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
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer below.
Chapter List
- 22
- 23
- 24
Thranduil thrust his staff at the closest squire; ignoring the silent retinue of advisors gathered a discrete distance behind him, the Elven King shunned protocol and gathered his son to him in a brief but fierce hug.
“Do not tarry long until your next return home, my son.” The Elder Greenleaf quietly instructed the Prince, feeling a sharp pang of sadness as he bid Legolas farewell.
“I hope I will not be alone when I do, Father.” Legolas replied.
“That is my wish as well, Little Princeling. Go then, with the blessings of the Valar.” King Thranduil said with a gleam in his eyes as he released his son.
The Mirkwood Elf gave his Sire a crooked smile and chuckled softly, for his father had not called him by that pet name since he was but an Elfling. Waiting patiently as father and son said their farewells, the Elf holding the horse’s bridle spoke soothingly to the beast, but in vain, for the horse would have none of it. Prancing impatiently, Arod tossed his head and neighed, eager to be away; it was becoming increasingly difficult to manage the Prince’s mount. Taking pity on his subject, King Thranduil touched Legolas’ face and, with a slight inclination of his head, granted his son his leave. Gracefully vaulting onto his horse’s back, Legolas gathered the reins and saluted the King as Arod reared slightly and wheeled away. With a thunder of hooves, they were off. Sighing, King Thranduil signaled the waiting squire and took up his carven oak staff, watching the beloved figure of his son rapidly shrink into the distance and beyond his sight, before retiring to his private chambers. Deep within the bowels of his underground dwelling, in the quiet of the room, the Elven King sat upon his favorite chair and gazed into the fire, pondering Legolas’ unusual behavior . . .
: : : : The slight weight of the diadem resting upon the Crown Prince’s brow felt unnatural; it had been decades since he’d last worn this particular symbol of his rank and station, and he hadn’t forgotten why – it was a nuisance. Without fail, the leaves always caught and pulled at the strands of his golden hair. Legolas much preferred a simple headdress – like the crown he had worn at Aragorn’s coronation. Today, the Prince acquiesced to his father’s wish he wear this particular crown for the Binding Ceremony. Similar in fashion to that encircling the Mirkwood Ruler’s head, Legolas’ wreath-like headdress, also wrought from the purest silver, is understated in comparison to his Sire’s; his father’s crown gleamed with the cool luster of pearls and sparkled with brilliant diamonds that caught the hazy sunlight, and set it aflame with an inner fire.
Seated upon his outdoor throne, King Thranduil surveyed the open courtyard; colorful flowers of the season were in abundant bloom, their soft petals strewn upon the forest floor, carpeting the ground with their delicate colors. Festooned in the trees were garlands of leaves and berries, and finespun ribbons fluttered gracefully in the light breeze. Save for the sentries’ watchful guard at the borders of his woodland kingdom, all Mirkwood Elves were in attendance for the joyous occasion. Satisfied with the gathering before him, the Elder Greenleaf’s ancient gaze settled on his son. Garbed in resplendent robes of shimmering green, gold and bronze, Legolas stood tall and proud as he performed his duties expected of him. Thranduil’s heart swelled with paternal pride; more so as his son’s regal bearing caused many a she-Elf to sigh with admiration and the highest regard for their Prince.
During the three-day feast following the Ceremony, King Thranduil’s attention oft focused upon the Prince. To the delight of the maidens, Legolas danced with one and all, regardless of birth or title. However, much to the dismay of both maidens and their matrons alike, the Crown Prince never once favored one maiden over the other. Legolas’ cordial, yet remote demeanor only brought out the maidens’ competitiveness and determination to be the one to catch the elusive Prince’s eye; many employed subtle tactics, all geared towards winning Legolas’ attention, in the hopes of securing his affection and with it, the coveted title of ‘Princess’. Their best laid plans were for naught, Thranduil noticed, for when given a moment’s reprieve from the constant presentation of eligible maidens, Legolas resorted to a tried and true method of escape – to Thranduil’s side, where, in keeping with etiquette, no one dare approach uninvited. Standing by his father, the Elven King saw when the Prince’s blue eyes, so like his own, often take on a distant look.
At first the Mirkwood Ruler thought nothing of his son’s moody behavior; however, since the Crown Prince’s return home, Thranduil often found Legolas outside, gazing up at the stars or standing in the dark with his amaranthine face turned towards Imladris. After the conclusion of the festivities, the King visited Legolas in his private chambers and questioned him,,…..ijkm deeply concerned that something was amiss. After reassuring his Lord that all was well, Mirkwood’s King was most delighted to learn his son’s distraction involved a ‘maiden’. Her identity remained a mystery as Legolas declined to provide more details beyond that. The Prince assured his father that, in time, all would be revealed when matters between him and his maiden were certain.
