A/N Another note...Thank you for the reviews, O beloved readers. I originally planned this to be pretty short, maybe 7-8 chapters. But then things progressed and as I was sitting in lecture the other day, daydreaming, I started writing down thoughts, which began to take a cohesive form which has now turned into a time line. And then I had a great idea for the ending, so I wrote that and have been revising. But I'm developing a plot, which isn't so easy to begin with, then I have to format it to canon as much as possible and figure out reasonable ways for characters to get into the situations I want them to be in, without stupid plot devices or random "they suddenly appeared in Imladris!" Anyway, there it is. For the continuation of this story thoughts will continued to be shown by **, since I can't figure out how to get italics to transfer (if anyone wants to fill me in, that'd be swell!) Normal "quotes" will designate Westron/Tolkien speech and `this` will be English. Hope it isn't too confusing! Onwards, soldiers!
Far away, a grey figure with flowing robes astride a white steed flew over hill and valley, crossing mountain and stream swiftly. The rider pulled up suddenly, easily remaining saddled as the large animal pranced skittishly from side to side. The white lather coating the horses hide and the soft lips covered in foam gave tell of a long, hard journey. The rider scanned the horizon, searching urgently, then, as suddenly as he stopped, urged the horse on. They moved towards the mountains, away from the morning sun.
*****
Miranda rolled over, groaning. Never one for camping, this sleeping on the ground thing was not getting her highest marks. As she yawned and stretched (and wondered if something died in her mouth in the middle of the night), she noticed her torn dress was about to make the morning a little happier for her seven male companions. Still dressed in her wedding frock, she looked more like the poor little match-girl from the stories, covered in soot and dressed in rags. Her feet were bare, and miraculously (she thought), still covered in unchipped wine-colored polish. She wiggled the toes on her good foot, admiring the effect, as her feet were the only part not covered in hideous bruises.
Her scalp was suspiciously itchy, so she indulged in a good scratch, since the others were still asleep. Yawning, she turned to grab the other blanket tossed off in the night and let out a soft EEP! Legolas sat on a tree stump watching her. When her eyes met his, he smiled and she felt a deep blush rise up her throat and face as she realized he'd seen her admiring her foot, scratching and yawning.
**Oh yeah. Quite lady-like old girl,** she grumbled to herself. Rising lithely to his feet, he crossed the short distance between them and crouched again near her feet. She watched him warily as he carefully picked up her injured ankle and felt it with his fingertips. Although it was a bit presumptuous of him to touch her without so much as a 'by-your-leave,' she found herself fascinated with his hands and arms.
She was a self-confessed 'hands' woman. While other women watched bums and flies, she loved strong, wide-palmed hands with square fingers; a strong, thick forearm with visible muscles made her knees weak. The hands grasping her ankle were pale with long, tapering fingers on a hairless hand, attached to pale, narrow-wristed forearms. There was no illusion of femininity, however, as they were large and capable, with veins rising beneath the skin.
**Ooh! That's nice!** she thought, closely her eyes in pleasures his fingertips traced the arch of her foot to the ankle and a warm feeling spread though her foot, ankle and calf. **It's almost, hmmmm.....almost sexual!** That thought brought her flying out of her reverie and back to earth as she jerked he foot back from him, wincing as a shooting pain drove up her leg. He was pushed back, but maintained his balance in a cat-like twist of his abdomen. He looked at her curiously, but didn't attempt to retake her foot. She smiled at him politely and drew her legs up to her chest.
**Pecker. I knew he was too good to be true! Why do the pretty ones always have to be gay or have foot fetishes?** She sighed and noticed the rest of the troop were slowly wakening. The midgets, she noticed, hadn't even rolled out of their sacks as they dug around for something to eat. Gimli, or Viking, as she still thought of him, offered her a strange cracker-like thing, wrapped in leaves. It actually quite resembled the Host of the Catholic Masses of her childhood. She nibbled at it and was surprised to feel an immediate warmth and energy flood her body.
**Better than whisky at warming you up!** she thought and watched the others putter around. Viking helped her roll her bag and watched for moment as she struggled with the blanket around her shoulders. Smiling, her removed the belt from his own waist and handed it to her, helping her to wrap it round her waist to hold the blanket in a sort of poncho-like cloak. Even at the smallest notch, it was still too big for her, but wouldn't fit around her twice. She and Gimli fought with the material, bunching it up and trying everything they could think of to get it to stat. By the end, she was giggling and he was chuckling, as she did a sort of one-legged pirouette, while holding on to a tree.
Across camp, Legolas watched his friend with the woman as they struggled to clothe her. He was pleased that she felt at ease with the Dwarf, but was unsure why she seemed as skittish as a young falcon around him. Human women tended to be in awe of his beauty and grace, an issue he marked, but did not concern himself with, for few human women were skilled story-tellers, in his experience. Then, an idea came to him and he removed himself to the Hobbits.
Crouching behind a convenient bush, Miranda balanced on one foot and pulled the Hobbit clothing on, with difficulty. She had been astounded when Legolas had brought them over. It was a sweet, thoughtful move. The pants were baggy in the waist and tight in the bum and thighs, but only reached her knee. The blouse gaped across her breasts, but the vest covered in up nicely. There was nothing to be done about shoes and Miranda caught sight of herself in a small pool off the stream they'd stopped by.
**Bloody hell! I look like an eighties Trendy!** she thought. **Just need an enormous gold belt to tighten over my poet shirt and I could start singing with Bowie!** She sighed, but decided it was better than flashing everyone.
