Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
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Chapter List
- 32
- 33
- 34
"And glory like the Phoenix midst her fires,
Exhales her odors, blazes and expires."
- Grimm, 'Trial By Fire'
Arod galloped swiftly across the golden plains; in the distance, he recognized his Elf-friend, and those with him. The pale horse whinnied; the sound floated away, carried across the grasslands by the sweeping winds, along with the cadence of pounding hooves. Legolas' roan mount pricked his ears forward and slowed. A length behind, Duncan reined his steed in and slowed as well, the horses tethered to his saddle following suit. The questions in the Highlander's dark eyes are answered when the Elf's horse appeared upon the horizon. Arod quickened his pace, and soon drew near to them. Legolas dismounted and walked toward his loyal steed. Laying a hand on his velvety muzzle, he murmured soothingly in Elvish, whilst stroking Arod's sweaty neck. The horse nickered quietly to his Elf friend, his ears moving frequently and independently of each other before tossing his head, snorting and blowing in reply as he pawed at the ground; Gimli traded glances with the Outlander as the other horses squealed and nickered softly to the pale horse before searching for forbs amongst the sagebrush. Arod whinnied and tossed his head again, nudging his Elf-friend. Duncan impatiently watched the exchange, saying nothing; the woodland Prince turned to them and gave a brief explanation.
"The Son of Pier is there; there is no sign of Jordan or the Son of Daw. The village is under attack by Orcs." Legolas' clipped words and tight expression spoke volumes to the Highlander.
Duncan nodded in reply; he felt a twinge of pity for the Mirkwood Elf, yet remained silent. Duncan's more pressing concern is for Joe, uncertain how his mortal friend fared. Methos' confirmed presence only somewhat reassured the Highlander – if Methos reached the village in time, and should Jordan need the Eldest's assistance. The Fair One said no more as he gathered up the roan horse's reins and swung into the saddle.
Breathe . . . breathe . . . breathe – I'm too fucking old for this . . . ! the Eldest huffed. Methos mentally shook himself and focused, limiting the swinging and pumping of his arms, that his long strides and breathing are controlled and measured.
Methos sustained the grueling pace of an all-out run over the varying terrain for the first fifteen miles, passing gaggles of desperate, astonished villagers hurrying to reach Edoras before nightfall; by the twenty fifth mile, Methos' entire sweat-soaked being radiated fatigue, the weight of his hidden weapons are felt more keenly with every step he takes; the strain of pushing his Quickening outward further – maintaining the effort for a continuous, longer period of time than he previously attempted, taxed Methos even more as he doggedly searched, yet the Eldest kept tightly leashed control over his body.
Bloody hell – get in, get her, go home. So much for that; what a clusterfuck this turned into! Methos fumed to himself.
As he told Joe, it'd been millennia since he'd run his last foot race – clad in full armor and sandals whilst carrying his shield, no less; however . . . the distance was 800 yards, not ran with footwear ill suited for the task, and after single handedly taking down multiple hostiles. Methos' Quickening brushed against the unfamiliar signature once again; however, the pale man hadn't time to discover to whom it belonged – he must get help. Despite his exhaustion, Methos' determined strides did not falter from sheer force of stubborn will. Through the gathering shadows, the Eldest continued to run . . .
#
Joe idly watched the shadows lengthen upon the ground, trying to ignore his stomach rumbling loudly with hunger as he waited, his dry mouth felt like it is stuffed full of cotton, and the sound of the fast moving water below only increased his thirst a thousand fold as it traveled its course. Nearby, the gravely injured Ranger lay unmoving. Joe sighed, uncertain the Dúnedain will make it through the night. If more dark creatures happened upon their hiding place, Joe is certain none of them will make it through the night. Releasing the safety, Joe pulled back the gun's slide, reassured by the brass round gleaming up at him. Keeping the safety off, the Watcher laid the weapon in his lap and took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm.
Man up – they're coming! Joe sternly told himself; the words became his mantra.
To distract himself from the morbid thoughts, Joe fixed his gaze upon the woman before him, eager to witness up close and first hand Jordan's healing – and even more thrilling, her return to life. An Immortal's resurrection from the dead is an event Watchers know of, but rarely witness in real time, and certainly not up close and personal, yet here he is - with a front row seat. The change in the very smell of the air alerted him to Jordan's soon awakening. Joe straightened in anticipation, his nostrils flaring as the faint smell of ozone became unmistakable, then grew stronger. The hairs on his head and whiskered face rose in response to the statically charged air as the sparks of Jordan's Quickening appeared; its restorative work is largely concealed by Jordan's tattered and soiled clothing, save for the steam rising, when the electrical force came into contact with the still wet blood soaking the front of her clothes; Joe watched the concentrated glimmer of light shine and flicker through the shredded cloth over the mortal wound in his friend's abdomen. His nose wrinkled as the stench of burning blood wafted towards him, grimacing as the pungent smell sent his stomach into a nauseating twist. All too soon, the older woman's Quickening faded away; though Jordan's skin no longer bore the pallor of death, it hadn't yet warmed to the glow of life. It shouldn't be much longer now . . .
