Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
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Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
“Are you all right?” The tall man asks her; his quiet voice is strangely soothing.
Jordan is attempting to rationalize how the four words can sound so wonderful coming from his lips, when she realizes he expects a reply. Jordan can only nod ‘yes’ as she gingerly works her sore jaw.
“Well, Laddie -- how many to yer count? I have six!” the gruff voice behind them is oddly gleeful.
“Two.” Replies the tall man; turning to look at his companion, Jordan catches a glimpse of his pointed ear; her eyes widen in disbelief.
This is just getting better and better   Jordan thinks, without trying to stifle her grin.
“My lady, seeing we are comrades in arms, we’d best know your name.” The shorter man addresses Jordan.
Squinting up at her, the stocky fellow’s eyes are almost hidden beneath two enormously bushy eyebrows. Jordan smiles when she gets a better look at the sturdy fellow; his ruddy complexion, gravelly voice and gruff manner, is the exact opposite of his tall companion. Jordan wonders where in Scotland the short man hails from – his brogue is so much like Duncan’s, only more pronounced.
“My name is Jordan Waters, and . . . I’m not in Seacouver, Washington anymore, am I?” she replies.
“Seacouver, Washington . . . ?!” The man repeats; he and his companion exchange puzzled looks.
“Nay, Lady; you are in the northern most outskirts of Trollshaw Forest. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, and this is Gimli, son of Glóin. We journey to the Elven land of Rivendell; mayhap you should accompany us.” The tall, beautiful One suggests, looking around.
Elves?! Oookay, that’s rich. I must be in the ‘Twilight Zone’
Jordan doubts she is in any serious trouble; however, she wants to ensure they do not get any . . . ideas – just in case.
“I’m not alone.” Jordan says quickly, attempting to sound more confident than she feels.
A troubled expression mars Legolas’ perfect, serene countenance as he surveys the gory clearing.
“Where is your companion?” he asks.
“He’s . . . err, somewhere near.” Jordan replies; “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” She adds hastily. She bristles at the way the Beautiful Man’s eyebrows raises he is highly doubtful a lone woman is solely responsible for the carnage before him, yet the trees whisper to Legolas, confirming this Jordan Waters is the strange presence they speak of, and -- save for the woman and Orcs, none else have passed thru the woods.
“Lady Waters, save for you, Gimli and myself, there is no one here.”
“How do you know that?” she asks, suspicious.
“I know it.” Legolas answers calmly.
“How do you know it?” she persists. Legolas quirks his eyebrow yet again; apparently this woman is daft, else she has no prior dealings with the First Born.
“The trees say it is so.” He patiently explains.
He must be the Dr. Doolittle of the botanical variety. Great. He talks to trees . . . No – the trees talk to him; gorgeous and crazy. Too bad.
Jordan looks at him with a dubious expression on her face; his answer is so matter-of-fact, he may as well have said trees can walk. She wonders if he hugs trees as well as talks with them. Jordan bites her lip, uncertain how to proceed. Gesturing to the dead creatures, Legolas speaks.
“Orcs yet roam the land. Lord Elrond will desire to know they range closer to Rivendell. You will come with us.” The Elf decides.
Searching their faces, Jordan slowly nods; apparently she does not have a whole lot of choice in the matter. More importantly, Jordan does not want to be alone in a strange land, with even stranger creatures, when night falls. Like it or not, she must play along with this charade, at least for now.
“I need to collect my stars before we go.” Jordan acquiesces.
After gathering her last shuriken and tucking it away, Jordan goes to the dead Orc and pulls free Legolas’ arrows, examining them quickly, she does not see a manufacturer’s logo on the shafts. Jordan hands them to him; Legolas accepts the projectiles wordlessly, his bright eyes never leaving Jordan’s face. He notices the woman is preoccupied; she is searching for someone; perhaps her companion -- surely this ‘Dung Can’ who has abandoned her to her fate.
“Thank you, Legolas and Gimli for taking me with you to the Elven land called ‘Rivendell.’” Jordan says loudly as she glances towards the tree line. Legolas smiles, for the woman all but bellows the words. Unfortunately, it was but a wasted effort on her part; Gimli gives his friend a look that speaks volumes. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, Legolas motions for the Dwarf to remain silent.
Rolling the last Orc over with her foot, Jordan frees her Katana with a grunt and flicks the tarry, black flood from its blade, wiping off what remains on the creature’s clothing -- unmindful of the Elf watching her every move. Jordan dawdles in order to give the Highlander more time to join the odd party. Waiting patiently, the shorter man cleans his axe. Jordan’s ire increases a notch; her Mentor chooses to remain hidden. The Fair One is going to enjoy the ride to Rivendell even more, now that they have acquired a new, albeit curious, traveling companion.
I’ll get you for this, Duncan. Jordan seethes inwardly, imagining the retribution she’ll mete out.
Satisfied she’s left nothing behind, Jordan squares her shoulders and looks expectantly at Legolas. The Elf purses his lips and gives a piercing whistle; on cue, the sounds of hoof beats are heard. Into the clearing gallop two horses, a white and brown one. Jordan notices the white one does not have a saddle; the other does and is laden with packs. Helping his stout companion onto the brown horse, Legolas speaks softly to his mount, who snorts and tosses its head in reply.
