I am SOOOO frustrated!! I haven't been able to get on Fanfiction.net for 6 days, it keeps giving me that annoying 'page unavailable' crap. Then it was fine randomly and been ok since Friday. Has anyone else had trouble getting on last week? Just checking if there is something wrong with my service. Please let me know if you were on, so I can figure out what the problem is!!! As it stands, I can't read very often, sniff, sniff!
A/N: I wish I could attach a soundtrack to this story. I have music picked out from other soundtracks (mostly the Piano and Last of the Mohicans) that would go well with the entire story, especially certain parts. It's all very moving and often melancholy, sort of like the story of the Elves who are fading. Then there's Enya's song, which always makes me feel depressed at the end of FotR, but it's a beautiful depressed. Does anyone know what I mean? Ah well, probably not, but that's how life goes. Still wishing for many reviews!!
Chapter 10
**Goddamn son of a bitch!** Miranda's mind bellowed. She wasn't referring to any one person in particular, but more to the situation in general. **Oh Legolas, you're soooo strong! Thanks for saving my life! Please, let me throw myself at you like some crazed teenage rock-fan and smooth down your body hair with my tongue!** she thought sarcastically. **Could I have come over ANY more desperate?** Flopping back onto the bed, she stared at the carved ceiling and breathed out heavily through her mouth, humming irritably.
"Something vexes you?" A soft voice queried from the shadows near the window. Her heart in her throat, Miranda sat up quickly, about to scream when the clouds parted to reveal Arwen sitting placidly on the bench.
"Christ in a handbag! You frightened me!" Miranda said breathlessly, half in English, half in Common Tongue. Arwen smiled at her quizzically and waited.
"I errrm...lost the cloak lent me in the river....it floated away and I was left, errm....And then Legolas was there...."Miranda shrugged sheepishly, her cheeks red with embarrassment. Arwen merely raised her eyebrows and motioned to clothing laid out on the end of Miranda's bed.
"I thought you might be lacking in proper attire," she said simply. "Shall I call a maid for your hair?" Miranda's hand went up to her hair involuntarily and her eyes found herself in the mirror, confirming her worst fears.
**Obviously I'm not human, but some freakish creature with odd, frizzy wire for hair!** she thought dryly. "No, thank you. I can do it." Smiling slightly, Arwen took her leave and returned to....well, returned to whatever it is she does all day. Miranda hadn't quite figured it out.
The gown laid out was similar to something Miranda had seen before. In a museum. Behind glass. To see the ornate garments lying before her, shiny in their newness, was an experience.
Awkwardly, she pulled on the first part, correctly guessing that the grey sheath that clung to her torso, but floated loosely around her ankles with enormous sleeves that hung down to her knees went on first. The second part consisted of an over-frock, more like a very long vest, in a heavily beaded green brocade. Both just touched the floor, leading her to believe that they had been shortened specifically for her. A tooled-silver chain wrapped loosely round her hips (not as loose as it should hang, Miranda noted, grimacing) and tied off, the tassels sweeping her knees.
On a low table holding her wash basin and pitcher lay a brush and small combs. The brush appeared quite soft and Miranda laughed at it, for her hair would rip the short bristles out in one pass. She was surprised, however, as the Elven brush skimmed through her hair detangling it without the slightest effort. Sweeping back the sides, she let the rest hang freely and turned to examine herself in the mirror. She stood still a moment, surprised by what she saw.
**I look....beautiful! In manner of gorgeous-period-piece type film actress.** She thought, swishing the frock back and forth. **Too bad there's no Colin Firth or Jeremy Northam waiting downstairs to play my 'true love,'** she thought wryly and made a face at herself. The gown still pulled at the rear and bosom, but her face looked rosy and healthy, **like an ad for a hiking mini-break in Tuscany** she laughed and twirled, enjoying the way the dress belled out. She hadn't had a dress like that since she was ten.
Coming to a standstill, Miranda realized there were no shoes. Scanning the room, she found a pair of soft leather shoes, slippers really, lying half under the bed. Slipping them on, she was surprised to find them a perfect fit. **Somebody's been playing stalker!** she grinned, then left the room, heading for the main hall.
