Disclaimer: Hey ho, to the bottle I go, to heal my wounds and drown my woe… said woe referring to the fact that that I don't own any of these characters or places.
(Emerges from under the table) Greetings all and welcome back to In Imladris! Sorry about my rather long absence. Suffice to say that I no longer recommend starting a new job during uni exams and before Christmas- it doesn't work very well. Thank you so so so much to all of you wonderful reviewers by the way. Your kind words really made me get a move on in posting this chapter hehe! Well, now that I've made my excuses etc, enjoy!
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Chapter 6: Hobbit of the Shire
Slender fingers only slighter larger than those of a small child groped almost unconsciously across the loose white shirt which hid the thick layer of bandages covering the shoulder of Frodo Baggins. A pained wince crossed the pale face as yet another twinge of cold stabbed through him, radiating from the deceptively small wound that had been made by the blade of a ringwraith. Yet even as a biting chill crept throughout his body, the thoughts of Frodo Baggins travelled elsewhere.
From where he stood on the large balcony which extended from his room, Frodo was able to see much of the realm of Rivendell spread out below him as it came to light under the rising morning sun. A faintly glowing mist rose from the Fords of the Bruinen as it swirled through the valley, brushing past grey stones and the moss-covered shapes of fallen trees. Here and there in the courtyard below him various shapes whispered, half-hidden by the silver cloud rising from the rolling mass of water. A number of elves were just visible, either alone or in small groups, each floating as gracefully as the mist itself over the hewn walkways and scattered gardens which inhabited the elven valley. Leaning forward slightly, Frodo was also able to make out the blockier figure of a red-bearded dwarf far below him, stomping heavily over a stone path. The son of Gloin seemed to be trying to make as much noise as possible in the otherwise tranquil valley, yet his efforts were to little avail, his footsteps all but muffled by the dampness left by the hovering cloud.
The sound of a second set of footsteps, far lighter than those of the dwarf, alerted Frodo to the presence of someone in the hallway which ran outside his quarters. The dark-haired hobbit's hand fell from his shoulder abruptly and he turned to see a broad, familiar figure entering the room after pausing to knock gently on the elegantly carved door which rested half-open on its hinges.
The sharp eyes of Samwise Gamgee caught the abrupt movement of Frodo's arm as it was jerked quickly down to his side. However, although his forehead was crunched slightly in concern, Sam yet kept his silence as he went to join his friend at the balcony over which the morning sun was just beginning to spill.
"Good morning, Sam," said Frodo quietly, reluctant to disturb the misty morning peace.
"Morning, Mr. Frodo," the gardener replied, taking up a position next to the other hobbit and leaning his arms on the curved railing.
The two remained in silence for some minutes and only the sweetly sung calls of the occasional bird disturbed them as it flew over the tiled rooftops of the Last Homely House. Sam used the time to look over his companion as carefully and surreptitiously as possible, counting himself lucky that the dark-haired hobbit seemed focused on the view before him, thus allowing Sam the best chance to examine his friend and master that he had had in a good while. After many moments Sam heaved a sigh of relief, for Frodo seemed to be healing well. Although he was still a mite paler than usual, the other hobbit seemed nearly returned to his normal self. The only thing which seemed to suggest that all was not quite right, was the slight but frequent twitch of one or other of his hands, as though he sought to press it to his wound, or perhaps, Sam thought darkly, to something else. The hobbit resolved to keep an even closer eye on his friend than he was already, particularly when the time came to leave for Mordor. Sam shuddered as the name passed through his mind. Mordor. He had never thought he would have cause to even mention that evil place unless it was in a story of some sort, and now he found himself planning to go there! The gardener allowed himself a soft, resigned sigh before squaring his shoulders, deciding that there was little to be done about such things, for he was determined to go wherever it was that Frodo went.
Unaware of his companion's heavy thoughts, Frodo gestured down into the valley, over the rushing waterfall and beyond. "Look at that, Sam," he said quietly, peacefully.
"I know, Mr. Frodo, it's a wonderful sight to be sure."
Frodo glanced at the other hobbit, who had sounded rather wistful. "Whatever's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong as such," the gardener replied slowly, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It kind of makes me miss home, that's all. Seeing Rivendell like this reminds me of an early morning in the Shire, walking up to Bag End to do a bit of weeding under the hedges."
