"Can't keep my hands to myself
Think I'll dust 'em off, put 'em back up on the shelf
In case my little baby girl is in need
Am I coming out of left field?"
- Portugal, "Feel it Still."
ooOoo
The next two weeks passed with excruciating slowness.
Merrill did her best to avoid Legolas, and, for the most part, she was successful. But the fact was, they were on a super secret quest, constantly within a few feet of one another, with nowhere to hide or retreat to where the other could not easily find them, so avoidance only worked so well.
Legolas, too, from what she had observed, did his best to maintain his distance. But whenever she looked up, his steady, blue eyes were on her. It made her think that he somehow knew that she knew that he knew, a thought she couldn't contemplate with any sort of emotional equanimity.
When she took her watch, he volunteered to watch alongside her, though he remained on the opposite end of camp. When she went to bathe for the first time since Rivendell, he stood silent guard, keeping everyone away without her asking. When she wearied of walking, he would, inexplicably, recommend a halt to Aragorn. When she went to fill her water skin before they moved out each morning, she found it with her things, already full.
It was driving her crazy.
She ignored him for the most part, walking with Radhrion or the Hobbits, but there were times she found her steps slowing, found herself falling back, until she strode beside him at the rear of the party. They never spoke when this happened, but he smiled his cautious smile, the one that crinkled the skin around his eyes, and a tsunami of butterflies would erupt in her stomach at the sight.
In other words, she was royally screwed, and no, the irony of this phrasing was not lost on her.
Merrill often caught Radhrion watching her whenever she was within Legolas' vicinity, an unmistakable warning in his cloud-gray eyes, but he said no more on the subject, and he made no mention when she began to join him for his watch, far too awake after her own to sleep.
"There!" Aragorn called, and Merrill blinked to awareness, squinting into the sunbaked landscape ahead of her. "We will take our rest at the top of that hill."
Boromir came to a halt beside her, his fur-lined cloak hanging haphazardly out of his pack, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, panting a little. "We've reached Hollin already?"
"Yes," Radhrion said from the front, a smile in his voice. "We've made excellent time."
"I'm sweatin' like a hog on the spit!" Gimli grumbled from somewhere behind them; the sun did not agree with him, it seemed, and he sweated more than even Boromir, his face flush with exertion and heat. "Lassie, how can ye stand it? You look as cool and fresh as a spring breeze."
Merrill glanced down at herself; she was, indeed, perfectly cool. "I dunno…" She shrugged, her lips twisting. "Elf thing?"
Gimli swore colorfully under his breath, surprising even Merrill with his creativity, and Pippin choked.
Legolas swept up alongside her, almost dancing across the earth, and smirked at a fuming Gimli. "It is because she was created for this, Dwarf." He met and held her eyes, a loaded smile on his lips. "As was I."
It was Merrill's turn to choke; Pippin pounded her on the back until she caught her breath, smiling sympathetically.
Gandalf peered down from the hillock, his bushy brows slanted sharply in annoyance. "I do so hope we aren't keeping you," he hinted waspishly.
The Hobbits sprung to and scrambled joyfully up the hill, Sam pulling his master by the elbow, and Merry and Pippin shoving one another and giggling merrily. They crested the hill and out of sight, the clanging and jangling of Sam's pots and pans growing fainter and fainter until they'd faded away entirely.
Boromir huffed, resettling his pack over his shoulder before trudging up the hill, his steps heavy, and Legolas flew up it in a flash, like a silver comet, leaving Merrill and Gimli to plod and grouse behind them.
When they'd reached the top, Gimli dropped his gear and flung himself on a rock near the fire Sam was already busy building, wheezing like a fish on dry land. Merrill glanced around, noting Legolas atop another rock at the far end of the camp, gazing out into the valley below, and shuffled in the opposite direction, setting her things down beside Aragorn before taking a seat.
She groaned; sitting was a wonderful, wonderful thing.
