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
- 29
- 30
- 31
Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbits
Carrying the brace of coneys, he moved through the amber colored grass waving gracefully in the wind; silently moving thru the long blades, he tracked the miniscule movements by the low, rustling sounds unheard by human ears. Legolas picked up a small stone and tossed it into the turf. Lifting his bow, he fitted an arrow to the string as the birds took flight; with one smooth movement, Legolas drew back, took aim and released. Amidst a flurry of feathers, the ptarmigan fell from the sky; he let fly additional arrows, and more unfortunate birds plummeted downwards. Collecting his projectiles, Legolas closely examined each individual shaft for damage, running his long fingers over the feathered fletching, before slipping them into his quiver. Mortals. Legolas wondered why he bothered with them; as quickly as it came, he dismissed the uncharitable thought from his mind. Legolas knew exactly why he bore with Mortals. One in particular holds his heart with an iron grip; that he still has not received an answer from his heart's desire did not sit well with him at all. Contrary to what his Sire believed, the Scion of Thranduil knows his existence will be very dull indeed, without the Mortals who briefly journey with him on his long life's path. Aragorn, Gimli, and those descended from the house of Théoden, enrich Legolas' life -more than the Elf ever believed possible. Legolas turned his attention back to the fowl; pulling up several blades of grass, he trussed the birds together by their feet. Walking lightly through the knee-high grasses, his search yielded several nests hidden from sight. Using more of the long grass, Legolas quickly wove them together, fashioning a carrying basket. Deftly, he placed the eggs inside and cushioned the fragile shells with the nesting materials. Pursing his lips, Legolas whistled, the sound long and piercing. The rhythmic canter of hooves announced Arod's arrival; with a sharp snort and a toss of his head, the horse pranced closer to his Elf-friend. Grasping the beast's bridle, Legolas stroked his mount's velvety nose absently.
"And where have you been?" Legolas asked his friend. Arod neighed and pawed at the ground.
"Really?" The Elf said.
Legolas was about to tie the fowl to the back of the saddle when Arod stepped away. The Elf attempted once more to secure the birds and rabbits. Once again, the beast stepped aside and tugged gently on the reins. Legolas smiled at his horse's antics.
"Do not fret, Arod; your mare will be there when we arrive." the Elf assured his friend as he gave the horse's rump an affectionate slap. Arod whinnied, snorted and tossed his head, baring his teeth and showing the whites of his eyes; nonetheless, he stilled, allowing his Elf to secure his kill to the saddle.
"Shall we go meet them?" Legolas asked the horse before gracefully leaping into the saddle; grasping the reins loosely, Arod chose their path.
Galloping up a knoll, horse and rider came to a stop on the summit. Scanning the magnificent, windswept flatlands before him, in the distance, a company of horsemen a league away, galloping towards them. He recognized the lead Rider in the front to be the Marshal of the East-mark. Legolas waited until the Riders to drew nearer, before urging Arod down the knoll; when two hundred yards apart, the Rohirrim raised his long spear in the air. As a unit, the company slowed, and then came to a stop. Legolas spoke softly to Arod, who also slowed to a walk, giving the Marshal time to recognize the lone figure.
"My Lord Legolas!" the Rider called in salutation.
Elfhelm, the Marshall of the East-mark, swung off his horse and walked towards the Mirkwood Elf. Legolas also dismounted. Behind Elfhelm, the Rohirrim relaxed into more comfortable positions atop their mounts; their spears still poised and at the ready. Legolas did not comment on their continued vigilance, noting how the Riders eyes scanned the horizon, as if expecting an attack at any moment; they would not be caught unawares.
"Greetings, Elfhelm. What news of the Mark?" Legolas asked.
"We ride to Meduseld, my Lord, to give news to Éomer King of stragglers from the Dark Army. We still repel Strangers from the Mark."
"'Stragglers' and 'Strangers'?" the Elf inquired.
"Yes, my Lord. We have confirmed reports of bands of Easterlings and Haradrhrim in Rohan, and of the villagers' livestock killed."
"By what?"
"Something big - The tracks show a large animal; we believe wolves, possibly wargs are the culprit." Elfhelm replied. Legolas' dark brow rose slightly as the Marshall continued to speak.
"Cattle and horses are missing, killed or partially eaten. Several horses were found with their bellies torn open." The Horseman's voice was tight with suppressed anger; his own mount, a gift from his departed Sire, was one of them.
