Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
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Chapter List
- 33
- 34
“Here we stand, worlds apart
Hearts broken in two, two, two
Sleepless nights, losing ground
I’m reaching for you, you, you
Feelin’ that it’s gone, Can change your mind
If we can’t go on; survive the tide, love divides
Someday love will find you, break those chains that bind you
One night will remind you,
How we touched and went our separate ways
If he ever hurts you, true love won’t desert you
You know I still love you
Though we touched and went our separate ways . . .”
-- Journey, ‘Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)”

Gondor, The White City King Elessar’s Private Chambers One week Later

They observed the massive restoration efforts in progress before gathering together upon the balcony of the King’s private chambers; the grand, panoramic view of Gondor is far below the members of the Fellowship. With Gimli’s building plans spread upon a table, the discussion focuses upon how to further improve and reinforce the City’s defenses and infrastructures. The conversation is rich with lighthearted banter, making the afternoon pass swiftly. Supper is brought to them and leisurely consumed. As they eat, the trio recounts glories of bittersweet victories, of passing through hardships unnumbered, sharing memories of those no longer with them. Sundown sets the White City agleam; Gimli breaks the companionable silence when he shares the tale of a strange woman – an Outlander. Only then does their Liege learn of Jordan Waters. Observing the Fair Being, the former Ranger frowns thoughtfully as he listens, deeply concerned; he sees how affected their Elf-friend is by this woman whom Gimli speaks of at length and with great affection; Legolas remains silent, reluctantly speaking of the woman only after the King’s urging. As Legolas details the story of his lost love, King Elessar’s concern for the Firstborn’s welfare increases, knowing Elf-kind are prone to pine and fade from grief – a fate his own love, Queen Arwen, will experience after his death. However, the Son of Arathorn received council from Mithrandir just days before his friends’ arrival, and the wizard’s words are fresh in Elessar’s mind.
“What now, Mellon?” King Elessar asks his friend. Gimli puffs away on his pipe, silent and watchful -- he is unapologetic for sharing Legolas’ loss.
“Gimli and I will go to Ithillien and help make it great once again.” Legolas decides; his serene countenance gives no outward indication of his heartache. Gimli looks startled, but says nothing and continues to puff on his pipe whilst glaring at his pale haired friend.
King Elessar nods his agreement; he has great confidence his old friends will achieve the lofty goal in grand fashion. Gondor will benefit by the mere presence of the Elves alone – it will be a mutually symbiotic relationship breathing new life into that section of his kingdom. Perhaps it will help the Mirkwood Prince’s heart to heal if he spends and passes time with his kin, the ambitious project will surely distract the Elf’s mind from his heart’s woes.
“Come.” Elessar bids his friends. Turning to survey his kingdom once more, Elessar leads his friends to his private dining room whilst calling for wine, ale and other spirits to be brought. It is high time to drink together and forget their cares, if only for a little while.
Seacouver, Washington Duncan’s loft 6 months later
“Seems like a dream, doesn’t it?” Joe muses, squinting at his friends with a thoughtful expression on his whiskered face; he settles himself on a barstool and takes a pull of his beer.
“A bad one at that.” Duncan agrees. He frowns as he pores over his stocks' activities on his notebook; several investments are not faring so well; however, many others are performing better than he expects.
“Really? It wasn’t all that bad. You didn’t enjoy Rivendell and Edoras?” Methos asks, grabbing a beer. He bites into an apple before lowering his lanky frame into the armchair and flings a long leg over the armrest.
“Under different circumstances I would’ve.” The younger man murmurs absently, switching between multiple tabs on his computer screen.
“Looked to me like you enjoyed yourself just fine, Mac.” Joe drawls, reaching for the bowl of salted nuts. “So . . . what ‘bout you, Old Man -- you miss it?”
“I do . . . I absolutely would’ve enjoyed it more under different circumstances.” Methos answers.
“What’s Jordie up to?” Joe ventures to ask; tending to his business affairs on both sides of the pond kept Joe unusually busy.
“Working. A lot.” Methos replies.
After their return, the Eldest fully intended to keep his distance from Jordan, allowing her time to adjust to life without Legolas. Duncan’s unexpected request that Methos keep a close eye on her gives him reason to be involved in Jordan’s life; Methos does not waste the opportunity, and makes the most of it.
I’ve had thousands of women in my life; it wasn’t until Alexa I . . . realized how lonely I am. The Eldest muses wryly to himself.
Jordan initially kept Methos at arms length; however, he pours on the charm whilst finding ways to avail himself, insinuating himself in her life; Methos uses his considerable experience with the fairer sex to draw Jordan closer to him. The Ancient One enjoys the complex courting dance upon the razor’s edge, the challenge of breaking through Jordan’s wary, determined resistance; as a result, her self-erected barriers have begun to weaken, though not quite crumble just yet -- which suits Methos just fine . . . for now. Jordan no longer finds excuses to avoid spending time with him . . . at least as frequently as she initially did upon their return; frequently presenting himself at the hospital with a delicious hot lunch in hand does not hurt Methos’ cause, for Jordan’s co-workers look at them with approving (and envious) smiles and declare him ‘Jordan’s boyfriend’, a title Methos does not deny.
Baby steps. We’ll finish what was started in Paris. Methos plans with a tiny smile; he is patient. After all, what is time to an Immortal? Methos’ immediate goal is for Jordan to cease denying him the title her co-workers’ bestow upon his person.
“She normally work this much, Mac?” Joe asks. Duncan shrugs, not looking up from the computer screen. As far as he’s concerned, all is right in his world, and Duncan refuses to think differently.
“After we got her job situation sorted out, Jordie’s been working twelve hour shifts and overtime. Her choice.” the Clansman answers by way of explanation.
“Was it hard t’arrange?” Joe asks, curious. Methos wonders the same.
“No; I ‘pursuaded’ to her boss and co-workers Jordie’s still employed there; had ‘im remove all strikes against her employee file for being gone beyond her approved vacation -- and I had HR move her to a day position.” Duncan answers proudly.
“How’d you do that?” Joe asks, puzzled.
“I’ve been . . . ‘pushing’ boundaries.” Duncan replies with a sidelong glance at his Elder. Methos smiles wryly in return and raises his beer high in salute.
Shortly after returning to their world, the Scotsman decides to see what he is capable of; Duncan delves deeper, immersing himself even further within the deepest recesses of himself – probing and testing Nakano’s mental manipulating abilities, fully embracing and realizing them beyond even his own expectations. Duncan has truly made it his own, limited only by his will and imagination; he flexes the ability sparingly and judiciously, for Duncan is ever aware of the lingering effects of his Dark Quickening.
“Wow, it pays to know peeps, eh, Mac?”
“It pays to harness and evolve peeps’ abilities, Joe – big difference.” Duncan clarifies.
“So . . . I was thinking . . . maybe Jordie’s workin’ so much ‘cause she misses him.” Joe says.
“You don’t think she’s over ‘him’?” Duncan murmurs as he types away; he needn’t ask whom Joe speaks of.
“No. ” Joe answers, stealing a glance at Methos; he is unable to read the pale man’s sphynxlike expression.
“Give ‘er time; she’ll be fine.” Duncan declares, unconcerned.
Give me a little more time and I’ll help her get over him. Methos thinks to himself.
“She seeing anyone since we returned?” Joe asks his friend.
“No one I know of.” Duncan answers.
“Don’t worry, Mac; if she’s still single, it’s ‘cause Jordie knows an idiot when she sees one.” Joe said with a pointed look at Methos.
The Eldest gave Joe a withering glare in return. Duncan grunts in reply before making the mistake of glancing at his friend over the computer screen. The expression on the Watcher’s face makes the Highlander sigh.
“Methos? You think Jordie misses Legolas?” Duncan asks. Methos’ prolonged silence causes the Highlander to look away from his work, a frown creasing his brow.
“You’re asking the wrong person; I don’t know enough about their ‘relationship’ to answer . . . It appears you two have a failure to communicate about this little matter – yes?” Methos says. Duncan glares at his friend.
“I tried asking her . . . she doesn’t say much; I guess Jordie just doesn’t want to talk about it.” Duncan replies. “We belong in our own worlds anyways, right, Methos?” Duncan looks to his Elder for support, surprised when Methos doesn’t answer – much less agree -- right away. The older man is lost in thought, his eyes slightly unfocused.
I know what I want; who does Jordan want . . . ? Unbeknownst to his companions, behind his calm façade, Methos is wrestling with an internal dilemma, tamping down his conscience -- weighing his options and calculating the possible outcomes affecting those involved.
“Methos?” the younger man prompts.
“I think there could’ve been a chance.” Methos reluctantly answers.
“Wha d’you mean – are you saying she should’ve stayed there?!” Duncan scowls, fixing a stern eye on his Elder.
“You think it would’ve worked out?” Joe asks, addressing the elephant in the room. Methos sighs and rubs his face before speaking.
“I didn’t say that. ‘Should’ve stayed’ – absolutely not; ‘could’ve’ -- see first answer. ‘Would’ve’ is an entirely different matter. As in any relationship, there’s always a chance it’ll work out . . . but not in his world. ” Methos replies; immediately he regrets uttering the words as he looks between his two friends.
“Why d’ya say that, Old Man? Hey, whoa – you can’t just say that and walk away!” Joe protests as the Eldest stands and retrieves his overcoat.
“Leaving so soon?” Duncan said.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Methos smirks, sitting and reaching within the folds of his garment; he lays the object on the coffee table before them.
“Legolas’ arrow.” Duncan says thoughtfully; he powers his notebook down and reaches for the projectile.
“Winner, winner – chicken dinner.” The pale man replies, clapping his hands.
“Where’d you get this -- Why do you have it, Methos?” Duncan asks; he examines it closely.
“You got some s’plainin’ to do; why’d he give it to you?” Joe asks. Methos snorts in derision before sighing deeply; raising his beer to his lips, he slowly drains it before facing his friends.
#
Upright again, Joe lookes around the shadowed tunnels, relieved to be home. He watches as Methos walks away, stooping to inspect something, not seeing the object the Eldest tucks into the folds of his overcoat before returning to his friend’s side.
“What happened to your ear?” Joe asks; his observant gaze takes in the fresh blood on the Eldest’s ear and neck, though the wound is healed, the stain is fresh. Methos touches it with a furious scowl on his aristocratic face.
“Nothing.” Methos growls.
#
“He didn’t give it to me. Legolas shot it at me when we were leaving. Would’ve nailed me -- if I hadn’t helped you up, Joe. The fucker grazed my ear.” Methos says coldly, his hazel eyes narrow with impotent rage at the memory of the near-miss. “I would’ve shot the motherfucker if he wasn’t out of range. Lucky for him . . .” Joe’s eyes grow bigger, then he begins to chuckle. And for Jordan’s sake Joe silently adds.
“So that’s what happened!” Joe says with another chuckle.
“Glad you can see the humor in it, ‘cause I sure as hell can’t.” Methos retorts; his acerbic tone doesn’t bother the Watcher.
“Aww, c’mon, Methos – the guy obviously wanted us to know he was coming for her – he just couldn’t get there in time, so he sent his calling card.” Joe’s laughter trails off; he realizes his words and looks sheepishly at his Charge. Duncan is quiet, running his hands along the arrow’s smooth shaft. The Clansman glances at his companions briefly before turning his attention back to the projectile. Uncomfortable silence ensues; Joe turns his attention back to his food and drink as Methos lays his head back and closes his eyes.
“Whatever happens to Legolas, Methos?” Duncan quietly asks. Methos raises his head and looks at the younger man, refusing to answer right away. Gonna need another beer Methos decides.
“Methos . . . ?” Duncan prompts his Elder.
“What do you mean . . . ?” the Eldest asks, hedging around the question; his mind is quickly working out possible scenarios . . . planning his next move.
“You know what I mean.” Duncan answers sternly, a clear warning in his voice. Joe watches the exchange, wondering if Methos will answer.
“Nothing happens to him.” Methos replies, heading to the refrigerator. He pops the top off his beer and takes a long draught, preparing himself for the inevitable. Joe is about to speak when Methos silences him with a look.
“Does Legolas ever marry and have kids of his own?” Duncan asks. Methos sighs and sits atop a barstool, draining his long neck before answering.
“I don’t know.” the Eldest answers slowly.
“What does happen to him?” Joe asks, curious.
“After King Elessar dies, Legolas leaves middle-Earth with Gimli and sails away into the sunset.” Methos answers.
“That’s it? Nothing else about the guy?” Joe asks.
“That’s all I know.” Methos answers.
“You know hella lot more than we do -- how do you know all this?” Joe presses his friend.
“Whatever you need: doctor, lawyer, Indian chief; I’ve got paperwork to cover it all -- I know most things about many things . . . but not everything about all things – yes?” Methos answers glibly with an innocently smug expression on his face; the younger men shoot him dirty looks.
Duncan stands and jams his hands into his pockets, frowning thoughtfully. Joe and Methos exchange looks, wondering what their friend is thinking; Methos instinctively knows where this discussion is heading, yet hopes his gut feeling is wrong.  The Scot walks to his balcony and stares thoughtfully at the horizon. The men inside give each other uneasy glances. Methos nods towards the lift door, signaling it is time to leave. Joe nods his agreement and reaches for his cane.
“You guys packed and ready?” Duncan abruptly asks his companions.
“For what?” Methos asks cautiously.
“Acquisitions I need to see to.” Duncan replies briskly; he crosses the room quickly and sits down before his notebook. His friends exchange uneasy glances.
“Again?! Hey, you’re not planning to return to middle-Earth, right?” Joe asks, apprehensive; if that is the case, he plans to be more prepared.
“Nope. We’re taking the red eye out. Tonight.” Duncan replies.
“You can’t be serious, MacLeod!” Methos complains; he planned to surprise Jordan with a weekend getaway to California’s Napa Valley, hoping the romantic setting will set the mood for a more . . . fulfilling encounter. Methos isn’t sure what the younger man is planning, but he knows something is up Duncan’s sleeve – he can feel it in his bones.
“Where we goin’?” Joe asks, surprised.
“England.”
“Hell yeah, in that case, I’m in.” Joe answers, greatly relieved.
“Good.” Duncan replies.
“You’re timing stinks, MacLeod; I’m taking Jordan on a mini holiday this weekend --!” Methos breaks off at Duncan’s angry glare.
“Whoa – why do you have that look on your face?” Methos asks warily.
“What the hell is this ‘mini holiday’?! You’re only supposed to watch her, Methos -- stay away from her! I dinna ken wha’ yer up to, ye stay t’hell away from her – y’hear?” the younger Immortal orders his Elder. “Don’t ye hurt the Lass!” Duncan growls, his hand automatically reaching for his sword atop the coffee table.
“Stand down, Highlander!”
Though he considers Duncan a true and valued friend, Methos is not about to dismiss the Highlander’s challenge – or let a second chance with Jordan slip away so easily. Methos’ hazel eyes widen with surprise and then narrow when the younger man’s hand grips his sword; the Eldest didn’t reach his age by choosing his battles foolishly; that Duncan slips automatically into a deep brogue warns the Eldest to tread carefully. “Jordan has her own damn ‘Watcher’, remember? She’s not a child -- relax, MacLeod; you can’t live her life for her and you can’t make her choices for her, either.” The Eldest says calmly.
“Mac!” Joe barks; the tension in the air is thick. A muscle in the Clansman jaw twitches reflexively. With a glance at his Watcher, Duncan releases his weapon and sits back, regarding his friends stonily.
“Look – I don’t think Jordie will appreciate you guys having this conversation; so what if they’re spending time together – Methos is right; she’s not a child, Mac.” Joe says carefully.
“Compared to us, she is a child -- she’s not even a century old! ” Duncan fumes, directing a baleful glare toward his friend. “And we all know your history with women, Methos --”
“That’s rich – the pot calling the kettle black!” Methos shoots back.
“Ye cannae commit!” Duncan retorts, his dark eyes flashing.
“You know nothing, MacLeod! You know damn well I’m much married.” The pale man answers in a low voice, suppressing a flash of anger.
“But nae an Immortal --” Duncan retorts.
“Jordan’s young -- yes. No one is committing to anything here; I’m her friend; we’re just friends spending time together. That’s all!” Methos returns, his temper flaring.
Until we become lovers Methos wisely does not give voice to his thoughts.
“ Ach! 'S ann agam-sa a tha a' chùirt ag éisteachd riut (I don’t see why I should waste my time listening to you)!” Duncan mutters.
“Guys – guys take a break, would ya?! Calm down, now – both of you! You’re fighting like an old married couple!” Joe barks, interrupting his friends’ heated discussion. “C’mon, Mac, be reasonable. Methos is right; Jordie can make her own choices--”
“If you’d let her-- ! ” Methos interjects.
“Shut it, Methos! I don’t need help here!” Joe snaps, irritated with his friends.
“Ó, imeachd an t-srutha leat (Why don’t you take a running jump)?!” Duncan bit out, glaring at his Elder. “Mac -- y’know you’re speaking Gaelic, right?” Joe asks his charge.
Duncan blinks at the Watcher before standing up; he glares at Methos again before making his way back to the balcony. The Highlander calms himself and examines his feelings. He can’t seem to think straight when Jordan’s involved. All Duncan knows is he must protect her – no matter what. Grudgingly, the Scot acknowledges his friends are right; Jordan must live her life and make her own decisions. He may not agree with certain choices Jordan will make, but he will be there to advise and help her as she needs and wants him to . . . just as he had with Ritchie.
“Just sayin’ – yes?” Methos adds before throwing his hands up in mock surrender at Joe’s exasperated expression.
Is this what parenthood is like?! The Highlander wonders. Sighing, he sits down heavily, fixing his dark eyes on his Elder.
“Just so we understand each other . . . if you hurt her -- I’m gonna kick your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week, y’ken?” Duncan says calmly. You can try Methos thinks before he snorts in reply. “What if she hurts me?!” he counters.
“Tough shit, Methos. You’ll live.” Duncan replies with a cheerful grin; Methos just shakes his head and sighs.
“Fine. Meet us at Caine’s.” Methos says.
Joe looks at the Eldest questioningly, puzzled, but says nothing; he looks forward to seeing where and how the Halcyon lives. Duncan nods his head in agreement as the men take their leave.
#
Ithilien
120 F.A.