The warm rock beneath her eased the dull ache in her thighs, and she reclined happily, stretching herself so that she lay flat against its warmth like a sun-drunk cat. The rest of the hillock had similarly situated masses of red rock interspersed with sparse and spiky vegetation. Bushes whose name she did not know dotted the landscape. They were squat, staying low to the ground, and their leaves were more bramble than anything.
Above, the sky was the blue of pastels with fluffy, cream-colored clouds skating across its length; the sun was the pale gold of winter, its rays just warm enough to counteract the occasional sharp blasts of the cool mountain air, which smelled of frost and pine.
To her immediate right, Legolas sat, his feet hanging in the empty air below him. His lips moved, but, if he spoke, she could not hear, and a dreamy expression rippled across his face.
"What do you sing, Legolas?"
Merrill blinked out of her reverie; Aragorn, it appeared, had noticed Legolas, too.
The Elf in question glanced over his shoulder. "A song you know well, mellon nin: Glíren i Tinnúviel."
Aragorn nodded, a wistful expression softening his dark gray eyes. "I should like to hear it once more; it has been a great many years since last the Elves of Rivendell had recourse for such joyous song."
"Ben iest lîn," Legolas said, bowing his head in acknowledgment before turning back to face the horizon. His voice was soft and light, the essence of dappled sunlight dancing atop the crystal surface of a shaded pool, but swelled with the fullness of his emotion and grew sweeter than Honeysuckle the longer he sang:
"A maid there was, both tall and fair,
With dancing shadows in her hair.
And eyes as bright as verdant spring;
All loved her who heard her sing.
But I, sad unfortunate, ill-fated elf,
Heard her but once sing to herself.
When her sweet voice first took wing,
She stole away my suffering,
And left me in a drunken daze,
Lost to reason in her gaze.
The trees grew hushed in quiet thought,
As if some magic spell were wrought,
And birds perched, breathless, in the boughs,
Their voices soft as lover's vows.
Even the river slowed and stilled
To listen, and the clearing filled
With bursts of sunlight, broadly beaming,
I was left awake, but dreaming –
Of the maid so twilight fair,
With smoke and shadow in her hair,
And a voice as sweet as summer wine –
Were to Eru she were mine!"
Legolas's gaze fell upon her like a living, weighted thing, his blue eyes heavy against her face. Their expression was somewhere between demand and plea, so much so that Merrill was forced to look away, her hand rising to rest against her chest, her fingers splaying over her heart.
Aragorn clapped lightly, a true smile spreading across his face like the first rosy rays of sunlight over the mountains. "You do my heart much good, Legolas. I thank you."
Legolas nodded in acknowledgment, then sighed, pushing his long hair over his shoulder. Merrill couldn't help but admire the shimmering fall of silver as it whispered down his back, facets of gold catching the sunlight in a display that left her a little light-headed. Why does he have to be so damn beautiful?! At that precise moment, almost as if he'd heard her thoughts, he glanced over his shoulder to respond to something Aragorn had said, and Merrill's breath whooshed out of her lungs. It was silly, really, that his smile could affect her so much, but affect her it did. His lips, seashell pink and full, slid into a smile so sweet that her heart actually constricted within her chest. Legolas's eyes kindled as he spoke, reflecting the light of the day, the blue of the sky, as naturally as he breathed; he was as much a part of the land as the rocks they sat upon, yet, somehow, distinct in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on.
The wind shifted, and the scent of pine met her nose just as Radhrion came to a stop beside her, a queer smile on his lips. She swiveled away from him, her ears burning at the direction her thoughts had taken; she'd promised Radhrion she wouldn't pursue Legolas, and she intended to keep her word, even if doing so was proving more difficult than she had initially anticipated. For some reason, knowing that they were soul mates, that Legolas knew they were soul mates, made it all too easy to fall for him. Merrill resettled herself atop the rock, schooling her features into what she hoped was a gray sort of vagueness, and then returned her attention to the conversation as naturally as she was then able.
