Disclaimer: We interrupt this program to perform an emergency broadcast regarding information that has not changed since the last time you checked: George Bush is still from Texas and I still don't own LOTR. This broadcast was brought to you by me and my usual gang of idiots—namely, my few remaining brain cells—with support from viewers like you—no, the person at the computer, not the guy in the shrimp costume. Now for your regularly scheduled chapter.
A/N: Do you know what time it is? It's time for…
REVIEWER APPRECIATION CHAPTER!
This is where I take the time to thank all the lovely people out there in Reviewer land who have taken the time to read and review this fic. I truly appreciate the support, praise, criticism, and even flames. You all motivate and inspire me to write more and make it fun for me to write.
Now, what I'd normally do is buy everyone candy and food you can send over the internet, so I've decided to distribute lollipops to the masses along with my famous life-size solid milk chocolate statues of Legolas. Thank you all sooo much for your support, criticism, etc., etc. It is most appreciated.
Also, special thanks to Ravyn, who is my official pesterer.
And now, it's time for Chapter Twenty-Nine, which I dedicate to anyone who's ever reviewed this story.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
(Dedicated to all my reviewers)
I was awakened very early the next morning with a splitting headache and a major case of cramps. I muttered a few offensive phrases into my pillow before yanking the comforter far over my head and rolling over onto my back.
Unfortunately, I had failed to notice that the side of the bed ended only a few inches away from where I had been sleeping, and also in the direction that I had chosen to propel my body. I clawed helplessly at the sheets as I felt the bed disappear from beneath me, knocking my wrist against the bedpost in the process. I plummeted to the floor, taking the comforter and several blankets with me, emitting a string of curses that made absolutely no sense. I finally crashed to the floor, crashing into the bedside table and banging my already aching head against the wall.
"Dammit…" I muttered a few moments later. A candleholder clattered to the floor in response.
Grumbling, I sat up and pushed the twisted mass of sheets and blankets back onto the bed. I sat quietly for a moment or two before I attempted to stand up, feeling nauseous, dizzy, and grossly overtired.
I have got to limit my caffeine intake, I thought to myself as I sat back down on the bed.
I sat and stared at the wall for about five minutes, feeling to tired to function, but too awake to even attempt to go back to sleep. My eyes slid in and out of focus until a tiny little thought was able to form inside my half-functional brain:
I gotta pee like a racehorse.
This hit me quite suddenly and I jumped to my feet, an action which I regretted almost immediately afterward. Yesterday's little ride across the plains had been hell on my leg muscles and the pain in my butt was enough to convince me to avoid horseback riding forever. Thankfully, I managed to stagger to the bathroom without doing too much damage to myself or anything else in the way.
After I relieved myself of almost all the liquids I had consumed the night before, I decided that a nice hot bath would suit me very nicely. Unfortunately, it was at this point that I realized that my bath had not yet been drawn and there was no tap or faucet in sight. How they managed to fill the bath in the first place is still a mystery to me.
"I want real plumbing, dammit…" I muttered angrily to the empty tub, stamping my foot on the floor for emphasis. I desperately needed a hot bath, so rather than do something sensible, like call a servant, find a nearby pond, or even bang on someone's door and demand that they let me use their bathroom, I limped back into my bedroom with a bar of soap, in search of the washbasin and pitcher I had seen Celia had set out for me last night. I reached the washstand and dumped about half the contents of the pitcher into the basin along with the bar of soap, grabbing one of the towels that had been folded neatly on the table and dunking it in the semi-soapy water.
"Operation: Sponge bath," I muttered to the white porcelain.
*
About thirty minutes later I had successfully cleaned myself, along with large portions of the floor and rug. I mopped up the larger puddles with a towel, figuring that a little soapy water probably wouldn't do too much damage, seeing as some of the carpets around here look like they've never been cleaned.
After drying off, I dug through my pack in search for a clean pair of clothes that Celia had not yet managed to confiscate. She said that she was taking them down to be cleaned and repaired, but I had a nagging suspicion that I wasn't going to see the clothes I had been wearing upon my arrival again in this lifetime. The cleanest shirt I had in my possession smelled slightly smoky and the pants I had chosen had some grass stains on the knees, and it looked as though the stitching on the hem was coming undone, but I decided that I didn't care. Besides, I'd rather wear slightly dirty clothes than a fancy clean dress (which, judging from the inside of my armoire, there are plenty of).
I ran a brush through my hair a couple times and spent about twenty minutes trying to execute a perfect French braid (I contemplated asking Legolas to braid my hair, but decided that I'd rather not take the risk of being throttled this early in the morning). Once I had constructed something that vaguely resembled a braid, I stared at my reflection for a moment before cautiously opening a drawer and withdrawing a small pot of rouge and tube of lipstick. I opened the rouge and blended a little into my cheeks, trying hard to make it look natural. Once satisfied with my work, I applied a small amount of lipstick, blotting at it with a handkerchief. I stepped back and looked at myself again. It wasn't a drastic change; just a little subtle coloring that made me look healthier and a little more polished. Pleased, I shoved the make-up back into the drawer and exited the room.