Frodo stared out over the elegantly shaped boughs of the lofty trees and the turmoil of the rushing river. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said carefully, "but I don't really see how Rivendell reminds you of the Shire. They are so far away from each other, and not just in distance."
"Oh, I know that, Mr Frodo," Sam replied hastily. "But even if Rivendell doesn't look like the Shire, its got the same feel if you know what I mean. Sort of…alive. A lot more peaceful, and mysterious like, but still…" He drifted off, unsure of what he himself meant, yet Frodo nodded with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. He looked at the blonde-haired gardener rather sadly, watching the other hobbit as he stared out over the reaching valley.
"I'm sorry, Sam," he said quietly.
His friend turned to look at him in surprise. "Whatever for, Mr. Frodo?"
"There is no need to pretend, Sam. You know quite well what I mean."
The other hobbit shook his head firmly. "No, I don't, Mr. Frodo. You've done nothing wrong as far as I'm concerned."
"Sam-" began Frodo, but the other hobbit cut over him quickly, his broad face reddening.
"It's too nice a day to be cooped up indoors," he said hurriedly. "What do you say we go take a walk outside?"
Frodo hesitated. Then, just as he was about to refuse the other hobbit's suggestion, he looked into the concerned eyes of his gardener and friend. A smile stole over his face. He picked up his waistcoat which had been slung over the railing next to him and the two turned towards the door.
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The sun had risen fully above the treetops by the time that Frodo and Sam had made their way down to the sweeping gardens of Rivendell. They wandered for some time along the many paths, both natural and elven-made, with no real idea of where they were going, content to simply enjoy the morning and each other's company. Yet at the sound of laughter which was becoming more familiar by the day, they were drawn in the direction of the archery ground and onwards until they came into view of a field of soft dirt with a low fence running around it. Two figures stood in the middle of the seemingly natural arena, one in the dark cloth of the rangers, the other with long blonde hair which seemed even fairer than usual in the morning light. Curious, the hobbits made their way across dew-clung grass until they reached the dirt ring and leaned on the wooden railings which were as elegantly carved as all else in the House of Elrond. Both elf and ranger had drawn their weapons by this time; Strider carrying the sword he had borne on their journey from Bree and the elf prince having shed his quiver for once, holding only two long knives whose bone-white handles shone in the early sunlight.
Frodo and Sam watched as the two combatants began to circle one another, still exchanging occasional words, most of which were insults about the battle skills of the other. Frodo smiled at the sight of the two friends only to let out a sharp gasp as a particularly sharp chill shot through his shoulder. At a movement from his left he realised that Sam was watching him with a concerned expression shadowing his normally cheerful features. Fighting back the cold, Frodo swiftly forced a smile back onto his face and gestured towards the two circling figures with a nod of his head. "Watch carefully, Sam," he said. "This is something that I don't think we'll see again."
The blonde-haired gardener looked rather dubious as he continued to stare at Frodo, who forced himself to concentrate on ignoring the pain. "Oh, I don't know, Mr. Frodo," he replied finally. "I've got a feeling that we'll see plenty of fighting on the quest. That is, maybe not between Mr. Strider and Mr. Legolas, but I'm sure that there'll be many a chance to see them in action."
"I hope not, Sam," Frodo replied. He repeated his words softly as he watched the elf and the ranger circling in the middle of the ring. "I hope not."
The two figures in the dirt yard had stopped exchanging taunts and their expressions had become more focused, eyes fixed on those of their opponent. Frodo was fascinated by the way in which every movement of the two beings had become more concentrated, the elf's lithe grace becoming even smoother and the ranger seeming to grow slightly in stature, his blade becoming part of him, an extension of his body.
Aragorn brought his sword to his forehead briefly, then, almost before Frodo realised what was happening, glinting silver blades had met with a lightning-quick clash of steel. Elf and ranger remained fixed together, their weapons locked as each struggled for control. In this brief pause, Frodo was just able to make out how the elf had used his two knives to his advantage, trapping the ranger's sword between them. Then the two figures had parted, spinning away from each other, feet moving quickly over the soft dirt.
Again they circled, and Frodo could see a small smile developing on the face of the prince of Mirkwood. A white knife twisted in his left hand and the right echoed the action. The elf seemed to be intentionally baiting the ranger, and indeed, it seemed to be working.