At a landing near the stair case down the main level, an archway revealed both a cool breeze and a breath-taking view. The entire city was lit, glowing gently from numerous tiny lights. The sky above was inky black, studded with millions of tiny pinpoints of light, the clouds having floated off. In the distance, she could hear the river rushing swiftly past the base of mountains. The pathways round the Great Hall were carpeted in leaves of brilliant hues, yet the trees above did not appear to be missing even one leaf. Soft laughter and music could be heard, and Miranda could see an enormous fire blazing merrily in the far side of the Hall.
Shaking her head at the sheer grandeur of the place, she hurried down the stairs and almost collided with Bilbo and Frodo. Bilbo, she knew, was Frodo's uncle and was observed with quite a lot of respect for some feat of heroism which she hadn't yet heard. He watched her curiously, however, and made her feel self-conscious, so she was relieved when they went to sit on the far side of the table with Lord Elrond and Arwen. Picking a seat next to Merry, she slid one hand over his eyes while whispering "Guess who?" into his ear. A surprisingly strong and stunningly fast grip seized her wrist, before Merry realized who she was.
"Miranda!" he cried, happily. "Come sit with us and we'll regale you with tales of the bravest Hobbit in all the land! " he continued, clasping her on the back and setting a mug of ale before her.
"Me!" clamored Pippin, swigging from a mug as big as his head. The two bickered merrily, which cheered Aragorn as he descended from an upper floor. The two had been so gloomy following the destruction of the Ring and the war, he had despaired of ever seeing them revert to their former boisterous selves. Placing himself next to Arwen, he joined in a friendly argument between Lord Elrond and Bilbo over where one could find the finest pipe-weed in all of Middle-Earth, but caught sight of Gimli and Legolas as they entered the Hall together.
Aragorn watched as Legolas's eyes swept the hall and settled immediately on Miranda. Without taking his eyes off her, he moved in and sat beside her. Aragorn's eyes narrowed in amusement as he observed Legolas try to get Miranda's attention in subtle ways. Beyond greeting the Elf, however, her attention was focused on the Hobbits and more or less ignored Legolas. His delicate eyebrows drew together in confusion and he appeared put out by her lack of response. Murmuring in Arwen's ear, Aragorn nodded his head in the direction of Legolas and Miranda. Arwen, also, became amused after watching and whispered to her betrothed,
"Mayhap our arrogant friend has found a worthy adversary," she laughed softly and the two continued to watch throughout the night.
Near mid-night, the fire had burned low, and Elrond stood for a final toast to the remaining Fellowship.
"Tomorrow, many of our friends will leave us and return to their much-missed homes. Before they go, however, let us raise our glasses to them in honor of their courage, valor and self-lessness," Everyone raised a goblet or mug.
"To the Fellowship; to those who are not here tonight; and to those who no longer walk this earth. May the tales of your bravery reach the far-corners of this earth and may you live out the rest of your years in peace and prosperity. And let this not be 'good-bye', but merely 'until next time.'" Every glass raised high in admiration and appreciation. Among the former Fellowship were many bright eyes and blinked back tears as they remembered their friends and comrades, fallen in battle.
As the hall began to empty, Miranda found herself seated at a table with the seven travelers she had arrived with. She watched as Arwen kissed Aragorn sweetly goodnight and returned her farewell. Miranda sighed in regret. She didn't know if somewhere there was a 'Mr. Miranda' waiting, worrying, wondering, but she doubted it. She felt very alone.
**Maybe I'm just not the type,** she thought. **Maybe it's just not meant to happen.** Sighing, she lifted her goblet, enjoying the warmth settling in her stomach. The fire burned cozily in the hearth and they sat close around the short table, sometimes laughing, sometimes with tears. She sat quietly, listening as the seven talked of the recent war and something involving a ring. Miranda had heard snip-its of the tale and had put enough together to know that some terrible fate had been averted by these very people. As Gimli referred once again to the mysterious ring, Miranda spoke up,
"What did this ring have to do with the war?" Gimli looked up in surprise, having nearly forgotten she was there. The Hobbits and Aragorn exchanged looks, uncertain how to explain the entire story in only one short night.