"Orcs?" Legolas asked.
"'Tis hard to say, my Lord - but we scout for them." Elfhelm replied. Something in the man's eyes, the unease in the tone of the Marshall's voice caught the Elf's attention.
"There is more, is there not?" Legolas said. Elfhelm hesitated before replying.
"The villagers are frightened. Nigh a fortnight past, several reported a blight of darkness, a fell mist upon the horizon, the likes of such as was never seen . . . but there was no rain. 'Tis said it lingered but long moments, then was gone. We have also had increasing run-ins with the Wild Ones. Not long after the blight, several villages have been raided – some more than once. I myself questioned a Dunlending before he died. When asked why they were raiding our villages, he claimed it was for payment, for one of ours had killed one of theirs." Elfhelm said.
"Is that true?" The Elf asked.
"Nay, my Lord. All the villagers deny it."
"You believe them?" Legolas queried. If the Marshall took offense at the Elf's question, he had more sense than to show it.
"Aye. The village is comprised mostly of women and children. A few men are left to guard the dwellings – certainly not ones capable of the kind of killing that was done."
"The ones unfit to ride." Legolas said; the words were spoken more of an afterthought. "You've seen the bodies?" he asked.
"Aye. The killer is much skilled – not hacked to death with farm tools as one would expect, the stabs are deep . . . clean. There is something strange and terrible at work in the Riddermark, Master Elf. The old women of the villages say that 'He' has not been truly vanquished. Surely the Dark Lord is defeated . . . ? " Elfhelm's question hung in the air.
"Are the villages and dwellings protected?"
"To the best of our abilities, my Lord. We suffered heavy losses, as you know.
"Aye. I know." Legolas replied. The War of the Ring had taken many from all Races.
"I must needs divide my Eored, to see to the safety of the villages."
The Marshal's reply answered why the Riders numbered sixty, not the usual one hundred and twenty; Legolas' bright blue gaze touched briefly upon the Riders; many are but youths, their spears longer than a good portion of their wielders' height, yet the weariness lining their faces, the hardness in their eyes is that of one much older. Legolas recognized many who sat atop their beasts, from the battle of Helm's Deep. Many had now grown their first beards, as is common with Men; the facial hair resembled more the fuzz on a peach. Elfhelm, in turn, studied the fair being before him. Never in his life did he expect to see a Fair One, much less fight alongside, and witness the death of many of the First Born at the Hornburg. Elfhelm's curious gaze turned to the ptarmigan and coneys tethered to the horse's saddle.
"Do you ride alone, Prince Legolas?" he asked.
"Nay, I ride with the Gimli the Dwarf and four others." Legolas answered.
"Very good, my Lord. When shall I inform Éomer King to expect you?" the Marshal inquired.
"By the morrow. We are encamped two leagues away from here." Legolas replied.
"Employ caution, my Lord. The Riddermark is not yet cleansed from the scourge of the Dark; we have much to do in that regard." Elfhelm warned the Elf.
"Thank you, Elfhelm." With a nod to the Elf, the Rohirrim called out to his Riders.
"To Edoras!" Wheeling his horse about; the unit followed their Marshal, leaving a cloud of dust as they thundered away.
"It appears Rohan may be in need; mayhaps we could offer our assistance to a friend." Legolas said thoughtfully as he stroked his horse's neck; with a neigh, the Elf-bearer turned and trotted back to camp.
#
"Are you going to stay on the horse all night, too?" Duncan said with a chuckle; he waited to help Jordan down.
"It hurts too much to move." Jordan said, as the Highlander's rich baritone laugh filled the air.
"C'mon, down you go. Aren't you glad we're done riding for the day?" Duncan asked her as he helped her dismount.
Meeting Duncan's soulful brown eyes, Jordan smiled weakly and nodded, giving no indication of the conflicting feelings within her. Teetering on the brink of indecision, the urge to tell Duncan everything between her and the Elf is almost overwhelming. The Clansman sensed her inner turmoil, for his gaze sharpened as he studied her face.
"What is it Jordie?" Duncan asked gently, a quizzical look of concern on his face.
"I need a bath." The woman said.
"I'm sure we all do." Duncan said wryly. "Gimli should know of a watering hole to refill our canteens and get a bath. I'll ask."