*
I wandered for a good twenty minutes, traipsing down many corridors and avoiding narrow collisions with servants, most of whom were very anxious to know why the heck was I up so early and without a proper escort (their inquiries were much more polite, of course). I'd rattle off some excuse about being bored and hungry, but I found it much more entertaining to tell them that I was returning from my lover's bedroom or that I was attempting to find Nemo (I got a few offers of help on that last one). Sure, I might have earned a bit of a bad reputation for myself, but the expressions were absolutely priceless.
I unintentionally stumbled into the Great Hall, sometime later, and decided that I needed breakfast and that I was going to whine about it to someone until they brought me food or kicked me out, whichever came first.
And then I noticed that I wasn't alone. Gimli was sitting at a table, brooding over what looked to be a mug of warm milk and a grey mass that was apparently supposed to be porridge. I grinned to myself and waltzed over to the table.
"Why if it isn't Mr. Hangover himself!" I exclaimed, plopping down across from him. He grunted in response "How are we feeling today, Breakfast Buddy?"
"It would be very foolish on your part to bother me this morning," he muttered in response, downing more of his milk in a tremendous gulp. "I need to have a word with you," he announced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I raised an eyebrow. Gimli wanted to talk to me?
This was almost too bizarre. The pod people must have had something to do with it…
"Um…okay. So…what's up?" I replied after a moment of awkward silence. Gimli looked heavenward.
"The ceiling and if you're going to be bothering me with more inane questions, my axe will answer for me," he snapped angrily, his grip tightening on the mug in front of him. I sighed heavily.
"Gimli…let's review for a second…it's a figure of speech…it's not—oh never mind," I replied, losing patience with myself. I still had a headache and wasn't in a mood to explain anything. "What do you want to talk to me about?" I demanded irritably. Gimli looked around shiftily.
"Keep your voice low. The walls have ears." I frowned. Where the hell did that come from?
"Yeah, I hear they have noses, too…" I replied. "And some," I said leaning in closer, "even have EYES!"
"Enough of this nonsense!" he barked angrily. I raised an eyebrow. Apparently hangovers make him edgy.
Wait, he's always like that…never mind…
"Fine. But I would greatly appreciate it if you would get to the point of this conversation. And make it fast. I'm hungry," I snapped back irritably. Gimli glared at me for a moment before sticking his spoon into his porridge, which looked to be made of water and grayish oats with suspicious chunks protruding from the surface. I wrinkled my nose.
I don't even want to know what the eggs look like…I think I'll have dry toast. I don't think you can get food poisoning from that…
"I will be very direct," Gimli promised between chews. He took a swig of milk, presumably to prevent the cement-like porridge from sealing his throat shut completely (strangely, he didn't seemed to be bothered by the strange consistency of his breakfast). He swallowed and looked at me, eyes narrowed with a sort of smugness. "You have an eye for Legolas, do you not?"
I blanched.
Holy crap.
Shit, shit, shit, what the hell am I going to say? How can I get out of this? Do I say anything? Laugh at him? What? WHAT? I need a line…anything to get me out of this…come on…THINK! What do I do? Oh my God my life is OVER! OVER!
"WHAT?!" I managed to choke out a few moments after my heart restarted itself.
"You have an eye for Legolas," he repeated, this time with more conviction.
"You're still drunk, aren't you?" I responded in a desperate attempt to make him look foolish. Must remain calm…no sudden moves…
"There's no use trying to deny anything," he stated, looking very satisfied with himself. "I see things—the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" If I hadn't been scared shitless, I would have rolled my eyes. Last time he tried to pull that one, he almost became Dwarf-On-A-Stick.
"Gimli, you have just received an award for being the most ridiculous person on the face of the earth," I announced, praying that he would just shut up and go back to his porridge. However, there was a certain gleam in his eye that suggested that he was not going to drop this any time soon. He finally had some dirt on me and he wasn't going to relent until I confessed.
"Why are you trying to deny it?" he asked with a heavy sigh. "Where does that get you? Nowhere! You should want to shout it from the rooftops and let EVERYONE know!" He illustrated his point with a flourish of his hand. I sighed.
"Gimli, there are some things that I don't want to 'shout from the rooftops' because they are embarrassing—"
"AHA! You admit it then!" he crowed, banging his fist on the table. The little color that had returned to my cheeks drained completely.
Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!
"I didn't admit anything!" I insisted with in an embarrassed flurry.
"Ah, but you did," he returned triumphantly.
There was two minutes of complete silence as I retreated to my thoughts, grasping desperately for some kind of retort, explanation, anything that would help me get out of the rut I had driven into. I thought about trying to convince him that this entire conversation was a dream, but the odds of that working were very slim.