#
At long last, the sought after Buzz rippled against Methos' burning skin like cool water, seeping into his very pores, its deep rich current singing through him with a most welcome resonance. Only then did the fatigued man slow to a jog, and then to a walk. Lacing his fingers behind his head, Methos caught his breath and heaved a sigh of relief, knowing the Highlander is near. Duncan sat taller in the saddle, his brows drawing together when he sensed his friend's presence. Closing his eyes, frowning as he concentrated, the Clansman's eyes snapped open as he turned his horse's head toward Methos' position. Duncan urged his mount forward, not waiting to see if Legolas and Gimli followed.
#
The curious nature of the Quickening causes an Immortal's system to readjust itself automatically; waves of electrical excitation enveloped Jordan's coronary muscle, rushing towards the ventricles. At first, it is just the slightest vibration; then another, and then another – then finally a sluggish heart beat. It stopped for several seconds, quivering, before beating unsteadily again. Suddenly, Jordan's heart slammed into action, the four chambers of her heart rhythmically contracting, increasing its rate wildly, pumping oxygen-rich blood to her deprived brain, organs and limbs. Living color returned as life giving blood circulated through her ice cold limbs, warming and revitalizing the woman's renewed body, restoring the rosy, living color of health. Joe started at Jordan's sudden, sharp intake of breath; the woman's hands flew to her midsection, covering her abdomen as she doubled up with both real and remembered pain – her memories returning in a blink of the eye. Joe put the safety on and carefully laid the gun on the ground next to him before he reached for her; pulling Jordan close, he gathered her trembling form in his arms.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Kiddo." Joe murmured into her matter hair. Swallowing rapidly, it is several moments before Jordan can speak through her dry throat.
"Joe – What . . . what are you talking about?" Jordan warily rasped, looking about her, confused; the village is gone, the sound of fast moving water below them.
"You died, and now you're back." Joe replied levelly, a smile playing about his lips.
"I . . . I didn't die. I don't understand – what do you mean?" Jordan stammered, the expression on her face carefully guarded.
"Everyone sees what you appear to be. Very few experience what you really are. You're alive when you shouldn't be." Joe said. Jordan opened her mouth to protest, but Joe continued before the woman could utter a word.
"Its all right – I know how 'special' you are. I also know what really happened to you at the hospital after your shift when Mac brought y'to his home. Hell, I'm the one who opened the lift gate for 'im. Y'think Duncan got you into those sweats by himself? If he wasn't so pissed at you, he could've done it. I had to listen to him bitch and bellyache nonstop about your carelessness!" The Watcher chuckled at Jordan's shocked expression, watching the myriad of emotions play across the woman's expressive face. Jordan blinked rapidly, unable to formulate a quick response. The younger man grinned and decided to lay it all out.
"You. Are. Immortal." Joe said, slowly and succinctly.
"Wha – wha – how . . . ?!" Jordan sputtered, so surprised she could hardly speak.
"I am a 'Watcher'. I – like others, know all about your kind. I know your likes, your dislikes . . . I know the exact day, time and way you became Immortal. In fact, I probably know you better than you know yourself. And I know you're not a very good poker player, either."
What the hell . . . ?! She thought to herself. The older woman studied him intently as she mentally digested his words; it didn't occur to her to deny everything.
Overwhelmed and mentally fatigued, Jordan closed her eyes and remained silent . . . so long that Joe is uncertain if Jordan is awake or had fallen asleep. Joe cleared his throat delicately; Jordan opened her eyes and sat up, gently removing herself from his embrace, angling her body so they faced each other; Jordan studied her friend, the silence stretching uncomfortably long between them. The younger man cocked an eyebrow at her, waiting for the inevitable questions. The silent Ranger caught her eye. Jordan looked towards the injured man then back at Joe, her face a study in wretchedness.
"He's out cold. If we don't get outta here soon, we may be hauling dead weight back." Joe stated in hushed tones.
"How are we going to get out, Joe – How did we even get here?" Jordan whispered; climbing to her feet, she searched for a way to get them out. Aside from rocks, there's nothing for her to work with. The only feasible place for them to escape is down, into the rapidly moving water. Jordan sighed; this is not a dilemma she wants to deal with right now.
"Adam went to get help."
"Adam?!" Jordan echoed, trying to make sense of it all.
"Shhhh!"
"How did he even know we're here?" she hissed quietly.
"Seems he talked to those stable boys – told 'im where we were." Joe grunted, watching her expression closely. "Adam didn't get here in time to stop them Orcs from killing you; but, he finished what you started and got us over here, then left to get help." The Watcher said, giving her the condensed version.
"Duncan's not going to be happy, is he?" Jordan said in a small voice. Joe sighed and rubbed his whiskers thoughtfully.
"Y'really need to ask?" he answered. Jordan paled visibly and shook her head. Joe chuckled despite himself, and laughed harder when Jordan gave him the stink eye; remembering the reason for their hiding place, he placed a finger over his lips.