“You will ride with me.” He says, holding his hand out to her. Jordan hesitates. Although she loves horses, she much prefers admiring and petting to riding the magnificent creatures. Seeing her reticence, Legolas assures her “Arod is quite gentle, and I am with you. Do not fear, my Lady.”
Jordan looks hopefully at the tree line one last time; scanning the area, she sends a silent plea for her Mentor to show himself, before turning back to the Elf. Taking his hand, a small jolt of electricity passes between them. Jordan would’ve snatched her hand away, had Legolas not held it firmly. The Fair One gives no indication of the charged touch. Glancing up at him, Jordan is again captivated how the beautiful blue of his alien eyes darken to grey, before changing back.
Its so unfair – why do guys always have the most amazing eyes? Realizing she is staring, Jordan flushes before she turns to study the horse. She wonders how to get on the horse’s back without something to stand on, when Legolas draws the Outlander closer, grasps her waist and lifts her as if she weighs no more than a feather. Mortified and mightily impressed with the Elf’s strength, Jordan finds herself atop the horse.
No more chocolate Jordan vows.
Jordan steals a glance at Legolas, their eyes meeting again. Blushing furiously, she looks away, pretending to scan the horizon and misses the smile on Legolas’ face. With a graceful leap, he takes his place behind her. Reaching around to grasp the reins, Jordan feels his warm breath stirring the hair by her ear; the sensation causes a pleasant shiver to race down her spine and arms. She studies Legolas’ hands: masculine yet elegant, his long fingers and nail beds are surprisingly clean. With a last glance at the clearing, Jordan takes a deep breath in as Legolas urges his mount forward. She hopes Duncan is safe, wherever he is.
Riding beside them, Gimli proves to be quite an entertaining travel companion. The conversation flows, and they occasionally lapse into companionable silence; Jordan takes the opportunity to study the passing scenery until something catches the short man’s attention, reminding the stout fellow of a past exploit, he then regales Jordan with stories of his and Legolas’ travels and adventures -- which she only listens to half of. Jordan’s limited experience riding horses only increases her discomfort – and it is all she can focus on; the jarring motion of the horse as they travel is agony on her backside, and the effort of sitting up straight only increases her soreness. Needing an armrest, Jordan hopes the Elf doesn’t mind when she rests her forearms atop his. Studying the exquisite designs on his wrist guards, Jordan’s fingers lightly trace the detailed tooling on the leather bracers covering Legolas’ forearms from wrist to just below the elbows. For reasons unknown, the First Born is strangely pleased this Outlander takes an interest in his belongings. Jordan wondered what it would feel like to be held in his arms.
Stop that! Jordan scolds herself. No one this fabulous looking can possibly be heterosexual. He and Gimli are probably lovers.
“That is the great Tree of Greenwood, symbolizing my home of Mirkwood; my father is the King of the woodland realm.” Legolas murmurs softly near Jordan’s ear. Hmm. Gorgeous and a ‘Prince’ to boot. This is definitely a fairy tale; too bad he’s gay.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Jordan says softly.
“Perhaps I will show it to you one day.” Legolas says; his warm breath caressed her cheek.
Jordan does not plan to remain in middle-Earth long enough to see this ‘Mirkwood’ -- not if she can help it. As they ride on, Jordan constantly shifts her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Riding a horse – bareback no less – is harder than Jordan ever expects; there is nothing to prevent the constant chafing of her inner thighs from her jeans; the continuous motion of the horse and the lack of padding for her bum is painful. Exhausted from the day’s exertions and determined to ignore her discomfort, Jordan closes her eyes. In her mind, the woman replays the past events, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, wondering how she is caught in a fantasy novel. Soon Jordan dozes off, and her body relaxes against Legolas. Feeling the change in her posture, he adjusts the awkward position of the woman’s body against him, cradling her so she will be more comfortable. The Wood Elf studies the sleeping woman; rarely is he surprised; however, when he and the Dwarf arrived at the clearing and assisted this Outlander, Legolas expected a relieved man, not the flashing, angry eyes of a proud female. The position of Jordan’s head exposes the skin of her neck; unable to contain his curiosity, Legolas breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of her Jordan’s skin. He detects the scent of sandalwood and strawberries, a different but not unpleasant combination. It is unique. Legolas picks out the leaves and twigs from her dark hair, loosening the mud from its dark strands. Continuing his assessment of the strange woman, his brow creases; Legolas frowns when he sees the corner of her lip caked with dried blood and the deepening bruise on her cheek where the Orc struck her.
Jordan’s arresting eyes the color of grass, shine with courage and intelligence; she does not simper or cower in front of strangers, but holds herself with assertive confidence. Despite the Manly traits -- and the decidedly unfeminine name, Jordan fortunately possesses undeniably feminine features, and the heart of a woman. Jordan is neither indifferent, nor uninterested, for Legolas saw the blush that crept into the woman’s cheeks when he caught her staring at him. Legolas is well aware of the effect he has on maidens both Ellith and human alike -- and much to the Wood Elf’s dismay, even Men.  What startles Legolas is the attraction is mutual; he cannot deny is drawn to her. So disturbed by the realization, he immediately turns his thoughts elsewhere. Is this Jordan Waters, in fact, the source of the light they saw? Legolas had not thought to ask the trees.