In the days following, Thranduil’s kingdom was abuzz with speculation, wondering who is this maiden that managed to capture the Prince’s attention, for it was reported to the Elven King and confirmed by the royal silver smith himself, that Legolas commissioned a piece of jewelry of his own design to be made -- and with all haste, for it must be ready for the Prince to take with him when he returned to Imladris. Thranduil smiled; it looked promising. Since coming of age, Legolas never lacked for willing partners.   Despite the many dalliances and lovers his son took over the centuries, the King knew Legolas never before commissioned a portrait, much less a piece of jewelry in which to give a maiden. On several occasions, the King almost dispatched a courier to Imladris to inquire after the maiden’s identity, yet he always refrained, and Thranduil bid his court follow his example, requesting his subjects respect the Crown Prince’s privacy. After all, if Legolas, as one of the Nine, was instrumental in saving Middle-earth from the coming Darkness, King Thranduil knew his son could be trusted to know his own heart. : : : :
“Ya naa lle (who are you)?” Thranduil muttered aloud, once again wondering who the mystery maiden was.
Now that his oath to protect the Ring Bearer had been fulfilled, and his wanderings with the son of Glóin was done, a fine she-Elf would be just the thing to put an end to Legolas’ senseless cavorting with Mankind. Whoever this maiden is, the Elven Lord hoped she would be the one to cease his son’s restless wanderings with the Dwarf. It was high time for the Prince to settle down, and it was also the King’s fondest hope to see his son happily bound, and eventually produce an heir or two.
#
“What is this?! The lot is ruined!” Ancalimë, the Head Baker growled, gesturing towards the trays. His winged brows were drawn down in a dark scowl. Turning towards Pallanén, his mid-Apprentice, the Baker’s scowl deepened. The young Elf swallowed nervously.
                  “M-Master, this is not of my doing…” stammered the Elf.
                  “If not you, who then? Speak quickly, for my patience wanes. There is yet much to do and the day waxes late.” It was only the wee hours of the morning, but the Apprentice had the fortitude of mind to not point that fact out to his Master.
                  “L-Lady Jordan, Master - she wished to assist the Apprentices in the kitchen. I did not refuse her for she was most persuasive.” Pallanén barely heard the continued ranting of the head Baker as the mid-Apprentice thought back to the even before . . .
: : : : Exploring other areas in which to help earn her keep until it was time to travel to Gondor, the Immortal decided to pay a long overdue visit to the kitchens. Jordan was set to work scrubbing, peeling and chopping potatoes. By her fifth sack of the starchy tuber, Jordan was certain she didn’t want to see another spud for a while, disliking the dusty, gritty feel of the skins that coated her hands. Curious to discover the way Lembas was made; Jordan washed her hands and wandered over to the bakery. Some of the pastries and other breads were already in the ovens, filling the kitchens with their delicious aromas. After introducing herself to Pallanén, a newly minted ‘mid-Apprentice’, the Immortal watched him painstakingly measure out precise amounts of flour, water, salt and other ingredients; Pallanén was in the middle of mixing the dough when another Apprentice called him away to see to an urgent task.
The mid-Apprentice was torn, for the summons arrived at a most inopportune moment. To stop now would run the risk of a ruined batch. Seeing the indecision on the Elf’s face, Jordan seized the opportunity to prove herself useful and offered to take the Elf’s place – after all, how difficult could it be to mix the dough? After a moment’s hesitation, Pallanén reluctantly accepted Jordan’s offer, leaving her to see to the Lembas dough -- but only after giving the woman explicit instructions. Jordan took the wooden spoon and continued to mix, her mind wandering to the night before and the wonderful things Legolas had done to her body. Blushing, the Immortal cleared her throat and glanced around, fearful the Elves would guess the reason for the wide smile on her face.
Turning her attention back to her task, Jordan was surprised to see the mixture hadn’t changed appearance. In fact, her arm was beginning to tire from the repetitive motion; switching hands, Jordan mixed faster; scraping the sides of the bowl, no matter how much air Jordan incorporated, nothing had changed from the time she took over from the Apprentice.
“It is most important you do not deviate from my instruction, Lady Jordan.” the Immortal remembered the Elf’s parting words before he hurried off.
“Maybe Pallanén was wrong. This doesn’t look right.” Jordan murmured to herself.
The dough was still wet and stuck to the spoon. Reaching for the measuring cup, she added more flour, shaking in a little at a time. As an afterthought, Jordan added a pinch more of the other dry ingredients and five extra eggs as well. Attacking the mixture with determination, the Immortal was pleased when a ball finally took shape and became elastic in texture
Although the task had taken Pallanén longer than he anticipated, when he returned, the mid-Apprentice was pleasantly surprised to find the dough (though a darker yellow in color than usual) had been mixed, kneaded and pressed into trays and left to rise overnight. He thought nothing more, and after thanking Jordan for her assistance, moved on to the next task of the day. This morning, the dough had been enchanted as usual and placed in the ovens. What came out were five ruined batches (of varying degrees) of the Elvish Waybread and the Middle-earth equivalent of unusually dense hardtack. : : : :
Where did it all go wrong? Pallanén wondered. The tips of his ears itched unbearably as they always did when he was anxious, yet he dared not scratch them in the presence of his Master.
Lady Jordan assured me she followed my instructions. the Elf thought, puzzled. No matter; it was a moot point and the damage was done. Blinking, Pallanén once again focused on what Ancalimë was saying. . .
“ . . . I cannot further allow such waste. If the Lady Jordan wishes to assist in baking, see to it she does so without causing ruin to all she touches, else the blame rests upon you!”
