Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
Views: 4470 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
After returning to her quarters, Jordan is delighted to see a fire crackling merrily in the hearth. Its bright flames cheer her as she stands before it, enjoying its warmth. When she can no longer bear the heat, Jordan walks to the balcony and gazes at the panoramic view of Rivendell at night; bathed in silver moonlight, its beauty is ethereal and otherworldly. She listens to sounds of the many waterfalls, and studies the silhouettes of trees and the surrounding foliage; on her balcony, off to the side sits a beautifully carved bench. Beyond it, steps lead down to a courtyard and a grove of trees. Though electricity does not exist in this world, the cunningly placed torches reflecting off the pale buildings amplify its light, making it seem there are many lights all about. Soft and inviting, they illuminate the buildings in its warm glow. Soon, another sound drifts on the night wind, catching her attention. Tilting her head, listening closely, Jordan hears voices lifted in song. Closing her eyes, she listens to the haunting music, the lyrics sung in a verbiage not known to her.
I’m in an ‘Enya’ video
Jordan turns to go back inside, but pauses -- all along the doorway, the external carvings glow faintly in the weak moonlight. Cautiously reaching out, Jordan touches it – it is cool beneath her fingers.   Experimentally, she scrapes the carvings with her fingernails. It doesn’t come away.
Hmmm, what is this. . . ?
Unfortunately, Jordan is in a hurry and hasn’t time to give it more than a cursory thought as she hurries back inside. Peering into the armoire, she selects a gown of the deepest emerald. Slipping it over her head, Jordan is delighted to find it fits her perfectly; searching thru the drawers, she can’t find. . .
Panties. Where are the panties!?
Jordan paws thru the drawers, searching the armoire from top to bottom, her thorough search is fruitless; she purses her lips thoughtfully.
“I guess they don’t exist here.” She says to herself; it appears Jordan will have to do without.
Biting her bottom lip, Jordan smiles and blushes; she admits it feels . . . liberating, titillating and a bit naughty to go about au natural.
“At least I won’t have to worry about panty lines.” She murmurs with a grin.
At the bottom of the armoire, Jordan finds a pair of matching slippers. Sliding her feet into them, she walks around the room, testing the fit and feel -- they are heaven. Made of velvet, the footwear looks delicate, yet are surprisingly sturdy. The cork soles feel wonderful on her feet, unlike anything she’s ever worn. Closing the doors to the wardrobe, Jordan spies a hairbrush in the armoire. Turning it over in her hand, she examines it closely.
“No way. . . ” she murmurs to herself, with a grin on her face. The handle and back are encrusted with…rubies and emeralds!
I’d better not drop this
With a laugh, Jordan stands by the fireplace and brushes her hair dry. Giving her reflection a critical glance in the mirror, she twirls slowly, examining herself from every possible angle, pleased to see how the gown flatters her figure; the sumptuous material clings to her curves and bosom, its deep verdant hue intensifies the color of her eyes. Jordan decides it is fitting the Leaf is the only ornament she wears -- never mind it is the only piece of jewelry on her person. Stepping closer to the mirror, she inspects her face; Jordan is not surprised to see her injuries had completely healed.
“Hopefully Legolas won’t notice.” She murmurs to herself.
Jordan decides she is safe enough in Rivendell to go without her weapons, sincerely doubting the Elves will spend the night in wild revelry and licentious debauchery.   Squaring her shoulders, Jordan hesitates as dread and eagerness war within her. Taking a deep breath, she grasps the door pull and steps outside.
Thanking Ceallach for her assistance in finding her way to the fete, Jordan lingers in the vestibule. In the great hall, the festivities are in full swing. Everywhere Jordan turns her eyes are tall, beautiful Elves attired in gorgeous robes and gowns. In the sea of color, she almost overlooks the small group; facial hair in varying stages of growth identifies them as non-Elven. The Mens’ clothes near completely camouflage them in plain sight. As she watches, several Men lean against the doorway, taking in the sight of the Elves as they pass, while others fill their plates with food and carry them outside.