En route to the dry dock, Legolas breathes deeply as he wanders along the climbing woods and swift falling streams, his sharp gaze takes in the gentle, verdant slopes, the sweet smelling herbs and shrubs. The southern airs and moist winds from the Sea stir his pale hair. To occupy his mind and quell the unrequited longing in his heart, Legolas commissioned the building of a ship; having settled on a design, and satisfied with the grey keel and frame, he is pleased how quickly the ship is taking shape -- in large part because of the rapid planking. This life holds little joy for the Crown Prince. Legolas often finds himself living in the past, when he was with her. Walking amongst his transplanted Mirkwood kin, the colony he helped rebuild surpasses its former glory and eases his soul, temporarily filling the gnawing, ever growing void in his heart that began when Jordan chose to return to her world; reaching into his tunic, Legolas removes the uniquely braided rope from his tunic. He holds it in his hands; it catches the light, shining blue-black with the glint of a thousand silken threads as he gently touches it with his fingertips. Raising it to his nose, he breathes in.

Sandalwood and strawberries
Closing his eyes, Legolas can almost smell that unique scent from so many moons long gone; in his mind’s eye, Legolas still sees Jordan’s smile and the sound of her laughter echoes in his heart. I will find you Melamin, if it takes a hundred years -- a mere blink in the life of an Elf. I’m patient . . .
How he will find her, Legolas has no idea where to begin. The sound of hoof beats approaching interrupts his reverie, but he is enthralled in the memories of his lost love.
“My Lord Legolas!”
Tucking the dark rope back inside his tunic, Legolas turns towards the sound, watching the courier’s steed draw closer. The servant scrambles to dismount, gasping out his message whilst holding the reins out to Legolas.
“Sire – my Lord the Prince summons you at once.” Nodding, Legolas takes the reins from the manservant and gracefully leaps into the saddle; turning his mount’s head towards Emyn Arnen, the Fair One rides with all haste to meet with the Prince of Ithilien. Shown into the private chambers of Ithilien’s rulers, Legolas’ calm expression becomes that of concern upon seeing the stricken faces of Prince Faramir and the White Lady.
“My Lord and Lady -- what is it?”
“King Elessar is dead.” Prince Faramir answers without preamble. Princess Éowyn lays a comforting hand upon her husband’s arm, a look of sympathy directed towards the Elf as tears stream down her face unchecked.
Legolas knows this day will inevitably come; the knowledge does not diminish the sorrow he feels. Bowing his head in grief, Legolas touches his heart and murmurs an Elvish blessing for the passing of his friend. He exchanges few words with the Prince and his Princess, keeping the conversation brief, for there is much to be done. The Wood Elf must find Gimli, to impart the sad news, if the son of Glóin hasn’t already heard. Legolas and Gimli must condole with the newly widowed Queen, offer words of comfort, and help prepare the King for his eternal rest. As Legolas takes his leave, his thoughts turn inward, examining his own heart. If the emotions Legolas feels in his heart at Jordan’s absence is but a shadow of what the Evenstar is feeling at the loss of her love, the Fair Elf does not think he can bear much longer the years’ passing. His ever-growing weariness with this life weighs more heavily upon him, making the white gulls’ call louder and more insistent. After King Elessar is laid to rest with his forbears, Legolas decides, if Mithrandir is unable to assist him, he will take Gimli with him and they will sail down the Anduin to the Undying Lands -- where surely the Valar will be able to advise him.
#
Northern England
Spencer Manor
Does Legolas ever marry and have kids of his own . . . ?
Methos stands at the drawing room’s picture windows, not seeing the lush, perfectly manicured landscape; in the peaceful, secluded privacy of his oldest friend and Student’s home, the Eldest contemplates the Highlander’s question.
Nothing else is written . . . maybe the future can still be decided; what course will it alter . . . ? Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate Methos’ brow furrows; he is deep in thought.
Walking in his memories, the pale man considers his options; his pragmatic mind mulls each option over at length before finally determining his next move. Standing at the kitchen’s expansive French doors, Caine Spencer watches his wife stroll arm in arm with the Watcher towards the stables, before walking to his stately drawing room with a grin on his face.
“As I live and breathe. You’re still alive!” Caine’s sarcastic words are at odds with his openly relieved expression; his guest turns to face him.
“Not liking the way you said that. Miss me?” Adam smirks as he strides towards his Student. They pull the other into a fierce and brief man hug.
“You can’t even begin to guess; now that you’ve returned, the Challenges should ease up. Merry and I may finally get some rest – be that as it may. You’ve no idea what we’ve been dealing with!” Caine complains to his friend. “Oh, and I’m glad you’re back.”
“So am I.” Methos grunts in reply and says no more as he collapses into a wing back chair and rests his head along the back of his seat.
“Dawson.” The Halcyon states, irked with his Elder.
“What of him?” Methos asks, looking at his Student.
“You’ve gone completely daft, man!” Caine declares, his arms sweeping wide to punctuate his proclamation. “Though I appreciate the irony, he’s a ‘Watcher’ – need I say more?! And he was there with you and MacLeod! Can we trust him?” he asks.
“Its not as if we had a choice to leave him behind -- and I do trust him. Completely.” Methos replies with absolute conviction; his expression turns pensive. Caine looks skeptical and is about to reply when he shrugs instead. The younger man sprawls out on the sofa across from his friend and studies his Mentor, knowing instinctively something is amiss. “Are you all right?” he inquires.
“I’ve been better.” The dark haired man replies tiredly.
“Do tell.”
“MacLeod’s not thrilled the lady and I are . . . seeing each other.”
“Amanda . . . ?” Caine asks, awed; he always wonders when the not-quite reformed Immortal thief and MacLeod’s sometime erstwhile lover -- will snag his enigmatic Teacher. Methos snorts with derision.
“Don’t insult me!” the Eldest retorts. Alluring as The Raven is, Amanda Darrieux -- or whatever alias she currently claims, is most assuredly not Methos’ type of woman . . . for the moment.
“Anyone I know?” Caine prods.
“Jordan Waters.”
“Buggery -- the same woman you guys were searching for?!” Caine snorts in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“God’s teeth, man! You must be joking -- Why her?”
“No, I’m not; give me a good reason why it shouldn’t be ‘her’?”
“Because you don’t date Immortal women; does the name ‘Cassandra’ mean anything to you? There’re millions of other women – mortal women out there --”
“You’re married to an Immortal – yes?” Methos points out.
“This isn’t about me – don’t change the subject, you ass.” Caine replies curtly without missing a beat.
“I want Jordan.” Methos states calmly. The younger man snorts again, an incredulous expression on his face. “You won’t commit to an Immortal woman --”
“Why does everyone say that --?!”
“Because its true --!” Caine bellows.
“Calm down, Caine! First time for everything; maybe she’s the one for me – yes?”
“If MacLeod’s involved, then ‘she’s’ trouble --” Caine continues as if his Elder hadn’t spoken.
“Aren’t they the best kind? Makes it worth the challenge – yes?” the older man muses.
“Is she worth it?” the younger man counters.
“That’s what I intend to determine for myself.” Methos says calmly.
“For all your knowledge and experience, you sure can be stupid -- no, no, I take it back – you’re a special kind of stupid!” Caine fumes. “You’ll walk away a fool or a king; if it goes badly, it’s your skinny ass that’ll get kicked by a very pissed Highlander, not mine.”
“We’ll see.” Methos answers with a Cheshire grin. Caine is about to reply when he cocks his head. The men rise to their feet as the Buzz’ thrum resonates through them.
“Fuckery! It appears I spoke too soon. Now who’s here – see what I mean?!” Caine complains with a pointed look.
“Relax – its just MacLeod. I told him to meet us here.” Methos assures his friend.
“Let’s go see.” Caine replies, ever wary; the Halcyon swiftly crosses to the window. Already Meredith and Joe are en route to meet the car.
“This should be interesting.” The younger man comments.
“Why’s that?” Methos asks.
“You’re slacking, Old Man. He’s not alone.” Caine replies with a mischievous grin. Methos sends his Quickening out, berating himself for making the rookie mistake of allowing his thoughts to distract him; Methos steels himself.
“Why is she here?” he wonders aloud.
“Let’s ‘determine’ that for ourselves, hm?” Caine replies with a cheeky grin as he eagerly strides out of the room with his Teacher in tow.
“James, prepare three --”
“Four.” Methos interrupts. The Halcyon looks at his Elder with raised eyebrows, an impertinent, questioning expression on his youthful face.
“Four guest rooms; Spencer Manor will be alive tonight.” The Halcyon instructs his manservant as he breezes past Methos and through the front door the very proper butler holds open for his master. Bounding down the front steps with Methos on his heels, Caine stands tall next to his wife, squares his shoulders and prepares to receive his guests.
#
Pack your bags and passport, Jordie; I’m taking you on a holiday. We’re leaving tonight.
Duncan’s short voice mail does not provide more information, and Jordan listens to it three more times before the reality of it set in – more so after her Supervisor informs Jordan the time off request she most certainly did not submit is approved. Jordan finds herself increasingly resenting the Highlander’s interference (for lack of a better word) in her life. Be thankful Duncan cares so deeply – he’s all you have; he means well . . . Jordan chides herself; she knows Duncan is attempting to lift her spirits by taking her on a wonderful vacation. The rest of Jordan’s shift passes quickly, and she hurries home to shower, pack and locate her passport. When the cab arrives to collect her, the Highlander ushers Jordan inside and remains maddeningly closed mouthed, his dark eyes twinkling with humor despite Jordan’s many attempts to wheedle more information from him; Duncan refuses to say more, skillfully distracting her with his good-natured teasing. The Scotsman has a brief reprieve when the boarding call for all first class passengers is announced; Duncan quickly stands, pulling Jordan to her feet. They are seated and soon launch into the sky.
England. Jordan is hoping for a tropical destination, not the United Kingdom; during the comfortable car ride through the winding, charming English countryside -- everywhere she looks reminds Jordan of middle-Earth and Legolas.
You are dark...you are exquisite...and you are mine!
Jordan sighs, pushing the last words of the incredible Being whose touch and person her heart longs for, to the deepest recesses of her mind.
I would rather a lifetime with you, than face all the Ages of this world alone . . .
Jordan’s world looks less bright; in fact, eternity feels quite dull, not fraught with wonderful possibilities as it once did. Jordan wonders what he would think of this land that closely parallels his world. Beside her, Duncan appears sound asleep, his dark lashes fan against his olive skin. Seeking escape from her memories, Jordan closes her eyes and leans against him; before long she drifts off to sleep as well. The Scotsman opens his eyes and arranges their outerwear into a makeshift pillow before he pulls Jordan’s limp body into a more comfortable position against him. Duncan did not tell his friends that Jordan will be with him . . .
Duncan twines Jordan’s fingers through his and stares outside the window, lost in thought whilst the rolling hills and kilometers pass. Jordan does not open her eyes until the strong, insistent thrum of the Buzz wakes her. Instantly, she is alert, looking about her warily.
“We’re here, sleepyhead.” Duncan proclaims.
Jordan does not expect to see Joe -- or Adam -- waiting for them at the base of the resplendent estate’s steps with the youthful looking Lord of the manor and his breathtakingly beautiful wife. Exiting the car, Duncan introduces Jordan to his friends, the Spencers; to her relief, Jordan finds Meredith Spencer to be a delight, pleased to discover they share much common ground. Meredith takes Jordan’s arm in hers, and leads her towards the stables; the women become better acquainted as Meredith introduces the younger woman to their prized equines. Jordan admires and coos over the foals and fillies, before finding herself atop a gentle mare at her hostess’ insistence. Holding onto the bridle, Meredith walks Jordan’s horse around the grassy paddock whilst chatting easily. Under Meredith’s gentle expertise, Jordan feels more at ease, and moves with the horse.
Legolas would be impressed. Jordan thinks wistfully, smiling softly at the memory of their long ride from Trollshaw Forest to Rivendell. Calling an end to Jordan’s impromptu riding lesson, Meredith hands the reins to her stable hand and ushers Jordan back to the manor.
“Silly me; here you’ve flown all this way and I’ve not allowed you to rest -- dragging you off to the stables; how simply horrid of me! Let’s eat, shall we?” Meredith suggests with a girlish giggle.
Linking arms once again, the Halcyon’s wife pulls her guest forward. Jordan smiles with delight, impressed with the welcome sight of the decadent high tea laid out for them. Meredith signals for Jordan to remain still and quiet, gesturing with a nod to the men engrossed in their conversation. The women pause to admire the view before them. The men cut impressive figures; though not a powerful Immortal, Joe exudes a quiet, confident masculinity that fits well with the present company.
“Aren’t they simply marvelous?” Meredith asks quietly with a dreamy sigh; tearing her gaze from the gorgeously set buffet table, Jordan follows the older woman’s adoring gaze. It settles on her fair-haired husband; Caine welcomes the sight of his beautiful wife in the doorway, barely taking notice of the younger woman beside her. Jordan’s heart clenches painfully, just now realizing that Legolas often looked at her that way; turning her eyes to Adam, Jordan studies his aristocratic profile.
“Yes, they are rather easy on the eyes – but we won’t tell them that, will we?” Jordan whispers conspiratorially.
