Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
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Chapter List
- 30
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"He is Duncan MacLeod, the Highlander.
Born in 1592 in the Highlands of Scotland, and he is still alive. He is Immortal.
For 400 years, he's been a warrior, a lover, a wanderer,
Constantly facing other Immortals in combat to the death.
The winner takes his enemy's head . . . and with it, his power.
I am a Watcher.
Part of a secret society of men and women
Who observe and record, but never interfere.
We know the truth about Immortals.
In the end, there can be only One.
May it be Duncan MacLeod, the Highlander."
- Joe Dawson, Watcher/Highlander: The Series
Meduseld
The Golden Hall
The guards warily observed the Stranger, wondering why he is outside in the cold semi-darkness, when he could be in his chamber, beneath warm furs – with a warm, willing body at his side. Shrugging, they quickly lost interest in the Man. Shifting restlessly, shivering in the blustery cold wind, they turned back to the horizon before them, watching for the first rays of light signaling the end of their watch and the arrival of their eagerly anticipated relief. In the shadow of the Golden Hall, Duncan paced. Coming to a stop, his fingers traced the cold stone. He closed his eyes; Methos' words came back to him.
"You know they're lovers." The Eldest said casually.
Actually, he didn't know; Duncan's relief at finding Jordan alive and well, and his concern for Joe's health overshadowed all else. Once Joe recovered from his illness, the Scot's eagerness to explore the wonders of Rivendell, and at Jordan's insistence, the delightful company of the lovely ellith of Rivendell, kept him well occupied – that and the business of plotting the journey home.
"Just thought you should know . . . '"
Now it all made perfect sense: the long, meaningful looks passing between Legolas and Jordan, how they are never far from one another, the way their eyes always followed the other . . . Legolas' protectiveness of his Student bordered on possessiveness. Slowly, Duncan reached within himself and focused.
"Nakano's specialty is illusion . . . but that is not all he is capable of. Its your power now – you alone can limit your ability. Aren't you the least bit curious to discover what you're truly capable of, MacLeod?
Duncan stilled his thoughts and reached further within himself, his concentration intensifying. Harnessing the power, calling it forth, the air before him shimmered and then rippled in response to his will. In his mind's eye, it all looked very different – instinctively Duncan knew Legolas claimed Jordan for his own. Duncan felt his control slip as his focus wavered. The mysterious force defying physics and time flared wildly; Duncan's jaw clenched and trembled with the effort of reining in the magic. In control again, the Highlander relaxed as he instinctively shaped the portal. Opening his eyes, he smiled; light spilled through the entryway. The familiar doorway is a short distance away -a most welcome sight. He stretched a hand through. Duncan caressed the branches of the trees; satisfied, he drew the power back into himself, and collapsed the entryway. Once again, Duncan's fingers touched the cold stone.
#
Jordan strode down the empty hallway, determined to find Legolas. Perhaps fate had drawn them together for a reason after all; the fragile hope of a future with him gained strength. More and more, Jordan could not imagine a life without Legolas, and she must tell him - before its too late. Her senses tingled as the thrumming hum of the Buzz made her pause. Jordan looked expectantly both ways, waiting to see who will appear, hoping her search is over. A tall, pale figure rounded the corner; dismayed, Jordan turned and hurried away.
"Jordan."
She walked a little faster, ignoring the quiet voice; if she turned the corner, she could lose him by ducking into a room – any room. Amused and annoyed, Methos' long strides caught up to her in no time. Catching her arm above her elbow, he pulled Jordan around.
"You can't keep running from me." Methos said quietly, his hazel green eyes searched hers.
Jordan attempted to pull away from him, but Methos tightened his grip. She glared at up at the man; there is so much she wanted to say; yet she remained silent. Looking down thru half-lidded eyes, Methos tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated the collar encircling her neck. He noted the Leaf suspended from it, admiring how it lay against Jordan's neck like a second skin. Reaching up with his other hand, Methos touched it; supple as the finest linen and cold as ice, its untarnished brilliance shone bright - like moonlit silver in the low light. Methos absently traced it, marveling at the feel of the wondrous material, instantly knowing the significance and value of the Mirkwood Prince's gift.
Mithril
Methos dropped his hands abruptly, tucking them inside his overcoat pockets. "Walk with me." There is no mistaking the command in the three words. They strolled a full turn around the perimeter once, twice, three times, before stopping at the rear of the Golden Hall. Overlooking the magnificent grassland plains spread before them, they remained silent, listening to the sound of the banners snapping in the high winds. Methos thoughtfully regarded the woman by his side, considering what to say; reaching out, he gently removed a lock of hair that blew across Jordan's face. Tucking it behind her ear, he ignored the way she flinched away at his touch.
"You never gave me a chance to explain-" He began.
"You don't need to explain anything." Jordan interrupted, meeting his gaze; her eyes glittered with remembered anger and hurt.
"You and I remember Paris very differently - you left me, remember?!" Methos retorted; Jordan's hands balled into fists at her side.
"You made yourself perfectly clear that night." Jordan countered tightly, her voice rising in pitch.
Why do you have to be so damned emotional? You're not going to make this easy – are you, Child? Methos thought to himself; stifling a groan, he decided to change topics before their quiet conversation becomes a public spectacle.