"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I'm right here with you." The younger man reminded her.
"Thanks, Joe; I'm sorry you're caught up in this mess. I just wish Breiric . . ." Jordan was unable to finish her sentence.
"He got his ass handed to him, but he fought well. Can't play the 'should'a, could'a, would'a' game; all it'll get ya is a ticket on the crazy train. Don't worry, the boys'll be here soon and we'll be on our way back." Joe assured his friend with more confidence than he felt. Jordan smiled ruefully and sat across from her friend.
"So . . . There's more of you 'Watchers'?" Jordan asked.
"Yeah – just like there's more of your kind; Adam and Mac, for example." Joe chuckled softly, unable to help himself; Jordan's green eyes flashed with alarm.
"What does a 'Watcher' do? Do you hunt us?"
"Nah – we observe; we know what you are, and we've watched your kind for centuries. We record, and we nev-, well, we don't interfere."
"Those 'records' you keep on us; how accurate are they . . . ?"
We call 'em 'Chronicles'. I can tell you what an Immortal in Spain had for lunch three hundred years ago next Tuesday – if we were home, that is." Joe answered with a smile. It is a relief to come clean and speak openly – for both of them.
"I – I don't understand. What's in it for you – Why do you 'watch' us?"
"Too much of Man's history has been lost. Tainted, if you will, by whoever records it. In the end, we want the truth – pure and simple, with all the good, the bad and the ugly about Immortals to survive. Not a pack o' old wives' tales or superstitions. Even when you became Immortal, that doesn't mean that you're not human anymore. Someday the Immortals'll be gone. People need to know you were here, your part in our history. And that is the gig."
"You expect me to believe that? How can you not tell the truth about us? Surely there's some of you who'll get rich by exposing us."
"Jordie. As far as spillin' your secrets, oh, sure – there are some who probably wanna tell the world about you; but we – uh, the 'Watchers' . . . handle it."
"Who exactly do you 'Watch'?"
"Immortals. Think of us as your unseen biographers. Through time, where there's Immortals, there's Watchers. We only observe and record." Joe answered.
"Do you watch Adam?" Jordie asked. Joe snorted at that. Adam watches himself "No, Adam has a different Watcher. We're assigned to watch only one Immortal at a time – makes it easier to track your movements."
"Are you my 'Watcher'? Is that why you came?" she asked.
"I'm here because I care about you, and no, I'm assigned to Duncan." Joe said.
"Really? How long have you been watching him?"
"Oh, since 1979 – over twenty years now." The younger man replied.
"But you've known each other for less than that." Jordan said, trying to understand.
"Yeah, well . . . Watchers have been around for centuries; we're never supposed to interfere, but sometimes the Rules are . . . uh, bent. Look, that's a long story for another time. What matters now is that I'm your friend, as well as Adam's and Mac's. And you can trust me, Jordie." The Watcher assured her.
"Can we still be friends?" the woman asked.
"You betcha – just because a relationship changes doesn't mean it ends." Joe replied. Relieved, Jordan smiled and nodded before she looked away, studying their surroundings. The woman's gaze rested upon the unconscious Gondorian; she began crawling towards him when suddenly, her head snapped back to the younger man, her eyes wide.
"Do you watch . . . everything, Joe?" Jordan asked, horrified she has an unseen shadow that she is unable to sense . . . recording every move.
"Everything we can, yeah." The younger man couldn't stifle his chuckle at the older woman's apoplectic expression.
"Jordie – there's a difference between watching and intruding. Some . . . 'encounters' are kept private, or as private as possible." Jordan nodded, unsure what to think. Joe cleared his throat, deciding now is as good a time as any.
"Jordie."
"Yes, Joe?" she murmured, continuing towards Breiric.
"Can I ask you something?" Jordan reached the Ranger's side and looked him over, his cold, clammy skin burned beneath her hands. Gently, Jordan examined the Gondorian's wounds as best she could, peering beneath his filthy, bloody clothes, running her hands gently and firmly over his limbs.
"Sure." Jordan murmured, distracted by the Ranger's wounds.
"What are you doing with Legolas? Are you involved with him?" Jordan paused in her assessment of the Ranger; the young Immortal didn't answer right away.
"What do you mean?" Jordan finally replied, evading the blunt question; there isn't much she can do for Breiric, given the present circumstances.
"Are you two . . . ?" The Watcher let the question hang in the air, uncomfortable asking Jordan such a personal question. After all, this isn't MacLeod he is dealing with.
"Tell me what you think I'm doing with him." She countered.
"I think you're getting in over your head." Jordan sent him a withering glare over her shoulder. "I'm saying this as a friend, Jordie – because I care about you." Joe replied gruffly. Jordan simply nodded in acknowledgement, remaining silent. The younger man didn't expect Jordan to answer when she continued to gently prod the Ranger.
"Joe?"
"Yeah?"