Why is she here, what is her purpose, and who is this ‘Dung Can’ she calls for? He muses. The Outlander’s weapons are unlike any I have seen in all my travels, yet Jordan Waters wields them with ease and familiarity; her hands are not calloused and rough – she is no sell sword, nor is she attired as one of high birth, else she would not travel unescorted. Her manner of speech and clothing is odd, yet . . .
Legolas’ curiosity is piqued; Jordan Waters is an enigma. With the sun rapidly sinking, they must make camp for the night and rest the horses, before continuing on to Rivendell at first light with all haste. After scouting a suitable spot for the night, Gimli sets about making a makeshift pallet; cradling the heavily slumbering woman in his arms, Legolas dismounts and carries Jordan to where the Dwarf waits.
“Well, lad, I will see what fruit and berries your beloved forest has to offer us. Mayhap you should stay with our guest.” Without another word, Gimli disappears into the trees. Setting Jordan down gently and satisfied she is comfortable for the moment, Legolas gathers firewood and kindling material. Striking flint together, a spark flies and the tinder smolders before the combustible material catches fire; expertly feeding the flames, soon a sizeable fire blazes to life. Seated across from Jordan, through the dancing flames, Legolas watches the pretty puzzle sleep. His keen eyes study her; Jordan’s face is smudged with dirt and Orc blood. Given the extent of her injuries, it should have been worse -- far worse; Orcs and others of their ilk are known to use and abuse captured women and Ellith for sport in the worst possible ways; the unfortunate ones do not long survive the brutal attacks . . . or the violent and degrading sexual assaults. What mystifies him is the punishing blow the Orc delivered to Jordan’s face -- should have broken her jaw, yet all Jordan bears are but mere scratches on her face. Legolas ponders how the Outlander is able fight as well as she does; the Mirkwood Elf cannot ever remember seeing a mortal woman fight as well or as skillfully as this Jordan Waters does—not even the Shield Maiden of Rohan herself can compare to this Daughter of Man, who possesses fighting skills worthy of a warrior.
No matter; there will be time enough for answers. He decides; Legolas turns his attention to his gear, inspecting his bow and arrows. The shadows lengthen considerably when Gimli returns with wild apples, an assortment of berries, and a brace of fat, young coneys -- rabbit-like creatures the Dwarf has cleaned, dressed and roasting over a spit in short order.
“How fares the lady?” The Dwarf grunts as he sits beside his friend.
Legolas is saved from replying when Jordan lets out a soft groan. Opening her eyes, she sees the odd couple is still with her. Sniffing appreciatively, she smells what is hopefully dinner roasting over the fire. Slowly Jordan sits up; her body is not as sore as before she fell asleep – just enough to remind her she is not quite back to good; Jordan is pleasantly startled to feel Legolas’ strong arm behind her back, his gentle hand at her elbow as he helps her up. Trying not to gape at him, she smiles her thanks. One minute the Beautiful One is on the other side of the fire, the next instant he is helping her sit up.
I didn’t see him move! She thinks, duly impressed. Legolas studies her closely.
“Come, there is a small stream not far from here. Your wounds must be tended.”
I must look awful!
Acutely self-conscious, Jordan’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. She resists the urge to run her hands thru her surely tangled hair.
Gimli tosses to Legolas a small leather satchel as he leads Jordan away. Coming to a stream, Jordan lowers herself onto a large rock at the water’s edge, wincing at her still sore bottom. Hunkering down in front of her, Legolas takes a cloth out of the satchel, and dips it into the cool water. Gently cupping her face, he feels the small jolt of electricity again. Legolas concentrates on his task as the woman studies him intently.
“What exactly are you?” Jordan asks softly without thinking.
Legolas pauses, unsure how to respond to her question. He is not surprised the woman does not immediately recognize a First Born, for Elves seldom seek the company of Men. Legolas does, however, expect Jordan to be aware of the Fair Ones’ existence, given the Alliance between the Races, and the distinctive physical traits characteristic of Elves. Since Jordan knows neither, the Wood Elf decides to overlook her ignorance;
“I am an Elf.” He replies before continuing his task.
“You’re an Elf.” Jordan repeats. Legolas nods solemnly.
“If you’re an Elf, is Gimli a Gnome?” She asks; Legolas puts the cloth down and studies her, searching her face, wondering if she is purposely making sport of them. The woman’s sincere question and genuinely puzzled expression make Legolas raise an eyebrow.
Seacouver, Washington must be isolated, indeed, to not have dealings with the other Races. He concludes.
“Gimli is a Dwarf.” Legolas corrects her, resuming his task.
“Oh.” Jordan says, falling silent. It doesn’t last long as she has another question in mind.
“What do you call this place?” she asks.
The woman is a simpleton . . . ! he thinks, dismayed. “middle-Earth.” Legolas replies, closely watching her reaction. She appears deeply troubled.
“You are a stranger to this land.” he says quietly. Jordan smiles.
He’s smarter than he looks -- doesn’t take a whole lot of genius to figure that out. Yes, I’m from a galaxy far, far away Jordan wants to say. A thousand replies come to her mind before she finally settles on a suitable reply. Jordan cautiously answers her Elf-nurse.
“Yes, I’m from a very faraway land, and I’m not sure how I got here.”