"We will talk about us later-" Methos said.
"There's nothing left to say - there never was an 'us'." Jordan laughed bitterly.
"Because you ran away - -yes?"
"You didn't follow."
"No, I didn't . . . for what it's worth, I followed you here – I'm here, Jordan." Methos said quietly. Jordan stared at him; unsure how to react, trying to decipher the motive behind his hazel eyes, Jordan is acutely aware of Adam's subtle flirtations at every given opportunity. Their eyes were drawn to the open courtyard below them when they felt the Buzz, watching the familiar figures deep in conversation.
"We will talk more about us later. This is about you and Legolas now." Methos said. Jordan recognized the Man, whose dark hair and clothes set him apart from Legolas and the lighter haired Rohirrim; she wondered what business the Ranger had in Rohan.
"That's none of your business." Jordan answered stiffly.
"You're wrong, Jordan. It is very much my business. That necklace is from Legolas . . . and it's more than just a 'gift', yes?" Jordan's silence is all the answer Methos needed.
"I sure as hell hope you didn't make any promises you can't keep. You must end whatever you have with Legolas - end it now. Don't give him hope when there's none, Jordan."
"Who do you think you are, to tell me what to do!" Jordan sputtered, indignant.
"Do you really think this is all about you? If you don't end this now, you will change everything – your relationship with Legolas is like tossing a boulder into a still pond. The consequences are far reaching."
"What 'consequences' - what do you mean by that?" the woman asked, a skeptical frown on her face.
"His future doesn't include you." Methos said quietly. Jordan followed Methos' gaze. Not in this world Methos added silently.
"I don't understand." Jordan replied; she watched the familiar figures move across the courtyard.
"There's nothing to understand. All you need to know is his future here doesn't include you – it can't. Legolas' destiny in Middle-earth will be unrealized and unfulfilled if you remain here. You will turn him away from his purpose."
"I – I still don't understand . . . how do you know this?" Methos almost laughed at Jordan's confused, dubious expression; to his credit, he didn't.
"You've been given this extraordinary moment – take that back with you. You aren't meant to remain here." Methos advised gently.
"What if I'm meant to stay and help him – what if that's what's supposed to happen?" Jordan stubbornly countered. Jordan couldn't detect any sign of guile in Methos' solemn expression, yet she couldn't help but be suspicious of his motives.
Hell and damnation, woman – why can't you just trust me on this? Methos took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm.
"Because certain events and timelines should not be altered – especially this one." Methos replied. "There's much more Legolas must do, and it won't happen with you here. Not to mention the future – Duncan's future." Methos explained, his patience wearing thin; he was unused to explaining himself.
"I don't understand. Why can't I stay?" she met his gaze; Jordan hated she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn't help herself. Crossing the boundaries between time and space, realms and realities, Methos knew they must be doubly cautious; their every action caused a reaction, the effects reverberating thru time and potentially causing disastrous change - even the smallest action can alter the future.
"Since you have all the answers - how do you explain our being here?" Jordan asked.
"Paradox. An aberration. A fluke, a wrinkle in time – take your pick; who the hell knows? All I'm telling you is it isn't going to last – it can't. We've already been here longer than we should. The sooner you accept it, the better. And I don't have all the answers – I'm just a guy." Methos said.
"I don't believe you." She said softly. Jordan glared at her Elder, her mind absorbing his words. Methos' irritation grew.
"I don't care what you believe. All you need to know is that we're going home. You're going home, too. Get whatever you have for Legolas out of your system. End it, and face reality." Methos snapped, his voice cold and uncompromising; calming himself, he switched to a different approach. The Eldest grasped Jordan's shoulders and turned her towards him.
"I can't tell you everything, Jordan; there's too much at risk. Please - trust me as you once did; I don't ask this for myself. This isn't a fairytale where you get your 'happily ever after' with the Elf. You know all those tired clichés? If you have any real feelings for him, you must let him go, Jordan. Whether you believe me or not is up to you. But it's the truth."
"Are you asking me to choose, Adam?" Jordan asked. The older man gave a humorless bark of laughter, his lips twisting into a wry smile.
"Weren't you listening to this conversation?" Methos snorted. "Far from it, ma chérie (my darling). You're free to choose your course of action. Know this: you are not free from the consequences of your choice – none of us are." Methos warned. "There are others involved here. Joe almost died trying to help find you - Think of Duncan and all he's been through. He needs you . . . do you think he'd literally move heaven and earth for just anyone? The man ripped apart the very fabric of time and reality to find you. Our bonds are all that hold us in our world. Think of Duncan's sacrifice, think of your obligation - the debt of gratitude you owe him . . . to your Kuya. That's love, Jordan . . . Don't be selfish and throw away Duncan's love and devotion for you. Don't break that bond." Methos said, his tone of voice gentle and cajoling.
Loyalty is a real funny thing; probably causes as much harm as it does good. Methos thought to himself. Tilting her chin up, he smiled inwardly at the uncertainty and dismay clearly written upon her face.
"Give us another chance, Jordan - let's finish what we started in Paris . . . please." Methos pleaded gently, giving her his best, shy smile. Jordan closed her eyes as Methos' lips descended; he placed a tender, questioning kiss upon her lips. When Jordan didn't protest, Methos increased the pressure just a little. Wrapping his free arm around her, Methos drew her closer to him.