The days pass quickly, for Meredith takes Jordan on an insider’s tour of London, to the usual tourist spots and the breathtaking English countryside -- in grand style; Jordan enjoys her hostess’ company thoroughly, thankful for the diversions. The women do not find themselves bored whilst the men attend to business, and Jordan is game for anything her hostess suggests. Today, Meredith plans for them to leisurely tour their sprawling estate . . . on horseback. Dressed in riding clothes, Meredith preens under the men’s admiring gazes. Unaccustomed to the extremely close, revealing fit of the jodhpurs and short, custom tailored jacket, Jordan adjusts her riding scarf to better cover her mithril collar; holding her katana tight, Jordan struggles to maintain her composure under Methos’ intense stare, relieved when Meredith playfully taps her shoulder with her riding crop. Caine bends his wife backward in a dip and gives her a chaste peck on the lips before pressing Meredith’s sword into her gloved hand.
“Never leave home without it, love.” He murmurs huskily in her ear.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling.” She purrs, fluttering her lashes as he stands her up.
“Right; well, then – go on.” Caine says, clearing his throat. The men follow the women outside, escorting the ladies to the stables. The Halcyon waits until the riders are safely beyond earshot before turning to the younger man.
“You’re going to do what?!” Caine asks, incredulous.
“You heard me.” Duncan says calmly before turning to the Eldest. “You’re sure, eh?” Duncan queries; Methos studies the Highlander before nodding tersely. He does not trust himself to speak. Looking between the men before him, Joe’s neutral expression gives no indication of his thoughts. The Halcyon exchanges glances with Methos, who looks quite perturbed.
“Where and what is that place again?” Caine asks -- he’d love to visit. Methos shrugs. “It’s a land of unspoiled forests and pasturelands accessible only by water.”
“You’re absolutely sure you don’t need anything – or anyone else to go with you?” Caine presses.
“Nope; we got this.” Duncan replies. Turning his gaze on his Elder, Duncan has different instructions for him. “Keep her safe.” Methos merely snorts with exasperation.
As if I’d let anything happen to her the Eldest thinks to himself. “Now you’re really insulting me, Pup.” The older man says acidly, quelling a flash of anger.
“Shouldn’t you go with them . . . ?” The Halcyon asks Methos, before crossing his arms over his chest.
Should I or shouldn’t I . . . ? the temptation to accompany his friends is almost irresistible. “Wouldn’t you rather I be here?” At Methos' pointed look, his Student sheepishly agrees. The Eldest stands before the Highlander.
“No sightseeing -- yes?” Methos drawls.
“No reason to.” Duncan replies as he opens the portal.
The air before them shimmers, the rippling waves expand languidly outward; images beyond distort as the space time continuum, natural and paradox laws resist Duncan’s will before grudgingly bending to the Highlander’s manipulation. Behind him, Methos, Joe and Caine exchange glances, each man anticipating and wondering what will happen. Nothing happens -- save for the area warping before the Clansman. Caine crosses his arms over his chest, absently notes the time on his wristwatch and purses his lips, restlessly shifting his weight as they wait. Still nothing happens after more agonizingly long minutes.
Shit, I hope this works! Joe thinks to himself; the Highlander’s portal does not instantly link to their desired destination point as when they were on the Rohirrim grasslands.
Caine’s lips quirk upright, his eyes dancing with barely contained mirth; the Halcyon props an elbow against the opposite hand, covering his mouth with his other hand to stifle his chortle -- lest his snigger escape and disrupt the younger Immortal’s concentration. Methos frowns at his Student’s adolescent behavior. Duncan closes his eyes; brows deeply furrowed, he stands motionless, sinking even further into deepest concentration. The mystical, unfathomable forces within the Highlander’s body intensify and gain strength before erupting in response to Duncan’s will; exploding outward, forcing its way forth -- only to be reined in and focused, directed by its wielder. Their surroundings become unnaturally still. The air is heavy and thick. The waiting men trade glances, anticipation mounting as they watch. Before them, the portal’s surface swirls wildly before coalescing and settling into opaque blackness, its mirror like surface perfectly reflecting their reality and images for an even longer while. Caine glances at his watch, frowning to see forty-five minutes have passed since the Highlander began his . . . attempt. Shaking his head, Caine glances at the Eldest and rolls his eyes. Duncan holds his position, his forehead bathed in sweat as he pushes even harder against the palpable boundary impeding his progress.
My will is as strong as yours . . .
A faint movement disturbs the surface; the impenetrable darkness ever so gradually fades to dark grey, and then lightens to a cloudy haze, briefly revealing faint glimpses of their destination. The brilliant colors of the verdant hills are clothed with every imaginable blossom paving the way to majestic trees in the distance -- deeply muted by the shrouding, enchanted mists protecting the utopian land from unwanted and unwelcome intruders. The mysterious forces within Duncan flare sharply, sustained by his driven, single-minded resolve. Duncan exerts maximum effort to maintain the portal, struggling to align and bridge the realms once again. Before him, the protective enchantment responds, and strengthens as well, pushing back -- warring with the alien force seeking to breach the barrier, the other enforcement equally determined to repel the other, determined to achieve its purpose.
I will not be denied --you have no power over me!
A mighty shockwave erupts, reverberating through the gash in time and worlds; the incredible powers of the Valar barrel through the gateway with a fury unchecked. Duncan raises his other hand, automatically erecting a shield; instinctively, he knows the Valar’s collective impetus will easily fling great distances anyone and anything standing in its path. Fortunately, the Highlander’s buffer absorbs the brunt of the massive impact. The assembled are not lesser Immortals; next to the Eldest, the Halcyon throws his arms up, protecting his face against the unseen blast as he braces himself and staggers back, just barely keeping his feet. Eyes closed tightly, Joe turns his face away from the blinding light; he would’ve been thrown to the ground -- if not for Methos’ uncanny reflexes and unaccountable strength buttressing his friend from behind. Panting from the exertion, the Highlander turns to his Watcher.
“Let’s go.” Duncan growls through gritted teeth.
#
“Does time pass differently wherever they are?” Caine asks, glancing at his watch.
“I haven’t given it much thought; why?”
“Its been an hour since they . . . left.” Caine answers, reaching for his mobile phone. “I’m going to have Merry and Jordan return so they can go shopping; that’ll get them out of the house for a bit while we wait for the Highlander; no telling how long it’ll take, and dinner will be ready by then.” The Halcyon pulls his mobile phone out and sends the text. Tucking it away, Caine’s Teacher absently rubs the velvety nose and ears of the foal who’d come over to say hello; half listening to Caine’s words, Methos takes notice when the colt became restless, its miniature ears twitching.
#
Observing Meredith and Caine together makes Jordan wonder all the more if she and Legolas could’ve had something similar. Ironically, Adam’s charm and undemanding company eases her loneliness and the peculiar emptiness in her heart; life's wonders aren't so wonderful as before, it is lackluster and boring -- if not for Adam’s unexpected visits at her job. A delicious lunch in hand makes her the envy of her department, and Jordan reluctantly acknowledges how she looks forward to Adam’s brief visits and surprisingly good company. His dry humor, quick wit and many entertaining stories make for a nice break from the stresses of her day. The very handsome older man’s presence does wonders for Jordan’s ego, and she cannot ignore how increasingly flirtatious Adam is; to his credit, he knows when to cool his ardor, and how to keep the mood lighthearted. Adam is, for all intents and purposes, a welcome distraction for Jordan.
But he’s willing to be so much more . . . if you’d let him finish what you started in Paris. Jordan contemplates what the small voice in her head tells her.
Can you get to a future if your past is present? Maybe the past is an anchor holding us back
Jordan wonders sadly if she should take what Adam seems to offer her.
I refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies Jordan decides. A low voice breaks into her thoughts.
“He means a lot to you -- do you love him?” Meredith inquires. Pulling herself out of her thoughts, Jordan plasters a bright smile on her face.
“It doesn’t matter.” Jordan answers, beyond mortified to discover her private life is not private. Apparently the males in her life see it fit to share with the Spencers Jordan’s romantic experience in middle-Earth. “Can we please talk about something else?” Jordan asks. The more time Jordan spends with her hostess, the easier it is for her to consider the older woman a ‘friend’ and a Mentor of sorts.
“You’re lost in your head. Just trying to make conversation, dear. Did you tell him what you really are?” Meredith replies lightly, ignoring the younger woman’s request.
“I’d rather not talk about my love life.” Jordan replies stiffly.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Meredith prods; it is difficult for Jordan to be angry with her hostess, for she genuinely likes Meredith Spencer, who is easy to talk with and is very likeable.
“Merry, in case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t from the same world. I made my choice; it’s over and done with. Please leave it alone.” Jordan says.
“Are you always this stubborn?” Meredith asks teasingly.
“Are you always this direct?” Jordan counters with a smile to take the sting from her words.
“Of course; its part of my charm. I just want you to be as happy as Caine and I are, dear heart; we rarely find lasting love with our kind.” The older woman replies. Jordan sighs, certain another lecture is forthcoming. The Lady Spencer does not disappoint.
“I would’ve told him; you should tell him.” Meredith advises with conviction.
The older woman continues dispensing romantic pearls of wisdom, despite Jordan’s pointed silence – all the better for Meredith to continue uninterrupted.
“After all, what’ve you to lose? ” Meredith asks. Jordan snorts with impatience. Meredith is about to say more when an incoming text sounds.
“That’s Caine, darling; let me see what he wants.”
Meredith reaches into her riding boot as the Buzz washes over them. Jordan shades her eyes as she searches their surroundings. Cell phone forgotten, Meredith sits taller in her saddle, her face set into an impatient expression; she sends out her Quickening and dismounts, securing the reins to the nearest tree branch whilst gauging the distance between them and the incoming Immortal.
“How rude! This is quite annoying -- Jordan dear, we will have to continue this conversation later.
Duncan steadies his friend, holding him upright as the younger man waves him off with an annoyed expression. So glad to leave middle-Earth behind, when Joe first passed through Duncan’s portal -- eyes fixed upon the familiar shadowy tunnels, the younger man barely felt the unsettling lurch or the tranquil weightlessness preceding the sudden and lingering sickening, dizzying sensation of being spun through a centrifuge. In his mind’s eye, Duncan focused on those he sought; there where of it, he’d not given much thought to. The men step out into the serene environment before them, immediately struck by the tangible feeling of peace and rest emanating from the very land itself.
You’ll find them in Aman . . . Duncan recalls Methos’ words, wondering where to begin his search.
“Ack – ha! Wha’ are ye doin’ here?!” Gimli sputters as he jogs towards them; the astounded expression on his weathered face is downright comical.
“Looking for you and Legolas.” Duncan replies, relieved.
“An’ did ye bring the Lady Jordan – where are the others?” the short fellow anxiously asks.
“Sorry, just me.” Joe replies cautiously as he looks about the verdant paradise.
By the Valar -- One does not simply walk into Aman . . . ! Legolas is astonished; the Mirkwood Elf admits he is impressed the Outlanders are able to breach the powers of the Valar – but only for so long. The Firstborn will not take kindly to the Strangers from distant lands’ uninvited presence in Aman. Initially shocked to see the Outlanders, hope fades when only the two men step from the portal.
“Why are you here?” the demanding question comes from behind them.
They turn to see Legolas rapidly approaching them. Duncan nods to the fair-haired Elf. Attired in finely woven leggings, resplendent in an exquisitely made fitted silver tunic, the Clansman almost does not recognize the warrior Prince. The Highlander notes how the Elf does not wear the familiar weapons, only carries them in his arms. Joe’s keen gaze is split between the man and the Elf.
“Do you love her?” Duncan asks without preamble.
Time has no meaning; my love for you will endure . . . The words he whispered in Jordan’s ear return to him.
“What business of this is yours?! I’ll not discuss my feelings with you.” The Fair One answers coldly.
“We are here on common purpose. If you truly love Jordan, you will discuss your feelings with me --”
“Where is Jordan?” Legolas abruptly demands. “Home.” Duncan calmly replies.
“She did not choose to come herself.” The Highlander groans inwardly at the Legolas’ flat words.
“Jordie doesn’t know we’re here.” Duncan clarifies.
Jordan did not see it fit to come herself the unfounded thought runs through Legolas' mind – it does not matter that Jordan’s kin assure him she has no knowledge of their presence in the Undying Lands. Duncan waits for the Elf’s decision, unable to decipher his inscrutable expression. The Prince’s gaze turns to his stout friend, an unfathomable look passes between them.
“Where is the Son of Pier?” Gimli asks Joe, his bushy brows drawn close together.
“Home as well --” Joe answers, smiling slightly how the Dwarf’s expression relaxes.
“With Jordan.” Joe finishes. Gimli says nothing, his sharp eyes taking in how his pointy-eared friend visibly flinches at the Outlander’s words; Legolas looks at his stout friend with an expression decipherable only to Gimli. Clutching his weapons tighter, Legolas brushes past the Outlanders.
“If you want to be with Jordan, I’m offering you a way to make it happen.” Duncan says, his voice low. Legolas stops, unmoving. Gimli daren’t speak, waiting to see what his friend will say . . . and do. Legolas turns his head slightly.
“She did not choose to stay when I asked.” Legolas’ brusque words are all he offers before continuing on his way. Gimli’s eyes widen in dismay; he looks at the Outsiders then back at his Elf friend. Shaking his head worriedly, Joe sighs, his heart sinking for Jordan’s sake.
Observe and record – never interfere; sometimes in life, y’gotta do more than just ‘watch’.