There, I’m not lying but what do I say next? ‘Take me to your leader’? She wonders to herself as Legolas continues to dress her wounds. As he works, Jordan takes the opportunity to study him.
How is it possible for his face to be both beautiful and masculine at the same time? She wonders. It is a paradox.
Timeless, like a living sculpture; how old is he . . . ? I can stare at him forever.   Jordan thinks, and then shakes herself of the foolish thought with a start. Legolas mistakenly takes Jordan’s sharp intake as an indication her lip is especially tender.
“My apologies. I do not wish to cause you further pain, my lady.” Legolas says, taking greater care.
“I do not wish that either.” Jordan responds with a smile. Legolas’ lips twitch briefly as well.
He continues to gently and carefully bathe Jordan’s face. Reaching into the satchel, he pulls out a small wooden box. Opening the hinged lid, Legolas dips an index finger into the clear, odorless ointment.
“I’ll be fine – you really don’t need to do that.” Jordan demurs, for her aches and pains are now gone, the worst of her injuries mostly healed, if not completely.
“This salve will ease the pain. The Healers at Rivendell are noted for their skills.” Legolas says as he smoothes it over the woman’s cheek. Satisfied, the Elf inspects Jordan’s face.
Jordan’s left cheek, though discolored, appears markedly lighter than when he first observed it; Legolas briefly wonders how it is possible as he inspects the rest of her person. His gaze lingers on her coral lips; despite the amount of blood he’d bathed away, there is no cut at the corner of her mouth; the skin is unbroken. Legolas is puzzled. Perhaps he’d been mistaken about her injury; however, the battle-seasoned Elf is certain of what he saw. With his own eyes – eyes capable of telling the difference between a finch and a sparrow from a league away -- the Elf witnessed the Orc strike the woman; that her lip is now whole defies explanation. Perplexed, Legolas pushes it to the back of his mind as he meets Jordan’s steady gaze. The vivid green is a rarity amongst mortal women, especially with hair as black as the night and skin, though fair, is unlike the flawless porcelain of the Elves, nor like that of the Horse Lords of the Riddermark. Of all the Races the First Born encountered in his wide travels, Legolas has not seen anyone quite like Jordan Waters; yes, he decides, this unusual woman is indeed very fair to look upon -- for a Daughter of Man.
“Thank you, your Highness.” Jordan says softly; perhaps it is well and good that she remains unaware of Legolas’ assessment.
“Legolas, my lady.” The Mirkwood Elf replies. One day he will rule in his father’s stead; for now the Prince has every intention of enjoying his time unfettered by the crown.
“Then please, call me Jordan.” She replies.
As graceful as a cat, Legolas rises and holds his hand out to her. When Jordan takes it, they both feel the electric sensation again. Helping Jordan up, the Wood Elf notes the slight stiffness with which she moves.
“I’m not much of a rider.” Jordan offers by way of explanation, reminding herself to play the part of an injured mortal.
Looking up at him, Jordan smiles. Legolas smiles in return, making her heart skip a beat, though he says nothing. His silence makes the woman nervous; fearful of saying something foolish, Jordan remains silent; she notices he doesn’t remove his hand from the small of her back. When they return, Gimli is seated near the campfire, puffing away on a pipe; the acrid smell assaults Jordan’s nose. Apparently Legolas doesn’t care for the nasty habit, either, for he frowns his disapproval. Spying them, the Dwarf gives no indication he cares one whit what the Elf thinks, for he continues to puff away contentedly on his pipe before he speaks.
“So, there is a woman there beneath all that dirt.” Gimli says, with a hearty grin.
At least Jordan is fairly certain it is a grin; it is difficult to tell with all the coarse, red hair covering a great portion of his face. Wincing as she smiles at him, Jordan takes a seat across from the Dwarf. Passing tin plates around, Gimli continues to speak.
“I’ll have you know the courtesy of the Dwarves has not dwindled, though our numbers have. Eat up Lass, then ye can tell us how ye came about fighting Orcs on your own.”
Gimli’s voice has a Scot-like burr to it; the familiar sound once again reminds Jordan of Duncan. She misses the Highlander desperately and fervently hopes for the umpteenth time that her Teacher is safe -- wherever he is. Despite the short fellow’s gruff and brash manner, Jordan senses the Dwarf has a kind heart. Taking a cautious bite of the stew, Jordan finds its taste is similar to chicken, with a subtle, gamey hint to it. Eating slowly, between bites, Jordan gives her unlikely companions the condensed version of her arrival; Gimli and Legolas listen without interrupting, and occasionally glance at one another.
“…And that’s when you came.” Jordan finished her tale.
Legolas senses a myriad of conflicting emotions radiating from the Outlander; given the circumstances, he decides there is nothing in her words to cause doubt. Everything about her testifies to the fact she is what she claims, a stranger to middle-Earth.
“How is it you wield a sword with skill? Are women in your world Shield-Maidens?” Gimli asks. Jordan raises an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term.
Okay, that must mean a she-warrior . . . ? Its definitely time to brush up on my Queen’s-Old-English English. Unfazed, Jordan answers.
“Not every woman. I’m from a class of people who are…competent with swords; we, er, practice from time to time.”
“You are strong . . . for a woman.” Gimli says, pointing his spoon at her.