Duncan gave her an affectionate, lopsided grin before going to check on the others. Jordan kicked a stone away; sighing, she stretched her legs and studied the landscape. The mountains in the distance loomed tall and majestic; across the wide-open plains are hardly any trees, but plenty of hills, knolls, crags and flat areas. In the distance, the unspoiled mountain ranges stood tall, proud and seemingly insurmountable. The semi-sheltered, rocky outcrop is to be their campsite for the night. Turning back to her task, Jordan slowly loosened the leather knots securing her sleep roll, surreptitiously watching Adam divest himself of his long, dark coat; muffled clanks could be heard as he laid it down, and rearranged the folds to disguise the odd stiffness in the fabric sheathing his sword. Adam Pierson - pale as the Highlander is swarthy, Jordan knew all too well it is a carefully crafted illusion. His lean build, often hidden beneath the loose, bulky sweaters he favored, is in reality, hard and sleek, his muscles are long and lean. With an uncanny sense of timing, Adam looked up and gave her a boyish grin, the expression softening the sharp planes of his patrician features; the charming, shy smile, complete with a flash of dimples, brought back memories she could not entirely forget. Jordan began to smile in return, before she caught herself and quickly looked away. From across his horse's back, Methos' grin widened, contemplating how Jordan's actions spoke what her words did not. As one, the Outlanders turned, in response to the wash of awareness heralding Legolas' arrival. Soon horse and rider cantered into view.
"Well, that didn't take long." Methos commented to the Highlander.
"Middle-earth equivalent to 'fast food', eh?" Duncan quipped, in an excellent mood.
The younger man looked forward to the evening, for it meant they are much closer to their destination and home – with Jordan. Legolas set the fowl and coneys down near the Watcher, before going to Jordan. Curious, Methos moved closer to the pair, while maintaining a discreet distance; Legolas glanced at the Son of Pier; the pale man squinted and shaded his eyes with his hands, studying something in the distance. The Elf turned back to Jordan, unaware how Methos gaze now focused on the Elf's lips, reading what his ears could not hear.
"Let me help you." Legolas said. Legolas removed her bedroll from the horse's back. Jordan looked up at him.
"Thank you." She replied; an awkward silence hung heavy between them, the memory of their last night in Rivendell still lingered . . .
"Bragol thalion (strength)." Legolas' terse command reinforced the privacy latch. Looking over his shoulder, he spoke again.
"Tangwa en' temple (magic lock) . . . " Legolas directed the spell towards the balcony doors, sealing them from entry or egress.
Jordan folded her arms across her chest, and shoved outward against Legolas' chest; because of the Quickenings she received, Jordan is by no means weak. However, possessing unnatural strength, many times greater than that of the average woman did not matter. Her attempt to leverage room for an escape from Legolas is like trying to move a brick wall - especially after losing the element of surprise. Capturing her wrists with his hands, Legolas easily pulled Jordan's arms from between their bodies, and held them against the door above her head; he covered them with his arms as his mouth descended upon Jordan's. His kiss held no tenderness or kind regard, only anger. Sucking her lips and nipping them sharply, Legolas' ire grew as Jordan defiantly kept her lips tightly pressed together, and moved her head from side to side. Turning her face away from his, Jordan's outraged protests were silenced when Legolas released her wrists and grasped her lower jaw in his hand, turning her face back to him. Unable to evade him, she bit his lips hard, in retaliation to his unwelcome kiss, while twisting her body wildly in an effort to sidle past him. Glaring up at him, Jordan had no choice but to open her mouth when his fingers painfully dug into her cheeks as he angled her jaw up. Legolas covered her mouth once again with his, sucking greedily on her tongue, kissing and biting, till her lips are swollen and reddened. Equally aroused and angry, Jordan employed a different tactic, Jordan braced her hands against Legolas' shoulders and brought her knees up, attempting to use her lower body strength to push him away. Unfortunately, her maneuver only allowed Legolas wedge his knee between hers, and her gown to ride up to her crotch.
Breathing heavily against Jordan's mouth, Legolas released her jaw and captured her wrists again, using one hand to hold both her wrists above her head; with his other hand, he reached beneath her gown, his hand covering the mound of her sex; he hesitated briefly when he felt the smooth skin, discovering her neatly trimmed curls gone. Jordan blushed hotly; this was not how she planned for him to discover her little surprise. Legolas slid his index and middle fingers into her slick heat, smirking widely when he discovered how wet she is. Jordan squirmed as his fingers spread her intimate folds, the pads of his fingertips traced her nether lips and teased her aching bud before plunging in and withdrawing to his first knuckle. Removing his fingers but two, Legolas pressed beneath the hood of her labia, seeking her highly sensitized nub, fingering her with hard, long strokes increasing in tempo, not letting up on his erotic assault of the hidden pearl - inwardly gloating as her hips eagerly followed his hand. Jordan bit back a hiss equal parts anger and pleasure.