“She misses you.” Joe calls after the First Born, unable to help himself. At his words, Legolas turns around; Duncan breathes a sigh of relief and tosses Joe a relieved grin.
“No doubt the Valar know of your presence; you may pierce the veil of time, but you cannot remain here long. Hie back to your world.” Legolas says calmly and clearly before purposefully turning away again.
Gimli trots quickly after his tall friend. Duncan stares at the Elf’s back, aghast. The Highlander is about to pursue Legolas when he suddenly turns and faces the gateway home, muttering a string of curses -- a massive power spike is rapidly closing the portal. Taking a deep breath, the Highlander braces himself and raises both hands, fighting against the potent energy steadily shrinking their egress; Duncan’s fingers tremble as he barely maintains the entryway’s borders to the circumference of a child’s ball, struggling to keep the gateway between their worlds and dimensions open. The substantial effort required to support the link demands more travail from the Scot than he anticipates . . . and far exceeds the amount of energy Duncan previously expended. The veins in the swarthy man’s neck stand in stark relief against his olive skin, his fingers splayed wide.
“I dinna ken how much longer I can hold it, Joe; the ‘Valar’ is . . . !” Duncan grunts before falling silent; his gaze is locked on the portal -- concentrating on the unnatural doorway. The edges pulsate, growing and shrinking uncontrollably, the opposing forces fighting for dominion over the other.
Damn these Immortals – blinded by their stubbornness when happiness is in reach!
“Lemme try again --” the younger man offers, anxiously eyeing the unpredictably changing doorway home.
“Hurry!” Duncan urges through gritted teeth, bracing himself against the battering forces seeking to expel them from the Undying Lands.
What closes can open again . . . ! Duncan vows, renewing his efforts.
“Legolas -- Legolas, wait up!” Joe calls, struggling to catch up with the Elf. The Mirkwood Prince turns back, an annoyed expression on his face. Watching Joe’s efforts to reach him, Legolas’ countenance softens. He has no issue with the legless man.
“Legolas – please; I know it hurt you when we – when Jordie left, but hear me out. For what it’s worth, she told me she loves you, man – er, guy. Believe me, leaving wasn’t easy for her – she didn’t have a choice and she’s miserable without you.” Legolas’ face remains impassive, staring over the Watcher’s shoulder at the Highlander. Legolas’ curiosity is piqued, curious to discover how the dark haired Man is able to continue defying the supernatural powers of the Valar. The Son of Daw’s words are a bittersweet balm to his aching heart. Duncan remains were he is, his dark brows drawn together, concern and impatience visibly warring on his face.
“All I can tell you is she loves you. If y’want answers, ya gotta come back with us. We don’t have much time, ya gotta decide quickly.” Joe pleads, studying the Elf’s impassive features, trying to garner clues as to how Legolas felt.
“Is that all?” Legolas inquires unemotionally. Joe can no longer ignore the sinking feeling in his heart.
Gotta know when fold ‘em . . . we tried.
“If you don’t wanna come back with us, please – for Jordie’s sake, tell me you don’t love her, send a scroll or whatever the hell you want – anything, so she can move on with her life.” The Watcher implores quietly.
“Joe – we gotta go, now!” Duncan calls.
Legolas’ bright gaze darkens before he turns and stalks away. Shaking his head, Gimli follows closely behind. Disappointed, Joe turns and hurries back to his friend as quickly as his prosthetics allow. Gimli walks next to Legolas, fed up with his royal stubbornness and begins cursing the Elf in Dwarvish.
“Ack – Ha! Yer’ bein’ a stubborn fool, blinded by yer hurt!” Gimli chastises his friend. Legolas stops in his tracks; jaw clenched, his knuckles turn white as his grip tightens on his weapons; he looks down at his friend, a haughty expression on his impossibly handsome face.
“What would you have me do, Fangon (bearded one)?!” Legolas snaps, highly displeased the Dwarf does not side with him.
“Go wi’ them, Laddie!” the Son of Glóin bellows. The Firstborn stares at his friend annoyed, yet his eyes flick towards the Outlanders.
#
“Well, we tried. Good thing you didn’t tell her.” Joe says, trying to cheer his Charge.
“No point hangin’ around where we’re not welcome. Lets get outta here.” Duncan agrees. The younger man nods and swallows hard, mentally preparing himself for hopefully his last leap through time and space.
“Let’s go home.”
#
“Will you go with me?” Legolas asks Gimli. The Dwarf heaves an exasperated sigh and stares up at his unlikely but dearest friend; he is weary, and he feels the weight of the years in his old bones more keenly.
“We have been through much, you an’ I. Some roads are but meant to be traveled alone, ye ken?” Gimli says. “Nay, Laddie – ye must do this on yer own; I’m spent of war and bloodshed and laboring to build and rebuild; I wish naught but to rest and spend my final days gazing upon the Lady of Light’s face.” The Dwarf answers honestly.
Legolas gazes upon his friend’s dear face, noting the coarse, unruly hair is more silver than russet, dismayed to see the grooves lining Gimli’s weathered face are more in number and is carved more deeply than when the Fellowship first set out to complete their Quest. Legolas wants to deny how it requires more effort for the Dwarf to keep up with him, even in Aman. Legolas’ unfading eyes dim with sadness; his feisty friend, the underground dweller is his sounding board and brother in all but blood. Though with him in the Undying Lands, Gimli will someday pass on where Legolas cannot follow. He and Gandalf the White will be all that remain of the Fellowship. The Mirkwood Elf will pass eternity mourning those who briefly touched his life . . . or Legolas can do as his heart begs him, to seize this unexpected opportunity to find Jordan once again and take what brief span of happiness they will have together, before she too, succumbs to the Gift of Men. Dare he set his pride aside yet again? Seeing the struggle in Elf’s bright gaze, Gimli seeks to ease his mind.
“She loves you, Laddie; said so herself. Asked me t’tell ye should ye ever ask.” Gimli says gruffly. Legolas hesitates, still unsure. Clasping the Elf’s forearm, the Dwarf tilts his head up and memorizes the features of his dear, pointy eared friend.
“Ye may nae have this chance again.” Gimli softly encourages Legolas, glancing at the Outlanders. The portal is now wide enough for both men to pass through together. “Keep me here, Laddie,” Gimli taps Legolas’ heart with a calloused finger “I’ll be wi’ ye forever. Go to her --before its too late.” The Dwarf urges gently.
#
Both men stiffen and turn towards the direction of the Buzz, the melodic thrum resounds through their entire beings.
“Fuck – someone’s here.” Caine seethes, sending out his Quickening . . . searching; his concentration is broken when suddenly the dam neighs sharply, calling her foal back to her side.
Rearing slightly, the whites of her eyes and bared teeth are on full display. Her fear sets off a chain reaction; all the horses become restless, some begin kicking the enclosure of the stall with their powerful rear legs, their nervous neighs, squeals and screams of panic fill the structure in response to the disturbance their sensitive natures are attuned to. The men look at each other and attempt to soothe the beasts as they swiftly check the stall locks, ensuring all are properly secured. From the eastward entrance a brilliant light floods the stables; the men turn away, shielding their eyes from the blinding light. Suddenly, they stiffen in response to the washes of awareness. Just as quickly as the light appeared, it is gone; the horses neigh nervously but are otherwise quiet in their stalls.
“About time, Highlander.” Methos says, blinking to clear his vision; his lips tighten imperceptibly. The Eldest refuses to acknowledge the sinking feeling in heart and shakes the feeling off.
“We meet again.” Methos says flatly; Legolas says nothing in return but merely looks at him, dismissing the pale man before taking in his surroundings. Methos studies Legolas, his enigmatic expression giving nothing away.
“Is that him?!” Caine asks, his tone of voice both eager and awestruck.
“Yeah.” Joe grunts, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Leaning heavily on his cane, the youngest man shoos his hovering Charge away. The Halcyon tears his eager gaze away from the Fair One and gives Duncan a brief once over.
“You look terrible.” Caine states matter-of-factly.
“Gee, thanks.” Duncan replies sarcastically; the Highlander can’t wait to take a shower and put his feet up; the tremendous effort transitioning between worlds and dimensions has left him utterly worn and covered with sweat.
“Caine, this is Legolas Greenleaf, Crown Prince of Mirkwood – Caine Spencer of Spencer Manor.” The Clansman performs the brief introduction.
“Welcome to Spencer Manor, Lord Legolas; mi casa es su casa, er -- my house is your house.” The Halcyon touches his right hand to his heart briefly and bows his head in salutation.
“Où avez-vous appris que (where did you learn that)?” Methos asks quietly, surprised by the Halcyon’s knowledge.
“Gregory.” Caine mutters with a mischievous grin. Legolas returns the salute and studies the men gathered before him, before his otherworldly gaze roams bout the stable.
“Where’s Jordie?” Duncan asks; now that Legolas is in their world, he is unsure how best to present Legolas to Jordan.
“On a ride with Meredith. I’m expecting their return shortly.” Caine answers, keen to see what events will transpire. This is the most fun Caine’s had since setting Kalas on Duncan’s trail. Beside him, Methos exchanges glances with Joe. Duncan nods his agreement and observes Legolas studying his surroundings.
“Let’s get this over with.” Methos mutters beneath his breath; Legolas’ gaze rests on the pale man, his expression giving nothing away; Caine clears his throat, glancing at the Eldest with concern in his blue eyes.
“Come.” With a gesture, the Second One leads the group towards the house, falling into step beside his newest guest.
“I look forward to making your acquaintance, My Lord; my man James will show you to your room if you care to, er . . . freshen up; or, if you’d prefer --we can have a spot of tea as we wait for the girls to arrive; when you’re up to it, I’m sure Jordan won’t mind taking you on a tour of the grounds; she’s staying with us for a bit. . .” Caine says, . The group makes their way to the outdoor seating area; between Joe and Caine’s loquacious conversational skills, Methos’ stony silence and Duncan’s preoccupied manner is hardly noticed. It is during a lull in the conversation that Meredith’s text tone claims the Second One’s immediate attention.
“Merry . . . !” Caine breathes; his grim expression informs the Eldest something is amiss. The fair-haired man’s eyes dilate briefly as he sends his Quickening out. Immediately Caine sets his plate of food aside and leaps from his chair.
“Let’s go – take any but the foal’s dam!” Caine shouts to his guests as he sprints away towards the stables. Without hesitation, Methos follows suit and is gone. The others look at each other, mystified; Legolas stands and turns to Duncan, an inquiring expression on his amaranthine face. Duncan’s grave expression gives the Watcher no doubt something big is about to happen.
“We have to go – now! I’m sorry Joe --” Duncan hastily says.
“S’okay; I”ll just wait -- ” Joe began as the Highlander turns towards Legolas, gesturing for him to follow before he, too, runs towards the stables.
“ – here!” Joe says to himself. With a sigh, he resumes eating.
Skidding to a halt, the Halcyon opens a stall door; grasping the horse’s mane, he leaps onto its back and urges it into a full run. Methos chooses his mount and follows suit – there is no time to properly tack their horses, which is not a problem for the expert riders.
“What is happening?” Legolas demands as they reach the stables.
“No time to explain -- they need us -- get your horse!” Duncan instructs as he chooses his mount and swings upon its back. Legolas frowns but says nothing; he enters a stall and speaks to its resident in Elvish as he, too leaps upon the stallion’s back.
#
“See what I mean?!” Caine complains to his Elder when Methos catches up to him.
Following the sounds of a Challenge in progress, they arrive at the clearing; Caine anxiously scans the combatants and urges his horse towards the others horses held by the lone figure. Leaping off his horse, the Halcyon wraps his arms around his wife and holds her tightly before turning to watch the battle. Methos dismounts and joins them, .
“How long?” Methos asks, his expression tight, hazel eyes following every sword swing and parry.
“Forty five minutes.” Meredith murmurs, her blue eyes meet the Eldest’s briefly.
"He's strong." Methos murmurs, voicing their fears aloud.
“Why didn’t you contact me sooner -- Do we know the bugger?” Caine demands of his wife.
“I did as soon as I could, Darling – and no, we aren’t acquainted; he says his name is ‘Farley Holstein’; Jordan accepted the Challenge and drew her sword before I could answer -- Why did she do that?” Meredith whispers, shaking her head as she leans into her husband’s comforting embrace, wrapping her arms around Caine's torso. A bright, silver gleam catches Methos' eyes.
"What's that in your hand, Merry?" the Eldest asks. Meredith releases her husband and holds up the forgotten object for the men to see.
"Jordie's necklace; she asked me to keep it for her, though I don't understand why she removed it . . ." Meredith answers, puzzled.
Because it'll give her an unfair advantage; she fights with honor . . . just like MacLeod   Methos shrugs and says nothing as he watches her carefully tuck it away.
“It doesn’t matter now, Merry. Think positive.” Caine encourages her.
“She’s so young and we’ve only just met. I do like her very much, Caine.” Meredith murmurs softly, her cornflower blue eyes shimmering with sadness.
“There, there, love – don’t fret; surely Duncan’s trained her well . . . .” Caine soothes; his gaze locks with his Teacher’s above Meredith’s head, Caine’s expression is grim despite his encouraging words. The Buzz announces the new arrivals and the trio turn as one when the Highlander and Legolas canter into view, pulling their horses up alongside theirs.
“Meredith Spencer, wife to Caine Spencer, meet Legolas Greenleaf, Crown Prince of Mirkwood.” Duncan makes the brief introductions as he and the Fair One dismount. Turning to Legolas, Duncan hesitates before he speaks; Meredith wriggles from her husband’s grasp, wanting to see the Elf up close, her eyes wide with wonder. Caine frowns but releases her.
“No time to explain; you’ll be a . . . ‘distraction’; please -- stay here with the horses.” Something in the Highlander’s voice gives Legolas pause. Studying Duncan’s dark eyes, Legolas reluctantly acquiesces; his ears twitch, listening for the voices of the trees.

