A/N: My, the reason for lateness being the fact I am a AOL user (or loser)
and the site is currently near impossible to access. I may get friends to
post if this happens again in future That and life. But on we go, thanks to
reviewers, I may reach 100 again by the time I am done, 10 each chapter. It
can be done. I hope.
The Turn Of The Tide
"My love, as kind as Treebeard is, he cannot stand being tickled. Please come down before you fall."
I was careful enough to add as much humour as my thumping head would allow, my words tarnished by a somewhat justified feeling of superiority. The hobbits giggled close behind. At my side, innocent well-trodden ground was being beaten harshly by the hard fall of clumsy dwarven feet. I turned my head slightly to encounter a moving wall of Gimli, grateful for my safety. Affection for the oaf tugged at my heart.
"Legolas!" I could have sworn I would have been hugged if the dwarf had not caught himself. He straightened his beard, cleared his throat and added, "It is good to see you well." At this slightly inaccurate comment I indignantly straightened myself and squared up to him fully. He gasped, a look of shock masking his features.
Thanks to that rogue orcish spear, the right side of my marred face had developed into a dark angry haze of purples, my healing ability speeding up the bruising. Blood trickled lazily down my cheek from a small forked gash on my head, swelling making the injury appear worse than it was.
As we had spoke, the giant Treebeard had gently placed my squirming spouse on the ground, I saw his pace pick up with a vengeance as I turned to Gimli and into his view. The dwarf stepped aside knowingly as the man reached us. I tried to soften the blow.
"It does not pain me much, the kind ents have already tended to it." By now he had placed his hand tenderly under my chin and lifted it gently, looking at me intently.
"It still bleeds." He murmured softly, pressing his lips against the cheek.
"Head wounds often do, Aragorn." Cheeky, but worth it for the rare smile that broke out on his face.
I took a quiet look around before asking the inevitable, heavy, one-worded question.
"Boromir?" The drop of Gimli's shaggy head was enough to tell me. Aragorn grasped my hand.
"He passed, there was - " I pressed a finger to his lips before he could continue. He sought to comfort me and praise my efforts to save him. But a perverse sense of relief that a former tormentor had gone polluted my grief, but I felt more so that the troubled man now lay in peace, free from the trappings of the ring. Moreover, he had died a hero's death and would forever be remembered as such. A small sound behind drew my attention back to the present. I stooped to gather the hobbits, whispering platitudes before bowing my head in an elven blessing.
Aragorn sighed deeply and turned away, my brow furrowed I rose from my position as he turned his back from me. Winking at the confused halflings, I hurried over with elven silence to the dark stricken man before spinning him round forcefully and claiming his lips in a passionate kiss.
I attempted not to laugh as I heard Gimli cough significantly and slide into the view of the hobbits, blocking their line of sight. Even Treebeard edged away with as much subtlety as a forty-foot tree could possess.
We kissed for what seemed like hours, this was one of the significant moments of the quest. It stood alongside Boromir's death and the division of the fellowship as one of the moments that could make or break us as the saviours of Middle Earth. I sought to unite our leader once again with those he led, to remind him of the good in the world we fought for, and less of the evil we fought against.
My lust was apparently extremely infectious, as Aragorn's hands tangled and twisted through my long golden hair, pressing me closer ensuring I was never to get away. Not now, not ever.
Through a misplaced hand I became acutely aware of Aragorn's flushed and tightly wound state and our ever-growing audience. I reluctantly pulled away, but not before he pulled his lips to my ear.
"Later." I stifled a moan at the promise that ensnared the word, hauled at my tunic and turned back to face the dwarf, once more the proud prince.
I opened my mouth to speak of what came next when something caught my attention amidst the trees.
A flash of brilliant white. My immediate assumption was Saruman, my hands flying to the bow upon my back. Then I noticed the absence of the malevolent air of evil that always threatened to poison the atmosphere when the istari stalked close by. My hands fell to my side. I advanced forward, and spoke clearly and proudly.
"Come, white wizard, step forward and show yourself."
At these words, Anduril was drawn, Gimli's axe raised. I briefly remember Aragorn screaming desperately for me to ready my weapon to defend myself.
But I didn't.
I waited.
And waited.
Even the wistful trees held their breath, all eyes upon me, mine upon the unforgiving forest.
Then a ray of light blinded us, Aragorn dropping his sword as if it burnt, Gimli's axe flying from his clutches.
I stood stock still as a figure appeared from the trees, white robe and long white hair. For a moment I feared I had been wrong, but I refused to show doubt. Then from behind the staff came a long lost familiar face.
"I see your senses are as sharp as ever, young Greenleaf." If only he knew.
Gandalf explained the his fall, battle and triumphant return to a captive audience.
Hope was now renewed, and we had to continue onwards, we could not fail the little ones who currently travelled to the worst of all places. This was it, the turn of the tide.
"Where now Gandalf?" Aragorn enquired rising from one knee.
"We travel to Edoras, Saruman's hold there grows strong, I fear for it's people."
No one thought to argue, and it was little Pippin who piped up first.