"Legolas . . ." Jordan moaned; her struggling has all but ceased, as her hips involuntarily bucked beneath his fingers.
Legolas released her wrists; Jordan arms fell limp at her sides, her mind attempting to process this confusing turn of events. Reaching down, he took firm hold. A sharp, tearing noise sounded as he ripped the exquisite gown from bodice to waist, exposing her torso instantly. Jordan's passion addled mind cleared instantly.
"What are you doing?! You've ruined it!" Jordan gasped.
Furious, she pushed against his shoulders and struggled again to escape him. Legolas did not answer; instead, he continued to use his kiss and upper body to silence and hold Jordan against the door. Grasping handfuls of his golden hair, she twisted and pulled hard.
"Do not do that again." Legolas warned her.
He roughly pulled Jordan's ruined dress off her shoulders, stopping the fabric's progress just above the crook of her elbows. Reaching into her gown, his elbows to tore the remaining fabric away as he grasped her naked thighs and lifted. Despite their contest of wills, and mutual anger, Jordan's legs wrapped around Legolas' waist automatically. Driving his hips forward, Legolas forced Jordan's legs to spread wider to accommodate him more comfortably. Shrugging her dress off completely, Jordan clung to his shoulders. Legolas reached between them while she was still so distracted and pushed his breeches down around his hips, freeing his hardened member; Jordan felt the bulbous tip of his elfhood against her nether folds only before Legolas immediately rammed his length into her, hard and punishing, stretching and filling her slick walls that grasped and hugged his girth.
Ahhhhhh,. . . unghh!" Jordan cried out.
Keeping a firm hold on her thighs, Legolas pulled out and altered his position before plunging back into her, jerking his hips forward and up, making her breasts bounce with each thrust. He savagely pounded into her again and again, each time nailing her sweet spot with relentless and remorseless precision. The sound of her cries mixed with their wet nether regions slapping and grinding against each other; with every brutal and deliberate thrust of Legolas' hips, Jordan's back pressed deeper against the carved door behind her, but it did not detract from the painful pleasure he was inflicting. Angry as she is, Jordan couldn't help herself – she didn't want to enjoy their coupling - not like this – but her body seemed disconnected from her rational mind, clearly enjoying the things he is doing to her; Jordan reveled in Legolas' strength, even as he crushed her against the door.
"Don't . . you . . dare . . . stop …!" Jordan panted against his neck.
Legolas pulled his elfhood back nearly all the way out just before ramming completely back inside; lifting and lowering Jordan's buttocks, Legolas helped her ride him as she undulated and rocked her hips with wild abandon. Jordan tried to move in time with him, attempting to match the unpitying rhythm of his movement, but Legolas cruelly began to vary his strokes, his unpitying thrusts fast and vicious one moment, then slow and almost gentle and tender the next. Jordan's need for release dissipated any lingering anger she felt. Her thoughts became incoherent as her climax came irrevocably closer but never close enough.
"Please . . ." she pleaded, "Legolas . . . please . . !"
Bodies straining against each other, Legolas groaned against her neck, lost in the sensations rampaging through his body and concentrating in his groin as her hot, wet flesh enveloped him, drawing a flexing, squeezing trail of pleasure down his length. Legolas bucked his hips against Jordan's nub once more; the blood rushed from his head to his groin, the pressure building within, extending to his throbbing elfhood, preparing for release. Legolas buried his shaft to the hilt, feeling the tip of his member bump up against Jordan's cervix. His sac contracted and his essence released, thickly coating the walls of Jordan's womb in spurts. Gripping her thighs painfully tight, Legolas spread her legs wider, unrelentingly driving his hips deeper between Jordan's legs until his climaxed ended, his spent member twitching within her velvety walls; shuddering, Legolas pulled out of Jordan's slick warmth and dropped her legs before turning away, straightening his jerkin and outer tunic. Without his support, Jordan slid to the floor, bewildered. Propped up by the door, she barely felt the cold floor beneath her, still burning with desire; she stared at Legolas' back - not quite believing he would leave her like this.
"lietha guldur (dispel magic)" Legolas commanded; he still felt lightheaded from the force of his climax. It will be a few moments before his elfhood softened.