"How long, do ye think, until we reach Rivendell? I've worn thes' clothes here fer nearly two weeks an' that wi' no baths! An' its bin ages since I've had a good mushroom!" Pippin sighed wistfully, packing up his sleep-sack and jamming bread into his mouth. To his right, three other Hobbits sighed wistfully as well, mouths watering as they dreamed of the rich, meaty taste of ripe mushrooms.
"It has been too long," Frodo agreed.
Nearby, Aragorn listened to them reminisce about favorite mushroom dishes with a smile on his face. He marveled anew at the remarkable fortitude of his small companions. For nearly ten months they had been away from friends and family, from home and hearth, yet aside from an odd grumble, they were hearty and good-natured.
"Perhaps Lord Elrond will let taste of his secret crop of red mushrooms," Aragorn said mysteriously.
"Red mushrooms? Who's ever heard of red mushrooms?" Merry asked, intrigued. Pippin raised his eyes to the skies, as if asking nature's help in understanding his thick cousin.
"Evr'one knows about th' red mushrooms!" he said dramatically. "They errr.....they're good fer th'.....they put heer on yer chest!" he finished triumphantly and looked at Aragorn for confirmation. Aragorn nodded and smiled conspiratorially.
"I've heard tell that Dwarfish lasses are particularly found of them," he said in a low voice, eyes twinkling. The guffaws of Merry and Pippin caused the rest of the group to look over at them. Miranda watched as the midgets nudged each other and mounted their ponies. She noticed how careful Sam was with Frodo, acting very protective the slighter Hobbit, fussing over him like a mother hen. Suddenly home-sickness hit her and she thought of Rachel, now happily sunning herself on a beach somewhere, and of her other friends going about their daily lives.
**I wonder if they've missed me yet, or if they think I've run away with some Scotsman? Of course, I do look lovely in tartan,** she mused, laughing to herself. Suddenly, it struck her with clarity: the only way home must be through the rock circle again. And here she was traveling three days already away from it. She needed to go back, but with no food or water, no compass or map and a broken or sprained ankle, she wasn't going anywhere unless a taxi miraculously appeared in the forest. And since her understanding of their speech was no better now than yesterday, she was certainly not going to be watching television or soaking in a hot bath anytime soon. It seemed the best course of action to go where she was taken for now, until her ankle healed.
**After all, no one has tried anything yet. Maybe they're going to make be their queen...." she laughed to herself as she was helped up in front of Legolas. She still was not quite comfortable with him, and held herself stiff, as he wrapped one arm around her, repositioning her in the saddle against him. She was surprised by the strength in his arm, which was belied by his slender appearance. Her stomach did a funny dropping-thing as he wedged her bottom more firmly between his thighs and gave a slight flick of the reins.
**Hmmm....maybe foot fetishes aren't so bad when you get this with the rest.** she thought as she drifted of to sleep, slowly relaxing in his arms. His general ease and composure made her nervous, but the support of his body and warm cloak around her, made her sleepy. There was a nagging pain under her right breast, but as it was an area she couldn't see with strange contortions or a mirror, she chalked it up to bruises, perhaps caused by the underwire of her bra.
**So that's Vicky's Secret...**she chuckled to herself in her sleep. Legolas looked down at the sound and wondered at the small smile on her lips.
The nagging pain was not, in fact, a bruise, but a very small puncture wound, caused by a sliver of wood almost three inches long stuck inside her. It had been overlooked by the 'first aide'givers, as they hadn't wished to intrude on her person. This tiny wound had become infected, and by the third day, she was hot, her forehead burning with fever.
As the party stopped for the evening, Miranda was asleep, her face flushed. Legolas carefully lowered her to the earth, pausing in alarm as his hand brushed her cheek. Her skin was remarkably hot. Having never been around sick people, he was at a loss. He knew what a fever was, and that races other than Elves experienced them, but knew not how to correct it. He called to Aragorn, who recognized the signs of infection, but could not find its source.
"We are yet seven days from Imladris. We can try a tea, made from curing-leaves, but if that fails, there is nought else we can do," Aragorn spoke in a low voice.
"My own knowledge of healing is scarce. Alas, it has been long since I have been called upon to heal, and even long ago I was no healer. My gifts lie in those of causing injury, not in curing it," Legolas answered.
"Then we must make haste. Let them sleep but a few hours and we shall move swiftly, before the sun rises. For now, I will find the curing-leaves." The Ranger disappeared into the dusk, in search of a certain plant known for its fever-lowering juices. The Hobbits fetched water and Sam sat near Miranda, carefully sponging her forehead with a bit of old clothe. By now, she was delirious and thrashing, groaning and crying. Sam could not understand her words, but recognized the tears on her face and pain in her voice. His soft heart wept for this woman, so far from home and in the company of strangers. Even with thirty-six winters to his credit, he wished for his mother, for the soft, milky-smelling woman who could fix all pains and cure all ills.
"She'd know what to do," he whispered to Miranda. The tea was made upon Aragorn's return, but helped nothing and by dawn the next day, it was decided they would ride as swiftly as possible, hoping Lord Elrond would be able to help. As they left in the early morning light, Frodo was reminded of his own harrowing flight toward Rivendell. Although he too, had been delirious and remembered little of the trip, he had vague images of a tall blond Elf speaking softly to him, urging the horse ever faster. He had awakened happily and healthily in Rivendell. He hoped the same might happen for Miranda.