Radhrion casually rested his hand upon her shoulder, but the slight squeeze communicated more than enough; it was warning and reminder in one. Merrill gritted her teeth but nodded. He was right, of course, and denying that fact wouldn't do her any favors. I'm not staying here. This isn't my home. A flash of eyes the color of bluebells, and the remembrance of warm hands smoothing along her cheeks interrupted her, and she growled. Get it together, Merrill! She set her hands in her lap, clasping them tight enough to bruise, and stared at a point somewhere to the left of Aragorn's right ear.
"I did not think so simple a song would continue so esteemed, with younger Elves, especially. Tell me, wherever did you learn The Nightingale's Song?"
Legolas leaned back against the rock behind him, his gaze considering as it flitted from Radhrion's hand on her shoulder, to her lap, where her fingers twisted against one another fiercely. One fine, silvery eyebrow lifted at this, and he met Radhrion's gaze coolly. "It was my mother who first taught it me. She was quite partial to simple songs, and to the union of the two of whom it speaks, of course, as are most of our kind."
Radhrion's hand retracted, joining its brother in creating a bar across his broad chest. "Yes, your mother would enjoy that story, considering hers and your fathers' own somewhat tumultuous path to love."
Something flashed across Legolas's eyes, but his voice was smooth when he replied, "My father tells me of her often, and speaks of their courtship with great fondness." He got to his feet and made to walk past Radhrion, but stopped once he'd drawn up alongside him and said without turning his head, "Though it is true that my grandfather was not, at first, thrilled with the match, he knew that he could no more block their love than he could his own for my grandmother. The Elvish heart is not so easily swayed when once it has found the one for whom it has longed; it will make unthinkable sacrifices, dare every danger, risk every pain, if it means being whole. I believe you know this to far greater a degree than most, Radhrion."
A cool hauteur overcame Radhrion's usually cheery expression, and he called after Legolas's retreating back in a tone thick with warning, "Avo gesto a thrastad, Legolas." (1)
"Nidh-sui guren bêd enni." Legolas twisted his hand over his heart and made his way to the others, leaving Merrill to stand beside a silently fuming Radhrion and a quietly curious Aragorn. (2)
Merrill cleared her throat. "All that's missing are a few tumbleweeds in the background, a pair of pistols, and Clint Eastwood asking if you're feeling lucky…" When Radhrion merely grunted in reply, Merrill poked him in the arm. "Care to share with the class, Ronny?"
"Not particularly, little bird." Radhrion's lips tilted up in a half-smile and he ruffled her hair. "I have said all I wish to upon the subject."
Merrill frowned; his smile was warm, but his eyes were colder than the winds coming down off the mountain. She decided to let it go, for the present, and allow him some space. It was clear to her that they had spoken, obliquely, at least, of Legolas's and her own predicament, and the outcome had not been favorable for either.
I need to be more careful. I don't want Ronny having to worry about this soul mate business when he should be worrying about staying alive.
Aragorn came to her side and they both watched Radhrion amble away, hands tucked deep in his breeches pockets, his expression easing back into something like his customary good humor.
The Ranger considered her with his dark, gray eyes until she felt she might scream. "What?"
He shook his head, his hand coming up to rub at his dark beard. "I do not know the particulars, but it would appear that you and I have more in common than I had, at first, believed."
Whatever that means. Obnoxious, enigmatic… Merrill huffed, choosing, instead, to flop back down onto her rock with bad grace by way of reply.
After a moment's hesitation, Aragorn patted her lightly on the shoulder then resumed his previous position without another word and, though Merrill was a little irritated from recent events, a small part of her rejoiced at this gesture of camaraderie from their fearless leader.
A contented silence fell over them like the softest of blankets, and they lazed about until Sam began passing out the food. The others began calling out jokes and Merrill relaxed, feeling perfectly at ease. It was beginning to feel like a group, a fellowship, rather than a conglomeration of several cliques as it had before, though Radhrion and Legolas were stiffer in their speech to one another than was usual.