“I work out.” Jordan answered; the Dwarf does not know what to make of her reply.
“Well, ‘tis a good thing the pointy-ear and I came when we did, ‘ere ye’d be in a bad way.” The Dwarf says gruffly. Jordan nods solemnly in agreement; of that, she has no doubt at all.
As they finish their meal, Jordan half-expects Gimli to wipe his mouth with the end of his coarse beard. She is strangely disappointed when the Gimli does not. Instead, he uses his sleeve. Legolas, watching Jordan, gives her a small smile, rolling his eyes at his companion’s decidedly rough ways. To stifle her laugh, Jordan eats another bite of stew. The Dwarf takes a long draught from his water skin and emits an impressive belch as he blots his mouth with his wrist; he tosses the skin to Jordan, who catches it neatly. Thanking the Dwarf, Jordan swallows the rest of her stew and resists the urge to wipe the mouthpiece, before lifting the skin to her lips. She tries to not think about what germs the Dwarf may have – not that she’d catch an illness from him. Jordan takes a small sip, and then offers it to Legolas, who declines with a shake of his head. Fluidly rising to his feet, Legolas strides to Gimli’s horse and removes a cloak from a saddle pack.
“I shall take the first watch. Fangon (Bearded One), I trust you will see that she is comfortable.”
Without a glance at Jordan, Legolas turns away and melts into the forest as he fastens his cloak. Shooting the Elf a look of annoyance mingled with affection, Gimli tells Jordan, “Pay ye no heed to that, Jordan. The pointy-ear knows Dwarvish hospitality rivals that of Elves.”   Gimli mutters grouchily.
The latter part is said quite loudly and directed towards the trees. With a laugh, Jordan thanks Gimli for the meal and helps him tidy up. Returning to the stream, they wash the dishes in the cold water; using clean sand to scour the plates, they set them by the fire to dry before packing them away again. After banking the fire, Gimli and Jordan settle down for the night. Soon snores come from the Dwarf’s side. Jordan has a more difficult time falling asleep, especially since she is not a camping enthusiast. Twigs and rocks are digging into her back; the ground is hard and cold, despite the thick woolen blankets she lays upon. In her mind’s eye, Duncan’s face appears, filled with concern and worry for her. Intuition tells her if indeed she is really in middle-Earth, she will not see the Highlander – possibly not for a very, very long time.
Duncan, do you even know I’m gone?
Jordan viciously punches the rolled up spare cloak doubling as her makeshift pillow, in an effort to get comfortable. It is useless; as best she can, Jordan inspects the bark of the tree for lizards, bugs and snakes, before leaning her back upon it. Jordan draws her knees up and rests her chin on them as she looks up at the vast, starry sky above.
How do I get home?
Staring at the fire, the dancing flames became glowing embers; Jordan longs for the comforts of home. Without the light of the fire to drive the shadows back, darkness closes in and the deepening shadows take on sinister shapes. Swallowing hard, Jordan’s pulse quickens as her imagination works overtime, conjuring more of the horrific Orc creatures lurking in the darkness beyond, just waiting to sink their clawed hands into her once her eyes close. The vast, open space makes her feel terribly insecure. Jordan needs the security of four solid walls around her; lacking that comforting assurance, she curls into a ball and clutches her Katana close to her, ready to draw it if necessary. She jumps when the ominous hoot of an owl and the dry, brittle sound of leaves skitter along the forest floor in the night breeze; the hairs on the nape of her neck stand as Dread’s ice cold fingers leisurely stroke the back of her neck. Shivering, Jordan forces herself to breathe slowly and evenly, closing her eyes she recites nursery rhymes in her mind to distract herself. When that doesn’t work, thoughts of home and her cozy bedroom fill her mind. Instead of comforting her, the thoughts intensify feelings of loss and uncertainty.
Funny how you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone
Thinking of what Jordan misses helps her focus on something other than her vivid imaginings. Electricity, technology, and most of all – indoor plumbing springs to mind. Fortunate to have a most privileged upbringing, Jordan never had to go without toilet paper – until now. Though not one to wallow in self-pity, tonight she believes tonight it is completely justified. Feeling sorry for herself Jordan sniffles before giving in to tears; her quiet sobs are masked by the Dwarf’s loud snores. Drying her tears, Jordan feels somewhat better; she knows she has no choice but to make the best of the impossibly real situation. Rubbing her swollen eyes, the woman yawns hugely and tilts her head back against the tree, listening to the Dwarf snore. Despite herself, Jordan gives a small laugh, feeling just a touch hysterical with the ridiculousness of her situation.
“At least there aren’t seven of you guys.” Jordan mutters to herself.
Watching the glowing embers, Jordan wipes her eyes once more on her overcoat sleeve and sighs; the cathartic effect of her cry and her strange day make her red-rimmed, puffy eyes grow heavy with sleep. Jordan laid down upon her pallet and closed her eyes.
The night has a thousand eyes, and many pairs of them – insect, mammalian and reptilian alike watch the Wood Elf pass as he silently patrols the forest. Cocking an ear, the Prince listens to the quiet chirping of crickets; Legolas mentally catalogues the sounds of nocturnal creatures engaged in the trials of life unheard by mortal ears: amongst them is the whoosh of night owls winging their way through the dark, in search of a meal, and the prey they seek scurrying for shelter. The subtle change in the way the owl’s wings beat the air informs Legolas a life is given up to perpetuate life. As the owl flies away with its meal, the Mirkwood Prince listens to the voices Wood Elves are attuned to.
