Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
An early riser by nature, Jordan awakes while still dark outside; the first rays of light had yet to appear. It is her favorite moment of the day, when all life is still at rest. Thoughts of the previous night's events fill her mind. With a smile on her face, she hums quietly to herself as she makes her bed, neatly hangs her sleep shift and places it in the armoire. After splashing cold water on her face, Jordan cleans her teeth, brushes her hair and decides to take a morning walk.
I doubt I'll get lost here.
Jordan straps on her weapons and settles her coat to hide them from sight. On impulse, Jordan reaches into her pockets to discover her chocolates are still inside. Grabbing an apple and wedge of cheese from the fruit tray, she crosses to the balcony, and descends the stairs into the courtyard below, heading for the tree line in the distance. Though she sees no Elves, she feels their presence. Eating her breakfast, Jordan watches the dark sky slowly lighten; noting the position of the sun, she walks eastward.
None of the national parks back home can even compare to the beauty of Rivendell.
The woman disappeared into the tree line and kept walking; further into the forestland the woman strode, with no particular destination in mind. Enjoying the stillness of the morning, at last, the wooden sentries parted to reveal a sheltered glade. Jordan cocked her head; her eyes scanned the tree line hemming her in, noting the even lower level of the Buzz.
I guess you can never be truly alone here. the Immortal thought. Her good mood deserted her as she contemplated what she must do.
"I need to know." She says softly.
Sinking to the ground, Jordan sits cross-legged; placing her sticks on the dew-covered grass before her, she lays her Katana across her lap. Jordan unsheathes it; her fingers hover above the curved surface, watching the full tang gleam in the weak light. Tilting it at an angle, Jordan's solemn eyes are reflected in the blade, seeing a different scene replay from long ago . . .
"Your katana is no ordinary blade." Duncan comments as they train. "Take your stance; sit into it." The Highlander bounces on his heels as if riding a horse. With a flurry, he demonstrates the basics of sword handling.
"Take the blade with your right hand. Parry, cut. Parry, cut. Now lunge."
Jordan does her best to mirror his moves. Her Teacher keeps a watchful eye on her progress, stopping to correct her form before resuming their lesson. "Don't move when you get to this point. Watch your position. Balance is the key to everything." he instructs.
"Parry, come backwards – cut." Jordan's brow furrows, concentrating on the moves that will keep her alive. Duncan nods his approval.
"Show me your parry." Jordan does as asked.
"No, no, no. Bring your blade up, otherwise you lose your head. Now remember, when you parry, use the strong part of the blade. It'll last longer, and you won't risk it being broken until the both of you grow stronger."
"What do you mean . . . ?" Jordan asks, whilst mirroring her Teacher.
"It is forged by Masamune - the quality of the metal, the craftsmanship and the cutting edge is second to none; with proper care, your katana will be all it is meant to be. And it can be so much more - stronger and sharper beyond your wildest expectations."
"I don’t understand -- how is that possible?"
"Have you ever wondered why our blades cut deeper and more easily than an ordinary sword - and through objects like metals unlike ordinary swords?"
"Skill!" Jordan answers. Duncan chuckles.
"You truly don't have any idea of your potential!" He replies.
"You're supposed to teach me, not laugh at me." Jordan sulked. Duncan's wide grin and dimples soon charm a smile from his affronted Student.
"Yes and no; that plays a large part. What if I told you . . . you can strengthen your katana even more by your will?"
"I still don't understand." Jordan says.
"Any steel sword can break when struck at the wrong angle. A Quickening infusion takes care of that and so much more."
"Seriously?" Jordan's skeptical snort causes her teacher to frown at her.
"When Immortal blades connect or strike together, sparks often fly - because Immortals can empower their swords with his or her Quickening – it enables your weapon to handle extraordinarily massive impacts or lateral forces during your Challenge."
"How do you 'empower' your sword?" his Student presses.
"Glad you asked! Its tricky at first; it has to be a conscious effort, and you're going to learn right now. . ."
With a sigh, Jordan quietly sheathes her blade and reaches for her rattan sticks, inspecting the smooth, polished surface. Jordan grips them tightly until her knuckles turn white.
