game, the Old Man could certainly move quickly when he wanted to. Methos was not pleased, to say the least. After drinking beer, sleeping ranked high among his favorite activities.
                  “Let’s go, Methos.”
                  “Go where?! What time is it, anyways?” Methos looked at the Highlander with an incredulous expression.
                  “Early.” Duncan said flatly as he turned to go to the head.
                  “I realize that. I was sleeping, you know.” The Ancient called after him.
                  “Key word: ‘was’, Methos. You’re not now. Call Joe, would ya? Tell him we’ll be there soon to pick him up.” Duncan’s words floated back.
                  “You know, even we need to sleep – there’s no rule against it. It is allowed!” Methos yelled as the head door closed. It opened briefly when Duncan poked his head out.
                  “And coffee – coffee’s good!” the Highlander called out before he shut the head door again.
Grumbling, the Ancient One yawned, resigned to the fact he was awake and would remain so. When MacLeod got an idea into his head, he hung on to it with tenacity like a bulldog.   Methos reached for the phone; it took ten rings before the Watcher answered.
“Yeah.” The Watcher’s voice was rough with sleep.
“Be ready in half an hour.” Silence.
“Adam?! Do you know what friggin’ time it is?” Joe exclaimed incredulously.
“Yeah – it’s Miller time.” The Ancient One quipped.
“Get your own damned beer. Bar’s closed. Why the hell are you callin’ at this hour?” Joe asked.
“Because your boy’s up before the birds, Joe.” Methos listened to Joe’s colorful cursing.
“Fine.” The Watcher hung up without saying goodbye.
Fixing a strong pot of coffee, Methos drank three cups before the Highlander emerged from the head freshly showered, a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Your turn.” He cheerfully announced.
“Yeah, well its your turn to do dishes.” The Elder shot back.
“You’re getting grouchy in your old age, Methos” Duncan commented.
“I’m entitled to be.” Methos returned as he drained his mug and placed it in the sink.
The Ancient One made his way to the head, wondering what the day would hold for them.
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Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4471 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Only One