Aragorn made a sharp flourish with his sword which the elf swiftly blocked, returning the blow in kind as he aimed his knives directly at the ranger's head. Frodo and Sam gasped simultaneously for it seemed as though the blades would sheathe themselves in the head of the heir to the throne of Gondor. Yet the ranger ducked at what seemed to be the last possible moment and the honed edge of the knife's blade moved smoothly over his dark head. Without pausing, Aragorn swept his sword around until it neared the elf's left side, forcing Legolas to shift in order to avoid it, then his right hand released its grip on the weapon. Bringing his fist up sharply, the ranger caught the elf a hard blow on the jaw, throwing him off balance. Swiftly regaining his composure, the light being easily managed to find his footing, yet a small frown had replaced his smile.
The side of the ranger's mouth, on the contrary, had quirked upwards slightly. "Do you surrender?"
Legolas merely narrowed his eyes before making a swift uppercut with the blade in his right hand, forcing the ranger to jump to the side to avoid it. "Would you?"
The ranger nodded his head briefly in acknowledgement of the prince's response before once more raising his weapon before him in salute. Again he brought his sword about and the fierce duel began once more.
From where he stood, Frodo watched the battling warriors before him with fascination. Never had he seen anything like this, hobbits being folk who rarely, if ever, took up a proper weapon during their lifetime. Next to him, Sam too stared open-mouthed as knives and sword met once more before they slid off of each other with a smooth rattle. This time the fierce duel between the two took the form of a well rehearsed dance, each being moving in time with the other, anticipating a move before it was made. Showers of dirt were kicked up from underneath the ranger's heavy boots, yet strangely the elf made barely a footprint to show that he had passed at all, much less fought there.
Frodo became aware that Sam had a slight frown on his face as he watched the two warriors. The other hobbit was squinting slightly, his gaze focused on Strider.
"What is it, Sam?"
The other hobbit started and immediately refocused his gaze on Frodo, as though fearful that something had happened to him in his brief moment of inattention. "Pardon, Mr. Frodo?" he asked anxiously.
"You seem puzzled, that's all."
"It's nothing really," muttered Sam, his eyes drifting back to the elf and ranger still moving swiftly over the dirt. "It's just that Strider is moving all wrong."
Immediately Frodo looked to the man who had brought them through many dangers, without whom he knew they would likely not have survived that night at the Prancing Pony. "What do you mean?" he asked anxiously. "Do you think he's injured?"
"Oh, no, Mr. Frodo, nothing like that. What I meant was, he seems to be fighting differently to how he fought against those foul creatures on the hill."
Frodo tore his glance away from the dancing figures to look at his gardener properly. "Whatever do you mean, Sam?" he asked, curious as to what the other hobbit was getting at.
"Well, I can't quite put my finger on it. But when Mr. Strider fought those things that night, he moved differently, heavier like. Now he's fighting more like Mr. Legolas, like a great big cat, if you get my meaning. All smooth and graceful."
Frodo frowned, somewhat puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't know quite what you mean," he admitted, and Sam shook his head.
"It's probably just me, Mr. Frodo. To tell you the truth, I can't really remember much of that night."
"Nor can I, Sam."
The two hobbits settled down once again to watch the fight which showed little sign of abating despite the slight sheen of sweat which was just visible on the human's face. Legolas seemed to have gained the upper hand in the current bout and was forcing the ranger backwards with a series of lightning swift blows, his two daggers little more than flashes of silver.
Aragorn was almost at the edge of the ring when his fighting style altered almost completely from one second to the next. Instead of the graceful arcs he had been sweeping through the air with his sword only seconds previous, he began to make short, sharp thrusts, parrying each blow of the elf's knives with enough force to jar them in the elf's grip. Frodo immediately realised what Sam had been talking about. Strider had previously been mirroring the elf's fighting style, taking quick steps, relying on a nimbleness and speed which the elf could easily match and surpass. Now however, the man was using heavier blows, ones that required more effort but also had more effect against his lithe opponent.
Although both figures were fighting as hard as ever, the pace of the furious battle had slowed and it was now Legolas who was being pushed back. Taking advantage of a second's relief as the elf danced lightly out of reach, Strider brought his sword above his head only to bring it raining down in a series of thundering blows which crashed harshly against the white knives. One particularly fierce blow caught the knife in the prince's right hand at an awkward angle, knocking it out of the elf's grasp. In a swift movement the ranger changed his grip on his sword, almost reversing it so that the blunt pommel struck the elf a solid blow on the chest. Legolas staggered back a pace and the man pressed his advantage, using his greater weight to bear the elf back. Again their blades became trapped against each other, but this time the elf had only one short blade with which to defend himself against the man's heavier and longer broadsword. Attempting to shift to the side to throw off the man's weight and use it against him, Legolas found himself at the edge of Aragorn's blade, the glinting steel echoing the expression in the man's hard grey eyes.