Despite the beauty of Rivendell, and the Elves' hospitality, she is a stranger on the outside looking in; Jordan finds herself becomingly increasingly enthralled with Rivendell . . . and against her better judgment, Legolas. She briefly wonders where he is and what he is doing, wishing Legolas does not possess the ability to send her senses into a tizzy. Such adolescent, juvenile behavior must stop, Jordan sternly tells herself. But Jordan cannot prevent smiling when she remembers their forest kiss, or their dance the evening before. Heaving a frustrated sigh, Jordan rises in a fluid motion. Holstering her sticks and stowing her sword, Jordan kicks a rock away and begins to pace.
I like it here too much; I must find a way back before I get too attached to this place. It'll make leaving all the harder when Duncan comes. Think, think, think!
Jordan's pacing came to an abrupt halt. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her peanut butter cups. Tearing the wrapper open, she shakes one onto her palm.
"Allright, Alice, it worked for you. Let's see if Wonderland will still be here." The candy is halfway to her mouth when Jordan hesitates. Legolas' face appears before her, his impossibly blue eyes boring into hers. Before she can change her mind, Jordan takes a bite and swallows quickly. Nothing. Placing the rest of the confection in her mouth, this time she chews slowly and carefully before swallowing. Still nothing.
Maybe I need to eat the entire thing
Jordan sets to work on the second chocolate disc. Licking her fingers, she waits; still nothing happens. Frustrated, Jordan continues her pacing before coming to a halt.
Well, they're not red ruby slippers, but…
Drawing herself up to her full height, Jordan clicks her heels thrice and chants 'there's no place like home' three times. Still nothing. Jordan clicks her heels again, chanting 'there's no place like Seacouver' three times as well, with the same result -- nothing. Jordan absently toys with the Leaf at her neck, thinking.
Of course!
Certain this time she's found her way back, Jordan stands still and takes a long last look around the glade.
"I'll miss you." She whispers. Jordan closes her eyes and curls her fingers curled tightly around the Leaf.
"Lothlórien leaf, take me home!" Opening her eyes to the beauty of Rivendell, Jordan stamps her foot in frustration and repeats the command.
"Lothlórien leaf, take me home now!" Still nothing. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Jordan sighs.
Well. I guess that settles it; I'm here until further notice
Deep within her heart, Jordan has mixed emotions; she is secretly relieved she remains in Rivendell. Her melancholy does not last long as her mood perks up. It is difficult to be glum in Rivendell, whose wonders she has yet to explore. If anything, it will make a fantastic story to tell when she returns home.
It is rude to leave without thanking Lord Elrond. Or say goodbye. Yet the image of a certain blonde haired, blue eyed Elf comes to mind, not the regal Elf-Lord.
Might as well make use of this time alone
Jordan focuses and clears her mind. Gripping a smooth rattan stick in each hand, her thoughts return to her sparring sessions with Duncan. Repeating the maneuvers, Jordan’s steps are measured, her movements graceful and stance strong; she moves forward and back, turning - continuously twirling her sticks in the weaving movements of the Sinawali, and then segueing into the circular, downward motion of the Redonda - the extremely fast strikes whipping in a circle and returning to the point of origin. Giving herself over to the joy of the movement and wanting to feel her blood pump through her veins, Jordan increases her speed; flicking her wrists one hundred and eighty degrees, fan-shaped motion is quicker than the eye can follow; her feet alternate between a pivot and a triangular step. Adjusting her grip, the woman practices the Puño. The devastating move - delivered with the butt of her sticks, targets soft spots and nerve points, disabling her opponent; Jordan frequently employs it to shatter bones. After a while, the Immortal switches weapons.
Pressing a button to lock her sticks together, she spins it several times, feeling for the proper balance, before launching into another practice. Spinning the staff around her, she wonders what the day will hold. Jordan knows she will have to make good on her word; she needs to meet with the Elven virtuosos and practice with them, so she will not make a fool of herself. Jordan holsters her sticks, stretches her arms and makes her way back.
After escorting Jordan back to her quarters, Legolas is restless. Disturbed and intrigued by his feelings for the mortal woman, he changes clothes and straps his weapons to his lithe body, preparing to patrol Rivendell's borders; instead of taking out his frustrations on Orcs and Uruks as he'd hoped, Legolas wanders the length and breadth of Imladris, stopping to visit with the sentries on guard duty; the trees whisper all is well as the wood Elf passes through their branches.