"Joe, when something happens . . . something extraordinarily wonderful and exciting – something I've never had happen to me before, I need to find out what it is, to see where it leads." Jordan explained, trying to convey in words what she feels. Joe regarded his Charge's friend thoughtfully. On his weathered face is an expression equal parts concern and amusement.
"What're you gonna do?"
"I don't know" She answered. It is on the tip of Joe's tongue to offer several suggestions, but he restrained himself.
"Jordie, have you . . ?" The Watcher let the question hang in the air, wondering if she will answer, and what the answer will be.
"Told Legolas I'm Immortal?" Jordan answered the unasked question. "No, I haven't." she answered.
"Do you want to?" He prodded.
"Maybe. Okay, yes – I do. Is that wrong? What do you think I should do? What would you do if you were me?" Jordan asked; she gave her friend a humorless smile.
"Part of life is deciding – making your own judgment calls . . . choosing who your friends are. Be careful, Jordie." Joe said softly. "Follow your instincts. Its all you can do." He advised.
"What if I do tell him and . . . I'm wrong?" she ventured.
"Then you're wrong. I think there's only two good reasons to tell someone." The younger man said.
"Do tell." Jordan said, a wry smile on her lips.
"I think you're better able to answer than I am. Do you love him?" He asked her, his eyes searching hers, all trace of humor gone. Jordan opened her mouth to reply, but Joe quickly spoke.
"Don't answer that; think long and hard about it." He advised her.
Don't you think I already have? Jordan thought to herself.
"Why's that, Joe?" the older woman asked.
"'Cause unless you're sure, there are truths that must be kept secret for the sake of the greater good. Have you -"
"Told Duncan about Legolas and I? Not yet." Jordan answered. Joe shook his head, heaving a sigh as he gave the older woman a stern look.
"I know – Please, Joe. Don't tell Duncan. Let me be the one to tell him." The Immortal looked at the Watcher with a guarded expression firmly in place.
Too late for that, Jordie. Joe thought to himself.
He said nothing, chuckling ruefully with sympathy at her forlorn expression. Jordan stiffened and looked up, searching the ridgeline above them as the Buzz filled her senses. The younger man breathed a sigh of relief – the cavalry has finally arrived.
#
Meduseld
The Golden Hall
One Week Later
The Outlanders gathered in the great common room, quietly talking amongst themselves. Jordan pulled out her sticks, running her fingertips lightly along the nicks and chips, before tucking them back into her outer leather tunic.
"We leave tomorrow." Duncan announced.
"Let's see if we can finally make it home." Joe muttered darkly.
"We will." MacLeod replied confidently.
"Just make sure you bring extra blankets for my saddle, would ya?" The Watcher isn't in a hurry to travel hard, yet he didn't like the idea of staying in middle-Earth longer than necessary. The village debacle left a decidedly bitter taste in his mouth.
"No need for that; you'll be find, Joe." His Charge replied calmly. Jordan stood and made to leave the room.
"Where are you going?" Duncan asked his Student. Jordan hesitated at the Clansman's sharp, brusque question.
"I have loose ends I need to tie up." She replied quietly.
"Wait for me; you're not going alone." Her Teacher's tone brooked no argument; Jordan hesitated before nodding meekly. Duncan turned his attention to his other companions. "I suggest we all take this opportunity to say our goodbyes. I'm going to speak with King Éomer. No more scenic routes or delays." Duncan said; the last word is directed toward Jordan, whose lips tightened imperceptibly. The Highlander's cryptic words left the Watcher puzzled, wondering at the certain look his Charge gave his Elder; Methos merely nodded in reply, a small smile appeared on the Eldest's lips as he listened quietly. The pale man kept his expression bland as he studied the somber faces gathered 'round the long table.
"I'll go with you, Mac." Methos said. "Damned déjà vu – yes?" Methos muttered sarcastically to no one in particular. Duncan grunted in agreement before glancing at his Watcher. "You coming, Joe?"
"Nah, I'm gonna check on Breiric." Joe answered.
'Don't leave the building, understand?" Duncan instructed his Student. The pointed look Jordan received is well understood. Jacqueline went to Jordan and put a comforting arm around her.
"I will stay with her, Monsieur MacLeod; we will . . . er, how do you say – 'blow off some steam', have a little chat. Go on, the girl will be fine." The blonde woman encouraged. Jordan gave her Mentor a tentative smile.
"Jordie, stay with Jacqueline – understand?!" Duncan instructed sternly. His student nodded obediently. The Highlander nodded tersely to the older woman before leaving in search of King Éomer; Methos gave the blonde woman a searching look, completely ignoring Jordan, which suited the dark haired woman just fine. After a moment, the Eldest followed his friend.
The women watched the men walk away. Keeping her arm around the younger woman, Jacqueline chatted about everything and nothing. Barely listening to the fair haired woman's prattling, answering with few words as possible and noncommittal shrugs of her shoulders, Jordan's gaze remained on her feet; wrapped in her own thoughts, trying to breathe past the constriction gripping her aching heart, the younger woman took little notice of their surroundings, oblivious how Jacqueline slowly guided her through the hallways and outside, past the guards, eastward to an open field, well past prying eyes.