Frodo watched in fascination, unsure of how the proud elven prince would react to his defeat.
"You have improved," Legolas commented flatly, staring at the ranger yet refusing to take even a step back despite the sharp blade that was pressing against his neck.
"I try," the man replied, just as evenly.
"I have not seen you use that move before." Again, the prince's voice was flat. Frodo began to feel a little concerned for the ranger, for Legolas had shown no sign of humour since the duel had ended.
"It has been a long time since we fought," the man replied, finally lowering his sword. "Either with or against each other."
The elf nodded slightly. "True enough." He turned and began to walk out of the ring, picking up his fallen blade in one swift motion. The two hobbits glanced at each other and immediately backed away from where they stood by the gate, wary of being too near to the elven prince whilst he was in this mood, a side of him that they had not seen before. Glancing over at Strider, Frodo saw a flicker of some emotion cross his face, then the man was moving quickly after the silent elf.
"Legolas."
The elf prince halted nearly halfway across the dirt arena. "What?" His voice was hard. The hobbits inched another few steps away from the warrior.
"Is it not customary at the end of a duel to congratulate the victor?" the man asked innocently, leaning forward on his sword which was balanced on its point against the ground.
"You push your luck, human," the elf growled with a dark scowl.
"Come, mellon nin, do not be discomfited. After all, you were only defeated by a mere mortal…one many years your junior…and whom you helped train…" The man grinned gleefully at the glaring elf.
"It was not a defeat."
"No?" Aragorn's tone was mocking. "Then pray tell, O Prince of Mirkwood, what was it?"
"A slight reprieve before I humiliate you with a crushing victory in our next duel."
"A reprieve," the man repeated. "Of course. How foolish of me not to have realised."
The elf gave a short nod. "Indeed. Yet I shall forgive you your transgression."
"You are gracious beyond words, O Prince. And foolish beyond them as well."
Legolas spun and stalked away from the ranger, yet Aragorn remained close on his heels as he strode towards the gate.
"You shall have to teach me that trick," Legolas muttered without turning around, "for my pride shall not stand another de-" His voice halted abruptly. "Another reprieve such as that," he continued more carefully.
Aragorn's smile grew even broader. "I am surprised that it has lasted as well as it has," he returned, "Considering how many times I have bested you."
Legolas fixed a disbelieving stare on the gleefully grinning ranger then simply shook his head with a resigned sigh. "Of course," he said, glancing at Strider, "You realise that had I my bow, I would simply have shot you with an arrow before you and your illustrious sword had even reached me."
"I do not doubt it."
"Nor should you, for it is the truth."
The ranger paused and seemed to be considering the elf's words. "Of course," he reflected thoughtfully, "Such a method could well be seen as the coward's way out."
Frodo cringed.
Legolas eyed the ranger almost curiously, his head cocked slightly to one side. Out of the corner of his eye, Frodo noticed pale fingers shifting restlessly on a bone-white handle. Clearly the ranger had noticed as well, for Aragorn's smirk faded and he began to walk swiftly towards the gate, keeping his sharp grey eyes pinioned on the elf as though wary of his friend's intentions.
"My apologies, mellon nin," he murmured, "But I have just remembered that my brothers asked me to dine with them. I would not wish to be late, so if you will excuse me…" His long strides quickened.
"Your brothers left before dawn on a scouting mission, Estel."
The ranger came to an abrupt halt. Frodo was sure that he saw Strider's throat shift nervously.
"Did they?"
"They did."
"Ah."
"Indeed."
"Then I suppose that I will not be joining them."
"It would be hard to do so with a knife embedded in your back."
"I do not have a knife embedded in my back."
"Not yet."
Frodo looked at Sam who returned the glance nervously, a rather frightened expression on his face. He smiled at the other hobbit and Sam's tense face relaxed slightly, heartened by his friend's reassurance.