                  “Yes, Master.” Pallanén said meekly, his eyes downcast.
“Very well.” Ancalimë gestured towards the misshapen lumps cooling on the trays.
“Throw it out and begin again. From this moment, I only wish to learn that the Lady Jordan placed the dough in the ovens – not prepared it. Do I make myself clear?”
                  “Yes, Master.” Pallanén replied, relieved to have not received a demotion in duty. He had only recently attained the position mid-Apprentice and did not wish to be relegated to the task of dishwasher again. Even for a day. With a sigh, the mid-Apprenticed called several low-Apprentices to assist him in gathering the ruined Lembas together.
“Valar help us all.” Ancalimë fumed inwardly as he stalked away.
There was much for him to see to before his audience with the Peredhil: the stores of flour, grain and other dry goods must be inspected and accounted for, and this ruined batch of Lembas did not improve his worsening mood. If the ruined Waybread was any indication of the Woman’s skill in the bakery, Ancalimë was not impressed.
#
                  “I should’ve gone with him.” Jordan muttered, mentally kicking herself as she dressed.
She was already having a bad day, and it just barely started. Another restless night was spent twisting and tangling the sheets as Jordan tossed and turned in a fitful sleep. This early morning, as she had the previous mornings since Legolas’ departure, the Immortal woke up apprehensive, consumed with a sense of foreboding. Hoping a bath would soothe her, after disrobing, the Immortal slipped on the edge of the bathing pool and landed hard on her hip; thankfully she was alone when it happened, for the embarrassment of a witness to her lack of grace would be greater than the injury itself. Jordan gently probed the edges of the large bruise on her hip. The scrape on her elbow and forearm was already healed; the purplish-red bruise would disappear within an hour or so.
“Do Immortals have mental meltdowns?” she wondered aloud.
Plagued with the uneasy feeling that a dark cloud was poised over her head and all hell was about to break loose, Jordan turned her thoughts to her absent lover, hoping the mere thought of him would put her in a better frame of mind. Despite keeping busy at the House of Healing or doing Katas, Jordan was surprised to find she actually missed Legolas. More than she thought she would.
In his absence, Gimli proved to be excellent company and her constant companion; Jordan spent most of her free time with the Dwarf exploring Rivendell. In the evenings, the Dwarf and the woman could often be found together sharing a meal as well as a philosophical discussion, such as what went better with Lembas – water or Miruvor, or with Warg – ale or beer? With Gimli at her side, Jordan was rarely bored. He entertained her tales of his and Legolas’ travels with the others of a ‘Fellowship’. The Dwarf was an excellent story teller, and despite the fact that their journey would be via horseback, the Immortal found herself actually looking forward to seeing this ‘White City’, as well as a place named ‘Rohan’ that their journey would take them through, for the Dwarf promised to show her the ‘Glittering Caves’, so named for its natural beauty. Jordan convinced herself the Dwarf’s offhand mention of diamonds and other precious stones scattered about the caves like loose rocks had nothing to do with her desire to see it for herself. . . and maybe bring a few home – as a keepsake, of course.
When Jordan was alone at night, it was then she thought the most of Legolas and counted the days that passed since he left, missing his touch . . . wondering if he was in the arms of someone else.
“You don’t own him.” she lectured herself.
But we’re lovers…doesn’t that count for something? she wondered.
Temporary lovers. the rational part of her mind reminded her.
The Immortal decided to ignore that reality for a little longer. Shivering, Jordan threw another log on the fire. It was much colder at night and the mornings were becoming crisper as well. Pulling the brush through her wet hair, Jordan thought about Legolas. They had become lovers; was she now expected – or obligated to share everything there was about her? The brush stilled as she considered all angles.
Kiss and tell? Definitely not. I don’t have to tell him my whole life’s story. Especially about my Immortality. Jordan decided.
He doesn’t need to know. Besides, what good would it serve? Its not as if anyone’s here for my head. she whispered.
Hiding the truth may not be wise. the thought came out of nowhere.
“Duncan, I wish you could help me…” Jordan said aloud, wondering what the Highlander would do in her shoes.
“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I’ll just do what I’m doing - not say anything at all. I can’t be accused of lying or deceiving him.” Jordan decided. Deep in her gut, the Immortal couldn’t ignore the feeling that she may be making the wrong decision.
“I’ll live with it.” she told herself as she pulled the brush thru her hair. Imagining Collette before her, Jordan could almost hear her friend’s dulcet tones giving her own peculiar brand of advice. Never mind the fact Collette easily turned her passion on or off like a faucet. …
: : : : “You’ve gotta learn to love them and leave them, Jor. Guys do it all the time, so why not us? And don’t tell them everything about you – at least not so soon. It’s the kiss of death in any relationship. Don’t get too attached to one, ‘cause there’s too many men, too little time.” Collette wantonly advised her friend when the Immortal expressed concern over her carefree ways. : : :
Despite living in the frenzied pace of the 21^st century, Jordan didn’t share the cavalier, hedonistic approach Collette possessed towards lovers and relationships - or her outlook on romance. With a sigh, Jordan bound her hair in a low ponytail and took one last look at her room, satisfied she left no unnecessary work for Ceallach to see to before leaving her quarters. The Immortal decided a return to the kitchens for a healthy dose of busy work was what she needed to distract her from her conflicting thoughts and the choking anxiety that nipped at her heels. In the kitchens, Jordan found Pallanén in the bakery and once again offered her assistance. Quickly, the mid-Apprentice steered the bewildered Immortal in a different direction – towards what he informed her was the scullery, hastily explaining that the low-Apprentices needed all the help with the amount of dish washing that could be found. When they entered the enormous rooms, Jordan couldn’t help but gawk in dismay at the towers of dirty plates and columns of pots and pans; her breath whistled out between her pursed lips as she watched the low-Apprentices go about their seemingly infinite task.
