a/n: I apologize for the delay. Writer's block latched onto me like a leech and wouldn't let go.
Chapter 36: Two more lonely people.
-Sam-
"Forgive me for saying so Sam, but you are clearly deranged." I look up to see no one else but my favorite King towering over me.
I make a face at him from where I'm sitting, playing with make-shift toy soldiers. "High praise, your highness." I comment dryly. "I thank you for your kind words."
No, really, I like how he said that in a tone that left no room for contradiction.
He lets out a laugh and sits down across from me, royal robes and all, in the dirt and grass.
I stare.
Aragorn has never once sought out my company like this. It is a fact of life; I've always thought that I was too childish for him, and I wouldn't blame him considering I am ten kinds of crazy with a spoonful of random to boot.
Clearly my feelings are quite evident because he chuckles and snatches one of my soldiers.
Well, to be honest they weren't so much soldiers, as little twigs I'd formed into stick figures using wire and various oddments.
"Oi, you're holding my general upside-down, Aragorn." I tell him, reverting back to a name I realize, a few seconds too late, I shouldn't have called him. "I mean, Elessar, sorry."
He shakes his head and raises a hand. "Nay, there is nothing to forgive, little one. You have done no wrong thing."
I look at him, confused. "Isn't it considered disrespectful of me to call you that?"
"Perhaps." He agrees, looking thoughtful. "But crown or not, I will always be Aragorn, Son of Arathorn"
"Brave, quiet, broody and a bit of a know-it-all?" I joke playfully, scrunching my nose up at him.
His eyebrows rise in that way that reminds you that he grew up in the house of Elrond, and gives me a look. "Disrespectful, you say?" I smile innocently at him and he shrugs. "But essentially, yes."
I have to say that seeing the change in him sends me into a fit of unparalleled joy. He used to be so grim and terrible to behold, and I suppose, in a sense he still is, but there is happiness there now, and love so deep, it shakes me to my very foundations, just sitting here and looking into his eyes.
"What in Arda's name are you two doing?" an elven voice demands to know, from somewhere to our left. I don't bother looking up because I can already tell who it is from Aragorn's smile.
Yes, they are that in love. I would be sickened if I didn't ship them so hardcore.
"Well, I was trying to win a war, but the King has my General by the ankle." I say by way of explanation as I stick my tongue out at my King.
"I doubt his return would help you much, he is skinnier than a twig." Aragorn shoots back, sounding superbly disdainful. "I would be surprised if he could even lift a sword."
I snatch my toy away. "Oi, no bad-mouthing General Boom-bottom. I won't hear of it!"
"General Boom-bottom?" Arwen repeats, eyebrow rising.
I clear my throat and smooth my hair back. "Yes, General Boom-bottom, that's his name. Anyway, correct me if I'm mistaken, but I assume there's a reason my King and Queen are sitting in the grass with me, aside from a leisurely walk to the gardens."
They seem surprised at this and I wonder briefly if I should be insulted that no one thinks me capable of being insightful enough to know when I'm being played. "Oh, c'mon you two, 'fess up. What's going on?"
The two of them exchange a glance, one of those deep, soulful looks that convey volumes, the one poets and writers love to write about. Finally, Arwen takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. "We worry for you, Sam."
Haldir is so dead. I am going to break his face. As well as a few other choice parts. "I assure you, there's absolutely nothing to worry about; I'm perfectly fine."
This announcement takes a while to sink in.
"We shall take your word for it." Aragorn says, his tone dubious, and I make a mental note to research if hitting the King upside the head for being an impudent jerk is grounds for treason. He clears his throat again, signaling that this little powwow isn't over and I close my eyes and heave a sigh. "Sam, do you have any intention to talk to Legolas?"
Well, sure. When I'm 97 and on my deathbed.
A smile tugs at the corners of Arwen's lips. "We had thought you had better do it a little sooner than that."
I let out a huff of air and shake my head. "If I talk to him, will all of you get off my case?" I demand.
There isn't even a need for words because Aragorn's smug smile is answer enough.
Bollocks.
OoO
Obviously, the thing to do when you're supposed to find the object of your affections and discuss awkwardness is to find a few friends and go mushroom-hunting. Obviously.
At least, this is what I'm doing, and if I'm not the leading authority on dysfunctional methods of distraction in Minas Tirith, then I don't know who is.
"You know, Merry, I really don't know why we're looking for mushrooms out here in the bright sunshine." I inform the nearest of my companions as I heft the big, wicker basket they had commandeered from a washer woman. "We should be looking in moist places, like near ponds or...I dunno Gimli's socks."
Pippin lets out a heavy snort at this and promptly receives a thwack on the head from Merry. "What, what? She's right!" he cries out indignantly, hopping away from the older hobbit.
I nod fondly at him. "See, I always said he was the smartest of you lot."