Curious, Jordan wonders who they are; she observes them speaking with and laughing readily with the Elves, whilst other Men talk quietly amongst themselves. Their long, dark hair hangs at or past their shoulders.   Save for a six pointed, star shaped cloak clasp, their plain, somber clothing bears no identifying marks, nor are the gray and dark green colors adorned with skilled needle work, a direct contrast to the rich, flowing fabrics the Elves favor. The Men are tall, though not quite as tall as the Elves. One in particular catches her eye; from across the room, his direct gaze holds Jordan’s when her eyes settle upon him. They stare at each other for long moments before Jordan is distracted by several vivid shades of orange and yellow. When Jordan looks back to where the Men are, they are gone. The Immortal doesn’t give them a second thought as she continues to survey the room.
The music in the background is as beautiful and unearthly as the beings she is surrounded by. Exquisite garlands and flowers of all colors and species adorn the walls and tables, their delicate fragrances perfuming the air. Feeling like the analogous country cousin amidst such unparalleled beauty, Jordan edges her way to a potted plant and stands close to its wide, dark leaves, hoping to blend in with the foliage, attempting to be inconspicuous as she gazes around the room. So enthralled with her surroundings, Jordan forgets her hunger; instead she feasts her eyes on the sights surrounding her. Food-laden tables are placed throughout the room. Seated close to a table spread with assorted meats, Jordan watches Gimli busy at work; his plate is heaped high with food, and he eats with unapologetic relish. Jordan searches the room, telling herself it is only because she is hoping to see another familiar face. After all, there is nothing quite like attending a party where you don’t know a single soul. It isn’t difficult to find his fair head.
Apparently there’s no such thing as an ugly Elf
Though the Elves possess beauty beyond compare, to Jordan’s eyes, the golden Elf is more handsome than any other Elf in the room. There is . . . something about him that draws Jordan to him like a magnet and makes her heart flip-flop in her chest.
You’ve only just met.
Jordan thinks of their brief kiss in the forest, and the memory brings a smile to her face. Giving herself a mental shake, she wonders how Legolas’ presence alone has the power to make her speechless, wanting nothing more than to stare at him. He also makes her feel like an awkward teenager again – a feeling she’s not experienced in quite some time. From her sheltered hiding place, Jordan continues to observe the Golden Elf converse with two male Elves, who are mirror images of one another; looking back and forth between them, Jordan thinks they closely resemble Lord Elrond.
Maybe I should say hello.
Suddenly feeling shy, Jordan smoothes her gown with palms that are slightly damp; will she be welcomed? Jordan hopes Legolas will notice she looks different from when they’d first met; Jordan hesitates, unsure why the pale Elf’s good opinion of her matters. Staring at him, Jordan is pondering the thought, when Legolas looks straight at her. She stands still; hoping he didn’t see her and wills herself to be one with the potted plant. Holding her breath, Jordan is relieved when one of the Elves asks him a question, causing Legolas to look at him. Jordan is so engrossed in watching the Wood Elf that she is startled by the soft voice by her side.
“Jordan, why are you hiding?”
Læurenthail is dressed in a long peach colored gown, a smile graces her lovely face when she spies Lord Elrond’s unusual guest hiding behind a plant.   Sensing her awkwardness, the elleth goes to Jordan in an effort to make her feel welcome. The look of surprise and relief on the woman’s face is obvious to the Elven maiden. Appraising her with an objective eye, Læurenthail notes Jordan barely resembles the she-male she was upon her arrival at Imladris.
She is fair . . . for a Daughter of Man. the Healer decides.
Although Læurenthail does not seek the company of mortals, she understands why Lord Legolas befriends them. They are childlike, their emotions unguarded; and -- given their limited time on middle-Earth, mortal Man live their lives with a passion worthy of admiration. The Healer wonders after Jordan’s age, for she seems more of a youth than a woman. Perhaps she has not attained her full stature, for the top of Jordan’s head reaches to most Elves’ chins.
“Læurenthail—it’s so good to see a familiar face!” Jordan says, relieved to see the Healer.
“Thank you for the gown, I’ve never worn anything like it—and best of all, it fits!” she enthuses, smoothing her dress once more.
