A/N. --- Hello Beautiful Peoples. Those of you who have read Harry Potter
and the Oldest Immortal (also under Book Crossovers) know me, immortaljedi.
Those of you who haven't, well… Hello. I am immortaljedi. Pleased to meet
you. I love Books, TV, long walks in the rain and reviews. (hint hint hint)
Anyway, this is a crossover between Lord of the Rings and R.A. Salvatore's
Forgotten Realms books. I haven't decided weather this will be slash or
not, so I'm writing both. This is the SLASH version. If you have a problem
with that, or would rather read the GEN version, read Chiaroscuro Minor (by
me). Chiaroscuro is the technical term for the interplay of light and dark
in literature and art. Those of you who are art or lit majors or take an
advanced lit or art classes know what I'm talking about. If you want a more
detailed explanation, e-mail me. The major is for the fact that dark
(Drizzit) and light (Legolas) have a lot of interplay, as in this will be
Drizzt/Legolas SLASH. (I really love A/L slash, but this hit me and as I
write it I like it more and more. If you don't like it…don't read it. I
like it for the same reason I like Harry/Draco slash in Harry Potter. But I
digress)
This story takes place after the fellowship leaves the mines of Moria and is a day away from Lothlorien. For Drizzt (the only character of any importance in this story from Forgotten Realms) he thinks all his friends are either dead or dying or will die before he is able to return. He has accepted this fact and is moving on. You don't like it, tough. (But if there are enough reviews then I might be talked into a sequel that will change that) Anyway, enough of my blathering. Here is:
Chiaroscuro Major.
By Immortaljedi
Chapter One: Watching
The fire was small and, though it warmed their bodies, it did little against the chill in their hearts. The hobbits were huddled together more for the comfort of a physical presence than for warmth. Unacknowledged tears left stains upon their faces. Gimli sat next to them, mechanically cleaning his axe. His stoic visage was marred by the more than occasional sniffle and, if one looked close enough, eyes rimed red with tears. Boromir sat, eyes closed, against a rock a little bit farther from the fire; but, if he was asleep, no one could tell. Aragorn sat nearer the fire, staring into it without seeing. He had spoken little during the day, and when he did it was commands and of few words. The burden of leadership was thrust upon his shoulders and he took it very seriously, almost too seriously. Already plans for the next day were forming in his mind, though his thoughts tended to stray back to Gandalf, bringing a fresh pang of grief into his heart. Roughly pushing it away he stared deeper into the flames, as if they would tell him what to do, or bring Gandalf back.
The only remaining member of the fellowship who was not benefiting from the fire's warmth was Legolas. He stood off in the forest, staring up through the trees at the starry night sky. He needed the starlight now - his heart was so heavy with grief it was almost a physical weight. Though his sharp eyes were trained on the sky, his keen ears would not let him forget his duty of watch and strained for sound. There was none, save from the camp. It was as if the forest itself was mourning their loss.
Unseen by, him a dark figure watched, intrigued by this strange group and enraptured by the light elf's beauty. The figure was a stranger to this forest, as they were, and had followed them from the mines, where they had disturbed his silent mourning. He had found himself alone in that tomb over one hundred years ago and, though he did not age, the years had taken their toll. Wulfgar was dead…he had seen the warrior fall with his own violet eyes. Catti-brie was surely dead by now, being only human, and Bruenor, her dwarven foster father, was surely fading, though, knowing Bruenor Battlehammer, he was far from admitting it. And Regis…he knew not of what happened to the thieving halfling. He had disappeared before he had departed, and, like Catti-brie, was surely deceased by now. With his friends gone his lifelines were snapped, and he found himself once again living in the pitch blackness of the underground caverns. Many times the hunter in him tried to break loose, and never once had it succeeded, though each time it tried it got harder and harder to control. Poor Guenhwyvar had not hunted on the Material Plane in so long, nor seen the sun. He missed the cat, but was strangely reluctant to call her forth, lest he have not the courage to send her back. For one hundred years he had existed as such. It was once not so hard to be in the dark, but he was used to, and loved, the sight of the sun, but especially the moon. He had come to accept his fate over time, and had resigned himself to wasting away in the darkness.
Then the new dwarves had come, and he had lived on the outskirts, helping the guards from the shadows, never revealing his presence. It was in his experience that most dwarves disliked elves and, being a drow, they had even more distrust and dislike of his kind. When the goblins came he fought with the rest, but there were too many. The goblins overpowered them and the gloomy darkness had once again fallen, claiming whatever of his recovering mind he had gotten back. Slowly he picked away at sentries over the years, and had often heard tales in the distance of ghosts of vengeance with twirling blades and demon eyes. It made him smile grimly…it was not that far from the truth. Then, one day, this band…and the elf… arrived.
He watched them (him) from afar, and helped where he could. He watched as they (he) took down the troll and the young halfling's armor was revealed. He saw them surrounded by goblins and escape the bridge. He saw the old wizard take down the demon, then fall in its wake. He followed them outside, his eyes blinking and stinging furiously from the dazzling light, able to face it with the prospect of loosing this light one's presence. He watched, now a silent protector and strangely connected to this fellowship, this elf.