"In truth, the tale begins and ends with Hobbits, it seems right they should tell the tale," Aragorn said, raising his glass to Frodo.
"I...I think tonight I'll let someone else speak," Frodo said softly, looking down at his hands. There was a moment of silence, then Legolas spoke,
"If it please you, then I shall tell the tale," the rest were struck by the uncharacteristic humbleness in his voice. Frodo nodded gratefully and sat back as Legolas spun the extraordinary tale in true Elven fashion. Miranda watched in fascination as his features became more animated than she had ever seen them. He spoke quietly and evenly of the events leading up to the attack on Mordor. Her eyes widened as she realized he was nearing three thousand years old! The numbers seemed impossible to her, her mind refused to wrap itself around the magnitude of three thousand years. The story of Gandalf the Grey, later Gandalf the White, made her blink in disbelief. A wizard? These things were real?
"It was then we heard the call of the Horn of Gondor and followed the sound to its source, but found Boromir already dead." Seven faces fell in sadness as they remembered their fallen companion.
"But I thought he was bad!" Miranda questioned. "He tried to steal the ring!"
Aragorn spoke, then. "Yes, but you cannot imagine the pull of that ring. All of us felt it, felt it calling to us. Boromir loved his home-land above all else and thought only of his country-men, who died by the hundreds daily, protecting Gondor. With the ring, Boromir saw a brighter future for his people. He could not understand that the ring would corrupt even the truest heart, given a chance."
"In the end, though, he realized his error," Merry said shyly. "He fought with the strength and bravery of ten men to protect Pippin and me. It took three arrows to bring him down-" Merry broke off as tears threatened to fall. Miranda was unused to masculine emotion displayed so freely and wondered at the sort of person who might inspire such feelings.
Legolas continued their story and as she watched, his face and voice grew rough with passion as he described the courage of the Hobbits, of the lady Eowyn and Merry's beloved Theoden. His eyes shone with pride as he regaled how Gimli slew thirty Orcs within as many minutes, then bellowed for more. He told of Aragorn's noble plea for help and the joy of seeing those great ships with the white flags sailing up the Great River.
In the end, Sam took over, telling for the first time in depth of the trials they faced on their climb up Mt. Doom. Miranda felt sure he was down-playing his own role, but smiled as Sam ended,
"So down into the fires went that slimy old thing, Mr. Frodo's finger still in his black teeth," Sam shuddered. "I hope never to see such a horrible thing as long as I live!" He took a long drink of his ale, as if trying to dissipate the bad taste left by this Gollum-creature.
Miranda saw her new friends in a fresh light. She was amazed by their bravery and self-lessness. These creatures, scarcely larger than primary students, had saved their world from a terrible fate. She smiled gently at a pensive-looking Sam.
"I've never met a hero, before," she said. Sam blushed and ducked his head.
"Well, I don't know much about that. It was Mr. Frodo, it was, who was the hero. I was scared stiff the whole way, wishing I was back in my garden or safe in bed!" Sam cried.
"I'm no hero, either, Sam," Frodo said softly. "I was afraid the whole time and I gave in to the ring. If Gollum hadn't-" he broke off abruptly, staring into the fire. Silence descended around the table. Miranda racked her brain for a way to tactfully change the subject when a melodious voice near her murmured,
"Perhaps you would care to share a tale of your people with us." Legolas watched her carefully, alert for any nuances or twitches. There was a possibility her memory loss was feigned to detract questions of her intentions. Though he did not believe her capable of such deception, and saw no reason for a possible deception, he had been entrusted by Lord Elrond to find out what he was able.
Miranda thought for a minute, then shook her head.
"I really can't- wait!" A phrase had popped into her head suddenly.
`Once upon a time," she spoke in English. They all exchanged looks.
"Sorry, I do not know how to say that in Common Speech. But I remember stories. Fairy tales, they're called," she took a sip of her wine and smiled as the rest settled back into comfortable story-listening postures.
