Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Side by Side	By : LorandTab Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 2595 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Part 1

*****
“Minhat ana gassarat wa shahmat, abu….”

The prayer was uttered with a softness that did not extend to the heart or the body, did not fill the mind with guilt or shame. The words were soothing and lent a calm that only they could. Such prayers were not viewed by the on lookers as a weakness. Speaking to God was respected and a quiet loomed over the bowed sable head as the plea was sent heavenward for courage and strength.
Lifting her head she cut her eyes to the men that formed a kneeling circle around her, knees folded against the black sand, hands pressed into the abrasive granular as they met her fathomless sky eyes. Titling her head she let the prayer trail away and watched the shift of the darkening aura overhead. The time had come, a day she had hoped never to see, a day that would force her to order her men from this land. Standing with the jingle of the chain mail, a sound that bridged the silence of the bare-chested men, she lifted the wide curved sword from the ground beside her and shoved it into the waist of voluminous pants she wore.
“Time grows short here. The darkness will soon overrun all. I have seen it. A battle rages in the land of Gondor, a leaderless land, and we must lend out swords.” The sudden scream of the wind around them had the warriors scrambling to their feet. All could sense the growing evil, the need for then to hasten from their homeland. Their numbers were not of great amount but warriors of the desert tribes were joining them hourly and soon they would ride in force.
“Batal!” Came the hail from near the entrance to the large tent that was set in the middle of the encampment for the royal family. The regal looking man attended her in all matters of governing her people, an advisor and friend; his voice was a beacon when hope faded. “Your mother wishes to speak to you before you move to war.”
Nodding, she gave quick instruction to move the encampment farther into the sands, into the heart of the Kasaramar, the black desert. There would be water from the Bamaa pool, an oasis said to be fed from the tears of kings past, as well as a measure of safety. The oasis lay far from Mordor and farther still from the sea from which the mercenary ships were sailing. A small band would remain behind to protect the camp and the rest would ride to battle.
Striding quickly to the tent’s doorway she paused allowing a young boy to swipe the sand from her booted feet with a fist full of stiff rushes. “My thanks.” She smiled and patted the child upon the head.
“Come daughter. Do not let time pass you by,” came her mother’s weakened voice.

Stepping inside, she bowed to the aged woman, her eyes trying to avoid the deep hollows of her mother’s cheeks, the shadowy circles beneath her eyes, the furrows of age and illness along her forehead. “I am here, mother, what is it you wish to speak of?”
The woman’s withered hand motioned to the tall woman before her. “Sit. Tell me of what you have seen. Speak to me of what leads you upon this path of war, child.”
“Gandalf the White, mother. He comes to me in my dreams and whispers of the ill winds that claim the sand and our people. He tells of the men of Gondor, of the horseman of Rohan, and the struggle of the haflings. He tells of elves that fight alongside man as one. He says we are needed if Middle Earth is to see a new dawn, if we are to all escape the evil hand of Sauron.” Her swarthy face paled as her mother’s eyes rolled in her head. The woman’s breathing became shallow and labored.
“Speak of the evil no more. It is close. So very close. I can feel it upon my skin,” she hissed, eyes coming again to light upon her daughter. “You are right to listen to Gandalf, daughter. Your path is true and your destiny lies within a land in great peril.”
“It is that I have your blessing in this, mother?” She questioned as she stood, prepared to do what she must no matter the woman’s response.
“Yes,” was the woman’s only response as her eyes slipped closed, exhausted by the brief conversation.
“Sleep well, mother, and worry for me no more,” Batal whispered, leaning in to place a gentle and loving kiss against the fragile forehead.
Stepping into the waning rays of the sun she drew upon her determination and her sense of duty to her people to push away the first chilling fingers of fear. She knew should she give into it, it would paralyze her, claim her heart and mind. Setting her feet in motion she strode across the camp and climbed a dune overlooking the tents. Seeing groups of warriors arriving from the east she took a calming breath filled with relief at seeing their numbers growing.

