Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Darkness slowly gives way to consciousness as Jordan comes to; sound . . . awareness. . . sensation. . . . . pain. Unmoving, eyes closed, Jordan mentally does a body systems check. Feeling like a jitney has struck her again, Jordan has a monumental headache to boot; otherwise, she is physically intact. Until it passes, the throbbing pain in her head is reason enough for Jordan to remain still. Surely the Highlander came to her rescue (again) and laid her on the chaise lounge outside on the patio; however, Jordan does not remember the cushions feeling so hard and uncomfortable.
Not good; first the stabbing, now a fainting spell.
Drawing an unsteady breath, instead of the comforting smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the convenience store’s deli, the scent of . . . soil – rich and moist fills her nose; she wonders if Duncan has recently fertilized his plants.
No . . . she decides . . . it can’t be, for it’d smell like dung.
Jordan frowns and listens; there is no rattle of dishes and flatware being washed . . . no music coming from the Highlander’s sound system, nor is the television reporting the news. Instead of automobile traffic, is the sound of many leaves rustling in a soft breeze; songbirds, not seagulls call. She faintly hears the sound of running water. Slowly opening her eyes, Jordan blinks against the sudden brightness; instead of brick and concrete structures, she is looking up at an immense canopy of green towering above her, with a bit of the blue sky peeking thru the lacy foliage. Her eyes dart about in alarm.
Duncan doesn’t have a whole slew of trees on his patio.
She isn’t on a lounge chair on the Highlander’s patio, nor is she lying on the concrete sidewalk outside the convenience store -- but on the mossy, leaf covered floor of a . . . forest. With a groan, Jordan forces herself to roll over on all fours; she pauses, waiting for a wave of dizziness to pass. In her clenched right hand, the smashed remains of her peanut butter cup squishes through her fingers, rapidly melting from the heat of her hand.
“Waste not, want not.” She murmurs before consuming the remains of her candy.
I should’ve bought a sandwich.
“Duncan . . . ?” She tentatively calls out. “This isn’t funny anymore. If this if part of my training, don’t you think it’s a bit much?”
Jordan rubs the back of her head and stretches the cords of her neck, relieved when it eases the pain. The sound of birds calling ceases then resumes. Hearing no voices, Jordan determines she is indeed alone -- At least for the moment.
Okay, this is obviously another test. Maybe he wants to see if I remember how to live off the land. Fine.
Knowing Duncan will show himself when he deems the time right, Jordan climbs to her feet, unconcerned but thoroughly annoyed with the whole scenario. Dusting herself off, she finds her weapons intact, her chocolates are still in her overcoat pockets. Jordan combs her fingers through her long hair, trying to undo the tangles; looking around, the woman would’ve been delighted with her surroundings, if not for the unusual circumstances.
“There’s something . . . different about this place.” Jordan whispers to herself.  The ancient, primeval feeling is accentuated by hazy sunlight filtering through the leaves. She doesn’t remember being in this part of the woods in Seacouver.
This must be a location only Duncan knows. Why can’t I feel him?
Confident the Highlander will find her, Jordan decides to explore, knowing the Buzz will alert her to Duncan’s presence, and vice versa. She considers which direction to take. Deciding to go west, Jordan is thankful for her well worn, knee-length black boots, which are padded by thick cotton socks.
Not the best choice for hiking; at least I won’t get blisters…hopefully.
Listening closely and enjoying the sounds of the forest, Jordan walks at a leisurely pace; her booted footsteps make little noise. Feeling thirsty, Jordan follows the sound of water.
Where there’s water, there should be people.
Jordan walks on, certain she’ll have the last laugh and prove to the Highlander that her (at least in her own mind) excellent sense of direction will lead her back to civilization. She still can’t figure out how or why she fainted; Jordan has never fainted before in her life -- unless she counts the time Duncan first told her about her Immortality. Remembering Duncan’s admonition to be ever alert, Jordan listens to the sounds around her, noting the absence of the Buzz. By the position of the sun, she estimates she has been walking for almost two hours. When the sun begins its downward descent, Jordan tries to quell the growing sense of unease.