"Legolas . . . ?" Jordan tentatively called to him as she climbed to her feet, her first steps unsteady. Thankfully, she did not have to walk far before she reached him.
"Please don't be like this, Legolas." Jordan said. Her soft plea was met with stony silence. Legolas refused to look at her as he tucked his now flaccid member into his breeches.
Unsure what to say, Jordan turned away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. A self-satisfied smirk graced his lips at the sight of the door's carvings perfectly pressed into the flesh of Jordan's back and shoulder blades; he watched the glistening path of his seed trailing down her thighs, marking her as his. The silence stretched too long for Jordan's comfort.
"Fine - maybe Adam will finish what you started!" Jordan spat.
Spinning on her heel, Jordan went to the armoire and reached for a gown and pulled it on; quickly, she smoothed the gown's folds.Turning around, Jordan instantly regretted her hasty words, for she found herself alone in her chamber, with the balcony doors wide open . . .
"You will join me tonight; we have much to discuss. I will come for you after nightfall." Legolas said quietly.
Jordan nodded solemnly in agreement. Legolas deserved an answer. She knew she is deliberately avoiding the issue at hand, unwilling to make a decision. Either way, someone will get hurt. Blue eyes searched green, wondering what the other is thinking. Legolas had been patient; the rest of their lives could no longer wait. Jordan watched Legolas walk away with a heavy heart, before preparing her bedroll for the night.
You're not going anywhere tonight, Jordan. Methos thought to himself.
#
Tipping his water skin to his lips, Gimli frowned when nothing came out of it; upending it, the Dwarf gave the skin a few hard shakes.
"Blast!" the Dwarf muttered.
"You may have the rest of my water; it isn't much - is there a stream nearby?" Jordan asked as she passed her canteen to Gimli.
"Aye, not far from here." Gimli replied, raising the skin to his lips.
"We can all use a refill before it gets dark; I'll water the horses as well." Methos volunteered. "If you'll tell me the direction to go." he added; before tipping his head back, Gimli motioned with his head the direction the tall man should ride. Rolling his eyes at the Dwarf's vague that a way, Methos shrugged into his overcoat, and went to gather the containers and horses.
"Hey, way to step up to the plate, Adam." Duncan said.
"Anything for a friend, MacLeod." He said with a benign smile.
Securing the reins of the horses, Methos set off towards the stream; the vast grasslands and plains stirred feelings of nostalgia for the former Horseman; he rode until the horses picked up the smell of the water, quickening their pace until they reached their destination. The thirsty equines began to drink as Methos dismounted. A cold breeze ruffled his hair as he collected the canteens. Kneeling at the water's edge, he held the mouth of the container beneath the surface; it was not long before Methos grew bored. One could only study and admire the Elven designs embossed upon the leather skins for so long. Thoughtfully, he watched his reflection ripple and waver in the water as it flowed by.
"Are you doing the right thing?" Methos asked his reflection. His likeness frowned back. Devious and complex, Methos' motives are hidden under layer after layer of subtle manipulation, a well-honed skill that keeps him alive.
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Methos pondered how Duncan MacLeod figured into his life. It initially began as an unwelcome encounter: Duncan had come to the oldest man, seeking his aid; when it suited him, Methos freely gave it. The not by chance meeting slowly evolved into a friendship that somehow became a compelling and necessary part of Methos' life. Great courage, insight, wisdom, humanity, kindness - qualities Duncan possessed . . . and Methos admired and envied. Methos is good at manipulating people - given his remarkably long life, the oldest Immortal ought to be; there is power in secrets kept, and Methos divulged only what he must, to achieve his endgame . . . but secrets have a cost – they always have, and they always will. Topping off the ewer, Methos saved Jordan's for last; he held the neck in the flowing stream and filled it halfway, before reaching into his overcoat. Extracting the little pouch, he loosened the strings, and added a pinch of the pale, golden powder to Jordan's water skin, determinedly ignoring his conscience's shrieking protest.
Damned useless emotion. Methos swore; he dearly regretted ever picking it up again.
Anything for a friend. He reminded himself.
When Methos deemed it necessary, he intervened in Duncan's life, whether he was aware of it or not - whether Duncan wanted it or not. Firmly pushing the cork in place, Methos gave it a good shake to mix the contents, and then carefully filled it completely.
There. That should do. Securing the water skins to the horses, Methos swung into the saddle, and began to whistle a merry tune as he rode back to camp.