'Give us another chance . . . ' Would it be such a bad thing to take him up on his offer? Once Jordan would've jumped for joy at those words - the man she so desperately wanted years ago stood before her, speaking the words she longed to hear, yet the golden hair and bright eyes of a wondrous being overshadowed Methos' features.
This is wrong.
Whatever Jordan felt – still feels for the Man before her pales in comparison to what she feels for Legolas. The time she would've blindly done anything for Adam had passed. In her heart, Jordan made her choice; she opened her eyes as the Buzz washed over them. Lifting his head, Methos' eyes narrowed as they turned towards the source; he relaxed after recognizing the signature. Placing his arm around Jordan's shoulders, Methos gently steered her back towards the Hall. Jordan allowed herself to be guided by the older man, her thoughts a confused jumble. Numbly, Jordan walked silently by his side; dropping his arm, Methos tucked his hands into his overcoat pockets and led the way to the great common Hall, where Joe and Duncan were seated.
"Morning, Jordie." The younger man said with a smile.
"Good morning, Joe; good morning, Kuya (Brother)" Jordan said to her Mentor; she forced a smile upon her face.
The men politely stood, waiting for her to sit before resuming their seats. Platters of warm bread and a wheel of fresh cheese lay on the table before them. Servants gathered in the far corner, quietly going about their duties, giving their guests privacy. Piling a plate with food, Joe passed it to the woman.
"Well, here we all are." Jordan muttered softly as she accepted the plate.
"Sleep well?" Duncan asked.
"Yes, thank you." She replied. They ate in silence, each person wrapped in their thoughts. Duncan looked at her thoughtfully. Jordan smiled brightly automatically.
"I'm glad we're indoors again; I tell you – I'll be glad to get back home. How much longer till we get to this 'Gondor', Mac?" Joe asked.
"Not sure, Joe. Adam – any thoughts?" Duncan asked between mouthfuls of food.
"A week tops, taking into account camping for the night." Methos answered automatically.
"Jordie are you ready to go home?" Duncan asked.
Loyalty . . . obligation . . . sacrifice Methos' words swirled in Jordan's mind, warring with her feelings. Chewing her food slowly, Jordan considered her answer.
"Of course." She answered. Her calm reply gave no indication of her inner feelings; bowing her head, Jordan busied herself, steadily filling her mouth and chewing automatically. A maelstrom of emotions and questions warred within her. Her food had no taste and stuck in her throat; Jordan had to get away to think, to come to terms with what she wanted to do, and what she must.
"That's my girl." Duncan said, grinning widely; Jordan missed the looks passing between the men. Draining her watered wine quickly, Jordan stood, motioning for the men to remain seated as they rose from their seats.
"I'm going to walk around and see the sights." She informed them.
"I'll go with you, Jordie." Duncan said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a draught of his wine. It took all her self-control to not snap at Duncan; she knew he meant well – she just needed time alone.
"No – please, finish your food. I'll be fine – I'm going to see what's around . . ." Jordan studiously avoided Methos' steady gaze as she made her way out. The men waited till she was out of earshot.
"What's wrong with her?" Joe asked.
"Hell if I know." Duncan replied, returning to his food.
"Lover's quarrel." Methos answered; the untruth rolled smoothly off his tongue.
"She tell you that?" Duncan asked, an amused grin on his face.
"Yes." His Elder replied.
"Just like that?" Joe prodded, his brows raised.
"Not her exact words, but yes, something like that." Methos answered, an innocent expression on his face.
"Aren't you the least bit concerned, Mac?" Joe asked his charge.
"I don't see why I should be. Whatever it is they have - its temporary." Duncan replied, nonplussed. He took a deep draught of his wine.
"How can you be so sure?" Joe pressed his charge.
"We've all had lovers who've passed in an out of our lives." Duncan said.
"It'll be a great memory for her to take back, even if it has a bit of a 'Romeo and Juliet' feel to it." Methos offered with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. Joe wasn't sure he agreed with the oldest man's statement.
"The only difference here is they're both Immortal." Joe mused thoughtfully. He raised an eyebrow at Duncan's sharp glance.
"Don't worry, Mac - she'll come around. . . " Joe hastily assured his charge, though his tone of voice was not as sure as his words.
"You really think so?" Duncan asked.
"No - how could she? Legolas' got her tingling in places she didn't know she had." Methos answered.
"You're really inspiring confidence here, Adam." Joe chuckled with a snort.
"I distinctly recall having this conversation before." Duncan said, giving his Elder the stink eye.
"Yes, we did." Methos confirmed, his lips twisting into a wry smile; the Ancient Once spoke the exact same words when Richie was instantly smitten with the Immortal femme fatale, Kristin. Glancing at Joe, Methos winked at him. "I do what I can, Joe. Give her time, MacLeod." Methos advised. "I busted my ass to find her, and damn it – I'm not putting it in a sling to get her back home. I'll see you guys later." Duncan growled before he stalked off towards the doors, his chiseled jaw clenched tightly.
"Where you goin', Mac?" Joe asked.