Great. It’s been over forty years since I had to start a fire, and I’m not even sure where I am; never mind that I don’t have anything to start it with!
Coming to a small stream, Jordan purses her lips and considers the water.   Cupping her hands together, she is about to drink, but hesitates.
I wonder what kind of germs, microbes and other nasties are in the water? A filtration kit would be nice. It may not kill me, but it can make me really ill. Oh well.
Grimacing, her thirst is greater than her concern, and she tentatively drinks. Surprised at the sweet, clear taste, Jordan slakes her thirst and splashes the cool water onto her face and neck. Refreshed, she resumes her walk; Jordan hasn’t gone far when she hears the rapid approach of many heavy footsteps. Hiding behind a tree, Jordan watches as the owners came into view and almost laughs out loud.
The make up crew of this flick is amazing. I’m not about to get yelled at for ruining this take
Looking around, Jordan carefully searches the landscape, her eyes narrow in concentration. She does not see the production crew -- no camera booms, key grips or best boys are in sight. The actors come to a halt 300 yards away; they appear to be having a rather heated discussion, their words carry on the wind, muffled and guttural sounding -- no doubt caused by their prosthetics. Lest she be caught, fined for trespassing or worse yet, escorted from the location set, Jordan deems it best to leave unnoticed; too late does she hear the snap of the twig as she turns. Jordan is quickly lifted by her throat and slammed with great force against the tree she is hiding behind. Her breath whooshes painfully out of her lungs. Clutching the thick wrist at her throat in an effort to ease the painful grip, Jordan’s feet dangle clear of the ground below; she is unable to draw a breath. Jordan claws frantically at the thick fingers tightening around her neck; this actor is taking his role far too seriously.
The makeup and costume department did their jobs well. Jordan can’t but notice as the actor’s face draws closer to her own.
The eyes are yellow, with strange pupils, the skin charred black; oddly, he reeks with the unmistakable stench of decay and some other unidentifiable odor. Fanged, crooked teeth appear as its lips draw back in a frightful snarl, giving her a closer than desired view of his astonishingly detailed dental prosthetics; his wig boasts dirty, matted hair clinging to it’s scalp. The Jordan’s eyes begin to bulge and her lungs scream for air. It is time to teach him some manners. Letting go of his wrists, Jordan digs her thumbs into her attacker’s eyes and swiftly rabbit kicks out with her feet, catching him in his midsection and groin, pushing with her legs against his chest. He howls, doubled over in pain, clutching his face as she drops to the ground. Jordan rolls away, gasping for breath as she rubs her bruised throat, a torrent of choice swear words ready on her lips . . . however, the actor now holds a strange scimitar and is coming straight at her with it, the intent in his eyes unmistakable.
“I’ve one, too.” Jordan croaks. The actor speaks, but the prosthetics makes his words a guttural snarl. Pulling out her Katana, Jordan deflects the blow. They circle each other warily.
“Look, you’re the one who didn’t play nice first! I didn’t ruin the take, and I’m sorry if I was in the way -- I’ll leave, and no one will know any better. I wn’t even ask for an autograph.” She says, trying to appease the actor. Instead, he comes at her again. This time, there is more force behind his blow.
“I don’t want to ruin your costume, but you’re asking for it, buddy.” She warns.
Jordan slices at his abdomen with her own return strike. Her Katana easily slashes thru the tough leather into the flesh below; Jordan can’t help but feel a glimmer of satisfaction. The growl of pain from the actor is unlike anything she’s heard man utter. Jordan glances at the blood coating her blade; it is thick, black and viscous, not red. Hoping it is part of the makeup, she blocks another thrust, ducking and lightly stepping aside as he swings his scimitar at her head. Now she is angry.
“I can play rough, too.” Jordan says, grabbing a shuriken.