The trees sigh all is well, and only because of the trusted sources of information does he lower his guard.   Legolas’ thoughts turn to Jordan Waters. There is something about her; something about this odd woman’s presence is strangely . . . soothing to him. Though Legolas pledged Jordan his assistance in returning ‘home’, he is certain he does not want her to return . . . just yet; this Daughter of Man presents an intriguing mystery that demands exploration.
After the War of the Ring, Legolas and Gimli traveled throughout Arda; together, the unlikely pair explored the wonders of middle-Earth, reveling in the beauty they encountered, and sorrowing over the ugly scars war inflicted upon the lands. As they neared the end of their journey, from the highest tower of the White City, Legolas caught his first glimpse of the sea. The faint cry of the gulls stirred the longing dormant in his heart, yet the siren call is not yet irresistible, for the Elf is determined to remain in middle-Earth for a time. What the Elf also discovered after his first glimpse of the sea, is he longs for something, or . . . someone.
The restlessness Legolas feels in his soul continues to grow; so much so that he often considered proposing that Gimli join him on yet another far-flung journey. However, Legolas is surprised to realize the restless feeling has all but disappeared with Jordan Waters’ appearance. Owing the reprieve to the woman’s interesting . . . dilemma, Legolas thinks no more of the matter. Instead, his mind wanders back to the moments when he and Jordan touched, and he felt ‘It’.   The Elf is troubled; the only other time Legolas felt the disconcerting sensation was with his first lover, Willröwyn. They were together for 100 years before she was slain by an Orc. Her death haunted him in the many seasons that followed; since then, Legolas had taken numerous lovers during his long life, but he never forgot Willröwyn, and occasionally wonders what might have been. In time, Legolas is ready to offer his heart once again to another, believing his attraction to the Elven guard, Tauriel, to be more than a passing fancy. For his part, Legolas’ feelings are genuine; as Fate would have it, the Warrior Prince’s hopes were dashed, his feelings unrequited and unrealized upon learning Tauriel’s heart belonged to the Dwarven warrior, Kili. To have his Lord and Father, King Thranduil acknowledge Tauriel’s feelings for the slain Dwarf to be genuine, further devastated Legolas’ heart. Unable to remain in Mirkwood, Legolas does as his Sire bade and set out Northward to find the elusive Ranger, Strider. Legolas casts aside any longings for a love mate and vows to safeguard his heart against further hurt; he has not looked back since. To feel ‘It’ again with a mortal discomfits him.   Legolas determinedly forces it from his mind as he makes his way back to camp. Jordan is there.
In the span of mere moments, he is inexplicably drawn to this strange woman’s side. From her child like wonder at something so simple as his wrist bracers, to the unguarded delight in her surroundings, she captivates him -- a Daughter of Man, no less!
Jordan is drifting off to sleep when she feels the Buzz. Her eyes fly open as she rises up on her elbow, her hand automatically reaching for her sword. Hoping it is Duncan, Jordan is both thrilled and disappointed to see Legolas appear in the faint light of the glowing embers. He, on the other hand, is clearly taken aback to find her awake and looking at him expectantly. The only mortal who can hear an Elf approach is Elessar; fostered by Elves and wed to the Evenstar, the King of Gondor is attuned to the Fair Ones’ ways. That this woman is able to do so as well adds another layer of mystery to Jordan Waters.
“You should be resting, Jordan; we ride at first light.” Legolas admonishes her softly.
Silently making his way toward her, Legolas sits beside Jordan and studies her profile in the moonlight. Jordan doesn’t answer as she stares at the faintly glowing embers; long moments pass in silence before she finally speaks.
“Did you see anyone?” Jordan asks hopefully.
“No.” Legolas replies.
“How far did you go?” she asks.
“Twelve miles in all directions.” Jordan turns to look at him, amazed.
“Did you really?” the Elf’s steady gaze is all the answer she needs.
“Why do you not rest?” Legolas asks.
“I can’t sleep. None of this makes sense; I keep thinking I’ll wake up and find that this is all a weird, crazy dream—I mean, maybe I hit my head and have a concussion, and you’re just the product of a medically induced coma, yet those…things, those Orcs back there were real. You’re real. In my world, Elves exist only in children’s fairy tales, and you’re supposed to be these cute little thing that live in trees and bake cookies.” Jordan knows she is babbling, but she can’t help herself.
“I do not know what you speak of; I assure you I am as real as you are. I do not have the answers you seek. I pledge to help you find your way back . . . if that is what you wish.” Jordan turns to look at him, doubt and hope mingling in her troubled eyes. Finally, a tentative smile reaches her lips and dies before it can be fully revealed.
“Legolas…what if more Orcs are still out there?” the Immortal asks with a shudder.
He hears the uncertainty and fear in Jordan’s voice; hesitating for a brief moment, Legolas puts an arm around her shoulders and draws her to him in a tight embrace. Jordan resists for a moment before giving in, her arms going around him, her body trembling.