The uneventful night affords him ample time to think about Jordan - the strange woman whose face is vivid in his mind's eye. Three hundred feet up in the trees' canopy, the pre-dawn finds Legolas heading back towards his quarters, nimbly leaping from one swaying branch to another, barely disturbing the leaves as he makes his way back. He is almost there when his keen sight spies a lone figure walking. Recognizing Jordan, he follows her; she is eating an apple as she walks. Legolas watches her drop the remains of the fruit into a pocket of her strange garb. Following her to the secluded glade, he is confident the woman is unaware of his presence, until she stops and looks in his direction. Is it possible Jordan is aware of him - can she see him? Legolas continues to observe her; their eyes meet, and the Prince raises his hand in greeting, but the woman doesn’t respond; in fact, she seems to be looking through him. . . searching. Legolas is puzzled at her lack of response, but doesn’t reveal himself.
Lowering herself to the ground, Jordan looks to be lost in thought as she stares at her weapons; she stands, only to pace the glade. After a moment, the woman pulls a brightly colored packet from her pocket, and consumes its contents. Then she resumes pacing before coming to a halt and hits her heels together; though he is too far away to hear her words, Legolas can see her lips moving. The wind stirs the leaves of his perch, the branch sways in the wind; grasping the bough above him, Legolas continues to watch the woman below. A smile tugs at his lips as he observes her odd behavior. It fades as her hand clasps the Lórien leaf; their conversation the evening before echoes in his mind as the cool morning breeze clearly carry Jordan's words to him.
"Lothlórien leaf, take me home!"
"She is attempting to return!" he says aloud. Legolas’ eyes narrow as he watches, waiting to see what will transpire.
"Lothlórien leaf, take me home now!" When nothing happens, Legolas sighs in relief, not realizing he'd held his breath.
Surprised at himself, the Elf didn't have time to ponder his feelings. His eyes are riveted on the woman far below him who now has her sticks out and begin an unusual routine that slowly starts until the speed and sureness with which she moves leaves no doubt she can be a formidable opponent. Legolas continues to watch with interest, for the sticks are now a long staff. Jordan twirls it slowly, then faster until it blurs. Stabbing, twisting, turning, her long coat swirls around her as she moves. Effortlessly, Jordan switches to a one handed technique; without missing a beat, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the apple core. Tossing it high in the air, it shatters when it falls onto the whirling staff. Shortly after, Jordan separates the sticks and tucks them away. Legolas' expression is thoughtful as he watches her walk away, her long, glossy hair and overcoat fan out behind her in the morning breeze.
It is dawn when Jordan returns to her quarters. The woman feels as if a heavy burden has been lifted from her shoulders. Invigorated by the early morning exercise, she looks forward to the rest of the day with a clear conscience as she gathers her toiletries and seeks out the washroom. Losing her way, a servant happens upon Jordan in the hall and escorts her to the room; when finished, she manages to successfully navigate her way back to her quarters, where she eats more fruit and cheese. Recognizing the Lembas in a covered dish next to the fruit, Jordan breaks off a small piece, and nibbles it while inspecting the contents of her armoire. Her stomach feels decidedly full, so she passes on the soft breeches, opting to dress in a brown velvet gown with green embroidery; Jordan twirls around, loving the feel of the rich, flowing fabric.
Determined to find the House of Healing Jordan requests directions several times from the Elves she encounters. Hearing her visitor long before she arrives, Læurenthail stands at the doorway to welcome Jordan, pleased to see her dressed in Elven clothing.
"Good morn, Jordan. Are you well?" Læurenthail inquires.
Her sharp eyes note with mild surprise and interest that Jordan's injuries are completely healed—no trace of hurt is upon her person.
"Good morning, yes, thank you. I want to thank you for your company last night; I had a lovely time." The she-Elf gives Jordan an enigmatic smile, and inclines her head slightly. Unsure how her proposal will be met, Jordan continues on.
"I don’t know how long I’ll be here; until then, to repay your hospitality, and to learn from you, will you please allow me to help with whatever needs to be done? Back home I work with healers. We call them 'physicians' or 'doctors'."
"I would like that." Læurenthail answers readily.