"What you need, ma chére, is to work out your frustrations. En garde!" Jacqueline declared, pulling out her sword with a flourish. Jordan sighed and pulled out her katana; perhaps the older woman is right – a little exercise always helped clear one's mind.
The women faced each other; for a time, it was the basic rudimentary moves. Then something changed, a subtle shift in mood and technique, for the fair-haired woman's strikes grew faster and stronger. On her guard, the dark haired Immortal realized perhaps they may not be practicing after all. Several times, Jacqueline sliced Jordan's clothes, drawing blood and then apologizing profusely with an innocent expression on her face. Experimentally, Jordan purposefully kept her blocks and parries to the most basic level, giving the impression of being weaker and less skilled than she actually is, adjusting her offenses and defenses when Jacqueline sought to exploit an advantage, for survival can depend on seeming less than you are. By now, both women are glistening with perspiration, their eyes intense as they concentrated.
"You're willing to stay in this fairly land. I see it in your eyes, the way you look at him. Why bother – it will all pass away." The French woman said imperiously, as she panted for breath.
"Not a topic for discussion. What's it to you, anyways?" Jordan retorted, not in the mood to discuss the matter. Quickly wiping the sweat from her brow, Jordan ventured a glance over her shoulder,; she saw how they moved far from the Golden Hall, well beyond the sight of the guards on the walled City.
Duncan will not be happy! Jordan thought, dismayed.
Rule number one, Jordie – 'pay attention' . . . if you continue to day dream when you should be alert, that pretty little head of yours won't be on your neck for much longer . . . Jordan recalled Duncan's admonition with a humorless grunt.
"All for the fuck of an Elf." Jacqueline sneered, clucking with disapproval; she dropped all pretenses of friendliness and concern. Jordan bristled, her stance more cautious; tamping down her temper, the dark haired woman's green eyes darkened, blazing with undisguised anger.
"Such a lady. Leave him out of this - keep your tongue still in your mouth if you know what's good for you." Jordan bit out, the warning tone in her voice unheeded by the woman before her.
"Do not tell me what to do! Your precious Elf -" Jacqueline spat the words out. "No doubt when you two are alone you're all over him like a little bitch in heat." The older Immortal taunted. "He won't think you so pretty without your head, will he?" The long, thin blade of her rapier caught the late afternoon light as she walked around the younger woman. Jordan cautiously backed away, her sword held before her.
"What is your problem?!" Jordan retorted, quite annoyed with the older woman.
"Ma chére, I have no problem; in fact, you are my solution." The Frenchwoman mused aloud, before running at Jordan with her blade, thrusting and sweeping the air before her. The dark haired woman barely had time to raise her sword, surprised by the aggressiveness of the older woman's attack.
"After I take your head, I will take theirs." Jacqueline snarled at the younger woman over their crossed swords. Gripping her hilt tightly with both hands, Jordan dug her heels in and squared her hips and shoulders, using the leverage to push the woman away from her.
"I don't think so; my head is fine right where it is."
"I can fix that." Jacqueline purred just before lunging forward. Sparks flew when Jordan brought her blade up to block the fair-haired woman's thrusting move, then spun away out of reach.
"You don't stand a chance against Adam or Duncan, bitch!" Jordan ground out, circling the older woman, searching for an opening.
"Pity you won't be around to see it." Jacqueline retorted as she lunged forwards again. The peals of metal on metal rang out, lost on the wind as the women began trading blows in a flurry of activity.
#
Breiric is lost in a fevered dream; surrounded by deep, impenetrable darkness, images flitted before him – every battle he'd ever fought, the brothers-in-arms he fought with and watched die, held their weapons before them, the white tree of Gondor etched upon their bracers. Beneath their hoods drawn low, faces cast in shadow, each Ranger raised his head, stepping into the light; to Breiric's horror, the visages are those of Orcs and Uruk-hai, their grotesque faces twisted into a sneer as they gnashed their teeth, only to sink back into shadow. With a cry, the Dúnedain found himself walking amidst the ruins of his beloved city. The Ranger pressed on, drawn forward by an unseen force, stumbling over the rubble, choking on the thick dust swirling all around him. He struck at the shadow creatures attacking from the side, staving off their swords, only to find his sword gone. Up ahead, a form he recognized laid on the ground, face upturned to the sunless sky. Breiric looked with horror upon the dead woman – Nooooo! The Ranger moaned and thrashed weakly, his battered body unable to escape the stabbing agony radiating from everywhere, desperate to reach the fallen woman, unable to move. With a howl of despair, Breiric sank to his knees, looking up in time to see the Lady Jordan before him, making her way towards him; with a strangled cry, Breiric struggled to his feet – determined to not fail her again. Before he could reach her, the Lady fell to her knees, a serene expression upon her face as she fell forward, dead – run through with a sword from behind, the Uruk hai behind her roaring triumphantly.