"We are here, my lady," Frodo finally intervenes before anyone comes to blows, and by anyone, I do mean me and Merry. "Because we had thought it best to get you out of Minas Tirith before you…what is the term you use? 'Completely flip out' and spear everyone upon your sword."
Ai, but it is weird hearing hobbits use modern slang.
"Besides," Sam pipes up, trudging cheerfully through the grass. "We've already got the mushrooms, haven't we Mr. Frodo?"
I frown at this and take the time to pause and check my luggage. Sure enough, it's filled to the brim with mushrooms, and I feel decidedly stupid for not noticing anything to that effect during the walk from the seventh ring to the fields.
"I cannot believe I got played like this." I grumble, running after them. I dump the basket unceremoniously on the ground, and plop down in a heap. "Keiko can't spear everyone," I tell Frodo with just a mild hint of indignation. "Maybe just the Shire-folk."
All four of the hobbits sit up at this. "Was that a threat?"
I smirk at them, putting my hands under my head and watching a tuft of cloud float lazily by. "A tiny bit, yeah."
"Well, we can't have that." Merry declares, standing up and before I know it, I have a Rohirric guard on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.
It all goes downhill from there, and I'm pretty sure, the only sounds that can be heard from a mile off are our screams and giggles as we tussle about.
Ai, but it's good to be happy.
OoO
Happiness is such a fleeting bitch. Is it really so much to ask that it stay on my shoulder for a little longer than twenty-four hours?
Before you ask, yes, I am being melodramatic. Today is going to be filled with endless hours of packing for the two-week journey to the borders of Rohan and I am not best pleased.
I think people have noticed because I've found myself on my own again, shoving bread into food sacks and running through a tally of needed supplies in my head.
The door creaks open behind me, and I turn slightly to look over my shoulder.
Oh, brilliant. His Reluctant Highness, that's just what I need.
"All is well in here, I presume?" he asks. I wave a hand at him, 'yes' and hope that that's the end of it. Clearly it isn't, because he walks in and points out that the fruit baskets were still insufficient. I button my lips to keep from saying something rude, and attend to the task as Aragorn just stands there, giving me a look.
Why, I ask you, did he have to be raised in Rivendell? It's not fair to other mortals how he can do the whole Elvish Facial Expression thing. I can feel his eyes boring into my brain, and he's disappointed because I still haven't spoken to Legolas and sweet shoestrings, he is good.
Poor Eldarion.
**
"Alright, stop it!" I finally scream after five minutes of being under his stare. I couldn't do it anymore, okay? Damn Ranger is going to be the death of me.
His face rearranges itself to one of utter innocence and I stare in awe. Bloody hell, is he good. "Pardon?"
"Stop with the guilt, okay?" I poke a finger into his shoulder. "It's driving me crazy!"
"My Lady, I assure you, I know not of what you speak."
My glare intensifies. I fold my arms across my chest and stamp my foot like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. Snipes about how this is a fitting self-assessment will not be entertained, so shut your traps. I am tempted to ask what he wants from me, but I'm pretty sure I know the answer. Half the bloody castle knows the bloody answer.
Damn King.
"Do not even try." I snarl, digging a finger into his ribcage. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about and I need you to stop pressuring me before I turn into Krakatoa and just pop, okay?"
He resumes the staring.
Fuck my life.
Can I just say that I had full intention of talking to Legolas just like I'd told him, and the packing sort of just got in the way?
No? well, it was worth a shot. I don't even really understand what the big deal is; I'm a woman f my word, and when I said I'd talk to the blasted elf before my ninetieth birthday, I was telling the truth.
I had actually been planning on talking to him the day directly before they left the encampment.
For…emotional preparation. Er.
However, it is clear that my king has other ideas. He does the Elrondion eyebrow thing, not to be mistaken for the generally used elven technique of raising eyebrows and making you feel like gum stuck to an important person's shoe. No, this one is the upgraded version.
The one that Aragorn knows will infuriate me to no end. Which it does. Thus explaining why I am now halfway through the castle, muttering death threats none-too-quietly and basically causing a massive ruckus.
Until I arrive at his door, and then the anger just whooshes right out of me. Now, how is that fair, I ask you? I needed that anger; all that anger meant I could actually talk without turning into a big glop of jelly.
"What am I doing?" I ask myself out loud, a mistake that I have often made and will probably continue to make until long after I'm dead.
"How amusing," a voice behind me says, not sounding amused at all. "I was wondering the same thing."
I feel my breath catch and I turn around to face him.
"Legolas.' I breathe, offering a small, awkward smile. A first stab at a peace offering. "Hi."
He leans back on the wall and crosses his arms. He looks tired and pale, and I have to bite my lip to keep from asking why, like I usually would. I refrain from asking him where he's been and more importantly how he's been, like I shoud be doing, because clearly, I am a dolt.
Instead, I say, "Fleas are weird creatures, aren't they?"
Bloody hell, sometimes I find it astounding that I still exist.
a/n: Look, it's the purple button!