“Your garb is the pattern used to alter the gown and the other garments. Come, the revelry will begin soon.” With her hand beneath the woman’s elbow, the Healer gently pulls Jordan away from her hiding place and leads her towards the tables.
Nodding politely to the Elves the Healer introduces her to, Jordan looks back to where she last seen Legolas, disappointed to see he is gone. With a small sigh, Jordan obediently follows Læurenthail, trying to remember the unusual names; the elleth points out guests of import, and introduces Jordan to others of particular interest as they drift towards the refreshment tables. When they do finally reach the foodstuffs, Jordan sighs as she inspects the spread; she recognizes some vegetables; however, most of the dishes she is unfamiliar with. Regardless, the presentation of the artfully prepared foods is a feast for the senses alone -- the variety is astounding and surpasses any catered event Jordan has ever attended. Her stomach growls loudly in response to the appetizing aromas wafting through the air, reminding Jordan of her inattention to its needs.
Filling a plate, Jordan quietly nibbles her food; talking with Elves Læurenthail introduces her to, she answers their curious questions, tailoring her answers without giving away too much, being deliberately vague. After eating her fill, a passing servant collects Jordan’s empty plate; needing fresh air and a chance to walk off some of her meal, Jordan excuses herself from the pleasant company and makes her way to the balcony outside.
Going to a dark corner, she stands at the railing; the chatter and music of the feast in the background fades to a muted hush as she listens to the night sounds. Looking up, Jordan imagines a giant child scattering a handful of stars across the nighttime sky. Without artificial lighting, it is amazing how brightly they shine, twinkling like diamonds against a bed of black velvet. Taking a deep breath of the cool night air, the scents of the moisture from the waterfalls, the surrounding forest and the feast fill her nostrils. Jordan watches a star blaze across the sky, its tail leaving a glittering trail in its wake.
She is thinking of home and Duncan; he seems so far away. Closing her eyes, Jordan’s lips move silently as she makes a wish. However, after a luxurious bath, a full stomach —surrounded by fabled creatures of legend, the woman’s perspective changes slightly. Shivering, though not from the cold, Jordan wraps her arms around herself; she is torn between wanting to fully experience this incredible adventure and willing it to end, because it must. Still lost in thought, Jordan starts when something warm envelopes her; whirling around, Legolas has draped his cloak over her, and he stands before her with a small smile on his handsome face; the Elf is so close that Jordan has nowhere to go, trapped between him and the railing at her back. They stare at each other in silence for a few moments.
He’s worth staying
Blinking, Jordan mentally shakes herself; it is a dangerous line of thought that is best left unexplored. Tilting her head back to better look at him, Jordan studies him. In the moonlight, Legolas’ pale hair gleams, his features are luminescent. Perfect in form and symmetry, living marble in the flesh. A voice in the back of the Jordan’s mind whispers she should thank the Elf for his thoughtfulness, but Jordan finds her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. Instead, she returns his smile with one of her own. Jordan didn’t expect Legolas’ hands to cup her face, gently turning it as he searches for her injuries. She is unprepared for the tingling sensation that causes a delicious shiver to go down her spine; it feels like a miniature Quickening. Unconsciously, Jordan sways towards the Elf, closing her eyes as she enjoys the feel of his hands against her face. Satisfied with his inspection, Legolas gently brushes his knuckles against Jordan’s cheeks before his hands slowly travel down the smooth column of her neck. The Elf’s fingers continue downward and touches the pendant suspended on its silver chain.
“That is the leaf of Lórien. How did you come to possess it?” Legolas’ clear gaze is puzzled.
“It’s a gift from an acquaintance. He gave it to me shortly before I . . . arrived here.”
No--of course! This must be the key to everything!
Jordan’s thoughts are spinning in her head. The way back home is possibly suspended around her neck!
“Legolas, maybe this is the answer to my way home, maybe--” Her eager words are cut off when Legolas places a finger gently against her lips, effectively silencing her.
“If you hold the key, then there is time enough to find your way back. Tonight let us enjoy the evening.” He murmurs.