"There was once a great kingdom, full of brave knights and a mighty king," she began, substituting English words when she didn't know the Westron word. But the others could work out the meaning of those words from the rest of the story. "This king grew old and his kingdom fell to ruin. The once chivalrous knights began to fight amongst themselves. The king had two sons, one a large, muscular man who was an unbeatable fighter, but cold and deceptive. The other son was little more than a boy, thin and studious. This younger one they called Wort, and he was sent away to study with a very old wizard. This wasn't just any wizard, however, he was the most powerful wizard ever. But for his extraordinary powers, he paid a price. He grew younger, not older. He appeared in the world quite old and knowing everything, and grew younger every year, while forgetting that which he once knew."
Miranda paused and took another sip of wine, surreptitiously looking round the table. Merry and Pippin sat with arms on table, chin in hands, the others more relaxed, but all were eagerly awaiting the rest of the story. She was warm and slightly tipsy, and was strongly reminded of her years at University, sitting at the pub with friends on a rainy-night, telling of loves gained and lost, terrifying Professors and miraculous grades. She smiled to herself and continued telling the story of Arthur and Merlin, the Knights of the Round Table and of Camelot.
"As the day dawned, dark and dreary, a roar went up as Sir Lancelot rode in on his mighty white steed to save his true love, Guinevere. Sweeping her majestically onto the horse, they escaped from Camelot, as over a thousand arrows flew at them, but not one reached its target. King Arthur's plan had worked and his beloved Guinevere was saved. They say you can still see them on clear, moonlit nights: a tall white horse carrying a brave knight with his love." She finished and saw several faces with clear tear-marks. Pippin couldn't take it anymore and he broke out,
"But why'd Arthur give her up? He loved her sa mooch!" Miranda was about to answer when Sam responded with:
"It was because he loved her that he let her go. He wanted more than anything for her to be happy, even if that wasn't with him!" He sniffed loudly and blew his nose into his shirt-sleeve.
Legolas shook himself imperceptibly. He had been more enraptured by her voice than ever before. Story-telling was beloved by all Elves, but was one of his particular passions. He had never met a human who held his attention so entirely and was slightly embarrassed that he had been so enthralled. He watched Miranda talking with the Hobbits and wondered what about this particular woman thrilled him so. He knew nothing about her, had known her for scarcely two months, but he felt something, something he hadn't felt in aeons.
The hour was now very late, and Pippin could not contain his yawns. Propping himself up, he smiled at Miranda sleepily.
"Nex' time, ^hic^ nex' time, I'LL tell YOU a story. A story aboot a great Hobbit who rode ta battle wi' his bravery an honor an naught else!" Frodo and Sam rolled their eyes, while Merry quipped,
"Ahhh, you're going to tell her about me?" Grumbling and shoving each other, the four headed up to bed. Aragorn caught Legolas watching Miranda and decided it best to leave. Encouraging a protesting Gimli to accompany him, Aragorn bowed over Miranda's hand and bade her farewell.
"I hope you will return with the little ones at New Year for the wedding. You would be well-received," he said. After saying good-bye to Gimli and watching the two leave, Miranda realized Legolas was still sitting beside her. She hadn't wanted to leave the comfort of the fire and table to return to her cold, empty bed, but had expected to remain alone. She looked at Legolas and said, rather uncomfortably,
"So, errrmmm, Gimli told me that you and he were off to see some caves?"
"Yes," Legolas answered simply.
"So.....they're special because?" she trailed off.
"I am not entirely sure," Legolas said thoughtfully. "Gimli claims we are to visit caves of 'unimaginable beauty,' and that I shall be quite in 'awe' of Dwarven mining abilities." He smiled fondly, thinking of his friend.
"Talk about opposites attracting!" Miranda laughed. Legolas eyed her quizzically.
"I would gladly discuss whatever you like, but I do not think I understand 'opposites attracting?'" He said, having understood her literally. Miranda shook her head, laughing.
"No, I mean you and Gimli. I've heard from a number of people that the two of you weren't very....well, you weren't perhaps the very BEST of friends before. You must admit, you are ~quite~ different," she said.