With a start, Breiric awoke; he lay in his bed, his nightclothes soaked with sweat from his troubling dreams. Wincing, he shifted his battered body, seeking a more comfortable position. His broken and tightly bound ribs barely allowed him to draw full breaths; Breiric's entire body still ached, as does his violated ass. The Ranger cradled his head in his hands, gritting his teeth, hoping the nightmares will go away soon, for it did not help his still throbbing, also tightly bound skull. Even with his eyes closed, the horrific encounter he barely survived continued to plague him. The injured man looked up at the soft knock on the door.
"Come." He called weakly, grimacing with the effort. The door opened slowly admitting his visitor.
"I came t'see how 'ya doin . . ." Joe said tentatively as he entered the quiet room.
The Ranger looked at the Son of Daw, a plethora of emotions playing on the Gondorian's ashen, haggard face. Breiric gestured with a nod to the chair beside his bed. Gratefully, Joe walked over and lowered himself carefully; the man before him is a sorry sight to see; the Watcher winced in sympathy, for Breiric's healing face is a motley collection of cuts and bruises . . . Joe knows all too well the shadows in the Ranger's eyes, and the accompanying dark circles beneath them. Joe regarded the Ranger solemnly before speaking.
"You look like shit." Joe said; his words made Breiric smile wanly.
"Aye, and it still hurts to as well. Rest is but a fleeting hope. Sleep eludes me." Breiric replied, his voice hushed. If not for you, it'd hurt for me to take a shit as well! Joe thought as he cocked an eyebrow, taking in the haunted look on the Ranger's face.
"Wanna talk about it?" Joe asked sympathetically.
"I failed her." Breiric whispered; his voice cracked, heavy with emotion.
"Huh? Who'd ya 'fail'?" Joe asked, confused.
"The Lady Jordan; I should never have allowed you both to come. Now she is dead – because of me! I did not insist you both stay behind, and now she's dead. You did not escape this encounter untouched, Son of Daw." The Ranger answered bitterly, noting how the cuts and bruises on the Outlander's weathered face still are not fully healed.
"Buddy, ya got it wrong; Jordie – er, Lady Jordan is not dead. A little worse for wear, but she's fine; we just had breakfast not too long ago." Brieiric's face drained completely of all color; his head began to throb even more as his blood pressure skyrocketed. Immediately alarmed, Joe was about to shout for help when the Gondorian spoke again.
"Impossible! I saw her die – my eyes are not cheated by a spell; I watched her die . . . ! She took a spear to her belly, and you caught her . . ."
"She's fine, Breiric; in fact, I'm sure she's due for a visit t'check on you – she's a Healer back home, y'know." Joe said, carefully watching the man. The convalescent's countenance is a very slight shade better than death warmed over. Time slowed for the injured man; Breiric saw the Outlander before him, but his lips seemed to more in slow motion, his ears hearing but his brain not registering the words he uttered.
"It cannot be . . ." Breiric whispered the words, shaking his head in denial – desperate to believe the whiskered man, but knowing it to be impossible. How can one simply rise from the dead, unless it involved strong, dark magic?
"What manner of witch is she?! She's - !" Breiric fell speechless as he attempted to process the information Joe just gave him.
"Whoa, hold on there – she's no 'witch'." Joe said soothingly, trying to calm the distressed Ranger.
"'Tis unnatural – it cannot be!" Breiric insisted; he attempted to rise from his bed, but fell back onto his pillows with a loud roan; the effort drained him. Breiric began to hyperventilate; he couldn't breathe, the room felt too small – he had to get out into the fresh air – he had to see for himself, if the Son of Daw spoke the truth. Grimacing, the Gondorian cradled his ribs.
"Calm down!" Joe repeated the command. Using the end of his cane, he pushed the injured man back onto his bed; thankfully, it did not require much effort on the Watcher's part to subdue the wild-eyed man.
"This is madness – witch work!" Breiric gasped, thoroughly spent. Joe ran his hand through his hair; he looked hard at the man before him, weighing his options.
Damnit! Can't let this bastard go through life thinking he's insane; shit – it won't hurt to tell him. After all, we are leaving . . .
"Look, Jordie's no witch; Far from it; she's very special, and I'll tell you what she is - if you can keep your mouth shut. No one but you must know, y'understand?" Joe's softly spoken words are emphasized by his hard expression. The Ranger stared at him, breathing rapidly, searching the man's face for signs of falsehood. Slowly, Breiric nodded; he must know.
"Good. Before I do, I need your word you won't tell a soul. Lady Jordan's life depends on you keeping your mouth shut, y'understand?" Breiric simply nodded.
"You're gonna take a binding Oath – I don't care if you swear on the King's life, his wife's life, your unborn children – y'get the picture?!" Joe demanded. The Gondorian searched the Outlander's face, desperate to know the truth of the woman whose death he witnessed; he has many questions he needs answered.
"I will swear to this Oath." Breiric declared.