For his part, Legolas is unsure why he did not notice the Leaf before, and is more confused why he stills her words. He does not want to hear Jordan speak of leaving and surprises himself yet again when he takes Jordan’s hands in his own and plants a kiss against them. Jordan watches the golden Elf kiss her hands in a courtly gesture; perhaps it is the moon, or the stars, or the very romantic mood itself, but Jordan swears the warmth of Legolas’ lips remain on her skin where his lips touch. And she can’t help but be secretly thrilled the very handsome Elf hasn’t released her hands as his gaze sweeps over her.
“Elven garb suits you, Jordan Waters. I am pleased you are well enough to attend the festivities. I was hoping you would come.” Legolas says.
Jordan takes the opportunity to continue her study of the Elf as well. Garbed in a silvery blue tunic with intricately etched silver clasps down the front, his forearms are bare of the vambraces he previously wore; under the tunic are brown breeches tucked into his cleaned and polished boots. Legolas definitely cuts a fine figure.
“I’m feeling much better, thank you. And are you enjoying yourself, Legolas? Have you eaten yet? Where is Gimli?”
Jordan knows she is babbling, but she is unable to help herself; it is a nervous habit. Legolas is oblivious to the havoc he wrecks upon her composure; he makes Jordan nervous and excited, and his attentive flirtation doesn’t help matters, either. Jordan can’t quite understand why he affects her so. It is most disconcerting.
“I have eaten, and Gimli is no doubt enjoying the mead and ale Rivendell has to offer.” Legolas answers. He turns his head slightly and listens.
“The singing and revelry has begun. Do you wish to join?” The Elf asks. He raises a dark blonde brow when Jordan declines.
“I think I’ll stay out here a little longer. I’m enjoying the beauty of Rivendell at night.”
“Do you wish to be alone, or may I join you?”
“Please stay.” She answers.
Forever.   Jordan silently adds before squelching the unbidden thought. Legolas leads her to an ornately carved stone bench, where they sit side by side; she notices he still holds her hand within his, and she marvels how the simple gesture makes her heart soar. Legolas is pleasant company and they talk of the wonders and beauty of Rivendell, which leads to a comparison of Legolas’ woodland home in Mirkwood. Jordan loves hearing the Elf’s voice, and a small part of her wishes the evening will last forever, yet the sensible side of her knows she shouldn’t monopolize him. She looks at Legolas with regret in her eyes.
“We’d better return. I wouldn’t want them to think Orcs kidnapped you,” she teases, though she makes no move to rise.
Legolas stands, the movement smooth and fluid; he gently tugs Jordan’s hand. As she stands, he places one hand on the small of Jordan’s back, and draws her to him; any closer, Legolas will feel her heart beating double time in her chest. Jordan looks up at him, surprised, and her eyes widen when Legolas combs his fingers thru her hair; goose bumps rise up and down her arms, her body reacting instantly to his nearness. It takes all of Jordan’s self control to not kiss him.
Bending his head, Legolas softly replies, “Mayhaps they will think you have spirited me away. I would not resist.” His warm breath gently fans her cheek. Flustered, Jordan blushes.
“There you two are! The ale is tolerable here. Lord Elrond’s brew masters need some instruction from the Dwarves. Jordan, how are you feeling? You look well enough; come and feast, for tonight is a night of revelry!”
The Dwarf’s blustery voice breaks the spell. With a smile, Legolas releases her. Glad for the distraction, Jordan goes to the Dwarf, whose nose and cheeks are an astonishing shade of bright pink.
“Gimli, I’m glad to see you. Isn’t the feast wonderful? Legolas and I were about to listen to the singing.”
“Well, the pointy-ears spend too much time singing and telling tales, but I suppose they do have a gift for it. Let us discover for ourselves what the fuss is all about.” Legolas gives Jordan an enigmatic look as he and Gimli escort her to the festivities and remain by her side for the duration of the evening.