********
Along the wide river they rode, the sands behind them, to do what they could for the fate of Middle Earth. The warriors had been ordered to separate at the old north rode, half to Minas Tirith and half to Tharbad. A small number of skilled archers were among the desert warriors. Crossing the river by a ruined town, they lined the shore. It would not stop the mercenaries’ progress but perhaps slow it.
Batal, cloaked in the black flowing robs of tradition, her father’s before her, rode to the rivers edge with the archers reassuring herself of the wisdom of her orders. She sat silently atop her stallion breathing heavily through the heavy veil she wore. The mail and fabric veil revealed nothing of her face except the brilliance of her blue eyes, kept her expressions hidden and marked her apart from the warriors.
Around a bend in the river the bows of the first ships could be seen and her breath stalled in her lungs completely. Again, the talons of fear gripped her. The ships sailed fully and soundlessly into sight so devoid of sound that she could have sworn death itself manned the vessels. Shaking away the eerie feeling she bolted from cover upon her mount and shouted to the waiting archers, “Let Fly!”

Leaning his fair head far to the left, Legolas heard, as well as felt, the arrow whiz by his pointed ear piercing the mast between him and the human, Aragorn, his voice rising on the wind. “Curse it all, can they not see by our reluctance to return fire that we have no quarrel with them?” Instinctively, he held his bow taut, his free hand ready to grasp an arrow from his quiver the moment the signal was given. Moving closer to the edge of the ship, he rested a booted foot on the hard, wooden frame steadying himself by grasping firmly to the mast. “They’ll kill us before we can come to their aid!”
"They very well may!" He hissed back to the elf as another volley of arrows rammed hard into the wooden ship, a single arrow nearly piercing his booted foot. Holding his hand up he motioned for Legolas to abandon his bow. "Curse it all!"
Moving to the bow, a shield held carefully in place he strained to see into the darkness of the tree lined shore. "Cease your fire! We mean you no harm!"
“Find the leader,” Legolas cried, crystal eyes scanning the faraway banks of the river, his keen sight sought the captain of the archers, his hands tightening around his great bow. “If needs be we can take him … the others will most likely falter then!” The need of the many would, in the end, outweigh his disdain for firing upon a person on whose side he intended to fight.
“My intent," he responded with a backwards glance over his shoulder, missing the arrow that plowed into the wooden hull of the ship, attaching to its shaft a length or rope leading to shore. But the sudden splashing of hooves charging into the water could not be missed. Craning his neck around the shield he saw several riderless horses making their way from the water.
Allowing himself to become a target for precious seconds, Legolas leaned onto the ship’s edge fully, his arm extended, finger pointing toward the center of the tumult. “There!” he shouted over the din of the arrow flying. “Encased in black … do you see him?” Readying his bow, he affixed an arrow thanking the fletchers of his village for their mastery.
The rope chaffed and seared her hands, caused an ache in her ankles where they were locked around the rope. Hand over hand she followed her warriors to the ship. "Take the one who shouts," she hissed to the man ahead of her a heartbeat before an arrow found its mark in her thigh. It was the first time she had been the recipient of such pain, but in the position she was in she new she had to make it aboard the ship or risk drowning as her grasp on consciousness slipped away.
“Aragorn,” cried Legolas as struggled to keep himself free of arrows. “The black cloak! He’s there!” He tried to move toward the bodies now prepared to inhabit and overtake the ship. “Quickly, before he falls!” He found himself ducking and swaying out of the line of fire trying to make way to save the captain and attempt to reason.
"Legolas!" Aragorn growled, fearing for his friend in the foray around them. But relief quickly replaced fear as he saw Legolas' pale knuckles wound around a swath of black fabric. Relief was short lived as two barrel-chested men heaved themselves onto the deck near him, curved swords drawn.
With a groan of exertion, the elf tossed the body of the leader onto the deck, covering the somewhat small body with his own to prevent any more arrows from finding their way into the already pierced flesh. “Call your men off,” he hissed with desperation. “We mean you no harm! We are here to fight side by side with you and your army!”
" La! Kefaya!" She shouted across to her men, her voice ragged and hoarse with shards of pain. "Enough! These are not the men we seek!" She struggled slightly with the body pinning her to the hard wood below.