The world is changed; I feel it in the water . . . I feel it in the earth; I smell it in the air. Much that once was is now lost . . . Legolas realizes, dismayed.

Meredith curtsies gracefully, rising when Legolas takes her hand and draws her up.
“Lady Spencer -- would that we meet under different circumstances.” Legolas’ low, musical voice washes over her smooth as honey. Despite the grave circumstances, Meredith sighs and smiles briefly in agreement.
“How long?” Duncan asks tersely, reaching inside his overcoat for his katana.
“One hour now.” Meredith replies, her tone grim.
Their eyes follow the combatants sweeping across the clearing, exchanging blows with blurring speed, battling for position -- and advantage over the other, searching for a sign of injury or weakness. Jordan and Farley break apart, breathing heavily; retreating further from her opponent, Jordan braces her hands on her knees, attempting to catch her breath. Studying her foe, her eyes narrow in concentration. Duncan’s words replay in her mind.
Choose your weapon and ground. The art of the sword fight isn’t only in winning . . . its in not losing.
The gathered ones grimly watch, tense. Duncan stands several paces ahead of his companions; his dark, practiced eyes rest on his Student, concern fills his entire being as he reads the sag of her shoulders. She’s tiring quickly. The Clansman’s eyes narrow thoughtfully as he assesses her opponent. Behind him, Duncan’s companions move a discreet distance away, attuned to the barely contained fury rolling off the Scot in waves. Fitting an arrow to his mighty bow, Legolas pulls back and unerringly aims for Jordan’s opponent. Methos steps in front of the arrow, blocking Legolas’ aim.
“What are you doing? Stand aside!”
“No.” Methos calmly answers. The expression on Methos’ face hints at his distant past, so long ago when he fought and killed all who stood in his way -- without just cause, second thought . . . or error.

“Do not think I will hesitate to kill you.” Legolas says in a deadly tone, his bow centered on Methos’ heart.

“My thoughts exactly.” Methos bit out, his hazel eyes also narrow; moving faster than the war seasoned Elf thought possible, the Eldest’s Ivanhoe materializes, resting lightly against the Wood Elf’s neck. Methos’ dagger appears in his other hand, angled up between Legolas’ ribs. “Do NOT interfere! This doesn’t concern you -- its not your fight.” the Ancient One says scornfully. A slight adjustment of Methos’ wrist emphasizes his words as a thin line of red appears on Legolas’ neck.
“You stand idly by -- I will protect Jordan -- I did not come to your world only to watch her die!” the Elf ground out, not giving an inch, heedless of the flesh wound.
Blind loyalty. Young folks are plagued by it. Methos thinks to himself; the pale man decides to have a bit of sport with the Mirkwood Prince.
“Oh -- is that what you think? You know nothing, Legolas! Why are you here?” Methos drawls contemptuously.
“I’ve come to claim what is mine!” Legolas retorts, his blue eyes burn brighter at Methos’ humorless bark of laughter. Methos sheaths his dagger and steps aside, keeping the pointy end of his sword at Legolas’ throat.
“You’ve poor timing, Legolas; as you can see, Jordan’s . . . busy right now. This is Jordan’s trial by combat, not some rescue mission; you stay out of this if you want to go on living.” Methos snarls with open derision as he slowly removes his sword, resting it against his shoulder as he steps back.
“I applaud your noble intentions. Unfortunately, you will guarantee Jordan’s death if you interfere.” Methos says, his voice intense. Something in his voice told Legolas the pale man speaks the truth.
All is quiet, save for the swords clanging in thunderous overtures; the two figures fight on -- sparks fly as their weapons scrape together then lock up. Breaking away, they study one another through narrowed eyes before circling, measuring the foe. Jordan runs at Farley; he sidesteps, barely dodging the woman’s whistling blade. Too late, Jordan realizes her error; her momentum carries her forward -- overreaching her thrust. Farley grabs Jordan’s sword arm and pulls her towards him, deliberately slicing her arm; his weapon cuts easily through her flesh, deeply into her bone and catches on it as he pulls his blade free. Jordan screams yet maintains a death grip on her weapon. Legolas’ eyes burn brightly with impotent fury in response to Jordan’s cry. He pulls back on his bowstring again and takes aim, ready to release his arrow despite Methos’ words.
“How ironic – you jump through time and worlds to ‘claim’ Jordan; release that arrow and it’ll amount to nothing; you’ll be the cause of her death, and I guarantee you will have one very, VERY upset Highlander to deal with . . . I assure you, Sindarin assassin – you do not want that. Do you think you’re the only one who loves Jordan? Look at Duncan; this isn’t easy for him.” Legolas’ stormy gaze slides to the dark Man; Duncan’s powerful form is still, silently watching the combatants, his sword resting against his arm as he waits. Nonchalantly, Methos continues speaking. “Duncan loves Jordan – but he will not – he cannot interfere. If Jordan loses, it’s his right to avenge her, not yours.” Methos says, his words underscored with unbending steel.
“If you truly love Jordan, you will not interfere.”
“I . . . do not understand.” Legolas haltingly says. Methos’ scornful chuckle grates on the Crown Prince’s nerves.
“Clearly you don’t. If Jordan lives, you will.” The pale man assures Legolas.
The ringing of metal on metal peals out as the combatants fight on. Legolas loosens the pull on his bow a notch, uncertain; the Fair One’s heart and mind war fiercely within him. Jordan's kin pierces the veil of time, even the very powerful fortifications of the Valar -- Duncan reorders worlds and realms for Jordan's sake, yet . . . Legolas cannot understand why Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod stands by and allows Jordan to fight to an uncertain end. Methos’ eyes meet Caine’s; their glance holds a wealth of hidden meaning.
Farley delivers a brutal knee jab to the younger woman’s rib cage before flinging her to the ground. Jordan cries out again and rolls to her feet, raising her blade to ward off a mortal stab, scrambling to get away from the older man. Blood streams from her wound and runs down her arm, making it difficult to grip her sword firmly with one hand. Wrapping both hands around the pommel of her katana, Jordan ignores the searing pain in her arm, the sticky blood slicking her hands. Grimly, she backs away, buying time for her Quickening to staunch the red flow. It requires all Jordan’s remaining energy to keep her sword arm raised; she dare not look at her injury, for it could prove fatal. Jordan readjusts her grip on her sword, tracking her opponent. Pushing her injuries from her mind, Jordan is dimly aware of the gathered forms on the edge of her peripheral vision. She pays them no mind; they are a distraction she cannot afford to indulge. Jordan must see this through if she will live and grow stronger to fight another day.
You must be relentless . . . Face your fears.
“This is madness -- I’ll not allow her to die before my eyes!” the Elf ground out, trembling with rage; he will not stand by any longer and do nothing. His blue eyes follow Jordan’s slender, battered form.
Cradling her ribs, Jordan catches her breath as she reassesses the situation.
The champion is the one who fights until the last stroke.