For the first time in my life I couldn't get out with a snappy comeback or with the use of my obscure sense of logic. I was completely on my own.
"Okay, fine, you're right," I finally spat out, regretting it almost immediately and faced with an impending feeling of disaster. "But Gimli, I swear to God if you let ANYTHING slip, you won't be eating solid food for at least three months. Do you get my drift?" He held up a hand.
"It is not my confession to make. But I will swear upon…" he thought for a moment. "…my love of the Lady of the Golden Wood…" he continued, his eyes becoming rather dreamy and wistful (which, to say the least, was a little disturbing).
"Fine. Just keep your mouth shut," I replied abruptly, breaking off his little soliloquy.
"Why do you wish to keep it silent?" he asked suddenly.
"Because it's embarrassing, especially if…never mind. It's just embarrassing," I answered, desperately wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible.
"Then how do you expect to make any progress?" he inquired, looking somewhat sagely for a change. Although I continued to repeat to myself that he was just a crazy dwarf, what he said made sense and I wasn't able to push it away from my thoughts.
"You have some strange ideas about romance, Gimli," I replied a moment later. He grunted in response. "Well, I'm going to go back to my room and see if Celia can do something about my breakfast," I said rising from the table.
"Haley?" Gimli called suddenly. I turned around.
"Yeah?"
"This conversation never happened."
"I completely agree."
*
Oh this is just peachy. All my deepest darkest secrets are privy to a Dwarf. Wonderful, I thought to myself. I was back in my room and Celia had just left to go get me some toast, and maybe some fruit, if they had any. I had flung myself down on my bed and demanded to know why life had to be such a pain. The pillows had no answer for me, so I retreated to my writing desk where I was trying to distract myself with the various functions of the writing tools tucked away in the multiple drawers and cubbies.
Maybe he was right about the whole secret thingy…it makes some sense…I contemplated as I made up a list ('Twenty Reasons Why Things Were So Much Less Complicated Before We Met Those Damn Orcs By the Anduin').
But then again, he was also completely drunk less than twelve hours ago…I reminded myself as I penned in:
The hobbits were still with us and they always seemed to make things better or at least they tried to cheer you up.
But some people come up with good ideas when they're drunk…the guy who wrote Alice In Wonderland was when he came up with the idea. Or maybe he was stoned. I can't remember.
Sam knew how to cook good food.
But it doesn't change the fact that it's embarrassing, especially if I'm the only one who feels that way…
Merry and Pippin: the comic relief of the Fellowship. Enough said.
However, I should learn to take chances…
There was a Fellowship.
I sighed and looked down at the paper. I was feeling depressed and nostalgic, not to mention a little panicked because I just remembered that we still weren't completely sure where most of the hobbits were and if they were still all in one piece. I crumpled up the list and tossed it into the fire.
Maybe I should write something to him…
I picked up a blank sheet of paper and cautiously dipped the quill into the inkwell.
Oh my God, NO! Do you realize how stupid that would be?
I wouldn't have to GIVE it to him…it'd just be…there…
A drop of ink dripped onto the surface of the desk.
For what???
Just for…practice…just in case I need it…
Why?
Another drop.
Just if…if I need to let him know, I'll be able to. If…something happens or…something…
I think you're making a mistake…
Well…I don't…and…dammit, I hate it when I argue with myself like this. I'm writing something and that's it. I don't need to bring up both sides of the issue and turn it into some sort of conversation with myself.
Satisfied with my argument, I placed the quill to the paper and realized that I had absolutely no idea what I intended to say. I can't write poetry and I didn't want to sound like some smarmy idiot, so I was left with about two options: be blunt or don't write anything at all. Taking a deep breath, I dipped the quill into the inkwell again and began to write.
When I had finished, I sat back and read it over:
I love you.
Short, sweet, and to the point. Feeling slightly uneasy, I tore off the rest of the blank page, saving only the small scrap with the writing on it. I slipped it into my pocket and rose from my chair, just as Celia opened the door, bearing a small tray laden with what looked to be about seven slices of toast and at least four different kinds of fruit.
I really hope I don't regret this, was all I could think as I picked at my breakfast.
Actually, I take that back. A good portion of my thoughts were focused on the possibility of one getting food poisoning from toast.
A/N: I'm so sorry if I went all Mary Sue on you (hey, that rhymes!). I'm really not sure how this turned out. I feel like this is a little too clichéd…but in some ways I feel that it's okay, but I also know what's going to happen, so…. Let me know. I'm tearing my hair out here, lol. NOTE: The relationship between Gimli and Haley isn't going to change (believe me…I have too many ideas for future clashes…) but I'm not sure about the reception this chapter will get…it's all part of the Helm's Deep (music cue: dun dun DUN)…but I dunno. Well, if it really bites, I'll revise it. LoL. R/R!