"Are we?" Legolas asked curiously. "I admit, I do not understand Dwarves. They are so secretive, yet blunt. They hide away in the mine and are completely untrustworthy, yet they fight honorably and with extraordinary strength. I was taught by my people, that Dwarves could never be trusted, that they thought only of themselves and were greedy and selfish. I thought this of Gimli, when first we met.
"But soon I discovered how very wrong I was. Many were the times Gimli stopped a blade from reaching me, or distracted an Orc about to attack. We slowly stopped our arguing and began to learn from one another. I learned-" He broke off, bemused. "Everything I had learned about Dwarves, was exactly what they learned about Elves!" He shook his head slightly, in disbelief. "He called me dishonest, self-serving and arrogant!"
Miranda smiled at that, but hid it with her hand. **Arrogant? Legolas? You must be kidding!** She thought sarcastically, but affectionately. Legolas appeared to have read her mind, though, and said calmly,
"I understand you, as a human, may think me arrogant when I fail to deny ability or negate accomplishments. Your people thrive on false modesty, but mine see nothing wrong in accepting compliments or honor when they ring true.
"We are faster, defter, more agile, and quieter than every other race. We are immune to disease and shoot more accurately than any others. This is not arrogance, it is truth." He spoke simply and without pretense, and she was surprised to notice he seemed almost pleading with her to understand. He looked very young in the firelight, his skin smooth and unlined, but his eyes were too calm, too self-aware to be young.
Miranda thought for a moment about what he'd said. She agreed with him in theory, but...
"I suppose so...."she said. Sensing he was fighting a losing battle (and Elves hate losing), he cannily changed the subject.
"Are you prepared for your journey to Hobbiton, then?" he asked. Relieved, Miranda began to talk about the trip preparations made by the Hobbits.
"They seem to have everything under control. I feel a bit useless, truth be told," she admitted. "I know nothing about planning journeys and I don't think I've ever really been an 'outdoorsy' sort. The idea of WALKING all the way there, which they said would take several weeks, is a bit intimidating."
"True, if you are a lady of some far-off land, as we believe, you are most likely unused to traveling by foot. Perhaps Lord Elrond could arrange an equine ride for you. Rivendell ponies are much sought after, I have heard." He spoke earnestly, but she shook her head.
"No, I think if they can to it, I can do it! Besides, they're all so little, I'd feel foolish being so much larger than they. I already feel like an lumbering oaf among most of you!" She laughed. They sat quietly for a moment, but it was a comfortable quiet. They were at ease with each other and felt happy just sitting, watching the night-sky.
"Do you miss your home?" she asked quietly. He looked down at his hands and seemed somewhat uncertain.
"Yes, I miss the trees and the wind of my homeland. I miss the familiarity and unchangingness of it," he seemed to be skirting some issue, Miranda felt. He was still watching his hands, so she tried another tactic.
"Do you have a family?"
**I.e. Is there a Mrs. Legolas floating around out there?** She thought to herself. Legolas was about to say something when the last log in the fire broke in half with a large crack and subsided into embers and ashes. Miranda tried to contain her yawn, but couldn't. He was on his feet in an instant, offering her his hand.
"Many pardons, lady. I have kept you up long past the hour you should be in bed."
**Blimey, he's quick to get rid of me, isn't he! Maybe he's got a hot date with some Elvish maid...and here I've been yakking at him...** Embarrassed, Miranda stood quickly and awkwardly shook his hand. She missed his look of confusion, and didn't register that no one in Middle-Earth shook hands.
"Well then, its been real. I guess I'll see you again in the winter, or are you coming to the wedding?" Miranda said.
"I will attend, if my father can spare me, and of that there is little doubt," he said. She was too preoccupied to catch the faint bitterness in his voice. She said goodbye and quickly went upstairs, leaving him to gaze after her and wonder about the swift change in mood.
Later, he was left wondering why, after looking forward to this trip with Gimli, he now wanted to remain at Rivendell and become better acquainted with the woman. Sighing silently, he decided he was nervous about his return to Mirkwood, now Greenwood, and was perhaps trying to prolong it. As the moon made its way across the night sky, the Elf remained in the hall and sat, deep in thought, until morning.