Legolas starts towards Jordan, only to feel Methos’ blade once again bite into his flesh; unflinching, Legolas meets the Ancient One’s determined gaze; though the Elf’s blue eyes blaze with a cold fury, Methos stands his ground, the challenging glint in his hazel eyes equally cold and uncompromising. They glare at each other, neither one backing down.

“Once a challenge is accepted, no one – especially Immortals can interfere.” Methos hisses. There it is again  Legolas thought, puzzled to no end; what does his immortality have to do with anything?
Confused, Legolas turns his eyes towards Jordan, every muscle in his body is tightly coiled, helplessly he watches Jordan fight; every clang of the swords meeting causes his hammering pulse to race even faster, every fiber in his being frantically implores him to help Jordan.
“Do not interfere.” Methos commands Legolas quietly; slowly, he removes his blade and deliberately turns his back on the Mirkwood Elf as he goes to stand behind the Highlander. Nostrils flaring with indecision, Legolas breathes hard, undecided. Fists clenched tightly, he puts away his arrow and shoulders his great bow, eyes blazing with impotent fury, fear and despair for his loved one.
Legolas has fought many foes through the Ages; he fought alongside an army of dead soldiers . . . wilingly participated in battles and wars -- defended the Hornburg, surviving despite overwhelming odds; the warrior Prince slew countless spiders, Orcs and Uruk hai without fear or concern with his own safety; ironically, he is powerless to go to Jordan. Legolas’ heart clenches painfully within his chest watching the woman he loves fight a seemingly losing battle. Confident he has the winning advantage over Jordan and ready to end this surprisingly lengthy Challenge, Farley slowly walks toward the injured woman; faster than a heartbeat, Farley lunges towards Jordan, his blade aimed for her throat.
You’ve learned to fight, be confident in your skills. Have faith . . . Duncan’s words whisper in her mind.
Jordan instinctively flicks his sword away with the flat of her katana, spinning away and countering with a swift upward kick. It connects with the older man’s sword hand, the loud crack of his breaking fingers clearly heard by all. The man does not wince . . . nor does he drop his sword. Instead, Farley draws his heavy fist back and delivers a stunning left cross to Jordan’s jaw. Reeling from the impact, Jordan staggers away and shakes her head to clear it, wincing as she worked her sore jaw. Springing again toward her, Farley thrusts his sword and spikes Jordan clear though her shoulder; he smiles as Jordan whimpers, stunned with pain, agony stealing her breath away. Jordan hangs up on the blade, unable to move, her sword arm rendered immobile. Setting his boot to her abdomen, Farley kicks Jordan off his sword and sends her reeling backwards. Farley watches Jordan land heavily on the ground, struggling to rise to her feet. Nonchalantly, he switches sword hands; flexing his right hand, the older man absently studies his knuckles as they pop, his accelerated healing realigning the bones and tendons knitting them together, enabling him to grip his sword comfortably in his preferred hand once more.
Driving the tip of her sword into the ground, painfully Jordan uses it to stand. Focused on survival, Jordan concentrates on the Challenge, taking comfort in the fact Duncan will see to her Challenger, should she lose. Jordan takes a deep breath; all she wants to do is collapse – but she daren’t.
Adrenalin is a wonderful thing Jordan can’t help but think.
Despite her injuries, Jordan is determined to be the one to walk away. Haggard and worn, Jordan grits her teeth; there is no doubt in her mind and heart – she wants to live.
Mind over matter, Jordie . . .
Farley glances towards the gathered crowd and does a double take, dismayed to see the persons, one in particular – silently awaiting the outcome. Confident he will defeat Jordan, after receiving her Quickening, Farley is certain he will not survive the certain Challenge from the waiting Highlander -- even if the infamous Immortal grants him a moment’s reprieve to recover from the Quickening. Had Farley known this Jordan Waters is a friend of Duncan MacLeod, he would’ve refused the Challenge and bode his time to take down the older dark haired bitch, whose Buzz pulls at him so enticingly, and that of her older, extremely strong mate.
Farley’s split second distraction is all Jordan needs; she runs toward him and unleashes a barrage of astonishingly vicious attacks, feinting and stabbing, whipping her katana so it sings loudly. Stumbling back from Jordan’s unrelenting fade and empty fades, Farley’s momentary lapse in focus earns him Jordan’s sword slicing deeply across his abdomen, before sliding upward past ribs and into his lungs. His eyes widen with surprise as Jordan steps back, yanking her blade free. Grimacing, the mortally wounded man looks down at his stomach, pushing against his bulging intestines to keep them inside his abdomen, and then back at Jordan, before staggering back, putting space between them -- purchasing valuable recovery time. Farley’s Quickening races to mend his injuries as he lunges at the younger woman. Jordan nimbly dodges to the side and grabs the older man’s sword arm. Wedging the pommel of her Katana between his hand and sword, with her free hand, Jordan grasps the quillion of Farley’s sword and spins on her heel, wrenching the weapon away from him; the movement disarms the man, the sword flung well beyond Farley’s reach as Jordan spins around. Gauging the distance to his sword, Farley dives into a forward roll, ducking beneath Jordan’s fanning blade before she can behead him. The man crouches, ready to spring at and tackle the younger woman, but is held at bay at the end of her katana. The taxing move costs Farley dearly, for his abdominal wound is only partially healed. Farley endeavors to distance himself further from Jordan. His eyes dart about, desperately searching for a weapon as he edges closer towards his sword. Ready to drop from sheer exhaustion, Jordan stumbles after him, keeping her sword leveled at his head. Farley’s mind is racing, calculating the odds of surviving this Challenge.
“I don’t suppose we can finish this another day . . . ?” Farley asks, panting heavily; he swallows hard, doing his best to appear pitiful to the determined woman advancing purposefully towards him.
“You’re kidding, right?” Jordan asks grimly, never taking her eyes off him.
“You don’t want my Quickening – what can I do to change your mind?” Farley asks, desperately trying to distract Jordan. Sword within reach and wound completely healed, Farley is waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn the tables.
“Absolutely nothing.” She replies.
“Why can’t we be friends?!” Farley whines, never taking his eyes from Jordan’s as he carefully maneuvers into position.
Jordan fans her blade, leaving no doubt her intention. Snatching his weapon and springing towards her, the man’s violent slashing attack drives Jordan back. Legolas’ wants to look away, but cannot.
What manner of ‘kin’ is he?! Legolas’ mind howls; he cannot comprehend how this Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod -- and those with him calmly stand by and do nothing.
Jordan carefully steps back, allowing Farley to come within sword strike, taking her opponent through a move that is breathtakingly dazzling in its inherent simplicity; the move results in Farley’s blade slashing perilously close across Jordan’s throat. Her coup de fin winds up with Jordan catching Farley’s sword fist in her own fist, holding it immobile. They remain locked like that, each striving to press their limbs forward.
The art of the sword fight isn't only in winning . . . its in not losing; the champion is the one who fights until the last stroke.
“It appears I have the advantage.” Farley crows, certain of victory. “Do you?” Jordan asks softly; something in her voice makes Farley look at her harder.
“In the end, there can be only One.” Jordan says coldly, her green eyes glittering.
Farley’s mind races with the realization that, despite her apparent physical weariness, Jordan is in fact stronger than he credits her. With surprising strength, Jordan pushes Farley’s fist away; the older man’s sword arm swings away. Jordan turns into the arc of Farley’s swing, reacting purely on instinct; her sword lifts, her body pivoting with the driving force of Farley’s thrust. As his sword grazes Jordan’s side, her katana swings up with a vicious thrust, catching Farley under the chin; her blade meets his flesh with unstoppable momentum, hitting home -- cutting cleanly in one motion; Farley’s blood stains Jordan’s blade crimson. Breathing hard, Jordan staggers back, tiredly watching Farley’s head neatly slide away from his body.
#
Caine gives his wife a tight hug, the couple smile with relief as they go to the Highlander, congratulating him with a hug from Meredith and a handshake and a clap on the shoulder from Caine. Methos and Duncan exchange pleased grins; no words are needed between them. The Halcyon glances over at the Eldest, a look passes between them as, bouncing twice, Farley’s severed head comes to rest sideways. The surprised eyes blinked with recognition; in the last final seconds of cold lucidity, the man knows the worst part of losing your head is being cognizant of said loss. It is his last thought as darkness closes in.
#
The ominous rumble of thunder sounds in the clear blue sky; soon dark clouds roll in, obscuring the once sunny sky. The Eldest looks at Duncan; sheathing his katana, Methos answers Duncan’s subtle nod with one of his own before the Eldest turns to the Spencers.
“Je ferai avoir besoin de votre aide (I will need your help).” Methos says, raising his voice to be heard above the blowing wind.
The trio exchange somber looks of understanding and move to intercept Legolas as he rushes forward to see to Jordan. Methos reaches for Legolas’ golden hair and pulls hard, jerking him back. The Spencers soon join Methos; on either side of him, they forcibly restrain the Fair One. Despite Legolas’ best efforts, he cannot break free from their surprisingly strong collective grip; winking at his Mentor, the Second One braces himself, using his body as a counterweight against Legolas' struggles.
“If you want to live, stay where you are!” Methos orders him; winding the Elf’s long, silken hair around his fist, Methos uses it as a tether whilst wrapping his free arm around Legolas’ throat. Letting loose of the golden hair, Methos reinforces his arm with his free hand and gestures to his Student.
“Apologies, old chap; this really is for your safety.” Caine says to the struggling Elf; removing the Fair One’s great bow and fighting knives, Caine hands them to his wife, motioning for her to stand back as the Halcyon and the Eldest subdue the struggling Prince.
Why can I not break free?! Bewildered, Legolas is unable to understand -- completely mystified how these mortal Men are able to physically constrain him.
“Legolas, please – do not go to her yet, it’s not safe for you. . . !” Meredith implores Legolas; adjusting his chokehold, Methos forces Legolas to his knees; at the Eldest’s signal, Caine steps away and stands by, ready to assist his Mentor -- should the otherworldly being attempt to throw his friend over his shoulder.
Jagged, forked tongues of lightning gather from the heavens above and everywhere on the ground, striking Farley’s headless corpse, wrapping it in its electrical embrace before returning to the sky above, repeating the pattern in a seemingly random yet ordered manner. Trees limbs creak and groan as gale force winds howl, snapping dry branches and blowing them across the ground. The gathered ones brace themselves as the wind whips their hair back and pulls wildly at their clothing and stings their faces. Helpless, Legolas watches how completely exhausted, Jordan falls to her knees near the sprawled body of her slain Challenger, her sword still clutched tight. Her dark head hangs low and Jordan’s long hair blows about her head in wild disarray. An opaque mist rises from the headless corpse, Legolas does not understanding what he is seeing; lightning strikes the ground and races toward the ephemeral mist that hovers briefly over Farley’s body before the pure, raw energy surges into the physically spent woman. Jerked upright, convulsing, Jordan’s kneeling form is completely encased in the celestial electrical discharge.
“She will die!” Legolas snarls angrily, struggling mightily to free himself from the pale man’s surprisingly vise like grip.
“Je l’espère le batârd se bat plus – je suis vraiment profiter de cette (I hope the bastard struggles more – I’m really enjoying this!” Methos grunts, his wide grin at odds with the situation. Meredith gives Methos a disapproving look that he simply ignores.
Methos holds on, bracing himself. He squeezes his arm tighter around Legolas’ neck; the vascular neck restraint enables the Eldest to quickly hamper the Mirkwood Prince’s blood flow and air intake. Despairingly, Legolas rapidly feels lightheaded as the pale man tightens his unnaturally strong hold, reducing Legolas’ oxygen intake just a little more, letting the Fair One know who is in control.
Overcoats whipping in the wind, Duncan solemnly watches his Student in the throes of the Quickening, squinting slightly against the brilliance of the lightning storm, not bothering to shield his eyes. The Quickening envelops Jordan within its powerful blast. Forked bolts continue to fill the sky and race downward striking Jordan, rocking her body to the side, pounding her from the other direction before immobilizing the woman completely, frozen in place like a strange puppet without strings.
“Ne pas casser son cou! Jordan ne sera jamais vouv avez et Duncan sera pisse vous avez ruine son travail acharne apportant son cul royal dos (Don’t break his neck! Jordan will never have you and Duncan will be pissed you ruined his hard work bringing his royal ass back)!” Caine advises his friend. Methos glares at his Student before roughly hauling Legolas to his feet.
“What is happening to her?!” Legolas demands, despair and horror warring within him; he is frantic, unable to break free of Methos' grip.
“Why is no one helping her?!” Legolas shouts, using all his might to try and pull Methos’ arm away from his neck; gritting his teeth, the Eldest determinedly hangs on, his arm trembling with the effort to hold the Crown Prince back.
“You want to know what Jordan is . . . !” Methos snarls into Legolas’ pointed ear as he nods toward Jordan. “There’s your answer. Watch and learn.”
White-hot, crackling energy relentlessly slams into Jordan, twisting, encasing her – it races along her limbs and infuses her sword. Shielding his eyes from the brilliant light show, Legolas is rendered speechless; unsure what he is witness to. Shades of the past, the accumulated Quickenings Farley received flashes before Jordan’s eyes. The winds howl even louder, sweeping Jordan’s hair vertical in the powerful updraft of gust and energy. Katana thrust high in the air, Jordan’s head falls back, exulting in the final blast of life essence that renews her and instantly heals her wounds -- that fills her with Farley’s knowledge and power. Gasping and triumphant, Jordan is reborn. The lightning storm lessens, and then ceases altogether. The winds die down and dust settles. All is calm and the sky is sunny and clear once again. One inch at a time, Jordan rises to her feet; Duncan strides quickly to her and enfolds Jordan in his embrace, holding her tight.
“You had me worried there for a moment. Well done, Jordie.” Duncan murmurs quietly into her hair, placing a kiss atop her dark head.
“Thank you, Kuya.” Jordan murmurs, her eyes closed; words cannot express how happy she is to still have her head. Methos releases Legolas and steps back. The Spencers gaze at their guest curiously, waiting for him to speak.
“I do not understand . . . ” Legolas murmurs slowly; he cannot give voice to the tumultuous emotions roiling within him.
“Ah . . . I see Jordan didn’t tell you.” Methos drawls before brushing past the confused Elf.
“What did she did not tell me?” Legolas says after a moment; he is disconcerted -- unable to understand what he witnessed. By all accounts, Jordan should not have survived that . . . event.
“That she is Immortal.” Methos tosses over his shoulder with a smirk.
Caine and Meredith glance at each other before facing their middle-Earth guest. Handing Legolas his weapons, she places a gentle hand on Legolas’ arm; Meredith does not falter under the Fair One’s fierce gaze.
“It’s a lot to take in, Legolas; I’m sure you’ll have your answers soon. Please -- stay with the horses to ensure they don’t leave; I would much prefer to ride back to the house.” She murmurs. Wordlessly, Legolas nods and speaks to the equines in Elvish. His alien gaze sweeps over Jordan, dismayed and wondering if Jordan truly is indeed -- a witch. Legolas is apprehensive, uncertain what these Sons and Daughters of Man really are. Adam and the Spencers step forward to congratulate Jordan as well. Meredith envelops her friend in a tight hug, gently chiding her for answering the Challenge meant for the older woman.
“You have a guest, Jordie.” Meredith’s smoky voice whispers in her ear. She turns the younger woman toward the horses. Jordan’s disbelieving gaze locks with Legolas; both might as well be facing each other from across a great chasm, for they are rooted in place; each thinking their own thoughts, unsure of the other.
“Go on, silly goose -- he came for you.” With a gentle push from behind, Meredith urges Jordan forward. The younger woman takes a hesitant step towards Legolas, mindful of their audience.
“Kas sa kõik korda (Are you going to be okay)? Caine asks his friend softly.
“Ei ole valik, pean ma; vist üsna haige minu köhuga just nüd. (Don’t have much choice, do I; feeling rather sick to my stomach right now).” Methos murmurs softly, watching Legolas and Jordan hug each other tightly.
Legolas speaks to the horses and they obediently remain where they are, as the First Born lifts Jordan onto his mount before leaping up behind her. At his word, his horse breaks into a trot, bearing the pair away from sight.
“Well, I say we go home -- right, Love? You’ll see that, boys?” Caine asks, gesturing in Farley’s direction as he gave his friends a wink. Duncan and Methos silently nod their agreement and watch the Spencers mount up and ride home.
“How do you propose we bury him, MacLeod? I didn’t grab a shovel on the way over – did you?” Methos asks as Duncan collects Farley’s head and sets it atop his corpse’s stomach. “Don’t worry, Methos; I got this.” Duncan reassures his friend.
#
Spencer Manor
Drawing Room
Evening