The she-Elf wastes no time, and puts Jordan to work immediately sorting and bundling together sprigs of many, many different herbs and flowers. Lavender, rosemary, and thyme are the only three Jordan recognizes; the Outlander hangs them neatly upside down in the well lit, well ventilated workspace. Taking a moment to survey the suspended racks anchoring the neatly arranged herbs, Jordan admires the flowing script labeling the bundles; breathing in deeply, the sweet, sharp, clean and soothing scents are heady and invigorating. Jordan smiles, for her task is not at all laborious; it is relaxing and a very pleasant way to while away the hours. As Læurenthail works, Jordan wanders over, inspecting and sniffing the salves and poultices. She examines with delighted wonder the healing vessels displayed in the House, convinced they are beautiful predecessors of modern day apothecary apparatuses. The Head Healer, Immortal and Apprentices compare notes on healing; as an added bonus, the Elves teach the Outlander the basics of their language and etiquette; Læurenthail is pleasantly surprised to discover Jordan is able to articulate the language.
The woman's tongue occasionally stumbles over the pronunciation, but her effort is commendable, for her mind grasps the inflections, if not the meanings. After several attempts, Jordan is able to parrot back words and sentences, as long as they are short. In return, Jordan teaches the Healer several words in both Tagalog and Spanish. To Læurenthail's surprise, the elleth discovers the company of a Mortal can be pleasant and somewhat enlightening; as a result, the morning passes quickly, and a servant brings an assortment of breads, cheeses and fruits for their mid day meal.
Painfully aware she is expected to sing at the evening's festivities, Jordan reluctantly excuses herself from the Healing House. Jordan fondly thinks back to her karaoke nights with her co-workers as she makes her way to the great hall; there, she joins a group of Elves poring over the selections of songs for the evening's entertainment.
The minstrels greet Jordan cordially as they prepare and tune their instruments. Jordan hums the tune she plans to sing several times; though the arrangement of the chords and tempo is foreign, the Elves' natural musical aptitude enables them to master the melody and lyrics in short order.
This beats karaoke any day!
All too soon, it is time to prepare for the feast. Again, Jordan is amazed how time escapes her notice in this beautiful place. Bidding the Elves farewell till the evening, Jordan cannot stop herself from thinking about Legolas on her way back to her quarters; secretly, she hopes to see him again.
Successfully finding her way to the washroom, Jordan takes her time bathing. In her quarters, she marvels at the hospitality of the Elves. The gown she wore last night is hanging in the armoire; however, another gown is thoughtfully provided for her, complete with matching slippers: royal blue velvet embellished with silver embroidery, Jordan touches it reverently as she holds it up, admiring the exquisite needlework. With a whoop of delight, Jordan spins around the room, crushing the gown to her. Eagerly shedding her robe, she carefully slips it over her head; it settles over her body like a gentle caress. Feeling like a medieval princess, the woman looks at her reflection - turning to inspect herself from different angles, her hands smooth down imaginary wrinkles.
No doubt they want me to look presentable.
By the time Jordan finishes preparing for the evening, once again, the feast is well under way when she arrives. Stopping by Lord Elrond's table to greet her host, they exchange pleasantries before the Elf-Lord bids Jordan enjoy herself. Deciding a handshake or wave 'goodbye' is inappropriate, Jordan inclines her head respectfully to the Elven Lord before taking her leave.
This time, Jordan is accompanied by Læurenthail, who stays by her side as they listen to the Elves' tale telling. Too nervous to eat, Jordan discreetly searches the gathering for a particular fair head; her gaze wanders the room. Spying Gimli drinking with a group of Elves, Jordan waves and smiles when he raises his tankard in greeting. Several songs are sung by the Elves, much to Jordan's enjoyment—until it is announced that Lord Elrond's guest will sing a song. Jordan takes a goblet of what she is told is Miruvor, the Cordial of Imladris, from a passing servant. Eyeing the clear, colorless liquid dubiously, although she doesn’t drink alcoholic beverages, tonight she will make an exception. Taking a healthy swig, Jordan swishes it around her mouth, fighting the urge to gargle before swallowing the slightly thick, spicy sweet drink; its invigorating warmth spreads throughout her body and blooms in the pit of her stomach, bolstering her courage.