Aragorn had set aside his shield in the event their captain’s words were not heeded and unsheathed his own sword.
Something about the hard voice and the soft body did not measure up and Legolas eased upward, eyes quickly roaming the deck of the ship. Seeing the men aboard braced for battle, yet holding their peace, he slowly stood. Reaching down, he grasped the wrist of the black-cloaked figure and tugged forcefully to help him to his feet, brining him brace aside the mast. “We are here to help … to do what must be done.” Looking to the crimson stream that ran from the arrow down the darkly clad thigh, the elf moved to remove the large dart from the flesh it so embedded, acutely aware of the swords being drawn around him by the men this captain commanded as he moved nearer to the wound.
"Leave it, elf!" She barked, eyes narrowed and hurling daggers into him. "’Tis nothing but pain." She cut her eyes to the warriors on deck now numbering four. Slowly she drew aside the heavy veil, her expression grim. "These are no enemy of Gondor. We have failed. Pray Allah, our warriors should reach Minas Tirith."
Ice blue of the elf twitched in a combination of anger and anxiety at the words hurled at him … until he saw her face. For a split second he found it difficult to breath, the beauty of her face heightened only by the determination and spirit her saw in the deep blue of her eyes. A second alone, and then reality and common sense set in. “You’ll do more damage if you let it stay,” he said hastily as he again reached for the arrow’s rod. “It could move, tear a vein. I know how to remove it with little pain.” He worked as he spoke pulling at the rod, the arrow and head sliding out as if it were a heated knife being pulled from chilled butter. Grasping the outer sash from his tunic, he wound it around her thigh to squelch the bleeding hoping Aragorn would explain as he worked.
Batal didn't give the man a chance to speak or the elf to staunch the flow of blood before she struck out like the deadly cobra, the heel of her palm slamming into the elves chin snapping his head back. "This is my body and you will not touch it again with out me granting it to you." Her eyes smoldered with the heat of anger and something else, something that caused her stomach to churn and tingle in her breasts each time she looked upon the elf.
Aragorn stared at the woman with a mixture of surprised shock and two fold frustration. He addressed the most urgent of his concerns first, phrasing a question. "You have men traveling to Gondor? Speak of their purpose there." His words served to thwart the rest of the brewing confrontation between the female and Legolas.
Eyes now cobalt blue with anger and resentment, the elf tested his jaw, brows lowering to cause his eyes to narrow. Angry at the woman for her ungrateful antagonism and at Aragorn for not allowing him the chance to regain his face, he stood, body stinging from need to avenge his honor … as well as from an unknown need, which made his irritation even worse. Moving to stand beside Aragorn, his body fairly hummed and it showed in the twitching of his fingers around his bow.
She was aware of every muscle tensed, every twitch, the very breath leaving the two. It was in her, a part of her to notice such things. "I have sent the desert warriors of Kasaramar to fight against Sauron's army that is now marching on Gondor. Numbers that I hope will help to turn the tide of battle in Middle Earth's favor." It was then that her eyes left the elf and man, finding no real threat in either of them in that moment, and took in the rest of the ship. She staggered backwards at what she saw and quickly sank to her knees, as did the men near Aragorn. "Ana laa afham, Allah! The dead walk among the living? What curse is this?" The terror at seeing such a sight poured from her in a high shrill voice.
“A curse that works to our benefit,” spoke Legolas through gritted teeth, his right hand now resting on his knife sheathed at his belt, while his bow hand continued to grasp his weapon of choice. “They will not harm you. They fight for freedom from eternal torment.” He forced his mind away from the way her breasts looked as her chest heaved with the fright she felt. It was easier to maintain his anger and agitation, which he felt even more when he noticed her ignore him and turn to Aragorn for answers.
Aragorn was unconcerned with her fear, leaving to Legolas to assuage; instead he sought the information that would aide Gondor. "The number of men you ordered to Minas Tirith? They follow you? You are their captain?"
She looked from Legolas to Aragorn and back, fearing to turn her eyes back to the dead milling about. "Set upon shore and I will gladly speak more of my warriors but not here. Not among this abomination to God, to Allah."