Surrounded by beautiful beings with equally beautiful voices, Jordan is captivated. When the dancing begins, she is entranced by the grace and beauty of the participants, and the intricate steps; the dance reflects the traits of the beings themselves, the steps and movements graceful and complex, the partner an arms’ length apart, then held close for the remainder of the dance. Jordan is immersed in her thoughts when a lovely she-Elf approaches. Jordan laughs with delight when the maiden manages to get Gimli on his feet; the two make an incongruous pair as they move thru the intricate steps. Surprisingly, the Dwarf is a graceful and adept partner.   Jordan is intently observing the dancers, she doesn’t notice Legolas watching her, thoughtfully studying the unusual beauty beside him, enjoying the way her dark head bobs in time to the music, her gaze darting from the dancers’ feet, to their posture and back again.
“Luithiach nin (You enchant me).” Legolas murmurs aloud, more to himself. Blinking, in surprise, the Fair Elf shakes himself and decides it will be better for them to join the merriment.
“Would you care to dance?” He asks Jordan, with a smile on his face.
Jordan is so engrossed in her observation, that she does not hear the question. The Elf touches her arm and repeats his question. Embarrassed, Jordan apologizes as she considers the Prince’s question. She is about to accept his invitation, and then thinks better of it.
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I don’t know the steps.” Jordan demurs, yet the eagerness and longing in her eyes contradicts her words.
“Then I shall teach you. Allow me the honor of a dance with you, fair Jordan.” Legolas cajoles; Jordan hesitates.
“Please.”
Legolas holds his hand out to her and smiles. With Jordan’s hand enveloped in his, he leads her to the dance floor; Jordan has a sudden change of heart, and would’ve returned to her seat, had Legolas not kept a firm grasp on her hand. After more cajoling, Legolas leads her through the elaborate steps.
He effortlessly catches Jordan and laughs with her when she stumbles yet again, encouraging her to try once more, restraining her gently when she wants to give up and return to her seat; much to Jordan’s relief, Legolas is a patient instructor. Halfway through the dance, Jordan finally manages to not step on the Elf’s boots quite so often -- although several times Legolas firmly yet gently steers her away from the other dancers when they almost collide. The Mirkwood Elf keeps his amusement to himself, Jordan is concentrating so hard on the steps, she is tense and stiff in his arms -- her brows are drawn together, her cheeks colored most becomingly with the effort of not bumping into the other participants. A large part of the problem is that Jordan wants to lead.
“Trust me. Surrender yourself to the music.”
Easy for you to say
Jordan is intensely aware of Legolas’ arms around her; her pulse rate quickens, and she knows it is not because of the deceptively rigorous dance.
Jordan nods and closes her eyes, willing herself to relax. Concentrating on the music, she pretends it is Duncan and not Legolas guiding her. The ploy works, for Jordan is finally able to follow Legolas’ lead, not noticing they have danced through one song without a misstep. When the song ends, Jordan opens her eyes and laughs up at Legolas; her green eyes sparkle with her joy at not stumbling over his boots. Legolas’ breath catches in his chest.
Nan Belain, he ssen main (By the Valar, she is beautiful!) Legolas realizes with surprise.
Unable to help himself, he brushes his lips softly against Jordan’s; awareness crackles between them like a living thing. They stand still, caught up in each other, before Legolas leads Jordan back to their seats. The dancing is over for now, and the singing begins again; this time, the Elves request Jordan to sing a song. She vigorously declines their invitation; the Elves relent their repeated requests only after Jordan promises she will sing a song the next evening—on the condition they accompany her with their voices and instruments.
The merriment and revelry continue well into the night; Jordan reluctantly decides to take her leave when her eyes grow heavy.   Noting her fatigue, Legolas stands and suggests she retire for the night. The woman readily agrees, and accepts his offer to escort her to her quarters; Jordan is too tired to find her way back on her own. They walk back in companionable silence; when they arrived at her door, Jordan clears her throat, unsure what to do. A handshake does not seem appropriate, an invitation inside too bold. Jordan wonders if Legolas will kiss her goodnight. As if reading her mind, Legolas takes a step closer and, with a finger beneath her chin, gently tilts her chin up.   Her lips part in anticipation as his face draws nearer. With her pulse racing, Jordan closes her eyes and frowns slightly when the Elf places a chaste kiss upon her forehead; his warm lips linger as he breathes deeply of her scented hair. Slightly miffed, Jordan blinks up at the Elf.
