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
- 25
- 26
- 27
  Not since his earliest memories, when he first roamed the lands -- watching the earth in its infancy change and evolve . . . doing his small part in history as nations rose and fell, did the Ancient One feel as he did now. Though told by the One who had been there of its splendor, never in his wildest imaginings could the Immortal believe a place such as Rivendell existed. But it did -- and Imladris, the Last Homely House, managed to do the impossible: Methos, the oldest, most jaded and cynical of Immortals, held his breath in wonder. The Elven haven of beauty and calm truly was a land to be experienced firsthand -- if possible. Leaning on his forearms, the Horseman idly watched the roaring waterfall a while longer, before turning his naked back on the spectacular landscape falling into shadow. The man reached into the armoire, removed a tunic and pulled it over his head, then shrugged into his overcoat, adjusting the weight of his hidden sword before he stepped into the hallway.
                  Though time stood still and decay restrained, the Horseman could not wait to leave this enchanted enclave of peace. There was no reprieve from the Buzz, the internal herald of potential doom. Unless Methos was expecting the Immortal triggering the alarm, he always chose flight. Others call it cowardice; the Eldest knew his legendary head – his collective knowledge, experience and power he possessed, would be an impressive feather in a younger Immortal’s cap. For over five millennia, the Eldest walks the earth. The Ancient One did not reach his ripe old age by making foolish decisions; he chose his battles wisely; in his time, on his terms. Survival is not assured by the strongest sword arm -- the Eldest wholly believed possessing the quickest wit -- the ability to adapt, blend in and, when necessary -- evade the enemy in order to live another day, another century. In Rivendell, the Buzz’ continuous alarm set him on edge, rendering him unable to relax for mere moments at a time.
                  Methos sauntered along, nodding in greeting to the Elves he passed; the Eldest’s leisurely strides slowed when he recognized the mural on the wall. He thoughtfully studied the composition; depicted in shades of grey and set against a barren landscape filled with sharp, craggy rocks, the pitifully impotent figure sprawled on his back was surrounded by shards of his devastated weapon, yet he raised the shattered sword -- hoping to ward off the monstrous, menacing figure looming over him. The Immortal respected and admired the Man’s desire to die fighting. Curiously, though the sword was broken, it still radiated light, bravely illuminating the oppressive gloom.
“So, this is where it comes from.” The Immortal murmured to himself. That was one puzzle solved. The Ancient’s eyes were drawn to the stone image directly across from the mural; the shield the figure held in its arms identical to the shield in Gregory’s private office.
“Clever old goat.” Methos chuckled as he walked around the statue. Watching the Elves below glide gracefully about their business, his thoughts returned to that day in the village of Bree. . .
: : : :   The Prancing Pony
The Stables
                  “We’ve come to take her home.” Methos added. Sifting thru his memories, the Eldest knew the twin Elves to be of importance.
                  Ah, their names, their names--what are they? Elmer and Eldan. No, no -- its Elwin and Elmo. . . bloody hell! Methos thought, keeping his frustration to himself.
                  Able to recall memories long past with extraordinary clarity and detail, after encountering numerous individuals over the millennia, even the Eldest occasionally had difficulty remembering names. Methos privately dubbed the more serious of the twins ‘Tweedle Dee’, and the one who held Joe, ‘Tweedle Dum’. After Tweedles Dee and Dum decided Joe is not a wizard -- nor Lady Jordan was somehow trapped by enchantment -- did they release the Watcher to his friends and sheath their long knives. Tweedle Dee examined the leg of their injured companion, who, like the Watcher was seated upon a bale of hay, his injured leg extended; the Outlanders’ attackers spoke in the musical language that stirred the Ancient One’s memory. Fluent in Hieroglyphics, Russian, French, Italian, Swahili, Lithuanian, Aramaic, Arabic, Coptic, Farsi and Latin, Methos’ long unused Elvish required an incredible amount of concentration, and all the Eldest’s linguistic skill to follow the Elves’ conversation. Methos was pulled from his memories at Joe’s colorful cursing. While their attackers conversed amongst themselves, the Eldest took the opportunity to check Joe’s wound. Removing the handkerchief, the Watcher held to his neck; the Ancient One saw the laceration, though deeper than he initially thought, was clean.