After returning the water skins to their respective owners, Methos strode off to his sleeproll. Gimli set his water skin by his pallet and returned to help distribute the stew Jordan ladled into bowls, as Joe ripped flatbread apart and placed it atop the meal. Jordan paused when she heard Gimli grumbling under his breath.
"What's the matter, Gimli?" she asked.
"I left me water skin by me pallet; now I'm thirsty. I doona want to get it, but I suppose I must, if I wish to drink." He replied grumpily.
"That's an easy fix." Jordan said with a smile; putting the bowl and ladle down, she uncorked her water skin, filled a clean, empty bowl and passed it to the Dwarf.
"My thanks." Gimli gulped it down, and sighed with relief as the cool liquid sluiced down his throat.
Methos sat atop his pallet, observing his companions through half lidded eyes. Jordan refilled the bowl when Gimli held it out again, before tipping the skin to her lips; she drank half the volume before setting it down. Towards early evening, after dinner was eaten, the little party took turns going to the stream to wash up for the night. Waiting for Adam and Joe to return to camp, Jordan and Gimli prepared for the morning meal. She placed the cleaned ptarmigan eggs close to the frying pan, and set a sizeable portion of dried meat strips to soak in water overnight for their breakfast; stifling several yawns, Jordan mentally shook herself.
Wake up! Jordan told herself; it is increasingly difficult for her to stay awake.
"Gimli." Jordan began.
"Aye, Lass?" the Dwarf grunted; squatting, he added more kindling to the fire; taking a seat, he folded his hands atop his axe and regarded her.
"Do you think Legolas will stay the night?" Jordan ventured.
After dropping off their dinner. Legolas stayed long enough to unsaddle Arod, and speak to Gimli, before riding away again. Gimli squinted up at Jordan with a sympathetic look in his eye. Matters between his pointy-eared friend and his Lady are becoming even more strained as they journeyed. That his Elf-friend remained silent is not a good sign. Neither is the fact the pointy ear did not stay in camp, only returning at the break of day. The son of Glóin interpreted the fact Jordan is scarcely with the Elf as a portent of ill tidings.
"Mayhap you should have asked him to, Lass." He answered softly, staring at the flames, mesmerized by their sinuous dance.
Tearing his eyes away, Gimli tried to focus on the voices of the Outlanders surrounding him, but his eyelids felt extraordinarily heavy. Something drew Jordan and Duncan's attention elsewhere. The Dwarf thought it odd how they turned towards the same direction simultaneously. She watched as Duncan went to meet the arrivals, taking the reins from Adam, and tethering the horse for the night.
"The water's cold! I'll be glad to get back to civilization - I've had enough of this damned lack of indoor plumbing!" Joe complained. His close-cropped silver and pepper hair spiked out in different directions, still damp from his bath.
"It wasn't that bad, Joe. Cold is the Atlantic Ocean, trapped in a rowboat with singing Monks, or China in the winter." Methos said as he and Duncan helped him off the horse.
"It's bad enough!" Joe retorted. The Scot chuckled at his friends' exchange. Duncan turned to address the woman after handing Joe his cane.
"C'mon Jordie – we'd better go now; who knows if the moon will be bright enough tonight." Duncan said.
"Need a refill, Duncan?" Jordan asked, holding both his and her skins aloft.
"Might as well; always a good idea to keep them topped off." The Highlander replied.
"Gimli, are you coming with us?" she asked.
"Nay, Lass, I'll wait until we get to the Golden Hall." The Dwarf demurred.
It required more effort than he was willing to exert to participate in the conversation. Turning back to the fire, he briefly watched the flames dance fore closing his eyes against their light. Jordan and Duncan looked at each other, suppressing their smiles. Shrugging his shoulders, Duncan rounded up the other horses to be watered for the night, and swung onto his mount bareback; taking the skins by their straps, he held them in one hand, leaned down and extended his other to Jordan.
"We'll make a rider out of you, yet, Jordie." Duncan said with a smile.
Jordan didn't comment; her expression said it all. Jordan took Duncan's hand, placed her foot on his, and swung her leg over the horse as he pulled her up behind him; slinging the straps across her body, Jordan settled the skins on either side of her. Jordan yawned widely as she wrapped her arms around the Highlander's waist, leaned against his broad back and closed her eyes; the gentle swaying of the horse's walk soon lulled her asleep. En route to the stream, the Highlander reached behind him twice to steady Jordan when she almost fell off the horse; to solve that problem, Duncan held the reins with one hand, and laid his free arm atop Jordan's arm, holding her clasped hands securely around his waist with his large hand. Arriving at the stream, Duncan dropped the reins and released Jordan's hands; they immediately fell to her side.