“Be at ease, Jordan. I will not let you come to harm. We are safe.” Murmuring comforting words in Elvish, he continues to hold her, stroking her hair until she stills.
This is really too much. The Immortal thinks dismally, fighting the urge to give into more tears.
Perhaps it is the totality of the day, coupled with her reluctant night in the open and heaped with a double dose of ‘weird’. Whatever the reason, Jordan decides what will help her feel better right now is another sob session. Knowing mortal women are prone to fits of emotional displays, Legolas patiently waits for Jordan’s tears to cease; softly, he sings an Elvish lullaby, its cadence weaves an aura of comfort around Jordan. Legolas smiles to himself and continues singing as Jordan hiccups and sighs. Feeling her body slowly relax once again in his arms, Legolas is about to lay Jordan down on her pallet when he changes his mind; instead, he draws his cloak over them and holds Jordan close. Legolas is not tired, nor does he wish to fall into reverie. Instead, as Jordan sleeps, Legolas studies her face; his blue gaze follows the fine shape of her dark brows. He longs to see her eyes, but lids weighed down by thick lashes hide them. The cool night air brings out the roses in Jordan’s cheeks, and the moon gives her smooth skin a pearly luster. Taking a lock of her black hair, the Elf enjoys its silky feel as he slowly rubs it between his fingers, then against his cheek. It is the deepest black; in the sunlight, it shines blue. Legolas’ keen eyes travel down Jordan’s face, her lips are slightly parted, as if in invitation, and her body is warm and pliable in his arms. Feeling the tightening in his groin. It is going to be a long night. Legolas sighs and waits for the dawn.
The world is beginning to stir as day breaks. Jordan’s warm blanket is shifting. Making a soft noise of protest, she snuggles closer.   In her dream, her lover’s face is inches from hers; his lips curve at the corners, making it seem he is always smiling. She touches his face, and finds his skin to be as she always imagined -- smooth and warm.
My Adonis. Jordan thinks dreamily. Reaching up, she touches her lips to his.
Dawn finally arrives. It is time to break camp and set out for Imladris; trying to wake Jordan, Legolas shifts his position in the hopes of rousing her from slumber. Instead, the woman snuggles closer to him. Had circumstances been different, Legolas would have explored the opportunity presenting itself. Knowing Jordan still lingers in the realm of dreams, he relents, allowing her a few more moments’ rest, until, eyes unfocused and cloudy with sleep, Jordan looks at him and touches his face. And then she kisses him.
It is not much of a kiss, really, but the sensation of their lips touching catches him off guard. It is electric. For a split second, Legolas hesitates, not wanting to take advantage of the situation, and then with a groan, he deepens the kiss and pulls Jordan closer to him; her arms encircle his neck as she enthusiastically responds to him.   His tongue traces her lips, lightly stroking, before gaining entrance and dancing with hers in a soft welcome that intensifies with each stroke. The silky-smooth feel of her soft lips and tongue make him want to explore the rest of her, to see if she feels just as good.
I can actually feel his body . . . his hair . . . so soft, so . . .!
Rarely are Jordan’s dreams so realistically erotic; most often she awakens frustrated, knowing the dream is wonderful, but unable to fully recall details, grasping at a quickly fading memory. However, this time the dream is not a dream. Jordan comes fully awake; her eyes fly wide open as she breaks off the kiss and removes her arms from Legolas’ neck; for long moments, they simply stare at each other. Jordan is breathing hard, trying to get her raging body under control.   As for Legolas, his eyes hold the unmistakable light of interest as he waits to see what Jordan will do.   Blushing furiously, she realizes she is draped across the gorgeous Elf. Quickly, Jordan scrambles off Legolas’ lap and jumps to her feet; not quite meeting his eyes, Jordan knows she must get away, to collect herself. What on earth has she done?
“I-I’m sorry…” Jordan stammers; she does not see the wide grin on Legolas’ face.
Jordan forces herself to walk sedately when she really wants to run as she heads towards the stream. Kneeling by the waters edge, she touches her lips. They feel swollen from Legolas’ brief but thorough kiss. She’d been kissed before, but not quite like that. Looking at her reflection in the clear water, Jordan can’t help but smile before it fades. She cannot deny the attraction she feels for Legolas – it is the suddenness and intensity of it that scares her; it is so out of character for her to kiss a man she hardly knows, let alone an Elf in an alternate reality.
Well, I hope this means he’s not gay.
Sighing, Jordan splashes her face and neck with water, shivering from the cold. I’d better get back. We’ll be leaving soon. Composing herself, Jordan walks back to camp; Gimli is already mounted on his gelding.
“Did you sleep well, Lass? You’ll need all your strength if you’re to stay on one of these blasted beasts for the duration of the journey.” The Dwarf says, casting a baleful glare at his mount. Jordan smiles but doesn’t answer Gimli’s question.
All trace of their camp is gone. Standing by Arod, Legolas is stroking the horse’s neck, speaking to it in what Jordan presumes to be Elvish; looking up at her approach, Legolas’ meets her gaze with a level one of his own, his face impassive. Searching his blue eyes, Jordan can see no reproach in them as he hands her a small wafer.
“Good morn, Jordan. This is Lembas--Elvish way bread. It will fill your belly.” Legolas says.
“Thank you.”   She replies.