*****
Though Miranda woke very early the following morning, Legolas and Gimli had already left, and the Hobbits were having breakfast. She had been gifted with a traveling outfit consisting of breeches and over-tunic with a heavy woolen cloak and sturdy leather boots that felt light as air. A knapsack had been given her, filled with various dried fruits and meats and lembas, in addition to water-skins and a sleep-sack.
Having said good-bye the night before, the Hobbits and Miranda left quickly and quietly, without fanfare. By midmorning, they were well away from Rivendell and stopped for a short break and 'elevenses.' Miranda sank to the ground and gratefully accepted the coffee and roll handed to her. By nightfall, she wearily sank into her sleep-sack and tried to get comfortable on the hard ground.
**Oh, God. We've only been at it for one day and I'm already exhausted. We've got nearly four weeks of travel left. THEY don't even seem to notice the fact we've been on our feet all day!** She thought, looking over at the Hobbits who were merrily having an after-dinner smoke. She had been surprised by the pace they kept, considering how short their legs were.
The next morning, Miranda arose stiff and sore. She was not cut out for the outdoors-life, but couldn't complain.
**For heaven's sake! If they can do it, I can do it!** Grabbing her pack, she called to the yellow dog with whom she was re-becoming friends, and followed the Hobbits. Over the next few weeks, she began noticing changes. Her legs no longer ached at the end of the day. Her blistered heels developed rough callouses and her soft hands gained scratches and callouses.
"Look!" A voice broke into her thoughts. "Bree!" Pippin's excited tones made Miranda look up. In the distance were the walls of a town.
"Tonight we'll sleep in beds and have a real meal!" Merry said dreamily. Sam looked a bit hurt at the 'real meal' bit, but forgot it in his excitement of a bed. A heavy rain was falling, and they hastened to the enormous gate.
Although all five pounded upon the door for several minutes, their calls went unanswered. Merry and Pippin exchanged a look, for they had expected a more welcoming greeting.
At last came the gate-keeper and smiled to see the familiar faces. They hurried to the Prancing Pony, though Sam was disheartened to see Bill Ferny's house dark and unkempt. He wondered what might have become of his dear pony?
At the Prancing Pony they were created with cheer by Mr. Butterbur, who kept his surprise at seeing a human woman traveling with them to himself. His anxious manner and careworn face did not escape Hobbit notice, however, and they wondered to themselves, what might be worrying him so.
After dinner, Butterbur returned and heard their tale, of the battles, of the Ring's demise, and finally, of their meeting Miranda. He muttered the occasional "You don't say!" but seemed rather pre-occupied. Finally he began to explain of the problems in Bree, of the disappearance of familiar faces and uncertainty of the terror that seemed barely held off. Before letting them to bed, however, Butterbur surprised Sam.
"If you'll wait a moment, I have something for you. He came back all alone, shaggy and thin as a rail, but alive, nonetheless."
"What! My Bill?" cried Sam. "Well, I was born lucky, whatever my gaffer may say. There's another wish come true! Where is he?" Sam would not go to bed until he had visited Bill in his stable. That night, they repacked their bags in preparation for the short trip home. As Frodo repacked his sack, he revealed a large, red leather-bound book.
"Is that....." Sam trailed off breathlessly. Frodo looked up and smiled sadly.
"Bilbo thought it best if I took it back to the Shire and finish it. He is tired and....well, he thought it best." Frodo shared with Sam his farewell from Bilbo and they both sat silently, thinking of their beloved friend.
Before they left Bree, Barliman made strange hints at all not being well in the Shire, but refused to elaborate. As the fivesome left, villagers were treated to the sight of Hobbits in armor, a woman dressed as a man, and two Hobbits walking sandwiched between a yellow dog and a shaggy pony. As they neared Hobbiton, talk arose of Tom Bombadil.
"I should dearly like to see the old fellow again," said Frodo wistfully. "I wonder how he is getting on?" They all agreed, and as the sun began to sink in the sky, stopped short of sight of the Brandywine.
"Well here we are, just the four of us who started out together.... and a guest," said Merry. "We have left the rest behind, one after another. It seems almost like a dream that has slowly faded."
"Not to me," said Frodo. "To me it feels more like falling asleep again."