"We're here, Jordie. Wake up." Duncan said; it did not have the desired effect on the drowsy woman; she just snuggled into a more comfortable position against his back. This time, he gave both her thighs a sharp slap, startling her awake. He chuckled as her arms encircled his waist reflexively.
"I'm awake!" the younger woman murmured.
"Jordie – are you with me?" he asked, looking over his shoulder; he removed her arms before dismounting. The Clansman's sharp gaze raked over Jordan's face as reached up for her.
"Are you okay?" the Clansman asked, concerned. It is unlike her to fall asleep when extremely uncomfortable, and on horseback, no less.
"Hey, what's going on with you?" He asked, helping her dismount.
"I think I ate too much stew. All the blood is rushing to my stomach." Jordan mumbled.
Giving herself a mental shake, Jordan put forth her best effort to remain awake. Though she was very, very tired, the younger woman definitely wanted a bath. But not right now.
"Are you sure?" Duncan asked.
His dark brows knitted together as he cradled her face in his hands. Jordan's eyelids were drooping, her eyes are clear, albeit a bit glassy. Everyone ate the same thing, yet Jordan is the only one who is extremely sleepy. Odd. He had no choice, but to chalk it up to their journey.
"Duncan, why don't you go first? I'll just take a nap here while I wait." The woman suggested.
Duncan hesitated, searching Jordan's face as he reached for the saddlebags with his toiletries. Confident her Immortal immunity will take care of what ailed her, Duncan was thoroughly mystified why Jordan is so tired.
"Go on, Duncan. I'll be fine. I just need a little nap; I'm sure the water will wake me up." Jordan insisted, removing her boots.
"You're sure." The Highlander said.
"Yes, Kuya (brother)." She replied.
With her back to him, Jordan stretched out atop a large, flat rock jutting over the sloping edge of a small knoll, and closed her eyes against the darkening sky. She blinked awake as cold water landed on her face. Standing over her, dressed in a fresh change of clothes, Duncan wrung the excess water from his wet locks – directly onto her.
"Hey, sleepyhead – you going to wait till we get to the Golden Hall as well?" Duncan teased.
"No." Jordan scowled as she wiped off the water droplets. Grabbing Duncan's helping hand up, she gathered her necessities and stopped at the water's edge. Jordan moved her leggings; thighs covered by the long tunic, she paused.
"Promise you won't look?" Jordan asked, unbuttoning the front.
"No." Duncan replied with a straight face. Jordan laughed, for he politely turned away when she exposed one shoulder.
"Water's cold." The Clansman called over his shoulder.
Duncan, as usual, is right; wading in to waist level, Jordan prepared herself for her rendezvous with the Elf; there is much left unsaid between them, and much for her to make up to him.
#
"Are you going somewhere, Jordie?" Duncan asked, watching her pull a boot on.
"With Legolas." She answered softly; yawning widely behind her hand, Jordan put her other boot down and reached for her canteen. Uncorking her skin, Jordan drained the skin, hoping the cool water will wake her.
"You can barely keep your eyes open." Duncan observed, with a smile playing about his lips; he moved his pallet further away from the fire.
"I'm fine, Duncan; just a little tired." She replied; Jordan could not keep her eyes open.
"Yeah, right." He answered, smoothing down the bedding.
"Jordie, why don't you just sleep? You look beat. Gimli's got the right idea." Joe added, nodding towards the Dwarf; Gimli hadn't moved from his spot before the fire, or spoken a word since Duncan and Jordan left for their bath. Methos said nothing; his hazel eyes took in everything as he sharpened his sword.
"I . . must talk to him . . . . we need to . . . talk . . . "
"Can't it wait till morning?" Duncan asked; met with silence, he looked up to see Jordan stretched out atop her pallet fast asleep, her boot still in her hand. Duncan got up and walked over to her; he snorted before kneeling at her side.
"I thought so; Adam, give me a hand – take off her boot." Duncan said, gathering her into his arms.
"She's not a baby, MacLeod; you don't have to tuck her in." Methos said.
"Just pull it off, Adam." Duncan instructed; with a sigh, he put his sword down, got up and walked over to them.