Not knowing what else to say, Jordan nibbles her bread; it is light, airy and surprisingly filling. Once again, Legolas easily lifts Jordan onto Arod, takes his place behind her, and they are on their way. The trio ride for the better part of the morning, when Jordan cannot remain silent any longer.
“Legolas, about this morning…I hope I didn’t offend you, or act inappropriately.” Jordan waits in tense silence for his reply.
“There is nothing to forgive. I regret that it ended.” Legolas replies.
His warm breath brushing against her ear causes goose bumps to form on Jordan’s arms, despite her clothing. Jordan is glad Legolas cannot see her blush and how much his words please her. His next words do not please her.
“Your wounds are completely healed. There is no mark or hurt on you.” Legolas’ astute observation makes Jordan slightly uncomfortable.
He may be blonde, but he certainly isn’t dumb or blind.
“Umm, I heal quickly.” Jordan says. Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Legolas falls silent.
The blow the Orc dealt her is delivered with great force, yet she is without a mark.
The Elf decides to leave the matter alone . . . for now. The travelers don’t stop for lunch; instead, they eat more of the Lembas. Despite the distance they travel, Legolas grows increasingly concerned for Jordan. It is quite evident with every stride, gallop and trot of the horse, the manner Jordan bounces up and down, not posting with Arod’s stride tells Legolas she truly has not much – if any, experience riding on a horse.
She is skilled with a blade, but not with horses. He muses to himself.
Unfortunately, they must ride hard to reach Rivendell before midday. Stopping only to water and briefly rest the horses, Legolas dismounts lightly and reaches up to help Jordan down. Jordan grabs Legolas’ arms for support; she would’ve fallen if his hands weren’t still around her waist, as her legs buckle beneath her. Mortified, Jordan tries to force her legs straight, despite her thighs’ protest; her buttocks feel as if they were spanked continuously through the morning, and her back aches fiercely.
“I--I’ll be okay—I just need to stretch.” She mumbles.
Looking at the ground, the woman misses the concerned frown on Legolas’ face. Gritting her teeth, Jordan forces herself to straighten and slowly makes her way to Gimli who is watering his mount at the stream; Jordan can’t help grimacing with every step she takes.
“Gimli, how do you stand it?” she asks.
“Lass, those pointy ears take to horses like fish to water.   We Dwarves are not suited for the beasts, but never let it be said we cannot adapt. ‘Twill get easier as we go on. Perhaps you should altar your seat.” Though his voice is gruff, Jordan hears his concern. Squinting up at her, Gimli looks at her shuriken flashing in the light.
“Those weapons of yours are unlike any I’ve seen. Mayhap in Rivendell you will show them to me.” The Dwarf suggests.
“I’d be honored. I’d also like to examine your axes. The craftsmanship is extraordinary.” Jordan smiles at the way Gimli stands a little taller, swaggering away with his chest puffed out.
After the horses drink their fill, and the water skins replenished, the trio prepare to ride; this time Jordan sits sideways; once again she grits her teeth as they took off. Jordan scrutinizes the landscape, marveling at its unsullied beauty. When bored, she surreptitiously studies Legolas. Staring at his clothing, Jordan wonders why the designs on his outer tunic look vaguely familiar. Unable to place her finger on it, she gives up; instead, Jordan examines Legolas’ quiver holster. Jordan is admiring the tooling and etchings when her gaze travels upward to the Elf’s profile. Even with the opportunity to study him at such close range, Jordan discovers with a small amount of envy that his fair skin is unblemished; even in the sunlight, he is luminescent; looking at his ears, Jordan is especially fascinated with the tips, and her fingers itch to touch them.
I wonder if Mr. Spock is descended from intergalactic Elves…?                   “You gaze at me most intently” Legolas comments.
“Can you wiggle your ears?” Jordan wishes she could take the inane words back the moment she utters them.
“No, can you?”   Legolas replies, with a smile.
Touché.
“I’m sorry, that was rude of me. It’s just that I’ve never met an Elf before. Elves, Dwarves and Orcs aren’t exactly common in Washington.” Jordan replies.
“When Lord Elrond determines his course of action concerning the Orcs, I pledge to you my assistance in finding your way home, if that is what you wish.” The sincerity in his face touches her, leaving no doubt in Jordan’s mind that he will keep his word.
“Thank you, Legolas.” She says softly, turning her attention back to the passing scenery.
“Tell me more of this ‘Washington’.” Glad to talk about a safe and familiar topic, Jordan tells him about her apartment, and her favorite local haunts in Washington, her discomfort is briefly forgotten as the horses’ swift hooves bear them towards their destination.
“Look, we are here.” Legolas announces.
The change in scenery is breathtaking. Trollshaw Forest is a lush, primeval forest; Rivendell is simply majestic -- a sea of autumn colors. Reds, golds, greens, oranges, yellows, everywhere there is color—and lots of it, as well as Immortals. Almost immediately, Jordan feels multiple Buzzes.
“Legolas, we’re not alone. There’s someone out there.” Jordan murmurs as she sits up straighter, despite her sore bottom’s protest. Surprised, Legolas looks at her quizzically before replying.
“Rivendell is well guarded. No doubt Lord Elrond is already aware of our arrival. Tis not much further.” The Elf assures her as they begin their ascent.
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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