#
She found him at the smithy, sharpening his weapons; clearing her throat, Jordan gained his attention and smiled tentatively, wondering how she will be received. The stout fellow looked up from his task and harrumphed; once again, the woman looked worse for wear. Gimli raised an eyebrow at the Lady Jordan's appearance. Gone is her customary outer tunic; the curbed scabbard of her strange blade is tucked into the under tunic, jutting out through a hold in her leggings. Clutched tightly in her hand, Gimli peered at the unfamiliar sword, but dismissed it; the Lady's under shirt is knotted at her waist, no doubt the only thing holding her leggings up, for the leather ties in front are missing. The Dwarf's eyebrows raised, for Jordan's shirt is slices in several places, with drying bloodstains upon it – from the look of things, none of it is the Lady's for she moves as one uninjured; Jordan remained silent, save for the longing and misery on her face, conveying more to the hardy being before her words did.
Legolas' destiny in middle-Earth will be unrealized and unfulfilled if you remain here . . . Jordan shivered inwardly, remembering the intense warning in Adam's eyes. A large part of her wanted to scream with frustration at the unfairness of it all.
"Out with it, Lass." Gimli grunted, turning back to his task. At least this isn't awkward; this isn't easy for me . . . the woman thought to herself, relieved.
"I . . . I came to say 'good-bye'; I don't expect you to understand, Gimli . . . please try; it has to be this way." Jordan replied. "I would stay if I could." She added quietly.
"Ach! Ye dinna hae t'convince me, Lass. May what takes ye 'way be worth what ye're leaving behin', Lass." Gimli grunted; the lilting brogue in the Dwarf's voice emphasized the gravity of his words. Despite herself, Jordan smiled slightly, for the short fellow's brogue is so much like Duncan's. Jordan knew she should leave, yet lingered a moment longer; she turned away, pausing when Gimli spoke again.
"Do ye realize wha' the pointy-ear is willing t'give up t' choose a mortal life – a life wi' ye?" he grunted between whetstone strokes.
"What do you mean?" Jordan asked sharply. Gimli carefully propped his weapon against a table and set his whetstone down, before squinting up at the dark haired woman.
"Elves din nae suffer from age or disease; o'sure, they can be slain in battle, bu' . . . when Elf-kind are bound to his or her mortal – 'married' if you will, he or she gi' up the immortality. After ye leave, Legolas will fade from grief, 'til he is but a shade more'n a wraith." Gimli studied Jordan's face intently, hoping to reach her – hoping the truth of the matter will sway her to choose to remain in middle-Earth.
There's much more Legolas must do, and it won't happen with you here . . . you will turn him from his purpose. Adam's warning came back to Jordan.
"We didn't 'bind', so . . .
"He doesn't have to do that; it won't be necessary." Jordan said softly.
"Not for ye t'decide; 'Tis his choice t'make, Lass."
I'm taking that choice from him Jordan decided. She bit the inside of her cheek hard to prevent the welling tears from spilling over. Jordan must be strong to get through his; it will not do to fall apart. Steeling herself, the woman shored her resolve – the better for everyone to make a clean break and not linger or dwell on what might have been. Jordan clutched the sword with both hands, drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin.
"If he ever asks . . . please tell him I do love him."
"Don' ye think ye should tell him yerself?" Gimli countered.
If you have any real feelings for him, you must let him go . . .
Jordan didn't answer. Instead, she bent down and gave Gimli a heartfelt hug, and a gentle kiss on his ruddy, whiskered cheek. He merely scowled at her; the fierce expression softened by the compassion in his eyes. It isn't lost on him how the woman left unsaid if she told Legolas of her mutual love. Though he hates to see his Elf friend hurting, Gimli cannot truly be angry with the Lady Jordan, for a certain Fair being comes to his mind's eye, her golden strands of hair are kept close to his heart. It is the Dwarf's dearest wish to gaze upon her lovely face again before his eyes close in death.
"Goodbye, Gimli; thank you for everything. . . I will miss you." Before he could say more, Jordan turned on her heel and walked swiftly away, her back ramrod straight and her head held high. Gimli sighed heavily and shook his head as he reached for his throwing axe.
#
Meduseld
0.5mi West
Midnight
They stood together in the blackness of the night, the wind-whipped grassland barely lit by the weak rays of the waning crescent moon. Shoving her hands deeper within Duncan's overcoat pocket, Jordan leaned against Joe, taking comfort in his presence. The Watcher put his arm around the older woman, giving her shoulders an encouraging squeeze. Joe yawned and gave his Charge an impatient look. Jordan daren't ask why they set out on foot; given a choice between leather express or horseback, Jordan is willing to climb into a saddle. Surely Duncan has his reasons for gathering them outside in the middle of the night. Duncan glanced at the persons gathered together.
"Let's do this, Mac." Joe groused, unsure what they're assembled and waiting for.
You're not a very good poker player
Joe's words echoed in Jordan's mind; her neutral expression gave no hint of her inner turmoil. Meeting her Mentor's eyes, Jordan gave him a small smile and nodded. Duncan frowned; he is impatient to take his leave of middle-Earth, before anything else – or anyone can delay their departure.