“Crazy bastards. What the hell they think they’re doin’?” The Watcher muttered angrily under his breath as he swatted the Ancient One’s hands away.
“You’ll be fine, Joe.” the Immortal said, keeping his grin to himself as the younger man snatched the handkerchief back from the Horseman.
The Watched dabbed softly at his neck wound, grimacing from the pain; it hurt like a paper cut times ten. Of course, it did not compare to having your legs blown off by a land mine, but it still hurt -- like hell. The Watcher now had a better understanding of how Immortals felt when a blade was at their throat. It was very . . . frightening.
“I’ve lived many lives; seen and done . . . things most people could not – would not understand.” The Ancient One murmured thoughtfully.
“Yeah, so?” Joe grunted.
“So add this to the list.” Methos said briskly under his breath.
“You will come with us.” The quieter twin commanded; the Immortals and Watcher exchanged glances.
“Pouvons-nous leur faire confiance (can we trust them)?” the younger Immortal asked the Ancient.
“Je ne pense pas que nous avons beaucoup d'un choix (I don’t think we have much choice), MacLeod; Ils savent où elle est (they know where she is).” Methos replied.
The motley group returned to the Prancing Pony, where they were shown to a private parlor. There, the Immortals spoke freely with their new ‘acquaintances’. Over another round of drinks, they learned the name of the dark clad man, Breiric, a Ranger from the North; the more serious of the twin, Elrohir and his brother, Elladan --Elves from the realm called ‘Rivendell’. Though the Elves and Ranger admitted to having seen Jordie alive, they would say no more. After learning more of the Immortals’ and Watcher’s quest, it was agreed between all parties, at daybreak, the twin Elves and Ranger would escort the Outlanders to Imladris. Taking their leave for the night, the Hobbit, Nob, led the Immortals and Watcher upstairs and down a narrow hallway. Swinging the door open, the Hobbit revealed a room simply furnished
“Well, gentlemen, this is on me.” Methos said, his gaze sweeping about the rustic room. It did not matter, for they would not be staying long enough to worry about comfort.
“Must be the presidential suite.” Joe said dryly, looking down at the colorful nosegays on the beds
“Big spender.” The Highlander commented.
Methos smiled and made for the bed closest to the window. His attention was drawn back when the Highlander cleared his throat, and directed a pointed look at the Hobbit.
“Oh, yeah . . . here you go.” Methos gave the little fellow a silver coin, which Nob clutched tightly, his tiny face beaming with joy as he tucked it into his waistcoat pocket.
“If you need anything, sir, I’ll be helpin’ you.” Nob said eagerly.
“I’ll remember that.” Methos said, watching the Hobbit close the door.
“You were robbed, Old Man. I don’t see any mints on the pillows.” Joe said with a smirk.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Methos?” Duncan asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I get first dibs on the restroom.” Methos replied with a grin. His expression became serious as he studied the Clansman.
“I think you already know.” The Eldest added before the Watcher spoke up and before the Highlander could reply.
“Well, I don’t. What the hell is going on here, anyways?” Joe asked.
“We’re not in France anymore, Joe.” Methos replied; the smile in his eyes belied his bland tone.
“Oh, really? I was beginning to think there was something different about this place.” The Watcher said sarcastically, feigning surprise.
“The attack in the forest should’ve tipped me off. No, no – wait! Getting my neck sliced by Mr. Spock should’ve given it away -- where the hell are we anyways?!”
“More like ‘when are we’, Methos.” The Highlander added.
“I don’t know; this place is about 2,000 years before my time.” The Ancient One replied honestly as he turned to leave.