"To find Legolas."
"He's in the courtyard below – at least he was a bit ago." Methos supplied helpfully.
"Good – I'm gonna see if he's still there."
This ought to be interesting. Methos thought to himself. He made to follow the younger Immortal outside, when Joe spoke again.
"Why are you taking such an interest in this? What're ya up to? Are you tryin' to - " Joe asked, suspicious of his friend's motives.
"I don't want any complications." Methos interrupted calmly. He picked up his drink and sat down again.
"Whadda y'mean?" Joe asked.
"We are finally on our way home. Last thing we need is for things to . . . not go well – yes?" Methos looked long and darkly into the bottom of his stein. I hope her . . . 'involvement' with Legolas isn't going to be a problem. It will be more difficult for her to leave, yes?"
"Y'ever think maybe she's better off here, where Legolas can protect her? Jordie may or may not have a lot o'time in our world, Adam. There just aren't many female Immortals. She's at a vulnerable age for an Immortal - young enough t' be easy prey, inexperienced 'nuff t'think she can handle it. Being the student of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod has its drawbacks, y'know? Jordie's sword and throwing skills're remarkably good - but it's made her a bit cocky. Back home she's gonna have t'learn just how ugly life can be, and learn fast if she's gonna live out even a single lifetime . . . At least here she's safe." Joe reasoned.
"I'm well aware of that, Joe. MacLeod knows that, too; near or far, he's watched over Jordan and protected her like she's his surrogate daughter." Methos replied. Joe reached for his cane and climbed to his feet, hoping his friend would seriously consider his words. Methos sighed. A complex mix of worry and thoughtfulness played across his aristocratic features. "I don't know what would happen if Duncan lost Jordan, especially after the chaos of the last few years. " Methos mused.
Methos witnessed Duncan endure more than his fair share of heartaches: still profoundly grieving Tessa's untimely loss, living and reliving the horror and self loathing of unintentionally murdering of his Student, Richie Ryan; the actions visited upon the Scotsman by the Dark Quickening; the necessary self-sacrifice and loss of Duncan's Kinsman and Mentor, Connor MacLeod . . . in time, Joe will claimed by death; and now, Jordan Waters. Duncan despaired that Jordan is lost to him; hadn't Methos seen to her recovery? And she will return home with them . . . he will see to it as well - by any means necessary.
"Whether she's better of here or at home is a moot point . . . Where're you going?" Methos asked.
"To find Jordie – I wanna see what's around this place too – it'll make a hell of a story when we get home, y'know?" the Watcher replied.
"Yes, well – I'm going to pack, then I'm going to the stables. I suggest you prepare as well Joe, we always leave very early in the morning."
"Ain't got much to pack, Old Man – I'll see you later." Joe replied. Methos sighed and rose to leave as well.
#
"Legolas!" Duncan called. The Elf spared a glance at Gimli as they turned toward Man, his expression neutral. He turned back to the Ranger, giving him his orders.
" . . . then we will meet back here." Legolas finished.
"Yes, my Lord." Breiric replied; he passed the dark Outlander, nodding curtly in greeting. Legolas waited for the Outlander to speak.
"I want to thank you for keeping Jordie safe." Duncan began. Legolas inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement
"You're welcome." He simply said. Removing a knife from his back, the Elf began to polish it with a cloth.
"What're ye about, Laddie?" Gimli asked, squinting up at the Man.
"I came to see about our travel plans." Duncan replied, watching Legolas tend his weapon.
"We leave at first light." Legolas said. Duncan nodded; the Elf fell silent as he inspected his blade.
"That's a beautiful weapon." Duncan said.
Legolas glanced at the Outlander. After a moment, he offered him the blade. With utmost care, Duncan grasped the weapon by the handle, studying it from all angles, admiring the cool steel and exquisite runes etched upon its surface. Taking a step back, the Man took a few experimental swings, feeling for the heft and balance. Carefully handing it back to the Elf, Duncan reached within his overcoat and unsheathed his katana. Resting the blade on his sleeve, Duncan offered it handle first, to the Mirkwood Prince. Legolas grasped the handle; his eyes flicked over it; identical to Jordan's blade save for the handle's carving, Legolas lightly ran his fingers over the dragon head carving before handing it back to its owner. Gimli cleared his throat. The uncomfortable tension is palpable between the Elf and the Man. It pained Gimli to see the Pointy Ear suffer in silence, yet he also feels a strange sense of kinship with the dark Outlander before him. What the two need is an outlet for their aggression.
"Perhaps a friendly spar, Lads . . . ?" Gimli suggested.
Duncan glanced at the Elf, who consented with a slight tilt of his head. Shrugging off his long coat, Duncan tossed it to Gimli and turned to his opponent with a feral grin on his face.
#
The Ranger strode toward the stables; ahead of him, the old Outlander struggled to descend the stairway. Breiric heard tales how the man's legs are not real, and how they detached from his body, resulting in the Man's odd, stiff gait; Breiric quickened his pace and caught up to the older man.
"May I assist you?" he said quietly.