“Careful what you wish for, Jordie.” She muttered quietly.
“Lady Jordan?” the Elf asked quizzically.
“Nothing – I was just talking to myself.” Shrugging, the Immortal rolled her sleeves and took her place at the sink beside an Apprentice.
#
    Sensing the urgency within his Elf-friend, the horse neighed; in response, Legolas released the reins and leaned forward in the saddle over Arod’s neck, gripping the horse’s mane as he gave the horse his head. Tossing the bit in his mouth, Arod’s powerful neck stretched out, his gait lengthened, hooves blurred as he swiftly bore his Elven master toward Imladris. Since leaving Mirkwood, they had ridden all the days and most of the nights, not stopping unless it was to water and give Arod a few hours’ rest. Only after Arod assured his master the pace was not too great for him, did his Elf-friend allow them to continue their return journey.
The Prince studied the slowly lightening sky as Arod raced over the terrain. Legolas wondered at the still visible stars; during the night, their brilliance was veiled, their celestial song muted. Change. It was all around. The season was beginning to turn, the chill in the air hinted at winter’s coming. Soon the Elf, the Dwarf and the Woman would prepare for the journey to Gondor before the land was gripped in an icy embrace.
What awaits us in the White City?   Legolas wondered. He was in no hurry to learn the answer, for Jordan’s meeting with Mithrandir could possibly mark the end of his lover’s presence in Middle-earth.
Riding along, the Elf brooded, wondering what the future held. Elves weren’t normally concerned with thoughts of the future; however, closely mingling with mortals, Legolas began to think in finite terms. Elfkind and Mankind. Immortals and mortals - the merging of the two was impossibility in itself, the union destined to fail even before it began; pairings between the two Races would eventually be sundered by Death. Mortals with their fragile lives were but a blink in time – a single drop of water in an endless sea. There was so much that Legolas had done and seen in his long life—things he longed to share with Jordan, to see thru her eyes; so much to see and do -- yet so little time afforded to the Sons and Daughters of Men. Time. What was it to an Elf? It was nothing, yet Legolas found himself counting every hour, every passing moment they were apart.
Soon, Melamin. Legolas thought to himself.
The passion and complexity of human emotion never ceased to amaze Legolas, and Jordan was no different from those of her kind. Though their initial encounter was less than auspicious, at first, curiosity and a genuine desire to aid this Woman had drawn him to Jordan Waters. . . yet at the feast when he first taught her the Elvish dance, till the moment he left her bed but days ago, the feelings he harbored towards his lover only strengthened and grew, till Legolas could no longer deny Jordan Waters had captured more than his attention.
“When did this happen?” Legolas murmured to himself.
Jordan touched him in more ways than just physical. Her sometimes-mercurial mood swings, her peculiar ways -- Jordan Waters was everything he did not seek . . . mortal and flawed, yet in a short amount of time, somehow she had become everything he wanted.
With their first physical union, Legolas knew he had lost a part of himself to her forever. The fact was made glaringly clear, for when he was at home in Mirkwood, in his beloved woods, the Elf discovered he could not bear the thought of being away from his lover any more than he could think of eternity having an end. It simply could not be. Although he thoroughly enjoyed their passionate and enthusiastic joinings, it wasn’t enough. To his vast surprise, and after great contemplation, Legolas was certain beyond doubt where his heart lay.
What of you, Melamin? Legolas thought, wondering how Jordan truly feels towards him.
Jordan shared her body willingly; however, her mind was another matter altogether. There was something about Jordan . . .
something within her harboring both light and shadow that was different from the conflict common to the Mortals Legolas was familiar with. Something intangible, but present nonetheless the Elf had never before encountered. Legolas could not ignore the fact that there were aspects about her that raised questions, which whispered of unnatural abilities. Even now, as he did before in Trollshaw Forest, when Legolas questioned Jordan and attempted to probe deeper, she withdrew and changed the subject.
What are you hiding, Melamin? Legolas wondered again.
It intrigued him to no end; perhaps the fact that Jordan did not easily bend to his wishes, nor freely share her thoughts added to her already immense appeal. However, her continued reluctance in opening up her mind and heart made him wonder if what they share is only to be physical . . . on her part.
“Nay. I shall have my answers. And we shall see where your heart lays, Melamin.” Legolas said aloud. Arod snorted, his ears twitching back even as he raced on.
“’Tis nothing, Mellon.” Legolas assured his mount.