“Goodnight, fair Jordan. Sleep well.” Bowing to her, Legolas turns and leaves without a backward glance.
Looking after him, Jordan shakes her head and enters her quarters; the kiss on her forehead isn’t what she expected . . . or wanted. Jordan can’t help the wide grin spreading across her face. Carefully removing and hanging her gown in the armoire, she changes into the sleep shift laid out on her bed. Looking around the room, Jordan sees her clothes, a fruit and cheese tray, and a pitcher full of water seated inside a washbasin is added; what interests her more, is the item bearing a remarkable resemblance to a toothbrush: a wooden stick with short, soft, fibrous tufts on one end lay atop a covered tin that holds a gritty paste inside. Dipping a finger into the paste, the woman correctly deduces its purpose and cleans her teeth and gums. Unsure what to do with the rinse water, Jordan carefully carries the washbasin to the balcony and pours the water over the side of the balcony rail, then returns the basin to its place. Hugging herself, Jordan spins around, remembering the feeling of being in Legolas’ arms. She twirls towards the bed and throws herself onto the feather mattress. Lying on her back, Jordan stares at the ceiling and laughs at herself before climbing between the cozy sheets. With a huge yawn, Jordan is asleep before her head hits the pillow.
En route to his quarters, Legolas’ mind replays the night’s events. He hasn’t seen the woman since their arrival in the Elven realm, and the council meeting has taken up a good portion of time; after a quick visit to check on Arod, it is time to prepare for the feast. Legolas hopes Jordan will be well enough to attend the festivities; the evening is young, and the Wood Elf is glad for the chance to speak with the Dúnedain Rangers; the glad tidings they bring from Gondor and the Prince of Ithilien is most welcome news; the shared sightings of the Orc nuisance and an uneasy truce betwixt Rohan and the Dunlendings is not unexpected, ’tis the first step of a long journey towards healing and the rebuilding of the Riddermark. At Lord Elrond’s behest, the Rangers partake of the festivities, eating their fill and strengthening the ties of friendship prior to departing the Homely House. Deep in conversation with the Prince Lords of Rivendell, Legolas strategically places himself where he can view all the possible entrances; he is beginning to believe Jordan is not well enough to attend, when -- to his delight, he catches sight of her arrival in the great hall, her countenance both wary and excited. She is very fair to behold, and he cannot tear his eyes from her, all the while trying to mask his amusement at her attempt to hide behind the plants--as if she wouldn’t be noticed.
Unfortunately, Elrohir, one of Lord Elrond’s twin sons, chose that very moment to ask him a question, necessitating the courtesy of eye contact as he answers; Legolas searches for Jordan, only to see her leave with the head Healer. Watching her from a distance, the Mirkwood Prince is glad to see Jordan enjoy herself, knowing Elven hospitality will allow nothing less. He decides to retreat to an alcove where he can openly observe her with a measure of privacy. As she eats her meal, Legolas sees Jordan’s eyes wandering the room. After Jordan eats, Legolas watches her step outside. He decides to follow; pausing in the doorway, he senses the melancholy radiating from the woman, and steps forward, hoping to lift her spirits.
Jordan shivering in the cool night air gives him the excuse he seeks; draping his cloak about her shoulders, Legolas wants only to comfort her. Instead, he is left with a compulsion he must obey; the Mirkwood Prince can’t help himself. He must touch her. Tilting Jordan’s face to view it better, the Elf sees her face is whole -- unmarred and smooth. He wonders yet again how it is possible. The question stills on his lips when Jordan’s eyes widen, and it is then that he looks at her. Really looks at her. Clean, garbed in clothes of his kin, she is . . . beautiful. Legolas has never before been attracted to mortal women, yet there is something about Jordan that reaches out to him. She is a virtual stranger to him, yet he finds himself wanting to be by her side as much as possible. Troubled, Legolas decides a walk will put matters into proper perspective and add clarity to an unfamiliar situation.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4470 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer below.

Only One