"Here," Aragorn said, offering her a bowl of food as he took his seat.
Shocked, Merrill accepted it, sitting up and mumbling, "Thank you."
He took a bite of sausage, smiling slightly at her obvious confusion, but said nothing more until they'd both finished their meal.
Merrill looked about for Radhrion and found him a few yards away with Boromir, training Merry and Pippin with their short swords and seemingly having the time of his life. Even Boromir was grinning; she hadn't thought he knew how.
Aragorn removed the short pipe from his lips and barked, "Move your feet, Merry!"
A faint squeak was all the reply he received as Merry darted away from Radhrion's blow.
Merrill chuckled under her breath, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "Why aren't you down there, Aragorn?"
Aragorn exhaled, a cloud of smoke rising into the air before his face making his grey eyes glitter like pyrite. He stretched his long legs out before him, crossing them at the ankle, and rested his head back against his pack. "It may astonish you to learn that I am not the most patient of men. Radhrion and Boromir, however, seem to be enjoying themselves, and the Hobbits are, for once, well occupied. I wouldn't dream of interfering."
He yawned and, for a moment, he looked like a big, grey wolf to her; a wolf unused to the company of others, covered in the scars of former battles, with a wariness in his wise eyes. But Merrill knew that, in the right circumstances, he could be just as playful as a puppy; she'd seen something of that in him whenever he was with Arwen. Aragorn was lighter in her presence, taller, and impossible to overlook. He even held himself differently.
Which lead her to wondering what had happened to him… Had he given her up? Had Elrond forbidden their union?
Merrill sat back and replied, "I don't know. I think you're selling yourself short."
"You are aware that your manner of speech is often incomprehensible to most of us, yes?"
"It means that you're not giving yourself enough credit… Still no?" Aragorn shook his head, and Merrill tried again, "Well, it means you're doing yourself a disservice by not accepting, um… accolades for qualities you most certainly possess?"
He considered her over his pipe, his steady stare disconcerting. "Selling myself short… would that mean that I am selling something for much less than it is worth, but in relation to myself?"
"Exactly! That was some top of the line nut-shelling, pal."
"I cannot keep up with your odd phrasing," he said good-naturedly. "I have never heard your like, and I have travelled for most of my life."
Merrill tried not to fidget; the unspoken question between them growing: Where are you from?
She shrugged by way of reply, taking a sip from her water-skin for something to do. It was in times like this when she missed her cell phone the most; it was the perfect item to fidget with to cover awkward silences. It was in her pack, true, but it was hardly helpful in Middle Earth. That, and it had run out of battery months ago.
Aragorn did not take offense to her silence. On the contrary, he seemed quite comfortable, his eyes half-lidded in the sun as he watched the antics of the Hobbits below them.
An eerie feeling crept along her skin suddenly, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up; Merrill checked behind her, but found only Legolas, an expression of confusion mirroring her own clear on his face.
She cocked her head at him. What is it?
He scanned the valley, paying particular attention to anything enemies might use as cover, before turning troubled blue eyes back on her and shaking his head, his hands fiddling with his bow, his feet shifting uncertainly. I do not yet know… but there is something foul on the air.
Merrill stood and brushed her breeches off; she met Aragorn's questioning look. "Something doesn't feel right."
He was on his feet, his pipe stowed, within seconds, gesturing Legolas over.
"Do you sense what Merrill senses?"
Legolas nodded. "I cannot quite discern whence the threat comes, however."
Aragorn patted him on the shoulder before loping off to seek Gandalf, leaving her alone with Legolas.
Something tickled her memory… Why is this so familiar? A cry from one of the Hobbits dragged her attention away; Merry was shaking his hand as though he'd been cut, and Boromir held his own hands before him, apologizing profusely, before both Hobbits launched themselves at him, the smallest of war cries splitting the air. Boromir laughed at the ferocity of his attackers, even as they knocked him to the ground, and suddenly, Merrill knew.
"HIDE!" she bellowed, stooping to grab her things.