Tucking her back leg high for maximum impact, she launches into a jumping round kick; whirling, Jordan follows thru with her shuriken, slashing his cheek in one efficient move. As he shrieks in pain, her eyes grow wide in disbelief as dark blood wells from the deep cut she inflicted.
“Whoa—this is real! He must be a scout.” Jordan whispers to herself.
She needs to end this, before his friends come. Horrified, Jordan quickly beheads the creature; its black blood sprays in pulsating bursts, some of it splashes onto her as the body falls to the ground. Not waiting to see how long it will take his companions to discover them, Jordan quickly flicks the tarry blood from her blade; she sheaths her weapons as she turns and sprints away as swiftly and silently as she can.
Duncan! Where the hell are you?! Jordan thinks desperately as she runs.
Ducking beneath tree limbs, heedless of her direction, Jordan dares not look over her shoulder; she needs to put as much distance between herself and those . . . creatures.
Behind her are animal-like howls and grunts, the air pierced by their screeches; heavy footfalls crunch and trample undergrowth, snapping tree branches as her pursuers rapidly close the distance between their prey; fear gives Jordan the speed she needs, but she is tiring. Running has never been a favorite sport or activity for Jordan; it does not help matters that her footwear is ill suited for her current needs. Jordan knows she is in trouble; she can’t outrun them, and she is unfamiliar with the terrain.
So be it.
Coming to an abrupt stop in a small clearing, the thoroughly winded woman braces her hands on her knees and attempts to catch her breath, not bothering to brush away the hair plastered to her sweaty face – there is no time. Quickly she turns to meet the threat; assuming a fighting stance, she readies her shuriken in one hand, her Katana gripped firmly in the other. Raising her sword to her lips, it gleams in the sunlight as she places a kiss on the blade above the hilt.
Strength, my friend and defender . . .
Eyes closed, Jordan clears her mind, breathing in deeply and slowly, willing her heart and pulse rate to slow . . . Focused on the coming battle, she does not notice the leaf suspended around her neck begin to glow. The creatures are almost upon her. As they appear in the clearing, a brilliant flash of light momentarily blinds her pursuers; strangely, Jordan isn’t affected. Using it to her advantage, Jordan draws back and throws a sidearm fastball, swiftly letting fly four of her shuriken, pleased to see them deeply imbedded in their targets.
The horrific creatures clutch their throats as they fall to the ground, where they lay twitching and then become still. Enraged to see their slain companions, the remaining creatures rush en masse towards the frightened woman, their weapons drawn as the bright light fades.
#
The War of the Ring is over. The Dark Lord Sauron defeated; through the free lands still roam renegade bands of Orcs and Uruk-hai -- the scattered remnants of the Dark Army once commanded by the White Wizard Saruman, before his defeat at the hands of Gandalf the White.
Mounted on a pale horse sits Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood; Gimli, son of Glóin sits on the smaller gelding that carries their supplies. The two Members of the Fellowship, en route to the Last Homely House west of the Mountains -- the Elven land of Rivendell, pause when Legolas’ heightened senses prickle with awareness. Listening to the whispers of the trees.
“There is a strange presence in the woods, danger is near.” Legolas murmurs. A bright flash of light catches their attention. Gimli harrumphs and says to his companion, “What say you we look for the source of yonder light? ‘Tis been a while since we’ve had some adventure.”
Turning his head, Legolas flashes the Dwarf a half smile; the gleam in the handsome Elf’s eyes belies his eagerness.   Whispering Elvish words into his mount’s ear, Arod snorts in response and breaks into a swift gallop towards the flash of light. Tied to Arod, Gimli’s mount keeps pace. As they near, the sounds of combat greet them. Without a backwards glance to the Elf, Gimli falls off his mount’s back and rolls to his feet, his battle-axe drawn and ready as he sprints towards the sounds; the Dwarf’s enthusiasm for battle is shared by his companion.