“This abomination will likely save Middle Earth from the darkness that seeks to engulf all races that live upon its soil!” Instinctively knowing he could trust her did little to ease Legolas’s angst. The trepidation mixed with the pain that showed so blatantly in her eyes was nearly his undoing. Tiny muscles under his eyes twitched as he watched her eyes travel from him to Aragorn again and again causing a strange, alien feeling to settle in the pit of his belly as he wondered why she headed the words of Aragorn rather than his.
"We will not set ashore. You are in no danger here, abomination or no, we will speak here," Aragorn said sliding his sword home, his eyes pinned to the woman kneeling before him.
"There are but three thousand of us. Seasoned warriors to the core, every one. They have seen battle between our tribes but this threat has drawn us to one cause and one cause alone," she explained, gaining her footing. The blue orbs of her eyes lost their fear and she was determined to let the dead around her trouble her no more. "I have told you of my purpose. It is now you who will tell me of yours? Why are you sailing these ships? Where are the men that had them before you? Where do you travel and why?" She rapidly fired the questions at the two.
Aragorn looked to Legolas and nodded to her as the woman staggered, the blood coming in a rush from her thigh once more. "We have taken these ships enemy and will sail then into Gondor," he began to explain, finally expressing his wish that the rest of her warriors travel aboard the ships to meet the battle at Minas Tirith.
“Your leg needs attention,” Legolas spoke, his voice a firm, yet velvety tone as he attempted to control the tension in the muscles under his eyes. “Else you will not make it to shore upright.” Moving to his knees, he attempted to adjust the sash around her flesh feeling an inexplicable need to halt the bleeding, not wishing to see this brave woman fall, even if she did make his head swim with aggravation.
The moment he moved to touch her again she was determined to push him away, to keep his hands from her flesh. But another wave of faintness washed over her threatening to drag her into darkness and she grabbed at the elf’s shoulder to steady herself. "The blood flows to freely," she whispered in a dazed mumble as if to explain her acquiesce.
“The pressure will help ease the flow,” Legolas said as he completed his mission. He ignored the feeling that welled inside him … the annoyance he felt at caring for this woman that so resented his touch … his help. Tying the sash tightly enough to stay the blood flow, he eased her down to sit on the weapon’s container. “Breathe deeply,” he said with soft authority. “It will keep the blood flowing through your veins steadily.”
Cocking her head, a small smile played about her lips then, his words teasing lightly at the edges of her mind. "You think to tell me how to breathe, elf? I have been doing it quite some time now you know."
Aragron moved to the port side of the ship trying to determine the number of men upon the shore. Giving up with the darkened night he called over his shoulder to the warrior woman. "Tell you men to show themselves. Tell then they will sail on to Minas Tirith now."
His eyes turned lighter as they narrowed more than slightly. The woman was the cause of his rising ire and it made him even angrier that she was able to control his emotions thus. Pushing away from her, moving away from her presence, he stood now beside his comrade, his gaze still turned heatedly on the female. “Her equilibrium will fail if she does not steady herself,” he whispered to Aragorn. “She will not allow help.”
"Then she must come to know this on her own. Give her time and she will see the wisdom of your words, my friend." He nodded out into the darkness. "They are waiting for her."
Batal had watched the elf move away with a silent grace that had her holding her breath readied for his next step. It was then that a small figure moved to her side. "You would do good to listen to him, missy. He knows the healing ways of the elves."
She gave a slight shutter of surprise as her eyes fell upon the dwarf. "Does he now? And what makes you so sure I don't know what my own body needs to heal itself?"
Gimili snorted and laughed. "A spirited woman you are!"
"More than you know." A pearl of laughter broke from her lips as she staggered to her feet and followed the dwarf to his companions. In a loud authoritative voice she shouted into the night. "These ships and their masters will give us passage to Gondor, to the Tower of Guard!"
Legolas marveled at the power in her words tonetone as he watched the black robes flow around her upper thighs in midnight swirl. Still smarting from the lack of respect he encountered from her, he inwardly felt the need to silently pay homage to the influence she had over her men … the first and truest sign of a good leader. His eyes locked on her form, he sniffed slightly reminding himself that she would never have power over him.
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