The Elf came out of his reverie as they neared the borders of Imladris, the ring of power emanating from Imladris grew stronger; his mount felt it as well, for the rhythmic hoof beats quickened, carrying horse and rider closer to their destination. With a burst of speed, Arod powered his way up the steep mountain paths and switchbacks, surefooted and swift. Arriving at the entrance of the main courtyard, Legolas spoke to his horse-friend. Obediently, his mount turned in the direction of the stables. Legs splayed and sides heaving, steam rose from the horse’s sweaty flanks. Legolas dismounted as the stable hands swiftly moved to tend to the Prince’s horse, removing the saddle and covering Arod’s glistening hide with a large cloth.
“My Lord, your packs will be delivered to your quarters.” A servant dutifully informed the Wood Elf. Nodding his thanks, Legolas patted Arod’s sweaty neck.
“You have my eternal gratitude, my friend.” The Prince murmured to his weary mount. Snorting, Arod nudged the Elf with his head and neighed.
“Your effort was not in vain - I will go to her soon enough, Mellon.” Legolas assured him. Grasping the reins, Legolas walked Arod around the stable grounds to cool him down.
“First, I will tend you.” The Elf led the noble beast to a stall spread with clean, fragrant straw. Sweet hay, oats and a trough filled with fresh water awaited the horse. As a special treat, a bundle of tasty carrots were added to the horse’s meal.
Legolas groomed his equine friend and checked for hidden sores. After settling Arod in the stables, Legolas bid the tired horse rest well before he returned to his quarters to stow his weapons. The Mirkwood Elf wasn’t surprised when a servant arrived with word from Lord Elrond that an audience could wait until the afternoon, grateful for the Lord’s indulgence. Only after learning Jordan yet remained in Imladris was the Elf able to completely relax. Not bothering to change, Legolas went in search of the Dwarf, for when he was next at his lover’s side, Legolas didn’t plan to be interrupted. It had been but days since he’d seen Jordan -- seven to be exact, for Legolas had cut his visit home short and returned to Imladris sooner than expected, yet it felt much longer.
#
Gimli tossed another lump into the air as high as he could. Using the flat part of his small throwing axe’s blade, the Dwarf knocked it away. It was a sport from Jordan’s home that she had shown him; something called ‘baseball’. Jordan attempted to explain the rules of this ‘national past time’ but it was lost to Gimli; all he cared about was seeing how far he could hit an object away. Squinting, the Dwarf followed the lump’s flight path when, an arrow whizzed by – so close that Gimli felt the breeze stir the hair on his whiskered cheek before the projectile skewered the unlikely bird, cleaving the lump in two when it passed through it.
“Henh?!”
Recovering, Gimli scowled and embedded his axe in the nearby table before he quickly reached for more lumps, throwing them in the air as high as he could in different directions. Arrows pierced all, some exploding in a shower of crumbs. Gimli didn’t turn as he freed his throwing axe.
                  “Not bad for an Elvish Princeling. You’ve returned early.” The Dwarf grunted.
                  “I had to, to ensure you remain out of trouble; besides, we both know you are lost without me, Spangaer (bearded one). ” Legolas replied glibly, running his elegant hands lovingly over the carvings of his Galadrhim bow.
“Who was lost in the Glittering Caves, eh?” Gimli retorted. The Elf just smiled, not rising to the bait.
“Besides, I have good reason to return early.” Legolas said.
“And does that ‘reason’ know you are here?” Gimli asked with a knowing glance.
“Nay, but she will. You’re up early.” Legolas replied. Soon the bright daystar would peek over the horizon.
“There is much to prepare for our departure. Time should not be wasted in idleness.” Gimli said.
“And what exactly are you doing, Gimli?” Legolas asked, puzzled. Turning his attention to the basket filled with lumps, the Elf wondered what they were.
“Err, err — well . . . ” Gimli floundered for a suitable explanation as he squinted up at the Elf. Unable to come up with one, the Dwarf cleared his throat and pulled at his long, bushy beard as he followed the Elf’s gaze. Quickly Gimli reached for one, examining it closely before taking a cautious bite.
“Mani naa tanya (What is that)?” Legolas asked.
“I was passing the kitchens this morn when the Apprentice was preparing to have these thrown out. ‘Tis Lembas he said, but he must be mistaken, for I think these are but rocks in disguise. I near broke my teeth when I bit into one. Some you can actually bite into, but it will crumble into dust in your mouth. Others are perfect outside but raw inside. ‘Tis fit for naught but Orcs.” The Dwarf experimentally rapped the lump in his hand with his throwing axe before tossing it to the Elf.
“Go ahead.” The Dwarf urged. Legolas arched a dark brow and gingerly bit into it – or at least tried. It was impossible.
“Try and break it in half.”
The Elf attempted to do as instructed. He couldn’t; Gimli grunted for the Elf to hand it over. The Dwarf placed it on the ground.
                  “Look, you.” Gimli said as he took his double-headed battle-axe; the Dwarf hefted it overhead and gave a mighty downward swing. It bounced off the adamantine lump.
“Do you feel faint? Has this . . . activity sapped your strength?” Legolas joked.