“Where you going?” Duncan asked
“To take a leak. You coming with?” Methos rejoined smoothly.
“I want answers, Methos.” The Highlander said. Reining in his irritation, Methos turned back towards the younger Immortal and answered.
“Your very expensive, very accurate watch stopped, MacLeod. Our mobile phones do not work. There is no electricity here. Elves exist. We’re not in France anymore, Highlander.”
“I already know that, Methos; what I want to know is how did you know they could help us?” Duncan asked stonily.
“He’s smarter than he looks, Joe.” The Eldest commented sarcastically to the Watcher, before turning back to the younger Immortal.
“I did not. I still do not. It was just a lucky guess.” The Ancient One replied, shrugging.
“Lucky guess, my ass!” Joe snorted, ignoring the exasperated look from the Antediluvian. Somehow the Watcher didn’t think the Eldest was being entirely forthcoming with the truth.
“You know, you knowing everything gets to be a huge pain in the ass.” The Highlander said.
“I don’t know everything . . . just a lot of things.” The Eldest clarified.
“And what about all this? You always know more than you say -- why didn’t you say something before?” Duncan prodded.
“As I said before: some things are meant to be. Others need to be played out.” Methos replied, still not looking at the younger Immortal.
“You sure can be a big pain in the ass. Especially when you think you’re right.” Duncan said.
“Funny, I could say the same about you.” The Eldest countered.
“What – that I’m right?” the Clansman retorted.
“No, that you’re a big pain in the ass.” Methos answered glibly.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to laugh?” the Highlander returned.
“This is the part where I answer nature’s call without further interruption, MacLeod – unless, of course, you wish to continue this conversation as I take care of business – and if you do, I insist that you respect me in the morning --” Methos said.
“Settle down, children and play nice in the sandbox.” Joe interrupted.
The Highlander shot his Elder a dark look before sitting on his bed. Testing the firmness of the mattress, Duncan snatched the nosegay from the pillow and buried his nose in it. The Ancient One turned back.
“I suggest we rest while we can. Morning will come soon enough, and we ride out first light.”: : : :
Pushing away from the shadowed alcove, the Immortal made his way down the stairs. The Ancient One’s steps brought him outside to a semi-private alcove. Methos took a seat upon the carved bench, his mind replaying their arrival in Imladris. . .
                  :::: The Horseman stretched; reaching beneath his overcoat, Methos massaged his aching bum. He could use a hot soak right about now. As for the Watcher, upon their arrival in a wide open courtyard, the Immortals silently watched as a beautiful she-Elf with chestnut brown hair seemingly glided towards them; eight male Elves were behind her, bearing stretchers, where the feverish Watcher was placed and swiftly borne away to parts unknown. Dismounting awkwardly, the limping, ashen-faced Ranger was helped onto the other stretcher and taken away as well. About to follow their friend, the Immortals came to a halt when the she-Elf, whose name Elrohir informed them was Læurenthail, raised a slender hand. After assuring the Men their friend would be well cared for, the maiden turned and left without a backward glance.
Methos and the Highlander glanced at one another before Elrohir indicated the Immortals should follow him. As the Ancient and the Chieftain’s Son followed the Elf, they looked around, returning the curious glances of the Rivendell Elves who paused to stare openly at the Outlanders. The Immortals were taken to one of the highest structures perched on the steep cliff side, where they were instructed to wait. There were no other Elves in sight, yet the Immortals knew unseen eyes watched their every move. It would be foolish to assume otherwise. The Highlander fixed his Elder with a look that spoke volumes.
“Why are we here, Methos?” Duncan asked in a low voice.
“Because the Half-Elf should be able to help us, MacLeod.” Methos said, walking the length of the balcony.
“Where did you learn to speak their language?” the Clansman asked.
“In England.” The Horseman replied with a smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day, pup.” He turned away before the Highlander could ask another question.