Turning away from his friend, Frodo looked again to the two figures near the edge of the ring and felt a quick flash of nervousness go through him. He did not think that the elf prince would harm Aragorn, at least not seriously, yet the elf had a steely glint in his eyes and a determined set to his mouth. With the addition of the knives currently being brandished at the ranger, it all combined to form the very picture of a proud, dangerous and annoyed elven warrior. Frodo felt his own throat shift unsteadily.
Aragorn seemed to have given up reasoning with the elf and was now moving swiftly back towards the gate, making sure to keep his chest towards the elf prince. Yet before he had gone many steps he halted and stared at the advancing elf. "Why am I the one who is retreating? I was the victor in our duel and thus I can simply defeat you again if the need arises."
"Are you willing to risk it?" Legolas asked, his blue eyes threatening.
The man nodded calmly, an answering challenge in his eyes. "I am."
"Then you are far braver than your esteemed brothers, for they declined my invitation to a rematch after their defeat yesterday." Legolas shook his head and uttered a rather rueful laugh. "I must ask you, however, not to tell the twins of our battle, for I fear that I would not live it down for many a year."
"Nay, you would not." Aragorn smirked.
Legolas looked at the man carefully. "You wouldn't."
"Let me assure you that I would."
A new voice cut into the conversation. "There is no need to concern yourself, Estel. We need no other to tell us of what occurred here today, for we bore witness to it ourselves."
Frodo and Sam turned as one and saw the twin sons of Elrond striding gracefully across the field which bordered the practice yards. Behind them from the direction of Legolas and Aragorn, they heard a soft groan and a much louder chuckle. Moving towards the light rail fence, the twins both greeted Frodo and Sam, then, as one came to stand next to the hobbits, the other leapt lightly over the gate, not bothering to open it. With light, firm steps, the seemingly youthful elf lord crossed to where the blonde prince and dark-haired ranger waited.
"Your highness."
"Lord Elladan," Legolas responded with a slight bow, placing unnecessary emphasis on the first word.
"I thought that you and Elrohir were out scouting," said Aragorn, casting a suspicious glance at the innocent-eyed prince of Mirkwood.
"We returned not an hour ago. Did Legolas not tell you?"
Aragorn swung round to face his friend. "You told me that they were out hunting," he accused.
Legolas shrugged. "Nay, I told you that they had left to go hunting. I merely omitted the fact that they had returned."
Elladan laughed at his human brother's frustrated scowl, then turned to Legolas with a mischievous smile. "You are right, mellon nin."
"There is nothing unusual about that," the prince replied easily. He paused, then glanced at the other elf, raising a dark eyebrow. "About what, precisely?"
"You will not live this particular battle down for many a year." Grinning at the dark look that was directed his way, the eldest son of Elrond glanced over at Aragorn curiously. "I must ask you, Estel, how is it that you managed to best the tithen ernil?"
A gleam of laughter appeared in Aragorn's eyes as he recalled his victory. "It was not difficult," he replied airily.
Legolas uttered a most un-elf like snort. "What he means, Elladan, is that he used a number of sneaky, underhanded tricks."
Aragorn rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. "I seem to recall that the twins used those very words to describe your victory over them yesterday," he remarked, a wolfish grin creeping onto his face.
"That victory was completely just!"
"You tripped me!" protested Elladan.
"Nay, you fell over my leg, there is a difference!"
Over by the fence, Frodo and Sam watched in astonishment as the two elf lords began to argue much as Merry and Pippin did on a regular basis. When the debate showed no sign of subsiding, Frodo looked up at the elf lord next to him, whose dark hair was shifting lightly in the morning wind.
"Lord Elrohir?"
The raven-haired elf lord turned to Frodo, an amused smile on his face from watching his friend and brother. "Yes, Frodo?"
"When we were watching Aragorn and Legolas fight, Aragorn seemed to change somehow. In the way in which he fought, I mean."
Elrohir looked more carefully at the figure next to him who was only half his size. "That is an acute observation, master hobbit."
Frodo shook his head and gestured towards Sam. "It was not I, but Sam here who noticed."
"I see." Elrohir looked at the blushing gardener appraisingly.
The soft tread of footsteps against the dirt which layered the ground alerted them to another's presence as Aragorn, having left the two lords of Imladris and Mirkwood arguing between themselves, came to a halt near the small group.
"Frodo, Sam," he greeted them. "Elrohir."
The elf who had been his brother for as long as he could remember nodded back at him with a smile in his eyes. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to answer a question which has been put to me by these admirable hobbits before us, Estel. "
The ranger nodded. "Of course."