“Pagh! I dinna think you can do better, Laddie!”
“I can think of better things to do with my strength, Spangaer.” The Elf retorted good-naturedly, thinking about a warm bed and a certain dark haired, green eyed maiden. He looked forward their . . . reunion. Gimli ignored the obvious meaning behind the Elf’s words. He had more important matters to consider.
                  “Mayhaps it can be used to repair the White City – mixed in with the mortar.” The Dwarf mused.
It may not be edible, but there were other possibilities to consider. But then again, the Dwarf didn’t want to drag the five full baskets all the way to Gondor. Swinging his axe again, this time Gimli was able to cleave the lump in two.
                  “Whoever made this should perhaps consider another trade.” Legolas said. Beside him, Gimli nodded in agreement as he reached for another lump.
                  Drawing his arm back, the Dwarf tossed it into the air. It had risen but two inches from his hand when Legolas shot it with an arrow; Gimli eyes widened as it exploded into yellow crumbs around him. Laughing aloud at the Dwarf’s outraged expression; Legolas slung his bow across his shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest.
“That could’ve been my hand!” Gimli shouted.
                  “I never miss a shot.” The Elf tossed back arrogantly.
Sputtering indignantly, the Elf-friend bent and gathered two handfuls of lumps and hurled them at the Elf. Before they could connect with the Prince’s head, Legolas whipped out his knives and slashed at the air quicker than the Dwarf could follow. With a smirk, Legolas sheathed his blades and shook the crumbs from his golden hair.
“Hrmmph!”
“Come, Gimli, we will search for suitable victuals and a barrel of the finest ale Imladris has to offer to restore your strength.” Gimli’s ruffled ego softened at the mention of two of his most favorite things. Glad to have his friend back, Gimli forgave the Elf his little prank; Legolas’ preternatural skill with the bow was unrivaled, but the Elf would never hear those words from him.
In the common dining hall, the friends shared food and drink as Legolas told Gimli of the Binding Ceremony and the changes in the palace halls. The Dwarf stoically listened to the Elf’s tale in silence, answering with an occasional grunt. The history between their families still rankled the Dwarf, but Gimli found he could now listen to Legolas speak about his home and sire without flying into a hot rage. Forgiveness had to begin somewhere. Despite his gruff exterior and coarse ways, the Dwarf was a romantic at heart, and the tender feelings he nurtured towards the Lady of Light often carried him through many dangers, and cheered him during many lonely nights, knowing a creature of immense beauty was alive and well. Gimli belched and pushed away from the table.
“Be off with you, Laddie. I must draft another correspondence to King Elessar and you’ve occupied enough of my valuable time.” Gimli said. He clasped the Elf’s shoulder affectionately.
“’Tis good to see your pointy ears again. I believe there’s a Lady who would also be glad to see them as well.” He added slyly, chuckling to himself as he walked away, not giving the Elf a chance to reply.
Legolas smiled and rose from the table as well. Spying Ceallach in the hall, he motioned for her to come. The she-Elf bowed respectfully, listening quietly as the Prince murmured his request. The maiden nodded and assured the Prince she would see to the task. The Mirkwood Elf grinned to himself as he made his way to his quarters to bathe and change. Legolas hoped the Lady would be willing to see more than his ears.
#
Standing in the middle of Jordan’s quarters, Legolas frowned; she was not there. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, the room was filled with the familiar scent of his lover and her favorite soap. It washed over him, soothing and stimulating at the same time. Lifting the dome to the tray on the table, he saw the servant had done as he requested. There was more than enough food to see them through until the next morning. Legolas chuckled softly, remembering the look on Ceallach’s face when she first discovered him in Jordan’s quarters. The Elf grinned with approval at the large flagon of Miruvor; Jordan would need its strength imparting property. The Mirkwood Prince planned to show his lover just how much he missed her. Crossing to the bed, Legolas laid a hand on it; he felt the faint residual warmth and smiled. Jordan could not have been gone long. Eager to see her, the Elf left the room and headed where he knew she would be . . .
#
Hands loosely clasped behind his back, Lord Elrond stood by an open window in his library, listening quietly to his head Baker’s report; confident the Elf before him was capable of handling the many details required to keep Imladris’ resident and guests properly fed during the coming winter, Imladris’ ruler inquired after his guest’s well being. Ancalimë quickly informed the Ruler the woman’s presence in the kitchens was not under duress, but at the Lady’s insistence. Elrond’s sharp brow raised in bemusement as he wondered at Jordan’s continued attempts to repay his hospitality.
Such peculiar ways. Elrond thought to himself.
                  “My Lord, shall I remove her from the kitchens?” Ancalimë asked.
“See to it she is not over taxed; I do not believe Lord Legolas will be pleased to discover her . . . laboring in such a manner. That is all.” The Ruler instructed.
Ancalimë inclined his head in acknowledgement before turning to leave. He had just the task in mind for her; it would both keep her occupied and well out of the kitchens. . .
#
Pallanén was overseeing the mixing of another batch of Lembas when Ancalimë appeared; judging from his face, the head Baker was not pleased.
“What is the matter, Master?” Pallanén inquired.