Meredith takes Jordan’s arm and the ladies retire upstairs up; the men usher Legolas to the library where Joe sits reading a book and sipping his tea. Adam slouches against the window frame, his arms crossed over his chest, his face an expressionless mask. The Eldest sends his Quickening out, tracking Jordan’s movements upstairs.

“It appears you’re given a second chance, Jordie.” Meredith says softly, reaching into her jacket pocket; she presses the mithril collar into her friend's hand and gives Jordan a meaningful look before closing her door. The younger woman quickly bathes and changes; Jordan can only imagine what the topic of conversation is. Standing before the cheerfully burning fire, the Fair One turns towards the library entrance. Jordan pauses just before the library entrance and nervously smoothes her dress’ imaginary wrinkles before taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself; she is feeling so much yet is unsure what to do and say.
“Don’t be shy, Jordan – come in.” Adam calls.
Chagrined, Jordan does as he instructs, puzzled how Adam knows she just outside. Her gaze sweeps the room; James is serving tea to the Spencers seated on the loveseat, Duncan and Joe are ensconced in the wing back chairs, calmly watching Legolas, who is intently watching Jordan.
“Come have a spot of tea.” Meredith says cheerfully.
“Dinner will be served shortly, Madam and Sirs.” James intones.
“Thank you, James.” Meredith beams an indulgent smile at their manservant, watching him make his way to Jordan.
“No, thank you.” Jordan demurs; her hands are trembling so that Jordan is certain she will spill her tea, or worse -- drop her teacup. James bows and rolls the serving cart from the room before discretely closing the doors. Clearing his throat, Joe is the first to speak.
“I’m sure y’got a whole lotta questions about what you saw, Legolas; hell, I know I would!” Joe exclaims; he pauses, trying to gauge the Crown Prince’s reaction. Legolas nods his head but remains silent, his gaze sweeping the room before coming to rest on Jordan.
“They can explain it best, so . . . don’t mind me; I’m just gonna sit here . . .” Joe says, raising his teacup and taking a long sip. The youngest man looks expectantly towards Adam, waiting for him to speak. Silence stretches uncomfortably long as Adam shrugs, his expression is unreadable as he stands, silent and resigned. Meredith nudges her husband and prompts him with a pointed look. Startled, Caine wonders how much to reveal.
“We aren’t governed by the rules of mortals, Legolas; as such, we’ve been worshipped as gods, mistaken for demons --” Caine begins.
“-- and reviled as witches. What you saw Jordan experience is called a ‘Quickening’; its what makes warriors of us all. Good or bad, there seems a purpose to it.” Meredith interjects; the Halcyon smiles indulgently at his wife.
“You say you are ‘reviled as witches’, but do not claim to be sorcerers and witches; what are you . . . ?” Legolas asks, still puzzled; though he’s received some answers, more questions are raised.
“We are the seed of a million legends, but our true origins are unknown. We simply are.” Duncan says calmly, giving Jordan a reassuring smile.
Jordan smiles at her Teacher and crosses the room to stand by Legolas’ side; she lays a tentative hand on his arm, looking up at him with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Despite his misgivings and the many questions swirling in his mind, Legolas enfolds Jordan in his arms and holds her tightly. Methos turns to look out the window, unable to watch.
“Hey, y’guys mind? I’m tryin’ to drink my tea.!” Joe half jokingly complains before glancing at his Charge. To his credit, Duncan merely looks uncomfortable.
“I’m sure you two are looking forward to some . . . privacy; now that we’ve shared the basics, Jordan can explain further; let’s see what James prepared for us, shall we?” Caine suggests.
“Good idea, Darling; Its been quite an eventful day -- and I, for one, am simply famished.” Meredith declares. The rest of their guests murmur in agreement; Jordan and Legolas linger a moment, watching the others make their way towards the dining room.
“Just a little while longer; after dinner we’ll talk.” Jordan promises Legolas; he nods in agreement; he is patient, certain he will at lat discover what he wishes to know about these seemingly ordinary persons.
#
After dinner concludes, the group return to the library for more conversation and after dinner drinks. Pulling Jordan aside, Meredith whispers into her ear, causing the younger woman to blush before hugging Meredith tightly. Pink cheeked, Jordan bids all good night before taking Legolas’ hand and leads the Fair One out of the library. Soon after, Methos excuses himself and goes upstairs to his room, leaving the Spencers with their remaining guests; in time, all adjourn to the privacy of their rooms. Sitting on the edge of their bed, Caine unbuckles his belt when his mobile phone chirps. He reads the text and buckles his belt again.
“I’ll be back, Darling.” He tells his wife.
“Is something wrong?” Meredith emerges from her luxurious en suite, brushing her long, dark hair out.
“No, Darling; Adam is leaving tonight. He’s outside with the cab.” Meredith simply nods.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Caine asks, surprised.
“That he’s in love with Jordan? Of course, Darling; woman’s intuition -- truth takes time and I believe Adam is just now realizing it himself.” She replies with a sad smile. “Don’t take too long. . . ” Meredith instructs, before pressing a sultry kiss full of carnal promise to her husband’s lips.
#
Methos' grip tightens painfully on his sword case; he watches the driver place his duffel into the car boot before silently waiting beside the open door for his fare to enter.
“Is, uh – is everything okay?” the Halcyon asks, greatly concerned for his friend. Methos turns to his friend and considers his question.
“Its not always black and white, is it? We make mistakes . . . we clean them up. Everything’s fine; I just have things to do -- some thinking to do; I’ve put this off far too long.” Methos answers
“Are you sure?” Caine persists.
“Yes; once you’ve learned your lesson, its time to move on. I just need to get away for a bit.” The Eldest already said his farewells to the others . . . in his own way. Methos’ cryptic reply makes the Halcyon uneasy.
“And what about Jordan?” Caine asks.
“One of a thousand regrets, Caine. We all have things in our past we wish we hadn't done; letting Jordan go is just another regret on a long list. . .” Methos sighs, carefully schooling his features into his usual impassive mask. Inside, Methos feels shattered, his control slipping away.
“Caine?”
“Yeah?”
“Take care of Meredith. You’re one lucky bastard.” The Ancient says quietly.
“I know.”
The men shake hands and Caine pulls his Teacher into a brief man hug before letting his hand go; Methos climbs into the cab. At the Eldest’s signal, the car slowly pulls away from the Manor; turning, Methos looks at his friend through the rear window and waves, a slight smile on his face for his friend’s sake. Caine raises his hand and waves back until his Teacher faces forward. Laying his head back, Methos looks out the window and stares at the full moon, not seeing it; he is lost in his memories, remembering a time so long ago, when he had someone to come home to. The Halcyon stands and watches the cab’s red taillights grow faint until it is claimed by darkness, wondering when he will see his friend and Teacher again.
#
Renter’s Cottage Spencer Lands 2mi West of Manor
Closing the door softly behind her, Jordan leans against it, gathering her thoughts. They stand facing each other; the shadowed room is lit only by the cheerful fire burning in the hearth, and is all the light Jordan wishes for as she looks around the modest, but well-appointed dwelling. Meredith’s whispered words into her ear cause Jordan to blush and her eyes wander over Legolas’ shoulder, to the dark hallway that must lead to the sleeping chambers.
You need your privacy and I need my beauty rest; I’m certain you both are quite randy for each other. The Manor walls are thick, but I do not wish for your long overdue ruddy to test them, and you’ll be more . . . comfortable knowing we’re not all under the same roof. James stocked the pantry and you’ll find spare clothes in the wardrobes. If you need anything, just text, and I’ll have it sent over, straightaway. If you don’t return chin strapped, then I’ll be disappointed that you weren’t properly and thoroughly bonked!
Pushing off from the door, Jordan gives Legolas a tentative smile, then walks just past him before her wrist is encircled in steel and he pulls her back, pushing her against the wall. Legolas grabs Jordan’s thighs roughly, easily hauling her up to eye level, mashing his hips into hers; he can’t help smirking against the skin of her neck -- he can feel her hammering pulse beneath his questing lips and groans at the way Jordan automatically wraps her legs around his waist, her hips cradling his so familiarly as though they were designed for him alone. His hardness presses into her lower belly and Legolas slides a hand up Jordan’s side to thumb a nipple firmly, circling the sensitive area around it before flicking back across the hardening tip. Her body remembers his touch and its all happening so fast -- but not fast enough.
“You want answers . . . ” Jordan’s quiet words stop Legolas in his tracks. Holding Jordan tightly for a moment longer, Legolas releases her and gently sets Jordan on her feet before he takes a step back, breathing hard. His regal and imposing demeanor is every inch the Crown Prince he is.
“No more secrets – hold nothing back; you will speak freely.” Legolas commands.
“The life I live; sometimes you fight, you kill. It never leaves you untouched; draw your knife.” Jordan says quietly. Legolas raises an eyebrow but complies.
Jordan contemplates his gleaming blade. She guides the tip of his razor sharp knife to her chin. With her palm, Jordan swiftly draws it downward to the soft spot under her chin, tilting her head back, exposing her throat. She closes her eyes and shivers as the razor sharp knife trails beneath her chin to her neck, over her mithril choker, and under it.
“What’ve you done?!” Legolas cries out, shocked.
He stops the blade at her heart, horrified by the bloody trail left by his knife. Jordan looks at him but otherwise remains still as a statue never flinching -- watching Legolas watch the profuse bleeding stop. Soon, tiny brilliant sparks dance along the surface of the long wound before fading away.
“I heal quickly and cannot die.” She murmurs. “Unless I lose my head to one of my kind. He or she receives my life essence -- my ‘Quickening’. The ‘Quickening’ is everything I am: all my knowledge, strength and power. That is what you saw when I took Farley’s head.”
“I will never grow old --”
The tip of Legolas’ knife separates the fabric of her dress as easily as it cleaves through spider webbing; Jordan’s dress is laid open, exposing her body to him. She feels the cold steel at her chest before her bra is sliced in two, her breasts barely covered by the lacy cups. It continues downward and she flinches when it trails lightly down her belly, beneath the waistband of her lacy panties. Soon they flutter to the ground in a sheer puddle. Legolas sheathes his blade; leaving her ruined bra in place, he roughly pushes the remnants of her dress off her as he turns her around, inspecting her body for the wounds he knows she received when she fought. It is as she says – there is no trace of the wounds on her arm and shoulder. Satisfied, Legolas crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes as they sweep down her body, noting she is as she was the last time they lay together – this time he means to savor what was taken in haste and despair so long ago in his world; he longs to feel her legs wrapped tightly around him again. Legolas deliberately stands his great bow carefully in a corner before he begins the task of unbuckling his right bracer, dropping it onto the kitchen table with a thud. The other soon follows; slowly he unclasps the buckle securing his white knives, and lays them on the table as well. A question crosses his mind.
“How many winters have you seen?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.
“I’m ninety one years old; I was born June 19^th, 1925. . . I died my first death in the year 1945. I was on my way to meet my friends when I was struck by a jeepney; I couldn’t return to my former life. My parents . . . died believing me dead. I had to leave . . . Duncan is a family friend . . . he was there when I woke to my immortal life. Duncan taught me how to survive and fight. He’s the only family I have.”
“You are not a witch?” he asks skeptically; Jordan laughs, but stops quickly for Legolas does not share her mirth.