"Treebeard, take us south!"
A/N: South we go, I may be able to update on Thursday, as I am not working, but you better not hold me to it. Who knows what will happen!
The Turn Of The Tide
"My love, as kind as Treebeard is, he cannot stand being tickled. Please come down before you fall."
I was careful enough to add as much humour as my thumping head would allow, my words tarnished by a somewhat justified feeling of superiority. The hobbits giggled close behind. At my side, innocent well-trodden ground was being beaten harshly by the hard fall of clumsy dwarven feet. I turned my head slightly to encounter a moving wall of Gimli, grateful for my safety. Affection for the oaf tugged at my heart.
"Legolas!" I could have sworn I would have been hugged if the dwarf had not caught himself. He straightened his beard, cleared his throat and added, "It is good to see you well." At this slightly inaccurate comment I indignantly straightened myself and squared up to him fully. He gasped, a look of shock masking his features.
Thanks to that rogue orcish spear, the right side of my marred face had developed into a dark angry haze of purples, my healing ability speeding up the bruising. Blood trickled lazily down my cheek from a small forked gash on my head, swelling making the injury appear worse than it was.
As we had spoke, the giant Treebeard had gently placed my squirming spouse on the ground, I saw his pace pick up with a vengeance as I turned to Gimli and into his view. The dwarf stepped aside knowingly as the man reached us. I tried to soften the blow.
"It does not pain me much, the kind ents have already tended to it." By now he had placed his hand tenderly under my chin and lifted it gently, looking at me intently.
"It still bleeds." He murmured softly, pressing his lips against the cheek.
"Head wounds often do, Aragorn." Cheeky, but worth it for the rare smile that broke out on his face.
I took a quiet look around before asking the inevitable, heavy, one-worded question.
"Boromir?" The drop of Gimli's shaggy head was enough to tell me. Aragorn grasped my hand.
"He passed, there was - " I pressed a finger to his lips before he could continue. He sought to comfort me and praise my efforts to save him. But a perverse sense of relief that a former tormentor had gone polluted my grief, but I felt more so that the troubled man now lay in peace, free from the trappings of the ring. Moreover, he had died a hero's death and would forever be remembered as such. A small sound behind drew my attention back to the present. I stooped to gather the hobbits, whispering platitudes before bowing my head in an elven blessing.
Aragorn sighed deeply and turned away, my brow furrowed I rose from my position as he turned his back from me. Winking at the confused halflings, I hurried over with elven silence to the dark stricken man before spinning him round forcefully and claiming his lips in a passionate kiss.
I attempted not to laugh as I heard Gimli cough significantly and slide into the view of the hobbits, blocking their line of sight. Even Treebeard edged away with as much subtlety as a forty-foot tree could possess.
We kissed for what seemed like hours, this was one of the significant moments of the quest. It stood alongside Boromir's death and the division of the fellowship as one of the moments that could make or break us as the saviours of Middle Earth. I sought to unite our leader once again with those he led, to remind him of the good in the world we fought for, and less of the evil we fought against.
My lust was apparently extremely infectious, as Aragorn's hands tangled and twisted through my long golden hair, pressing me closer ensuring I was never to get away. Not now, not ever.
Through a misplaced hand I became acutely aware of Aragorn's flushed and tightly wound state and our ever-growing audience. I reluctantly pulled away, but not before he pulled his lips to my ear.
"Later." I stifled a moan at the promise that ensnared the word, hauled at my tunic and turned back to face the dwarf, once more the proud prince.
I opened my mouth to speak of what came next when something caught my attention amidst the trees.
A flash of brilliant white. My immediate assumption was Saruman, my hands flying to the bow upon my back. Then I noticed the absence of the malevolent air of evil that always threatened to poison the atmosphere when the istari stalked close by. My hands fell to my side. I advanced forward, and spoke clearly and proudly.
"Come, white wizard, step forward and show yourself."
At these words, Anduril was drawn, Gimli's axe raised. I briefly remember Aragorn screaming desperately for me to ready my weapon to defend myself.
But I didn't.
I waited.
And waited.
Even the wistful trees held their breath, all eyes upon me, mine upon the unforgiving forest.
Then a ray of light blinded us, Aragorn dropping his sword as if it burnt, Gimli's axe flying from his clutches.
I stood stock still as a figure appeared from the trees, white robe and long white hair. For a moment I feared I had been wrong, but I refused to show doubt. Then from behind the staff came a long lost familiar face.
"I see your senses are as sharp as ever, young Greenleaf." If only he knew.
Gandalf explained the his fall, battle and triumphant return to a captive audience.
Hope was now renewed, and we had to continue onwards, we could not fail the little ones who currently travelled to the worst of all places. This was it, the turn of the tide.
"Where now Gandalf?" Aragorn enquired rising from one knee.
"We travel to Edoras, Saruman's hold there grows strong, I fear for it's people."
No one thought to argue, and it was little Pippin who piped up first.
"Treebeard, take us south!"
A/N: South we go, I may be able to update on Thursday, as I am not working, but you better not hold me to it. Who knows what will happen!