"Damnit – don't do that! Where did you come from, and what the hell y'doin' here?" Joe snarled, startled. The dark haired, darkly garbed Man appeared out of nowhere. Losing his grip on his cane, it fell from his hand, and over the side, to the ground below. The Watcher would have followed suit, had it not been for the Ranger's strong grip on Joe's arm. "My apologies – wait here; I will fetch it for you." Breiric reached to steady the Man, lest he fall over the side of the rail-less stairway like his short walking staff.
"Damn right y'will, I can't make it down these bloody steps without it." Joe said, still irritated. He watched the Ranger quickly make his way down the steps, nimbly leaping over the edge and retrieving his cane, before returning to the older man.
"Haven't seen your mug since Rivendell. What're you doin' here - following us?" Joe asked with a grunt. The Ranger looked at him questioningly, not understanding the Watcher's question. "What is a 'mug'? I do not possess a 'mug'" the Ranger replied, confused. Joe could see Jordan's dark head in the distance, and she was rapidly moving away. There is no way she could hear him if he yelled. "Forget it; I'm trying to catch up to Jordie – er, Lady Jordan; don't think I'll have any luck with that. These stairs ain't exactly easy for me, y'know? We were never properly introduced. Joe Dawson." The Watcher extended his hand in greeting. Breiric simply looked at the older Man's hand, unsure what to do. With a chuckle, Joe reached for the Ranger's hand, clasping it with his in a firm handshake.
"The name's Joe Dawson; pleased to meet you. What's your name, son?" Joe didn't let go; instead, he continued to shake the Ranger's hand.
"Breiric." The Ranger replied.
"Where y'from, Breiric?" Joe asked, releasing the Ranger's hand.
"From Gondor; the White City."
"Well, Breiric of Gondor, the White City, pleased t'meet you." Looking in the distance, Breiric gestured towards the woman. "I shall inform her you seek her."
"Thanks!" After descending the stairs together, the Ranger left Joe to catch up, quickly striding off to catch up with his quarry.
"Lady Jordan!" Breiric called; he had glimpsed Jordan from afar in Rivendell. Who is this Woman, who set tongues wagging, and captured the attention of the elusive Mirkwood Prince? After his encounter at the Prancing Pony with the Outlanders, Breiric became more intrigued. His curiosity increased after hearing the tales how the Lady Jordan had gone along with the hunting party; not only has this Lady Jordan killed both Orcs and Uruk Hai, she also tended the injured.
What's a girl to do to for some privacy around here?!
Gritting her teeth, Jordan counted to ten before turning around. Studying the Man making his way towards her, she wondered again why he is in Rohan; it appeared he is alone, for she did not see the group of Men he kept company with in Imladris.
"I am Breiric. The Son of Daw searches for you." The Ranger nodded towards the Watcher making his way towards them.
"I've seen you before; you were in Rivendell, weren't you?"
"Yes, Milady; you remember well."
"Why are you in Rohan?" she asked, curious.
Reports from the Elves themselves recounted her valor in battle – truly unlike any Shield Maiden the Ranger knew of; Breiric wondered how the Lady Jordan would fare in a show of skill betwixt her and the Lady of Ithilien. Up close, the man could not help but appreciate the alien beauty of the woman before him. He studied Jordan's face intently, certain her pearlescent skin will feel like the softest of silk beneath his calloused fingertips . . .
" – Breiric!" Jordan said sharply, annoyed. The seasoned Ranger remembered himself, flushing red under Jordan's direct, stern gaze and cleared his throat before speaking.
"I offer my services to Éomer King; the land is not yet clear of the Dark Army."
"What 'services' do you offer?"
"Scouting the land, Milady." Breiric replied.
"Are you 'scouting' today?"
"Aye, there is a village about an hour's ride from here; trouble is afoot."
"If it is an hours' ride, may Joe and I go with you, please? We'd love to explore before we leave for Gondor." Jordan asked. The Ranger hesitated before answering; he preferred to ride alone on his mission. "I do not think that is wise, Milady." Breiric said slowly. Jordan decided to see how far her feminine wiles would get her.
"I promise we won't be in the way – really, it's just a quick ride there and back, right? Please . . . ? We will be back before anyone will miss us." Giving the Ranger a dazzling smile, Jordan stepped closer; looking up at him, she gave him a wide eyed look and tilted her head slightly to the side, slowly blinking up at him with her lips slightly parted for good measure. The nomadic life of a Ranger did not allow for much contact with females . . . Breiric felt his resolve weaken. He also did not want to miss this opportunity to spend more time with this strange and fascinating woman – surely their paths will no longer cross after today, after all, he is a Ranger of Gondor, and she is to return from whence she came.
"Jordie!" Joe called. Jordan turned to watch the younger man's approach, giving the Ranger full opportunity to study her openly; it is all Breiric can do to not reach out and touch the woman's blue-black hair, so unlike anything he has seen before. The woman's striking eyes alone can make a man stop in his tracks. Breiric found the Lady Jordan quite intriguing. Joe's stilted gait caused a bittersweet feeling to swell within Jordan. She recalled how Joe's stride was once confident and sure; how young he was - his body strong and vibrant, wearing his olive drab United States Marine Corp uniform well . . .