She threw her pack into the bushes and moved to put the fire out before Legolas laid his hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Merrill, explain, please."
She jerked out of his hold and cast about for water. "There's no time! One of the baddies—the white one—is sending his spies to us. They'll be here any moment. We have to hide!" She doused the fire, barely registering Gandalf's support as he seconded her order.
In moments, Legolas cried, "Crebain! From Dunland!" And Merrill sped up, shoving Frodo and Sam into one of the bushes without a second thought.
"Merrill!" She whipped around to see Radhrion, his cloud-gray eyes frantic. "HIDE!"
And then she was falling into a thicket, the brambles scratching her face and tearing at her hair. Merrill yelped as she hit the ground, and wheezed as something heavy landed atop her.
"What the—"
Legolas covered her mouth with his hand, his blue eyes wide in warning, and she nodded her understanding just as what sounded like hail hit the camp and a great shadow blotted out the sunlight.
She squeezed her eyes shut. How had she ended up like this? Every inch of her body was in contact with Legolas, the height of the bush not allowing them room for personal space. His sword belt dug into her hip, his legs lay firmly between her own, his silver hair tickled her cheek, and his warm breath settled in the hollows of her semi-exposed collarbones, causing a flood of goosebumps to spill down her chest.
This is it. Merrill thought, face practically bursting into flames as she attempted to control her breathing. This is how I die. Funny, I always thought I would be more frightened… Am I finally an existentialist? Have I learned to accept my death with dignity simply by living my life to the fullest in the face of it?
Something touched her face, interrupting her giddy thoughts, and she unclosed her eyes. All she could see was Legolas, his blue eyes brighter than the desert sky after rain, his face glowing like the sun.
"…awake, but dreaming…" he murmured, his eyes alight with sudden insight. His attention shifted momentarily, and he smiled tenderly, brushing the eagle shorn curl off her cheek, his fingertips following it down towards her ear with deliberate slowness, tracing the outer shell lightly.
Merrill's breath hitched and her heart stuttered to a stop. His smile grew even wider at her reaction, and, with careful hands, he tucked the rebellious curl behind her ear.
"There," he whispered hoarsely, licking his lips, "set to rights once more, Merrill Mabray."
She shuddered at his tone, her throat going dry. Oh, she thought, realization dawning. Oh, no. I am in so much trouble.
Legolas's fingertips flowed down until they settled beneath her chin, pressing insistently until she looked at him. The expression in his blue eyes was more serious than she had ever seen; his thumb grazed her lower lip, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her stomach that made her legs tremble.
Merrill whimpered, abandoning good sense, and reached up impatiently to pull his face to hers. He hesitated, confusion and longing struggling upon his face, before swallowing thickly and allowing it, the silk of his lips a breath away—
"Come out! They've gone."
Merrill half-threw him off of her, scrambling to her feet, her face beet red, and her breathing harsh and erratic. She tugged fiercely at the hem of her tunic and ran a shaking hand through her mussed curls. Oh my god, oh my god –what the hell was I thinking? Idiot! Radhrion warned you about this!
Legolas gained his feet gracefully, his face carefully blank; Merrill imagined his internal dialogue was similar to her own, and felt even more the fool. I can't do this to him! I'm leaving!
She strode purposefully away and towards the others, who all stood uncertainly where, just moments before, the Hobbits had sparred and playfully joked with Boromir and Radhrion.
"What were those things?" Merry asked, staring at the black smudge in the distance.
Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff, his blue-grey hat shielding much of his expression, and said tiredly, "Saruman's spies." He turned his attention to Aragorn, who stood beside him, his sword pointed toward the ground. "The pass south is being watched, as Gwaihir claimed."
Radhrion appeared by her side, his own sword out, his cloud gray eyes stormy. "Then we must attempt Caradhras, Gandalf, as we predicted we might. There is no other way."
"Why not take the road west to my city?" Boromir interjected, sliding his sword into its sheath. "It is the more direct path, and we are sure to receive aid there."