"Where's Jacqueline – has anyone seen her?" the Highlander asked, clearly irritated.
"She's not coming." Jordan answered.
Jordan reached within Duncan's overcoat and removed the silver rapier, holding it out for all to see. Duncan merely raised an eyebrow and said nothing more. the Highlander's brow furrowed as he concentrated and held his right hand up, his strong fingers splayed outward. The air before him shimmered before rippling outward; the center of the portal warped as worlds collided, intersected and realigned as reality, time, times and the passing of time defied and transcended all laws of nature, physics and logic. Light shone from the other side, spilling through the portal, illuminating the grasslands. With a wave of his hand, Duncan enlarges the opening, expanding it so his companions can easily step through. Jordan's eyes widened in astonishment and wonder, her jaw literally dropped open as she gaped at the sight before her. Joe put a finger beneath her chin and gently closed her jaw.
"Hot damn . . . home sweet home!" Joe crowed; he gave a short bark of incredulous laughter, thrilled to see the narrow, meandering streets of Paris before him. Duncan looked at his Watcher with a wide grin on his face.
Damn that woman to Mordor and back!
From the Golden Hall's highest vantage point, Legolas watched the figures in the distance, standing before the odd point of light that is growing ever larger; despair and anger choked him. The Mirkwood Elf can't believe this is happening. Jordan made her choice – she is leaving! Fists clenched at his side, Legolas trembled with the effort to remain in place, for his heart demanded he run to Jordan – to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her until she is dazed, to make her stay. But he couldn't – wouldn't; Jordan did not choose to stay . . . with him. Eyes narrowed, Legolas' cerulean gaze rested upon the Son of Pier, itching to put an arrow between his hazel eyes. Shifting his focus to Jordan, Legolas clearly sees hope and sadness co-mingled on her pale face. Hope flared within his heart.
Pride be damned! Legolas cursed in every tongue and language he spoke, unwilling to let Jordan go without a fight.
Leaping from his vantage point, Legolas landed lightly on the thatched roof below him, barely disturbing the roofing material; vaulting across rooftops and wending his way downward, Legolas sprinted at top speed towards the Outlanders.
"Really, MacLeod?!" Methos asked, exasperated. "Don't you think we should make our grand entrance in a more private setting?" Methos suggested sarcastically to the younger Immortal with a pleased grin of his own. Duncan nodded his agreement; with a twist of his wrist, the setting changed to the shadowed tunnels beneath the Bastille. The Clansman lowered his hand and stepped back. On a whim, Methos flung his Quickening far and wide, pleased to see how easily and immediately it ranges even further than before; Methos' senses brushed against the familiar signatures in the distance, frowning when he sensed one in particular moving rapidly towards them.
"Let's go." Duncan said with a smug grin. Joe stepped through, lightly clapping the Highlander on the shoulder. He carefully lowered himself to the ground and wiped a spot clean before kissing it. Next went Methos; behind him, Duncan stepped through the portal.
"Jordie?" Duncan called.
"I'm coming Duncan . . . I just want to take one last look." She replied; turning, Jordan's gaze lingered on the dark horizon. What is she hoping for? Fool! They already said their good-byes – first in a frenzy of passion and anger, then later in a loving, desperate embrace, and finally, with a silent tenderness that overwhelmed and moved her to tears. Sighing, Jordan turned and stepped towards the portal when she turned back once more, scanning the horizon again, hoping against hope to see Legolas coming for her; peering through the inky blackness, she is unable to make anything out. Choking down her disappointment, the dark haired woman took a deep, steadying breath.
"Jordan!" Legolas shouted her name, hoping she will hear his voice and turn back. With a burst of speed, Legolas drew nearer, yet too far that her name is carried away by the fickle winds. Quickly he drew his bow and fitted an arrow, letting it fly.
"Traîner les choses encour plus longue et on va avoir de la compagnie très bientot (Drag this out even longer and we're gonna have company very soon." Methos warned the Highlander before stooping to help Joe up; suddenly, Methos straightened, his calm façade gone as his nostrils flared. Methos' hazel eyes narrowed and a furious scowl appeared on his face.
"Jordie!" Duncan prompted, holding his hand out to her. Jordan grasped the Highlander's hand and crossed the threshold between the two worlds when her mentor pulled her forward and wrapped his strong arms around her – relieved to have her back in their world.
"Nooooooo!" Legolas' howl of anguish is lost to the wind; breathing heavily, he sank to his knees – watching helplessly, disbelievingly as the portal winked closed, leaving the Rohirrim grassland shrouded in midnight's darkness once again.
A/N:
Sorry it took this long to post; I had to feverishly retype all 10 pages in order to post. The retype has pushed Ch. 34 back some. But I'm working on it! Thank you again for bearing with me; and most especially, your Reviews. Those Reviews (you wonderful Reviewers know who you are!) help get me writing.
All flames will be cheerfully ignored - if you don't care for this story, stop reading it and move along.
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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