His keen hears heard a noise in the distance and he turned his head to look, a lock of shockingly white hair falling from the hood. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the object of his affections, Legolas he was called, turn to look as well, then run back, swift as a deer in the moonlight, to their camp to warn the others. Silently Drizzt Do'Urden drew his twin scimitars and waited for the orcs to attack, ready to fight to the death for his starlit beauty.
TBC.
A/N: I know it's short. It's just a beginning. If it gets good reviews then I will write longer chapters, otherwise expect shorter ones, or maybe none at all. What do you think, should I write more? Check out the GEN version as well.
Ps. And remember…opposites attract!
This story takes place after the fellowship leaves the mines of Moria and is a day away from Lothlorien. For Drizzt (the only character of any importance in this story from Forgotten Realms) he thinks all his friends are either dead or dying or will die before he is able to return. He has accepted this fact and is moving on. You don't like it, tough. (But if there are enough reviews then I might be talked into a sequel that will change that) Anyway, enough of my blathering. Here is:
Chiaroscuro Major.
By Immortaljedi
Chapter One: Watching
The fire was small and, though it warmed their bodies, it did little against the chill in their hearts. The hobbits were huddled together more for the comfort of a physical presence than for warmth. Unacknowledged tears left stains upon their faces. Gimli sat next to them, mechanically cleaning his axe. His stoic visage was marred by the more than occasional sniffle and, if one looked close enough, eyes rimed red with tears. Boromir sat, eyes closed, against a rock a little bit farther from the fire; but, if he was asleep, no one could tell. Aragorn sat nearer the fire, staring into it without seeing. He had spoken little during the day, and when he did it was commands and of few words. The burden of leadership was thrust upon his shoulders and he took it very seriously, almost too seriously. Already plans for the next day were forming in his mind, though his thoughts tended to stray back to Gandalf, bringing a fresh pang of grief into his heart. Roughly pushing it away he stared deeper into the flames, as if they would tell him what to do, or bring Gandalf back.
The only remaining member of the fellowship who was not benefiting from the fire's warmth was Legolas. He stood off in the forest, staring up through the trees at the starry night sky. He needed the starlight now - his heart was so heavy with grief it was almost a physical weight. Though his sharp eyes were trained on the sky, his keen ears would not let him forget his duty of watch and strained for sound. There was none, save from the camp. It was as if the forest itself was mourning their loss.
Unseen by, him a dark figure watched, intrigued by this strange group and enraptured by the light elf's beauty. The figure was a stranger to this forest, as they were, and had followed them from the mines, where they had disturbed his silent mourning. He had found himself alone in that tomb over one hundred years ago and, though he did not age, the years had taken their toll. Wulfgar was dead…he had seen the warrior fall with his own violet eyes. Catti-brie was surely dead by now, being only human, and Bruenor, her dwarven foster father, was surely fading, though, knowing Bruenor Battlehammer, he was far from admitting it. And Regis…he knew not of what happened to the thieving halfling. He had disappeared before he had departed, and, like Catti-brie, was surely deceased by now. With his friends gone his lifelines were snapped, and he found himself once again living in the pitch blackness of the underground caverns. Many times the hunter in him tried to break loose, and never once had it succeeded, though each time it tried it got harder and harder to control. Poor Guenhwyvar had not hunted on the Material Plane in so long, nor seen the sun. He missed the cat, but was strangely reluctant to call her forth, lest he have not the courage to send her back. For one hundred years he had existed as such. It was once not so hard to be in the dark, but he was used to, and loved, the sight of the sun, but especially the moon. He had come to accept his fate over time, and had resigned himself to wasting away in the darkness.
Then the new dwarves had come, and he had lived on the outskirts, helping the guards from the shadows, never revealing his presence. It was in his experience that most dwarves disliked elves and, being a drow, they had even more distrust and dislike of his kind. When the goblins came he fought with the rest, but there were too many. The goblins overpowered them and the gloomy darkness had once again fallen, claiming whatever of his recovering mind he had gotten back. Slowly he picked away at sentries over the years, and had often heard tales in the distance of ghosts of vengeance with twirling blades and demon eyes. It made him smile grimly…it was not that far from the truth. Then, one day, this band…and the elf… arrived.
He watched them (him) from afar, and helped where he could. He watched as they (he) took down the troll and the young halfling's armor was revealed. He saw them surrounded by goblins and escape the bridge. He saw the old wizard take down the demon, then fall in its wake. He followed them outside, his eyes blinking and stinging furiously from the dazzling light, able to face it with the prospect of loosing this light one's presence. He watched, now a silent protector and strangely connected to this fellowship, this elf.
His keen hears heard a noise in the distance and he turned his head to look, a lock of shockingly white hair falling from the hood. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the object of his affections, Legolas he was called, turn to look as well, then run back, swift as a deer in the moonlight, to their camp to warn the others. Silently Drizzt Do'Urden drew his twin scimitars and waited for the orcs to attack, ready to fight to the death for his starlit beauty.
TBC.
A/N: I know it's short. It's just a beginning. If it gets good reviews then I will write longer chapters, otherwise expect shorter ones, or maybe none at all. What do you think, should I write more? Check out the GEN version as well.
Ps. And remember…opposites attract!