Vietnam
1968
En route to Thailand, Jordan traveled the Ho Chi Minh trail. All around her, war raged in the jungle and in the city. Hidden within the dense jungle vegetation, Jordan held her breath, not moving a muscle; she did not want to be drawn into the conflict, nor did she want to become a casualty of war; rape, torture and other atrocities under both flags is rampant, despite the treaties and protocols of the Geneva Conventions. It is no easy task evading the Viet Cong, or their traps and trip wires. The guerilla tactics employed were simple, yet cunningly devised, employing the natural vegetation and a whole lot of ingenuity meant to kill and maim, all with great success. Jordan moved forward slowly, unbothered by the sticky, humid heat of the Vietnamese jungle as she watched the Viet Cong creep closer towards the village. She looked on as a young soldier exited a hut, his face a study in anguish; scanning his uniform, the name tape on his shirt read 'Dawson'; a single shot rang out, then another soldier, this one black, exited, shoving the soldier on the porch down the steps. Her interest piqued, Jordan crept closer, keeping careful watch of the Viet Cong moving closer towards the village. Snatches of the soldiers' conversation floated towards her.
"Jesus, Andy – what the hell did you do?"
"What I had to; she woulda had him court martialed."
"He should've been court martialed!"
"Butler's scum, but he's one of our scum."
"He raped that woman, man! Dammit, we're supposed to help these people!"
"We're supposed to stay alive, and the only way you do that, is take care of your own, no matter what."
"We can't do crap like that-"
"No matter what, Joe!"
Carefully working her way around the perimeter of the village, she crept closer still, keeping the arguing soldiers in her sights. Jordan stiffened when her senses tingled, the Buzz alerting her to the presence of her kind. The black soldier felt it too, for he strode ahead of the one named 'Joe'; looking towards her direction; the Immortal soldier was jerked back by the sudden, gunfire peppering his torso.
"Sarge!" Pulling 'Joe' to his feet, the other soldier shoved him ahead.
"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" The two soldiers ran off, fleeing the scene, desperate to regroup with the rest of their company. Joe paused then looked down; he looked up, - pure unadulterated terror in his eyes. There was nothing Jordan could do - the mine detonated; the force of the blast sent the soldier airborne; cart wheeling in the air, he landed in a small pond. Jordan was about to run towards him, ready to pull him out of the water, when the black soldier reappeared and waded into the water, warily looking around as the Buzz alerted them to the others' presence. Jordan watched a while longer, before turning her attention to the remaining Viet Cong in the village; she followed them from a safe distance, quietly dispatching the Viet Cong who posed a threat, as the unknown Immortal brought Joe to safety. A small world indeed . . .
Though past his prime, Joe is still handsome, the lines on his face and silver streaking his hair adding character as only time can. "Mind if I go along? I wanna see what out there as well – y'don't get this chance to explore places like these, often, y'know?" Jordan winked at the younger man before turning back to Breiric with a hopeful, pleading expression on her face.
#
"Look to our return well before nightfall." Breiric told the stable boy.
"Yes, milord." The boy stared at Jordan in awe, clearly taken by her.
She winked at the lad from atop her mare, smiling when he blushed and looked away. Joe watched the exchange with an amused expression. Taking the reins, the Ranger swung up into the saddle and urged his horse forward. Grasping the bridles of his companions' horses, the boy led them down the path.
"Y'hear that sound?" Joe asked.
"What sound is that?" Jordan asked, cocking her head. She heard nothing but the horses, the villagers going about their business, and the wind.
"The sound of hearts breaking all over Rohan." Joe said with a huge grin. "You're a rock star, Kiddo." He said in an undertone. It was the woman's turn to blush with pleasure.
"They've just never seen someone like me before." Jordan laughed.
"Got that right – too bad they can't take a picture; it'd last longer." Joe remarked. Checking to see his cane is securely fastened to the saddle, the Watcher adjusted his seat. The time passed quickly for the trio, the conversation light and easy. With the village on the horizon, Breiric rode ahead, leaving the two Outlanders to catch up at their own pace. Slowing their horses down to a walk, Joe decided a heart to heart conversation is in order.
"I wish I had a kite right now. Its really windy here." Joe observed, watching the way the long grass waved in the wind.
"Isn't it, though?" Jordan said, laughing as her hair whipped around her face.
"Now that's a sight." Joe said.
"What is?" Jordan asked.
"You smiling and laughing; haven't seen you do much of either lately."
"There's not much to smile or laugh about lately."
"I'm a good listener."
"I don't want to bore you, Joe."
"Wouldn't ask if I didn't care."
"Joe, isn't this place wonderful?"
"Yeah, you could say that. Tell you what – I sure miss cars; don't really care for all this walking and horseback riding business. Now stop avoiding the question." The Watcher said, chuckling lightly to take the sting from his words. Shading his eyes, he admired the view of the vast grassland plains spread as far as the eye can see. Jordan's shared laugh stilled at his next words.
"It's a nice place to visit, but I sure wouldn't want to live here. I can't wait to get back home. What 'bout you, Jordie? Are you ready to go home? Not gonna stop askin' til you answer."
"Yes . . . and no."
"Now we're getting' somewhere! Why's that?" Joe cocked his head and looked at her. "You can't mean y'like it here – Y'can't be serious – what about home, what 'bout your life?"