Liquid courage
Convinced she will sound like a frog in comparison to these wondrous beings, Jordan fervently hopes their voices and instruments will drown hers out; all eyes are boring into her, and it only increases her nervousness. Jordan's hands are cold and sweaty as she makes her way on trembling legs to the raised platform where the minstrels wait. Nodding for them to begin, she clears her throat as the opening strains fill the air. Looking at the expectant faces surrounding her, Jordan takes a deep breath and opens her mouth; her clear tenor, though soft, increases in volume when the haunting voices of the Elves in the background harmonize with and strengthen hers:
Lovers in the Long grass
Look above them
Only they can see
Where the clouds are going
Only to discover
Dust and sunlight
Ever make the sky so blue
Afternoon is hazy
River flowing
All around the sounds
Moving closer to them
Telling them the story
Told by Flora
Dreams they never knew
A collective murmur of approval come from the gathering of Elves as her voice floats across the room; before long, the Fair Folk are dancing, others are smiling and nodding, their heads moving in time with the music. Jordan's voice grows stronger as she sings; the combination of the Miruvor, the song and the beautiful beings make Jordan feel she belongs to this magical place, if only for a brief moment.
Silver willows
Tears from Persia
Those who come from a far-off island
Winter Chanterelle lies
Under cover
Glory-of-the-sun in blue
Arriving late to the Great Hall, Legolas checks on Gimli, who appears to be having a grand time with the Elves gathered around the ale and Miruvor casks, trading battle tales as he extols the prowess of the Dwarves. After speaking briefly with Lord Elrond, the Wood Elf fills his plate with the delicacies Rivendell has to offer; as he eats, his bright eyes search the room in search of Jordan.
Overhearing snatches of conversation about 'the woman' and 'singing', Legolas stops a passing maiden, and asks what is in store for the evening’s entertainment; he is told the Lady Jordan is to sing a song as she promised the even before. Handing his empty plate to a servant, Legolas follows the strains of music. Watching from across the room, watches Jordan's trembling hand as she lifts a goblet from a passing tray; taking an impressive gulp of the potent liquid, her cheeks and nose take on a noticeably pink tinge as she composes herself whilst slowly climbing the steps to the dais.
Knowing no Man can compare with an Elf in song, Legolas wonders how Jordan will fare, when her clear voice carries across the room, accompanied by the minstrels. Legolas acknowledges she is good—for a Daughter of Man. He steps out from the shadows into view, drawn by the yearning in her voice. Taking in her appearance, the gown skims her curves; the Leaf of Lórien rests in the hollow of her throat. Jordan's green eyes glitter in the light, her black hair, worn loose frames her face. Swaying in time to the music, the woman smiles when she sees him, before shifting her gaze to the dancers below sweeping gracefully by. Legolas watches Jordan; this stranger awakens a longing in him that cannot be ignored for much longer; he continues to watch the Outlander, his fingers twitching slightly at his side, remembering the silky feel of her hair.
Some they know as passion
Some as freedom
Some they know as love
And the way it leaves them
Summer snowflake
For a season
When the sky above is blue
When the sky above is blue
Lying in the long grass
Close beside her
Giving her the name of the one the moon loves
This will be the day she
Will remember
When she knew his heart was
Loving in the long grass
Close beside her
Whispering of love
And the way it leaves them
Lying in the long grass
In the sunlight
They believe it's true love
And from all around them
Flora's secret
Telling them of love and the way it breathes and
Looking up from eyes of
Amaranthine
They can see the sky is blue
Knowing that their love is true
Dreams they never knew
And they sky above is blue
Before the final strains fade away, the Elves clap their hands, crying out "Again!" as the room takes up the song. Delighted and fortified with the Miruvor, Jordan complies. Once again the song is sung, this time the entire room in motion as the Elves dance and lift their voices in song. As the minstrels continue to play, an Elf goes up to the dais, and pulls Jordan down to dance. Glancing at Legolas before she is led down the steps, he inclines his head in acknowledgement. Gazing up at her partner, a noble Elf she is acquainted with, Jordan smiles politely as he leads her in the steps. To her credit, she doesn’t stumble. Attempting to be discreet, Jordan steals a glance sideways, where Legolas stands, to see he is gone. Disappointed, she continues to chat politely with her partner.
"May I have this dance?"
Behind her, Legolas quiet voice feels like a caress. With a bow to Jordan and a nod to the fair Elf, her partner places her hand in Legolas' before he steps away. The Crown Prince enfolds Jordan’s hand in his, and again, a delicious shiver goes up her arm to her neck and down her spine. Luminescent blue eyes hold her eyes fast as they dance in silence. After a moment, Legolas speaks.
"Mae carnen."
"Huh?" Jordan mentally kicks herself, for it is not an articulate word suitable for the present company. It is Legolas' turn to look confused.