“Weevils have ruined much flour; the barrels must be thoroughly cleansed and retreated. Where is Lady Jordan?”
“She is in the scullery, Master.” Pallanén answered quickly.
“Very well.” The Elf said curtly as he turned on his heel. Pallanén returned his attention to the Lembas. He couldn’t risk this batch going awry as well.
                   Ancalimë found Jordan in the lower kitchens. Sleeves rolled to her elbows, the Immortal’s hands were buried in a tub of hot, sudsy water. Wearing a suede tunic and leggings, her dampened hair clung to her flushed face; long tendrils of black hair escaped her low ponytail as the steam from the hot water rose up. Stacked nearby were towers of platters and other dishes that she’d washed. A low-Apprentice was busy at the woman’s side, drying and sorting the items she placed in the draining racks.
                  “Too bad they don’t have rubber gloves here.” Jordan muttered into the steam for the umpteenth time.
Her hands felt raw, her fingertips were wrinkled like raisins. Doing dishes all day was not what she had in mind, yet Jordan washed on, determined to not show any sign of weariness – even as the Apprentices came bearing more dishes to wash. Despite the endless activity, instead of pushing the ominous feelings to the back of her mind, the monotonous task only gave Jordan more time to ponder what exactly was alarming her.
                  Pull yourself together, Jordie. she sternly told herself, wondering if she was on the verge of a panic attack.
                  “Lady Jordan.” Between the rattling of the dishes, and her thoughts, she didn’t hear the Elf.
                  “Lady Jordan!” she looked up sharply in surprise.
The serving platter she was about to rinse slipped from her fingers and into the sudsy water. It landed with a big splash, sloshing water onto the front of her tunic. The dark brown material turned black as the water soaked through. Jordan mopped the perspiration and beads of water from her brow with a damp portion of her sleeve.
                  “Hello.” Jordan replied uncertainly.
                  “You -- ” the Baker said, addressing the low-Apprentice behind her.
                  “Finish this. Lady Jordan, if you’d be so kind as to accompany me, if it is agreeable with you, I have a task I ask you to perform.” Judging from the way the Apprentice quickly did as bidden, the Immortal knew the Elf addressing her was in some position of authority in the kitchens.
                  When in Rome . . . she thought wryly to herself.
                  “Of course.” Jordan replied. Drying her hands, and wringing out her sodden tunic as best she could, Jordan smiled at the Apprentice on her way out and followed the cook. She quickly lost her sense of direction in the many turns and stairways that made up the kitchens.
                  “Where are we going?” Jordan asked.
                  “To the store room. Five flour barrels must be cleaned before they can be retreated. It appears weevils have found their way inside and ruined the flour. By the grace of the Valar, only a few were contaminated.”
They stopped before a massive door reinforced by band of decoratively wrought iron; at Ancalimë’s touch, the doors swung open. Jordan followed the Elf inside and looked around the vast storeroom. Inside were large – no, make it huge oak barrels (that reached her chest) that must have numbered in the hundreds. Five were pulled to the fore.
                  “Please remove the spoiled flour. After you have finished what you can, kindly inform the Apprentice, and she or he will see to the treatment.” Ancalimë said.
Jordan was unsure how to proceed, for it wasn’t exactly a task she commonly performed. Still, how bad could it be? The Baker kept his smile to himself as he watched the dismay flit across her face. The task would surely keep her occupied for some time. At least long enough to ensure his Apprentices could carry out their duties without her disastrous assistance.
                  “Is it beyond your ability?” the Baker inquired.
                  “No.” Jordan said slowly. Mustering her enthusiasm – after all, the Elves were feeding her – the Immortal forced a polite smile to her face.
                  “No. I can do it.”
                  “Very well, I shall leave you to your task.” With that, Ancalimë left.
Jordan sat down on a small, narrow crate, and faced the barrels, wondering how best to accomplish her task. Beside the crate was a box filled with assorted tools. Jordan scuffed at it with her toe.   Rising to the challenge, Jordan moved the crate closer, pried off the lid and peered inside; she smiled as a plan began to form in her mind.
“Work smarter not harder, Jordie.” She told herself.
Hopping off, the Immortal went in search of the Apprentices.
#
                  “Hah!” Jordan thought smugly to herself, feeling a certain amount of satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment.
Working closely, and with a little ingenuity, together, Jordan and the Elves dumped the infested flour into a wheeled cart to be transported away. Jordan marveled at the Elves’ physical strength. If she hadn’t witnessed how easily the Elves toted the heavy cart up and down the stairs, she wouldn’t have believed it possible. Now all that remained to be done was the removal of the hard crust that coated the bottom of the barrels. It was tricky laying the barrels down without them rolling around as she crawled in and worked, but Jordan managed and dislodged the crust in short order. With determination and proper body mechanics, Jordan set the barrels upright and inspected them once more. The Immortal was about to consider her task complete when she noticed an inch of crusty flour on the bottom of the fifth barrel.
“Now how’d I miss that?” she wondered.
Despite her better judgment, Jordan decided she didn’t want to lay the heavy barrel on its side again until after she loosed the crust. Instead, she scooted the crate to the barrel and stepped onto it. Bent at the waist, Jordan was buried head and shoulders within as she precariously balanced on one tiptoe. She used her other leg as a counterbalance while straining to dislodge the hardened flour at the very corner.