“Far from it, Legolas.” She assures him. “Now that you see I’ll be fine, you can go back to middle-Earth and have a normal life, Legolas --” Jordan raises her eyes to his, their green depths guarded.
“MORGOTH’S BALLS, I came for you! Do not spurn me again, woman --” Legolas roars, losing patience with this bullheaded woman he has the misfortune to fall deeply and completely in love with.
Jordan pales, not ever seeing this side of Legolas; feeling ridiculous standing in her tattered bra, she musters the shreds of her dignity, squares her shoulders, and steps over her puddled clothes, attempting to skirt around him. Legolas grasps her wrist and pulls her back; his mouth devours her own, his strong fingers work their way inside her bra cups; freeing her breasts, Legolas removes the offending garment. Jordan turns her head away from his silky lips burning a path against her neck, needing air. She owes it to Legolas to tell him everything.
“Stop, Legolas – STOP!” Jordan wriggles from his grasp.
“What now?!” Legolas exclaims through clenched teeth; this woman -- his woman has a way of infuriating him as none else, and yet he cannot get enough of her.
“I cannot have children!” Jordan shouts back, cutting him off. Her eyes widen, glistening with unshed tears.
“I’ll never have children. Immortals are sterile – you’ll never have the heirs you want. There won’t be any little Greenleaf princes or princesses running around.” Jordan rages; she beats her lower abdomen with her fists in grief and frustration.
“I’ve never had the ability to have children. I can’t give you a family. Don’t you see – a life with me isn’t much of one; you don’t want a life with me . . . !” she whispers brokenly, lifting her eyes to meet his. Jordan’s words sink in. Legolas stands unmoving, stunned with her latest revelation -- the grief stricken expression on his face before he casts his gaze to the floor makes Jordan’s breath hitch and her tears fall.
Unable to bear the look of incredible sadness in his cerulean eyes, Jordan sobs – she wheels about and stumbles away, blinded by her tears. Jordan needs to find those spare clothes and return to the Manor, determined to beg Duncan to return Legolas to middle-Earth. If it takes her the rest of eternity, she will forget Legolas and what they almost had. In the master bedroom, Jordan flings open the wardrobe door and dons whatever she can find; her tears and badly shaking hands make it difficult for her to button the shirt properly – instead she knots it at her waist. Angrily swiping her tears away, Jordan takes a deep breath and hurriedly pulls on a pair of loose fitting jeans.
“I am here because I am incapable of letting you go – not this time . . . never again.” Legolas says, his voice low and intense with emotion.
Whipping around, Jordan sees Legolas standing between her and the doorway; moonlight streaming into the window casts the bedroom in its soft beams and makes his alien beauty radiate; he takes her breath away. Their love will never culminate with a child of his royal blood. Middle-Earth or Earth deserves an unbroken line of Greenleafs. Knowing she can never give him that breaks Jordan’s heart all over again and the tears fall afresh. She must get away from him for his sake.
“I don’t want you, Legolas!” Jordan tosses over her shoulder as she runs to the window.
Jordan is halfway through it when Legolas pulls her back into the room. Holding onto the window frame, Jordan tenaciously clings to it and struggles to free herself, kicking out for him to release her. Despite the circumstances, Legolas is amused -- but only mildly. He must make this pigheaded woman realize he loves her. Despite her recently increased strength, Jordan still is no match for his; Legolas hauls Jordan away from the window and up over his shoulder. Crossing the room, he drops her unceremoniously onto the bed; immediately, Jordan pushes her long hair out of her face and attempts to scramble off the bed. Legolas is on her in an instant, submitting to his profound desire to claim her once again; many years passed since he allowed himself the warmth and embrace of an elleth; he does not desire them. After Jordan touched his life and claimed his heart, no elleth will ever do -- no mortal woman ever measured up to his black haired, green eyed enchantress, and for good reason – because he just discovered she is Immortal.
Using his body weight to subdue her, Legolas kisses her resistance away – until her wild struggles slow, and then cease; he uses her breathless pants to his advantage, invading her mouth with his, drawing in and sucking her tongue and coaxing hers to respond to his relentless, ardent strokes. Hauling Jordan’s arms above her head, he holds both wrists in one hand and explores her body with his free hand, palming and massaging her breasts till he feels the hard peaks. Legolas rips her shirt open sending the few buttons Jordan managed to fasten flying across the room. Skillfully he rids her of her jeans, silently thanking the Valar when Jordan raises her hips to assist in their removal.
Legolas removes his hand and massages her breast, his free hand dipping into her smooth mound. Though her words deny him, her body definitely says otherwise – Jordan’s drenched sex indicates she is more than ready for him. Feeling the tension leave her body, Legolas releases her arms and allows Jordan to take his face between her palms; she kisses Legolas with all the longing and frustration she feels, their tongues begin dueling their anger and relief. Jordan breaks off the kiss and gazes steadily into his eyes, searching for answers. Seeing nothing but love in his blue eyes, her hands go to his tunic – Jordan’s fingers have a mind of their own and they quickly undo the clasps. Soon Legolas’ clothes are heaped upon the floor and he is kissing her breasts and tasting his way down her body, licking and biting his way down her flat belly – a belly that will never swell with his elfling. Pressing his cheek to her belly, Legolas shakes off the melancholy thought and inhales the scent of her skin; by the grace of the Valar, they will somehow, some way have a family; Legolas is certain of it -- and with that hope burning in his heart, Legolas stakes his claim on Jordan.
“You have missed me as I missed you, Melamin, your body remembers my touch -- I can see how much you enjoy the way I make you feel.”
Legolas emphasizes his point by flattening his tongue against her wet slit, deliberately licking up her intimate folds slowly, parting them with his tongue to suck on her highly sensitized nub, driving her wild. Jordan’s hips buck and a groan escapes from somewhere in the back of her throat. Flipping her over, Legolas’ arm tightens around Jordan as he pulls them both upright, forcing her to straddle his muscled thighs; he rolls his hips plunging his painfully swollen elfhood upwards between her thighs into her slick, heated sheath; Legolas savors the feel and sensations of her tight, velvety sex surrounding him, marveling how Jordan’s rounded bottom molds against his hips perfectly, moving with shameless abandon. Legolas buries his nose into her hair.
Sandalwood and strawberries
He smiles his triumph when Jordan moans loudly and writhes against his chest with every brutal thrust of his hips, spreading her knees wider to accept the searing friction of him plunging into her so demandingly, her nails raking up his hips as her inner muscles urge her lover to abandon the last shred of propriety. Legolas growls, the taste of her skin on his tongue floods his senses as he feverishly covers her shoulder blades and spine with hungry kisses and not so gentle bites, claiming everything she has to offer and giving her everything he has in return.
Flipping Jordan onto her back Legolas’ passion is terrible yet beautiful to behold and experience; clamping down on her neck, Jordan’s mithril collar warms beneath his palm; Legolas’ free hand is at her waist, then snakes behind her back, drawing her body closer to his; with an un-prince like grunt, Legolas savagely drives deeper and deeper, burying his face in the curve of Jordan’s neck, kissing and biting the curve of her jaw, increasing his pace, taking her harder than he has to – a part of him is still so very angry Jordan chose to leave him on that fateful night so long ago.
"You are mine, Jordan! Never forget it ---!" Legolas growls; his grip tightens painfully on her waist as he hooks and rolls his hips, unrelentingly battering her pleasure nub.
Jordan’s velvety chamber rhythmically clenches Legolas’ elfhood as she topples over the cliff of ecstasy. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through her body, her intimate muscle spasms send Legolas over the edge, and he thrusts mercilessly into Jordan as his seed fills her, clutching her hips tightly to keep her in place beneath him while his elfhood continues to spurt his essence into her. Content, Jordan lays in Legolas’ arms; his smooth voice breaks into the afterglow of their coupling. Raising himself up on his forearms, Legolas studies her ageless face; thoughts of his parents, of Elessar and the Evenstar linger in his mind. Jordan likewise studies his features, tracing them with her fingertips.
"What're you thinking?" she asks.
“Time is but a fleeting moment for some. For those who love, it lasts forever.” He says before kissing her deeply. "I am incapable of letting you go, Jordan -- I ask you again . . . will you bind yourself to me?"
“Is it only ‘forever’?” Jordan asks quietly.
“It is not long at all." Legolas answers with a grave expression on his face.
"Yes, Legolas -- for as long as you'll have me, I'm yours . . . and you're mine." Jordan answers softly.
"‘Forever’ begins now, Melamin.”
Smiling up at him, Jordan pulls Legolas’ head down, her kiss filled with the promise of forever . . . and a day.

The End

A/N:

Wow!!! Thank you to all who stayed with Jordan and the gang till the very end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I began writing this story almost 12-13 yrs ago (can you believe it?!), and took a few (too many) breaks when life got in the way. I appreciate all the Reviews and encouragement; you folks know who you are, who took the time to drop a line or two. Thank you, everyone!

Epilogue

“You may go.”

Satisfied with his report, Breiric dismisses the young man for the night. Placing the chronicle on the shelf next to the others, the aging Ranger shuffles to his overstuffed chair by the fire and eases himself into it with a sigh. Though long physically healed of his grievous injuries, Breiric’s steps are no longer effortless and silent as they once were. His Ranger skills set proved invaluable as he shadowed her, blending in with his surroundings, observing and recording; never did he interfere. Staring into the flames, grateful for the warmth, Breiric rubs his left wrist, his fingers absently tracing the blue mark tattooed upon it as he ponders his life.

Shortly after the Outlanders’ departure, there are none amongst his Brothers in Arms who believe his (admittedly fantastic) tale. Left with no choice, Breiric returned to the village where the events he was a part of and witnessed, changed the course of his life forever. He sought those who remember the Outlanders: the tall, pale one, and the green eyed, black haired woman. Thankfully, he found many who vividly remember, and most importantly -- believe him. In Edoras, Breiric found the two young stable boys – now grown men – who also remember the Outlanders; presently, that same rag tag group grew in number and are scattered throughout all middle-Earth, all have sworn the Oath and bear the same tattoo upon his and her inner left wrist.
There’ve been Watchers for a long time – for centuries . . . if we start ignoring the Code . . . the whole thing falls apart.
Bound together by their recorded memories and entrusted with the knowledge passed to them by the Son of Daw. Brieiric -- and those with him are both Witness and Chronicler to the life of the only ageless One remaining in middle-Earth.

Thankfully, the heavy purses of gold coins the Sons of Daw and Pier left him funds his living well, more than supplementing the generous pension he receives by order of the late King Elessar and upheld by Prince Elboron after the likes of his late father, Prince Faramir. Because Núemenorean blood flows through his veins, Brieiric is longer lived than most Men of his Age; when he feels the inevitable effects of time, when he can no longer follow her, Breiric will pass his duties on to the next generation. Closing his eyes, his still sharp mind ticks off details her Watcher must tend to – and there are many. There is also much to prepare, for Jacqueline Dupree, their Immortal charge, is on the move. Drifting off to sleep, Breiric’s lips curve into a slight smile when he dreams again of the black haired, green-eyed woman named Jordan Waters.
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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