"They wish to know why you are able to fight in the style of the elves yet are willing to sink so low as to fight like the Dunedain."
Aragorn fixed a rather insulted eye on the elf lord who shrugged innocently. "It was their wording, not mine."
"I am afraid that I do not believe you in that regard, brother," the man replied offhandedly.
Elrohir shrugged. "That is well, for my words are not the truth."
Without further comment Strider turned to the hobbits, who were once again exchanging a puzzled glance over the unexpected, not to mention strange, behaviour of the big folk before them. "I told you some days ago that I was raised here in Rivendell among the elves, did I not?" he enquired.
The two hobbits nodded their confirmation.
"They taught me to fight," he continued simply, "as well as many other things."
"Like what?" questioned Sam, his curiosity overriding his nervousness.
Aragorn shrugged. "Language, healing, archery..."
"Yet it was not until I took a hand in your training that you were actually able to hit your target," remarked another voice lightly. It was the prince of Mirkwood who had spoken, he and Elladan having approached the small group silently, their feet making no sound in the deep dirt.
The ranger waved aside his words. "That is besides the point," he claimed. "After living for some years here in Rivendell, I joined the rangers and they educated me in their own methods of fighting and such." He shrugged. "Thus I can fight with either style, or with both if I choose it."
"But Mr. Legolas is an elf!" Sam protested. A brief second later a shocked expression came to his broad face as he realised that he had spoken out loud and that his words could well be taken as offensive. However, the three elves and the ranger did not seem angry but were rather looking at him enquiringly. He reddened furiously. "What I meant was, not to be rude or anything, but how did you beat Mr. Legolas, him being an elf and you being…"
"Human?" the man finished with a smile. "It was skill, pure and simple."
Legolas rolled his eyes as Frodo spoke up. "I thought that elves were stronger and faster than humans though?" questioned the hobbit.
Elrohir nodded. "It is true. The firstborn are gifted with speed, and strength above the race of Man," he replied.
"Aye," continued Legolas, "Yet if a human uses a variety of sneaky, underhanded tricks whilst an elf fights fairly, they are more easily matched and the possibility arises that said elf may be caught off guard…"
"And thus soundly defeated," finished Aragorn with a grin.
"It was not a defeat," objected the elf with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"You are right," reflected the ranger thoughtfully. "It was more of a thrashing."
Legolas snorted.
"A trouncing?"
The prince nodded to the hobbits politely, then turned and stalked away with the ranger once more fast on his heels.
"A rout? A vanquishing?"
The hobbits stared at their retreating backs as Elladan and Elrohir exchanged grins.
"You must excuse my brother and the tithen pen," said the elder twin with a regretful sigh. "When they spend even a small amount of time in each other's company, they tend to lose what little sense they had in the first place."
"It should be an interesting journey to Mordor," reflected Elrohir, turning his gaze on the two hobbits who shifted nervously under his intense grey eyes. "I offer you my apologies for their behaviour in advance."
Frodo and Sam glanced at each other, unsure of what reply to make to such a statement, particularly when it came from a son of the lord Elrond.
"Do not worry," Elladan continued more softly, his eyes following the two tall figures of the elf and ranger. "Those two will not fail you, even at the cost of their own lives."
Sam relaxed slightly, reassured by the elf lord's words. Frodo nodded shortly and the four turned to follow the retreating figures as they made their way back to the main house. Yet Frodo's thoughts were dark even as he listened to the twins jesting lightly with Sam. The words of Elladan rang in his mind. Those two will not fail you, even at the cost of their own lives. His stomach tightened as he thought of what was to come. He pressed his hand to his chest, searching for the small bump which was the One Ring. A soft, relieved sigh escaped him as he found it and a twinge of cold shot through his shoulder once more.
TBC
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(hides under table again nervously) I think I like it under here. It's a nice place to hide from potentially disgruntled readers who didn't like my first attempt at a fight (or its result, hehe!)
Next chapter should be up far quicker than this one was and for those of you interested, I also have another story along the lines of 'snowballs' nearly finished. Please review if you have a moment, I'd love to know whether you liked this chapter. Replies have been sent where I could, so if you want one, please log in or leave your email. Thanks also to Ainu Laire, grumpy, fiona, arlad and memyselfandi whom I could not reach. As always, thanks for reading!