Well, well, here's part 6 to all you who are waiting for it. I have one
thing to say to some of you folk who sent me emails and/or reviews:
Anyone who sent a friendly message, thanx a bunch! I appreciate it! Especially Watershadow!!
Anyone who sent a "You're only 11 and you're writing romance???!!!" letter *coughflamecough* that is not as er, kind and censored *cough* as the above example: Well, if you don't like it don't read it! Nobody's forcing you to. Kids gotta grow up sometime, and anyway, what do you flamer folk know about me? Let's just say my years are few, but I've loved and I've lost . . . .
Right then. Having ranted and raved and deleted the offending messages *Ahem*, I now present you with Chapter Six of Destination: Middle-earth. Here you go!!!
Disclaimer: I have said it before and I will say it again: I don't own LotR!!!!
Oh, and as I forgot to say it last time and it resulted in lots of fuel for my cooking fire: Reviews are wanted, flames are NOT!
I woke the next morning with my arms around Frodo, the same way they had been the previous night. He was still asleep, and seemingly hadn't moved at all. It looked like he had finally warmed up. Very gently, I tried to remove my arms from where they were without waking him, but to no avail. Frodo's beautiful eyes blinked, flickered open, and he looked up. "Laurelyn?" he asked sleepily, and then as he looked around again he blushed, and pulled away from me. "You were cold . . ." I stammered, feeling like a fool. "I . . ." "That's all right, really," Frodo said, and the subject of how we'd fallen asleep- me with my arms wrapped around him- got dropped.
I made breakfast for us, and then packed up our supplies. I'd used up what I could salvage of our non-waterproof stores, and so everything else that we had left would survive rain, snow, wind, Balrogs, and a trip over Caradhras. Although I wanted to face none of those difficulties, if I could help it. Once we were ready with all our few traveling belongings, Frodo and I set out once more.
It occurred to me for the first time that we were heading more in the direction of Rivendell than Gondor. I pointed this out to Frodo, and he nodded. "We might as well stop there first," he said. "That's what I thought . . . can't hurt, can it?" I agreed, but I wondered quietly to myself if it was a good idea. Maybe Frodo wasn't supposed to get to meet Bilbo again until the War of the Ring . . . Heck, Laurelyn, if you go on like this you might as well stop and stand still where you are for the rest of your life. I laughed at myself, but it was uneasy laughter at the thought that decisions I made now could shape the history of Middle-earth.
Frodo looked over at me, as if he had noticed my unhappiness. "What is it?" he asked gently. I coughed. "Nothing," I said. "Just walking on a yet-undug grave." He didn't ask for me to elaborate on the meaning of that. I wondered if he perhaps understood what I meant, with my odd reference to the future. I coughed again, and wondered if I'd caught a cold from being rained on the previous night. Oh well, I thought. It could be worse.
We continued on for many more hours. Every once in a while, one of us would say something, and upon hearing Frodo's quiet voice, I would again wonder whether or not there was a chance he'd like me . . . love me. A few words kept running through my head, no matter what I tried to do to keep them away. [I]I love you, Frodo . . . I love you, Frodo . . .I love you Frodo . . .[/I]
And I realized that my attempt at trying to hide my feelings away was failing. Failing fast. Very fast . . .
Sorry that was short . . . I'll do better next time, I hope.
Anyone who sent a friendly message, thanx a bunch! I appreciate it! Especially Watershadow!!
Anyone who sent a "You're only 11 and you're writing romance???!!!" letter *coughflamecough* that is not as er, kind and censored *cough* as the above example: Well, if you don't like it don't read it! Nobody's forcing you to. Kids gotta grow up sometime, and anyway, what do you flamer folk know about me? Let's just say my years are few, but I've loved and I've lost . . . .
Right then. Having ranted and raved and deleted the offending messages *Ahem*, I now present you with Chapter Six of Destination: Middle-earth. Here you go!!!
Disclaimer: I have said it before and I will say it again: I don't own LotR!!!!
Oh, and as I forgot to say it last time and it resulted in lots of fuel for my cooking fire: Reviews are wanted, flames are NOT!
I woke the next morning with my arms around Frodo, the same way they had been the previous night. He was still asleep, and seemingly hadn't moved at all. It looked like he had finally warmed up. Very gently, I tried to remove my arms from where they were without waking him, but to no avail. Frodo's beautiful eyes blinked, flickered open, and he looked up. "Laurelyn?" he asked sleepily, and then as he looked around again he blushed, and pulled away from me. "You were cold . . ." I stammered, feeling like a fool. "I . . ." "That's all right, really," Frodo said, and the subject of how we'd fallen asleep- me with my arms wrapped around him- got dropped.
I made breakfast for us, and then packed up our supplies. I'd used up what I could salvage of our non-waterproof stores, and so everything else that we had left would survive rain, snow, wind, Balrogs, and a trip over Caradhras. Although I wanted to face none of those difficulties, if I could help it. Once we were ready with all our few traveling belongings, Frodo and I set out once more.
It occurred to me for the first time that we were heading more in the direction of Rivendell than Gondor. I pointed this out to Frodo, and he nodded. "We might as well stop there first," he said. "That's what I thought . . . can't hurt, can it?" I agreed, but I wondered quietly to myself if it was a good idea. Maybe Frodo wasn't supposed to get to meet Bilbo again until the War of the Ring . . . Heck, Laurelyn, if you go on like this you might as well stop and stand still where you are for the rest of your life. I laughed at myself, but it was uneasy laughter at the thought that decisions I made now could shape the history of Middle-earth.
Frodo looked over at me, as if he had noticed my unhappiness. "What is it?" he asked gently. I coughed. "Nothing," I said. "Just walking on a yet-undug grave." He didn't ask for me to elaborate on the meaning of that. I wondered if he perhaps understood what I meant, with my odd reference to the future. I coughed again, and wondered if I'd caught a cold from being rained on the previous night. Oh well, I thought. It could be worse.
We continued on for many more hours. Every once in a while, one of us would say something, and upon hearing Frodo's quiet voice, I would again wonder whether or not there was a chance he'd like me . . . love me. A few words kept running through my head, no matter what I tried to do to keep them away. [I]I love you, Frodo . . . I love you, Frodo . . .I love you Frodo . . .[/I]
And I realized that my attempt at trying to hide my feelings away was failing. Failing fast. Very fast . . .
Sorry that was short . . . I'll do better next time, I hope.