Legolas leaps off Arod’s back, nocking his great war-bow – a cherished gift from Lady Galadriel herself -- without breaking his stride. What greets them is a sight, indeed. Before them is a slip of a Man, more likely a youth, with exceptionally long hair, battling two Orcs simultaneously. It is a decidedly uneven match, for the Orcs are sporting with the youth; in order to prolong their amusement with their newfound plaything, the fell companions do not converge upon the Man, but wait a short distance away, snarling their impatience while waiting for their chance to jump into the fray.
Something about the scene troubles the Elf. He notes the bodies of slain Orcs, yet the youth is alone. Legolas wonders where the stranger’s companion is.
Slain? Mayhap that is the reason the youth is left to fight by himself, the Wood Elf muses.
Spying the two arrivals, the waiting Orcs rush to engage them, weapons drawn and bloodlust in their evil eyes.
“They’re mine!” roars Gimli, as he fearlessly rushes to meet them.
Knowing the Dwarf is in no immediate danger, Legolas observes the stranger’s unusual fighting style, his bow at the ready. The Orc on the Man’s right is about to deal him a fatal blow to the ribs when Legolas shoots him with a well-placed arrow. He watches the Man run the other Orc through with his unusual sword.
Perhaps the Man possesses some skill with the sword after all. Legolas allows.
Driven by the fierce will to survive, Jordan fights the creature before her; however, she is unused to fighting multiple opponents for extended periods of time. Only one Immortal at a time is allowed to challenge another.
The rules of the Game obviously don’t apply here
Arms aching, her hair and body drenched in sweat, Jordan is tired. Her return strikes are more defensive than offensive; she feels the Buzz of Duncan’s arrival. Jordan could’ve cried with relief when the creature on her right sprouted an arrow from its head before falling to the ground. The others have thankfully rushed off to engage Duncan.   Fighting with renewed energy, Jordan doggedly concentrates on the creature before her.
He’s strong. The Immortal grudgingly thinks as she blocks a strike aimed at her ribs.
The Orc’s momentary distraction with his companion’s demise gives her the opportunity she needs; Jordan brings her blade up and runs him through the abdomen with her sword. Breathing hard, she allows herself a grim smile of satisfaction as he lets out a shriek; it quickly disappears when he grabs her blade, pulling it—and her—closer, before he backhands her across the face. The blow snaps Jordan’s head around and sends her spinning to the ground, where she lands hard.
You really do see stars.
Dazed, shaking her head to clear her vision, Jordan desperately wants nothing more than to rest and catch her breath, but the creature above her has an arrow in its throat, and is in the process of falling on top of her. Not wanting to get impaled and die in front of Duncan yet again, she forces her tired limbs to move. Scrambling away, Jordan doesn’t get far as she is firmly yet gently pulled away and set on her feet. Jordan’s exhaustion is replaced by righteous anger that infuses her body with renewed strength as she turns to give Duncan a well-deserved tongue-lashing.
“Duncan--”
Only it isn’t Duncan who stands before her. Shocked, Jordan takes an involuntary step backward and stumbles over a dead creature’s body. She would’ve fallen again, if her rescuer didn’t reach out and steady her. Her rescuer is, for lack of a better word, simply gorgeous.
Perfection. Jordan’s mind supplies.
The man’s features are flawless, symmetrical, unblemished, and…beautiful, yet masculine. Tall, lean of build, his long, blonde hair is drawn back, away from his forehead; at each temple are smaller braids, keeping his hair neatly away from his face. However, it is his eyes that mesmerize her. Strikingly blue, they make her think of the sky and the ocean on a warm summer day. Dressed in silvery brown clothes, with knee-high boots, he holds a large bow in his left hand; Jordan notes the fletching peeking from behind his shoulder, explaining the arrows in the creatures.
I hope his name isn’t Aries
Catching sight of his companion, Jordan sees he is a foot shorter than she. Stocky and powerfully built, he boasts a great mass of coarse, reddish-brown hair, making it difficult to determine where his hair ends and his beard begins. Confused, Jordan looks around, expecting to see Duncan, but it is only the three of them, and the dead bodies littering the forest floor.
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Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer below.

Only One