"I . . . have a good reason to stay." She answered quietly. Jordan held her breath, waiting for his reaction. Joe studied her thoughtfully, his expression inscrutable.
"'Who' is this reason?" Joe asked, knowing full well the answer.
"Legolas." Jordan answered. Joe scratched his beard thoughtfully.
Jordie, y'got your whole life ahead o'you. Joe said nothing, listening silently as she unburdened her heart to him. After Jordan finished, Joe cleared his throat. A shout caught their attention. Squinting, in the distance, Breiric was rapidly riding toward them.
"Why is he coming back?" she asked aloud. "Whoa . . . stop horsie." Jordan pulled gently on the reins, angling her horse so she is between Joe and the Ranger. Sensing their alarm, the horses neighed nervously. Shading her eyes, standing slightly in the saddle, Jordan couldn't make out what Breiric is shouting to them; whatever it is can't be good – or the fact that he is being pursued.
"Is that the village . . . on fire?!" Joe asked, incredulous. Even as he spoke, they can see the black smoke rising in the air, the flames a strange, shimmering backdrop against the approaching Ranger.
"No time to explain; you've gotta go – now!" Nudging her horse forward, Jordan leaned over and caught the bridle of the man's horse; looking into the equine's eyes, Jordan fervently hoped her words are correct.
"Hasca, auta a'Legolas (Hurry, go to Legolas) – hasca auta a'Legolas (hurry go to Legolas)!" Tossing his head, the horse whinnied and turned back towards the Golden Hall.
"Jordie -!" Joe grasped the reins tighter, looking down to ensure his feet were firmly in the stirrups.
"Hang on, to the reins, Joe – whatever you do, don't stop till you get back to Edoras! We'll be right behind you." Jordan drew her blade; her expression is fierce, brooking no argument. Joe did a double take; gone is the mild-mannered woman he is familiar with.
"Jordie, don't do this -!"
"Don't stop for anything – no matter what, understand?! Go – there's no time; I'll be fine, I promise! We'll be right behind you." She gave the horse's rump a quick slap with the flat of her blade.
"Ha!"
Aw, crap. The Watcher thought. He hung on for dear life as his horse took off with an alarming burst of speed.
#
Methos strode along, quite pleased with himself. Though it'd taken longer than he expected, he'd arranged for all their laundry to be washed twice, dried and delivered to their respective owners well before the evening. A visit to the kitchens and a gold coin secured extra dried meat, fruit, dense, nutritious travel biscuits, and the best cheese and wine they could carry. The Horseman knows how to eat well whilst traveling; at the stables, in the cool of the shadows, he breathed in deeply the calming scents of horse, tack, dust, straw and sweet hay. Quietly, he followed the sound of voices; leaning against the side of the stall, he observed the young stable hands tending the horse; engrossed in their conversation as they curried the horse's coat, they didn't notice him.
"…and she winked a'me! Fancy that!" he bragged.
"What she look like?" his friend asked.
"Dif'rent – very pretty. Black hair - blacker than the Ranger's horse, 'n eyes green as new grass. Have you seen her?"
"Nay; 'tis true she has all her teeth, and they be white - Not brown or rotted?"
"Aye – see her yourself. The Ranger said they are to return before the even, though they have not returned yet."
"She left with the Ranger?"
"Aye, and the old man. 'Twas a chore getting the old man on the horse." Eyes narrowed, Methos straightened and pushed away from the wall, standing at his full height.
"Where did they go and how long ago did they leave?" Methos demanded. Startled, the stable hands jumped and turned to face the scowling, pale Man.
"T-to the village an hour's that way, m-m-maybe a half hour ago, S-sir." The young boy stammered. His friend remained silent, thoroughly intimidated.
"Prepare the fastest horse here – be quick about it!" Methos barked. The boys scrambled to do as told. Following the stable hand to Arod's stall, Methos grasped the bridle and spoke quietly in Elvish, calming the spirited beast as the stable hands finished tacking his mount. Checking the girth once more, Methos led the horse outside and swung into the saddle. The boys followed him, pointing out the direction to ride.
"Thank you, lads." Methos urged Arod forward and set off. The stable hand and his friend stared after the man until he cleared the gate; pushing at each other, they laughed with relief and set off towards the Golden Hall, in search of mischief and something to eat.
#
Chased out from underfoot, the companions followed the guards heading outside, overhearing the Elf and the Outlander are engaged in a duel. Neither boy had seen a Fair Folk, and they were not about to miss their opportunity.
"Look at them go!" the stable boy commented. Standing next to Gimli, the boys watched. His friend merely nodded, following the action. Gimli grunted, engrossed in the sight before him.
The timeless warriors sparred, exchanging strikes that would drive lesser combatants into the ground. Each is gifted in his own way, neither gaining full advantage over the other. As the hours passed, still Duncan met the Elf's moves, the savage music of their swordplay pealed out; Duncan's cotton shirt clung to his muscular body, his sable hair dripped with sweat; the poetry and grace with which the Elf (who had yet to break into a sweat) fought is mirrored in his opponent's moves as they circled one another. Despite the great beads of moisture on his face and slicking his hands, Duncan's grip is sure on his katana; he retreated carefully, always aware of what is behind and around him. Duncan kept his stance loose, keenly aware of the slightest subtlety of Legolas' movement, for he learned well over the centuries to expand his perceptions, seeing every nuance, the tensing and coiling of each muscle of his opponent - anticipating, planning . . . countering.