"I left my Elvish to Common translation book in Seacouver." She jokes feebly. A smile tugs at Legolas’ lips.
"Well done." Legolas translates. The Elf's compliment makes Jordan laugh.
"You're very kind, Legolas. I sound horrible, but I thank you anyways. Because I had help I was able to sing." She confesses.
After the song ends, Legolas leads Jordan away from the dance floor; sitting together, watching the merry makers, Legolas entertains her with stories about the Elves he points out; after a while, they fall into companionable silence; wishing to be alone with Jordan, Legolas stands. Taking hold of her hand, he leads her outside to a shadowed corner, where they stand at the railing, gazing up at the stars twinkling overhead. The Elf is lost in thought; for a long time, he doesn’t speak as he gazes at something in the distance—Jordan is beginning the think he'd forgotten she is there. Clearing her throat, Jordan speaks softly.
"'Second star to the right and straight on till morning.'" Jordan quotes with a smile as the Elf looks questioningly at her.
"Home." She says.
Legolas studies her face; though his face is serene, the expression in his warm blue gaze seems . . . troubled. Jordan suddenly regrets her interruption. Falling silent, she looks away.
"Tonight is the last night of the festivities, then the Orcs are to be dealt with. As Lord Elrond wishes, I am to go with the hunting party. When I return, I shall help you-" Legolas' words are silenced as Jordan places a finger softly to his lips.
"Shhh…tonight let us enjoy the evening." she teasingly says, echoing his words.
The smile on Jordan's face fade when Legolas takes her hand and places a warm kiss on her palm. Holding her breath, Jordan watches as Legolas places it against his face, his skin is as she imagined - warm and smooth. Letting go her hand, his golden head draws closer. His lips lightly brush against hers in a soft inquiry. Raising her head, Jordan answers his kiss with a tentative kiss of her own. Legolas' arm encircles her waist and pulls Jordan tight against his body; he buries his free hand in her hair, cradling and turning her head as he wills, to kiss her deeply. Raising her arms to encircle his neck, Jordan kisses him back with equal ardor; she feels his unmistakable arousal as it presses against her. All too soon, Legolas breaks away, but not before placing gentle kisses on her cheeks, nose and forehead. Dazed, Jordan simply stares up at him. The woman's eyes are dilated. Lips swollen with his kiss, her hair is in slight disarray. Highly aroused and equally flustered, Jordan shakes her hair back and smoothes her dress as she composes herself.
"Were we to continue, Orcs could not stop us." Leglas says; his low, ragged voice gives away the strain it takes to control himself. The desire in his eyes burn with an intensity that makes Jordan shiver and want to throw caution to the wind.
Taking her by the elbow, by mutual consent, they return to the feast, where Legolas remains by Jordan’s side for the remainder of the evening. Once again, after the revelry ends, Legolas escorts Jordan back to her quarters in silence; she steals furtive glances at the Elf, only to be met with an indecipherable look in his eyes. At her door, Legolas does not so much as kiss her hand; he bids her good night before taking his leave. Inside her quarters, Jordan changes into her sleeping shift then sets about preparing for bed. Staring up at the ceiling, she touches her lips softly.
Where did that come from?!
Jordan doesn’t know whether to curse or bless the Elf, for he is complicating matters greatly. . . and shifting her focus. Jordan knows sleep will elude her, for her mind will replay the balcony scene in an endless loop. Jordan sits up in bed; wrapping her arms around her legs, she rests her chin on her knees. Staring at the dying flames in the hearth, she thinks about Legolas. She has been kissed before, some were quite memorable, others not so much. Tonight's kiss from Legolas is…beyond incredible. The way he makes her feel . . . just being near him is intoxicating. He makes her toes curl; with a look he makes her feel faint. When he kissed her, Jordan swore her blood boiled in her veins and her body feels as if she is on fire. His touch . . . Jordan shivers at the thought of his touch – her body still yearns for his touch; her imagination runs wild, conjuring images of herself and Legolas locked in a passionate, naked embrace, and her body reacts to the erotic thoughts running rampant in her mind.