Aragorn shook his dark head. "No, that road takes us too close to Isengard, and Saruman is sure to have it watched. I'm afraid we must take the mountain."
At this, the Fellowship turned as one and faced the mountain; the sun reflected off of its snowy sides, making it painful to look upon, its' peak was shrouded in thunderous, gray clouds, and there was no discernible path.
Merrill sidled a little closer to Radhrion, her arm snaking through his own, and assiduously avoided looking towards where she could feel Legolas standing. Radhrion patted the back of her hand reassuringly, but his gaze remained fixed on the mountain, and grim lines were drawn around his lips.
"It doesn't look so very bad, really," Pippin chirped optimistically. "It actually seems like rather a nice walk."
A bolt of lightning lit the sky, cracking against the mountain with an audible boom that left the hair on Merrill's arms standing on end, and a wave of snow and rock tumbled down and down into the nothingness below. Merry nodded as though he'd fully expected such an outcome, and patted a gaping Pippin on the back before stooping to gather his belongings.
The others seemed just as unruffled as Merry. Boromir sheathed his sword and slung his pack over one shoulder, his expression as solid and gray as the mountain they faced, Aragorn's sharp eyes zeroed in on each member of the company, lingering longest on Frodo's slumped frame, clearly considering the welfare of the company as opposed to the welfare of the quest, and Sam rummaged through the bushes in search of his, and his master's, packs, grumbling darkly beneath his breath about evil wizards who couldn't leave well enough alone.
Even Gandalf, staid and stoic Gandalf, contemplated the difficult climb ahead with very little pleasure. The brim of his hat cast most of his face in shadow, but Merrill could just make out the firm set of his jaw, the taut stretch of his shoulders, and the wide stance of his feet; even Merrill, with very little combat experience to speak of, recognized a battle stance when she saw one.
Try as she might, she couldn't remember anything of note occurring on the mountainside and so did not look upon the mountain with as much dread as her companions. Did she fancy trekking up a snow covered mountain? Hell no, but at least they wouldn't be attacked… or she hoped they would not be, at least. Merrill shuffled a little closer to Radhrion, tucking her body behind his so as not to be seen. Not for the first time, she wished she'd been able to watch the movies or read the books again before being stranded in Middle Earth.
Merrill rested her head against Radhrion's shoulder and closed her eyes; nothing was going to happen on that mountain. They would not be attacked, and they'd all come through unscathed.
With this thought in mind, Merrill opened her eyes and froze; Legolas had moved while she'd thought and now stood opposite her, though at a distance, his face stiff, his gaze unyielding.
Yeah, she thought as she closed her eyes once more, I might not have to worry about orcs or wizards on the mountain, but I'm going to have to deal with him, and that just might be worse.
Gimli cleared his throat, clipped his axe back to his belt, and said briskly, "Well? What are we waiting for?"
A/N:
Thanks to everyone who followed/favorited, and especially to:
Imladriss, a ton of Guests, Aralinn, LetsGoKoby, Tibblets, Pelawen Night, Convalla91, tadah2, MariaJulietbituin, JcRxo, Mediocre Dunces, RozenMaiden14, Brea2020, MariaJane716, SwanCall, and Raider-K for your lovely, lovely reviews! I love hearing your thoughts on the story and I appreciate you all taking the time to comment. :)
Anyway, quick question for you all: would you prefer waiting longer for updates, but getting longer chapters, or continuing as we are now with the average chapter being around 3,500 to 4,000 words long and me updating about every two-ish weeks? Let me know in the comments!
I don't have much more written after this, so it might be a longer wait for the next update. I'm trying to balance my satisfaction with the story and the time it takes to get it out to you guys, so bear with me please! :)
Thanks again, and best wishes ~
(1) Do not look for trouble, Legolas.
(2) I intend to do as my heart tells me.
P.S.
The song in this chapter is my own creation. It's about Beren as he sees Luthien, but Legolas may have taken a few liberties with some of the lyrics.