The Ancient One studied the architecture with an appreciative eye. Nature’s fair hand shrouded the Elven haven in beauty; the mist rising from the many waterfalls caught the brilliant fingers of light reaching over the graceful gabled roofs and the towers of Rivendell, bending and refracting the beams into numerous rainbows that danced above the rushing waters in a stunning display of light and color.
“Adam . . .” The Highlander called to the Eldest when the twins reappeared -- one on either side of a regal Elf, whom they bore a strong resemblance to.
“My Lord, this is Adam, Son-of-Pier and Duncan of Mack Loud’s Clan; Joe, Son-of-Daw and the Dúnedain were brought to the Healer.” Elrohir addressed the one named Elrond. After the introductions were made, the Elves withdrew to a more discrete distance and spoke amongst themselves as the Immortals waited.
“Que disent-ils (what are they saying)?” Duncan asked the Eldest.
“Je ne sais pas (I don’t know); Je ne peux pas entendre tout le lui (I can’t hear all of it). En outre, qu'importe-t-il (Besides, what does it matter)? L'une ou l'autre manière, nous n'obtiendrons pas loin sans leur aide (we won’t get far without their help).” Methos replied before he turned away once more.
Gazing out at the many waterfalls and lower structures, Methos looked out from the aerie; the researcher in him marveled at Rivendell’s structures. Skilled in basic archaeology, hieroglyphics, Cuneiform and Phoenician, this mystical culture fascinated the Immortal, for the Ancient One could plainly see faint traces of Elvish influence in the ancient cultures. The Eldest turned back, about to comment to the Highlander when he noticed two individuals coming towards them. Methos watched with interest as another Elf joined them; this one was blonde where the twins were dark, and at his side was a stout fellow, built like a barrel, whose gruff manner matched his outward looks perfectly. Methos knew exactly who they were, though he gave no outward indication. This time, it was Elladan who performed the introductions. Prince Legolas of the Mirkwood Realm and Gimli, son of Glóin, exchanged brief glances when the Highlander and the Eldest were introduced. Methos noticed that the blonde Elf’s gaze lingered on the Highlander, as if sizing him up.
So much for a small, intimate reunion. The Ancient One thought wryly to himself. Methos’ attention was diverted when the Ruler addressed the Ancient One.
“Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie (do you speak Elvish)?” Lord Elrond asked the Eldest.
“Farn henia, hîr nín (enough to understand, my Lord).” Methos replied.
“Mankoi naa lle sinome (why are you here)?” Lord Elrond asked the Ancient One.
“We search for a Woman. His kin.” Methos answered with a nod towards the Highlander.
The Peredhil turned to the Highlander and studied him thoughtfully. Duncan steadily returned the Ruler’s gaze; Lord Elrond excused himself when a servant came and approached the Ruler, whispering into the Peredhil’s ear. When next the Elf Lord appeared, Elrond had in tow the woman the Highlander sought. Methos could not help but feel slightly nervous as he, along with the others gathered, silently watched the reunion of the Highlander and his Student, wondering what manner reception he would receive, for when they parted, the Ancient One and weren’t exactly on the best of terms.
“How did you find me?” Jordan asked excitedly.
“. . . if it wasn’t for Adam, we couldn’t have found you.”
“Adam? Adam who?” Jordan asked. Steeling himself, the Eldest decided it was time to make his presence known.
“Am I that easy to forget?” Methos asked, watching Jordan’s reaction.    : : : :
The Ancient One realized torches had been lit, aglow against the gathering darkness while he walked in his thoughts. Methos looked up in time to catch a glimpse of a dark head with long hair. The Immortal stood, and was about to call out to the lady, but the words froze upon his lips. She was too tall to be her, the hair was dark brown, not black – and the ears were pointed. Methos jammed his hands in his overcoat pockets and realized that he very much wanted to know where matters stood between he and Jordan. The Highlander was not the only one who had come for Jordan Waters.
- 25
- 26
- 27
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