Yeah, like that will ever happen
Shaking her head, Jordan laughs and hugs herself, unable to stop the grin that plasters her face. No, she's not felt like this about anyone—much less about a mere kiss. The last time Jordan felt something remotely close was with Him. The thought of Him erases the smile from Jordan’s face, as the hurt and shame returns in excruciatingly vivid detail. Forcefully pushing it out of her mind, Jordan questions the rules of attraction in Rivendell. An uneasy feeling fills the pit of her stomach.
"Maybe—maybe I'm too direct. Am I supposed to be coy?" she wonders aloud. It has been so long since she'd dated, Jordan is unsure what to do and how to act.
"What've you done to me, Legolas Greenleaf, son of Tharanduil? You put a spell on me." She whispers harshly to the flickering flames. The Elf makes her feel alive; if Jordan is honest with herself she will acknowledge that she teeters on the brink of . . . something.
What exactly is going on here? Am I imagining things, or is there something happening between us?
In Legolas' presence, Jordan forgets she is from another time and another place - a displaced traveler. After acknowledging and giving in to their mutual attraction, it will be difficult at best to maintain a platonic friendship with Legolas; in the long run, it will be for the best - for both of them. An occasional kiss or caress wouldn't hurt . . . or could it? Jordan shakes her head to clear her mind, uncertain and confused even more than before. Legolas is not only distracting - he clouds her judgment without even trying.
"I will keep my distance, no matter what. I must—for both our sakes." Jordan vows.
With a sigh, Jordan lays down; she tosses and turns. When she doesn finally sleep, dark is her dream.
Jordan is back in Trollshaw Forest; a sense of déja vû engulfs her as she looks around. Fear. Every instinct in her body propels her forward; the air thick with silver fog as she runs. Jordan's limbs feel heavy, as if she is moving in slow motion. Behind her, she hears muffled sounds. Jordan doesn’t plan to discover its source. Overhead, the steady whomp, whomp, whomp of helicopter blades beats the air in its slow, rhythmic drone. Coming to a stop in a clearing, the mist hangs heavy - a shadow is taking shape.
Swallowing hard, Jordan reaches for her Katana, and panics when her hand closes around air; looking down, Jordan is dismayed to discover she is clad only in her sleeping shift -- barefoot, weaponless and vulnerable. Looking up, in the distance before her stands Duncan, the Highlander wears an expression of great relief on his face. When he sees her, he fans his Katana before resting the gleaming blade against his shoulder and reaches out to her with his free hand, beckoning her to come. With a feeling of joyous urgency, Jordan runs toward her Mentor. Jordan’s steps slow and she comes to an abrupt stop as another figure materializes. Legolas stands beside Duncan, his crystal blue eyes burn into hers, a smile on his handsome face as he holds his hand out to her.
Jordan, come home…
: : Come with me…: :
The Highlander's and the Elf's expressions become pleading and urgent; simultaneously they reach for Jordan - their voices become indistinct as they repeat their whispered pleas over and over, their words become one and reverberate within Jordan's head. Backing away from them, she claps her hands tightly over her ears to block out their voices now shouting demandingly and cajolingly from everywhere and nowhere. Stumbling over her feet, Jordan falls to the ground and lays curled in a fetal position.
With a jolt, Jordan sits up; wide-eyed, chest heaving, she pants for breath. Moonlight illuminates her room with its silvery glow. Jordan’s legs are tangled in the bed sheets, her hair and sleeping shift is damp with perspiration, she shivers as the cool night air evaporates the perspiration on her body. Jordan turns her pillows over to the dry side before untangling her legs and climbing out. Padding slowly to the armoire, she brushes her hair out, splashes cold water on her face and changes into a fresh shift. Rather than return to bed, Jordan sits on the stone bench on the balcony outside and faces her quarters. Ithildin inlaid into the stone glows brightly in the moonlight; Jordan’s gaze follows the swirls and runes upward, where they climb up the ornately carved sides like a living thing. Jordan stands; her bare feet hardly feel the cold stones. Reaching out to touch the walls, her hands trace the carvings.
Without thinking, Jordan begins to scale the wall; her hands and toes unerringly find purchase as she climbs. Her thoughts briefly travel back to her childhood, when she would climb the tall coconut and mango trees on her father's plantation. Seated on the roof, Rivendell at night is spread before her; the outlying lands beyond are shrouded in shadow and mist, vaguely reminiscent of the vestiges of her dark dream. Unmindful of the cold, damp air, Jordan wraps her arms around her knees and stares out across Rivendell until the sun's first rays appear above the horizon.
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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