Fight with your spirit and the sword will follow . . . the sword wields the spirit of its Master
Duncan's indomitable will does not allow him to yield, for the man also fights with his heart. The quiet Sindarin assassin - master of the bow - is also a master of the twin blades; however, the Highlander is the master of all weapons and his body. What Duncan lacked in Elven agility, he more than made up for in the various fighting and boxing techniques gleaned from the over six hundred Immortal Quickenings the Chieftain's Son received. All the Immortals' collective power, knowledge and abilities are Duncan's, and Duncan used them as naturally as he breathed. Octavio Consone. Graham Ashe. Connor MacLeod. Brian Cullen. Kronos. Jin Ke. Jacob Kell. The Kurgan. Tak Ne . . . Employing the amazing skills of the best sword masters and fiercest warriors he absorbed, gives Duncan MacLeod the uncanny ability to counter and meet the Elf's every move – an extraordinary feat. Ignoring the silent observers, the noble warriors fought, no quarter asked, none given, evenly matched. Duncan continues to meet and deflect the Elf's moves; the Highlander entered a semi-altered state of consciousness, where muscle memory and instinctive survival mode becomes one. Legolas is impressed, for the full contact match lasted much longer than he thought possible. Once their blades crossed, in a maneuver the Elf is totally unprepared for, the man grasped the Legolas' right wrist in his left hand. With his right arm, Duncan punched the Elf in the nose for the second time, snapping the fair head back again. Ignoring the dried blood caked on his fair skin and streaming from his nose, Legolas retaliated by slicing the Highlander's tunic into shreds. Duncan, though sweaty, shows no sign of weariness. The brief moments the combatants broke apart, before leaping towards one another again seems to be all Duncan requires to recover. The force behind the Man's blade has not lessened, either. Again, Legolas wondered how is it possible, that Duncan, had this match been to the death, should not even be alive; yet he remains upright - alive and well, his sword held firmly before him, and is clearly enjoying himself. With a quick shake of his head, the Scot flung sweat from his hair, never taking his eyes from his opponent. Duncan employed the complex styles gathered over the centuries, evident from the deflection, angulations and tremendous power generated by his skillful body torque. No man can be the Highlander's equal.
"Why didn't he go with them?" His friend asked, pointing at Duncan.
"I don't know." The stable hand replied, muching on his bread.
As the opponents circled each other warily, Legolas studied the man before him, the Warrior-Elf's respect for the Man before him increased, whose lightning fast reflexes and calm demeanor is exceptional - in fact, it is . . . unnatural. Mac suddenly closed the distance between them, slamming the hilt of his blade into Legolas' jaw and throwing him on his back. Gimli's jaw dropped in disbelief; instantly, Legolas regained his feet, nostrils flaring with barely contained fury. He would show this Outlander no mercy. The warriors began to circle one another, anticipating the others' attack.
"Maybe we should tell him, too."
"Why?" the stable hand asked.
"The other Man was not pleased to hear the Lady Jordan left with the Ranger and the Old Man. Mayhap we should tell their friend, too."
"Eh – what's that? What's this about the Lady Jordan?" Gimli asked, focusing his attention on the boys.
Fully aware of the sidebar conversation, at the mention of Jordan's name, Legolas looked towards the young lads. The Highlander lowered his blade, wondering why the Elf stopped suddenly. Legolas sheathed his knives with a flourish and walked towards the boys, with Duncan following close behind. "What of the Lady Jordan?" Legolas asked the stable boy. Keeping a straight face, the Dwarf reached towards his friend with a damp cloth. The Mirkwood Prince snatched the cloth from the Elf-Friend's hands and dabbed at his face. Though it stopped bleeding, his nose is still quite tender. "It appears the Lady is not the only one who left her mark upon you." Gimli commented under his breath. Legolas shot the Dwarf a look that spoke volumes.
"'Tis nothing." The Elf said flatly. Gimli wisely decided to not say anything about the long gash in his friend's jerkin.
"The Lady Jordan left with the Ranger, my Lord -" the young stable hand replied, intimidated by Gimli's fierce gaze.
"And the old Man -" his friend supplied helpfully.
"And his friend-" nodding towards Duncan " - left a bit ago to follow them." the stable hand continued.
" - on his horse. . . " his friend blurted, pointing at Legolas.
Duncan did not like what he is hearing; he checked the position of the sun; the hour is later than he liked. "Do you know where this village is?" Duncan asked Legolas. The Elf nodded in reply.
"Let's go."
A/N:
So sorry for this overdue post; I'm going through major drama at work; I usually spend the the nights and weekends writing, editing, etc., lately I've had to work on weekends. That and the stress of work is affecting my writing time and giving me writer's block. Thank you for sticking with the story. I know its taking longer than anticipated, but many voices are demanding to be heard. I had to cut this chapter in half, and am working on the other half. I'm hoping things will calm down at work in July/August, so I can get back to the story with less distraction. As always, thank you for any/all reviews, and I do sincerely hope you are (still) enjoying Jordie's story.
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Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Only One