Taking hold of her boot, Methos pulled it off, and placed it with its mate. Pulling her blanket down, he retreated to his pallet, watching beneath hooded lids as his friend place Jordan in her bedroll. Placing her sword in her hand, Duncan pulled the covers up and tucked it securely around her shoulders.
"She's really tired." Duncan commented.
Methos just smiled; giving his sword one more stroke of the whetstone, he tested the edge of the blade with his thumb, satisfied with its razor sharpness. Sheathing it, he pulled out his dagger and began to sharpen it as Duncan banked the fire, before settling into his pallet.
"You know they're lovers." The Eldest said casually. His comment was met with silence. Joe turned over in his pallet and looked between them, waiting to see what would transpire. Duncan did not comment.
"Yeah, so?" the younger man grunted.
"Just thought you should know . . . '"
"Go to sleep, Adam."
Duncan laid down and pulled his blanket up, signaling the end of the conversation. Joe tilted an eyebrow quizzically at Methos, then shook his head before closing his eyes again. Barely containing his smile, the Eldest finished sharpening his dagger before settling down for the night.
Methos was sound asleep; his eyes suddenly snapped open as the Buzz signaled Legolas' arrival. He extended his senses, pinpointing the Elf's position, gauging Legolas' distance away from camp. As his vision adjusted to the darkness, Methos turned over in his pallet, marking the positions of his slumbering companions. To his right, within arm's length lay Joe, snoring softly. To Joe's right, Jordan slept soundly, and she will continue to do so until dawn. To her right, Duncan was propped upon his elbow, facing the same direction as his Elder, his katana in hand as they awaited Legolas' arrival. Chin resting upon his throwing axe, Gimli sat with his back towards the fire and the Outlanders, sound asleep. Sitting up in their pallets, the Men watched the Mirkwood Elf come into sight.
"Everything all right?" Duncan asked quietly.
Legolas nodded wordlessly to the Highlander. The Elf did not say a word to the Son of Pier; instead, he looked at the slumbering Dwarf, and Jordan's sleeping form, thinking it very strange she hadn't stirred at all; Jordan would always greet him without fail.
"It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to rest a bit as well." Duncan said in a low voice; he lay back down and closed his eyes.
"Les elfes ne pas dormir comme nous le faisons. Il n'a pas besoin de beaucoup reste à tous (Elves don't sleep as we do. He doesn't need much rest at all)." Methos murmured quietly.
Legolas' eyes met and held Methos' gaze, narrowing slightly. Legolas studied the pale Man; he trusted his instincts implicitly, and right now, they are telling him the seemingly innocuous Man before him is not at all forth coming. Unable to prove his suspicions, the Golden Elf held his tongue, reminding himself to be careful to not underestimate the enigmatic Son of Pier. Methos settled back onto his pallet, closed his eyes and waited, listening. . . He did not see the hard look Legolas directed his way as he moved across camp and agilely climbed to the top of the outcrop. From his vantage point, Legolas clearly saw Jordan fast asleep below him. Legolas waited until all the men's breathing was deep and even. Slitting his eyes open, Methos watched Jordan through his lashes. Deciding it is time for them to have their discussion, Legolas picked up a small pebble and tossed it; Jordan did not stir when the pebble landed on her hand . . . nor did she feel the following three pebbles the Elf tossed. Puzzled, Legolas silently descended and knelt at her side and brushed his knuckles against her cheek; she did not react to his touch. Taking hold of her shoulder he squeezed it softly. Still she remained asleep.
"Kshonna (Dispel)" he whispered. Shaking her shoulder gently, the woman did not wake.
"Lietha Guldur (Dispel magic)." Jordan did not move. Laying a hand against her cheek, her skin felt warm and dry.
"Entula aen' templa (Magic reflection)."
Someone does not look happy. Methos thought to himself.
Legolas frowned; the counter spells did not reveal magic at work, yet something is amiss in the little camp. Legolas has no tangible proof, and no way to explain why Jordan did not wake; his gaze flicked to Gimli, who let out a series of loud, choppy snores. Pulling her blanket back to her shoulders, Legolas returned to his perch; wrapping his cloak about him, he drew the hood over his head and studied the sleeping forms below him. Closing his eyes once again, Methos relaxed and fell asleep with a smile on his face.
A/N:
Sorry for the delay; life is quite busy right now. Thank you for hanging in there!
- 29
- 30
- 31
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