“Stubborn flour barnacles.” she muttered.
“Ah – Ah -- AH-CHOO!”
The pulverized flour Jordan loosened rose in a cloud, filling her mouth and nose; unfortunately, the enclosed space magnified her rather loud sneeze and set her ears ringing. Jordan went limp, momentarily stunned and disoriented. The edge of the barrel cutting into her waist didn’t help matters, either. With one hand braced against the side so she didn’t fall into the barrel, Jordan scratched her itchy nose on her sleeve and sniffed before resuming her task, determinedly chipping away. Jordan didn’t know what was worse: peeling mountains of potatoes or working in a cloud of flour - make that weevil-filled flour.
“Just . . . a little more . . .” she grunted. This barrel’s ‘growth’ proved to be particularly stubborn. But she was tougher.
Jordan was so engrossed in her task that she didn’t feel the touch on her leg. She did feel when the hand slid up her calf, to her thigh, and up to her buttocks under her tunic. Startled, the Immortal came out of the barrel quickly, wincing when she hit her head hard on the edge. It would’ve been an impressive display of reflex if Jordan hadn’t forgotten she was standing on a narrow crate.
“Whhooa. . . !” Even as she fell backwards, Jordan intended to send a message to her assailant; her arm slashed through the air stabbing wildly as she fell. Both her fall and her arm were stopped before they could land.
“I am unarmed!” The Elf said quickly.
He was in no danger, for his reflexes were quicker than hers. Catching the woman in his arm, his free hand stayed her wrist with his other hand before Jordan could bury her tool in his neck. He eyed the sharp tool with an amused expression on his face. Blinking in surprise, Jordan thought for a second the Elf who held her inches above the floor looked exactly like her lover. . .
: : : : Taking to the treetops, the Mirkwood Elf swiftly made his way towards Jordan’s glade. Though the trees whispered Jordan hadn’t been there yet, the Elf waited, confident she’d arrive soon. When it became apparent she wasn’t going to show, Legolas headed towards the House of Healing. He didn’t find her there, either. Watching the Prince search the house for his lover amused the Healer. Læurenthail took pity on the Prince and casually suggested he stop by the kitchens. After thanking the Healer, the Wood Elf did as suggested.
Upon arrival, he did not find Jordan among the vegetables that were being prepared for the noon meal. An Apprentice informed the Prince that the woman had been there, but had since left, and was last seen heading towards the bakery. Thanking him, the Mirkwood Elf did not see his lover in the bakery, either; he asked another Apprentice, who informed the Wood Elf the Lady Jordan was in the scullery.
You are leading me on a merry chase, Melamin. Legolas thought to himself, bemused.
Pursued and admired for his beauty by both Elf and Mankind, Legolas could have anyone he wanted to satisfy his physical
needs, and choose he did over the centuries; however, this was certainly another unfamiliar feeling and unique situation for the Elf. Legolas never before had to pursue a maiden. . . and certainly not thru the kitchens.
Thankfully, Pallanén was passing thru the bakery when he saw the Prince and directed him to the lower storeroom. Standing in the doorway, if it wasn’t for the fact he was intimately acquainted with every curve and line of her body, Legolas wouldn’t have recognized his lover buried halfway in the barrel.   : : : :
“Legolas?! You’re back!” the Prince released his hold on Jordan’s wrist and removed the pick from her hand. Jordan was about to throw her arms around his neck when she hesitated, not wanting to dirty him or his clothes. Legolas solved her dilemma by kissing her thoroughly before he nuzzled her neck, making her laugh.
“Did you miss me?” Legolas teasingly asked, looking her over with a smile on his beautiful face.
The Elf raised a brow at her appearance. Jordan’s black hair and face was coated with a dusting of yellow-white flour. The front of her damp tunic was crusty with it as well. As far as the Elf was concerned, all was well in Middle Earth. His dear friend, Gimli, was safe with him in Imladris, Elessar had risen above the failures of his forebears, fulfilled his destiny as the rightful King of Gondor and wed his heart’s desire, the Evenstar. As for Legolas, the woman he desired above all others, was in his arms once more -- though not quite in the way he imagined.
“What would you say if I said ‘no’?” Jordan asked before kissing his cheek.
“That you lie.” Legolas replied, hoping for this very reception -- minus a pick in the neck, of course.
“Prove it.” she challenged.
“I will.” The Elf promised suggestively against her cheek before setting his lover on her feet. Legolas put his fists on his hips, cocked his head and studied the woman before him.
“After you’ve had a bath.” He added with a grin.
“I’m almost done.” Jordan said.
Needless to say, Jordan didn’t make the Elf wait too long, especially since her lover made short work of the task that remained; soon they were on their way; the Apprentices paused in their duties as the Mirkwood Elf and the Woman passed thru the kitchens. Lady Jordan’s flour coated face was clean around the lips and neck, while the Prince’s face was smudged with it in the corresponding areas. Smiling, the Elves returned to their work.
- 22
- 23
- 24
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer below.

Only One