Chapter 9: The Chase Part 1

At first, Pippin had been deathly afraid of Mordred. She may have had the same face as Arturia, but her eyes were harder, her armour far more menacing and every time their eyes had met, she had always scowled at him.

That fear had faded quickly after the first day. In their flight, Merry had hit his head on something and had been feeling groggy, his eyes glazed over slightly.

"My friend needs water, please," Pippin had begged.

"Sick, is he? Give him some medicine, boys! Hahaha!" laughed the Uruk'Hai. He had unstoppered a waterskin and poured a potent smelling syrup into Merry's mouth, causing him to choke.

Pippin, alarmed, had screamed for the orc to stop, but a sharp hand slapped the orc's hand away.

"Stupid oaf, you'll kill him at this rate!" snapped Mordred. She had then poured some of her canteen of clean water into Merry's mouth. Mordred had scowled at Merry while doing so, but Pippin soon realized that she wasn't actually angry at them.

In fact, she seemed jealous.

It was the same kind of look Hobbits would occasionally give each other during the Garden Contest, when the winner of the "Best Pumpkin" had been decided upon. Mordred's glare, it was far more scary, but the similarities were eerie.

As the Uruk'Hai encamped for the night, The Hobbits had been dumped on the ground and not given any food. They could not even look hungrily upon what the Uruk'Hai were eating as all they had was maggoty bread and what appeared to be some sort of black, foul-looking jerky.

That was until Mordred shoved a small piece of decent looking and smelling bread into their mouths. Merry and Pippin were so surprised they forgot how to chew for a moment, until she glared at them.

"Oh stop looking at me like that. I can't have you starving to death before you get to Isengard," Mordred snapped, cowing the two hobbits into chewing quickly.

She then sat down heavily onto the night-frozen ground, wincing as her still bloody left arm hung limply at her side.

"Do you need some help with that?" asked Pippin.

A cold-green glare greeted Pippin's question. "What?"

Merry croaked, wondering why did Pippin always drag him into trouble. "Well, I mean, Pippin and I know a bit of the healing arts. We can cut up some bandages and at least dress it…"

Mordred sneered. "You want me to untie your hands."

Pippin and Merry shook their heads furiously, despite the fact that the idea had passed their minds. "Perish the thought, Sir Mordred."

Snorting, Mordred used her right hand to loosen the bonds that bound Merry and Pippin's hands. She didn't untie their legs though.

"Get to work," she snapped.

Pippin and Merry had worked somewhat clumsily given they had to crawl to get the materials. But using a couple of clean strips of cloth that Mordred had given them, some water, and some healing dock leaves that they got Mordred to grab from a nearby bush, they managed to clean and then bind the arm, and the shoulder-wound inflicted by Boromir's sword. However, it was also dislocated.

"Um, Sir… Miss," coughed Merry.

"Oh for the love of… just call me Mordred!" growled the knight angrily. The two had been alternating between male and female addresses during the entire operation and it was getting on Mordred's nerves.

"Mordred, your arm is dislocated, we need to put it back in…" stammered Pippin.

Mordred raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"It's going to hurt," said Merry, wincing.

After momentarily rolling her eyes, Mordred glared at the trembling hobbits. "Well! Do it!" she ordered.

Nodding, Pippin grabbed hold of Mordred's shoulder, Merry grabbing hold of her arm and hand. He was surprised that despite the calluses on the knight's fingers, the hand that he gripped was actually quite small, even for a Hobbit.

"On the count of three. One, two, three!" Merry yanked on the arm and Pippin held tight. Mordred gave a muffled moan as the arm clicked back into place.

Quick as they could, Merry and Pippin sprang back and closed their eyes, not sure if the temperamental knight was going to strangle them. Luckily, when they finally dared to open their eyes, all they could see was Mordred glaring at them, flexing her arm and fingers.

"Thanks."

Merry and Pippin stared at the knight, for the second time in the night, at a loss for words, which was rather rare in itself.

"You're welcome," stuttered Pippin. The two hobbits quickly went to sleep after that, the actions of their abductor leaving them in complete bemusement.

The Fellowship ran the whole day non-stop, chewing on lembas bread and the remainder of their salted pork, even as they leapt over tree roots and stormed through bushes. Gimli had the worst going of it as he was the shortest, and to his utter humiliation Saber, Boromir, or Aragorn were occasionally forced to carry him in order to maintain the pace of their chase. He protested greatly at this humiliation, until Saber reminded him that any delay might cost Pippin and Merry their lives.

As they ran, Saber had told her friends of her past, her actual age and why she looked so young, her kingship, its fall, the Holy Grail War, and her arrival on Middle Earth. She also informed them of Galadriel's Prophecy.

The reaction of her friends had been… mixed, but she wasn't entirely sure what they thought of her and the constant running meant it was difficult to ask.

Gimli was silenced from even grumbling for once. Legolas had only asked her a few clarifying questions, but wore an oddly grim-faced expression that did not match his beautiful features. Boromir's had looked disgusted at the conduct of the Grail War, but he had simply nodded in understanding when Saber described her kingship. All of them had gawked when Saber explained how Mordred had been born from a combination of Merlin enchanting her to produce quasi-sperm, and Morganna taking advantage of the fact to procure some of it.

They had finally stopped as it had gotten too dark and too dangerous to travel over treacherous terrain. Most of the Fellowship, Gimli and Boromir in particular, had thrown down their bedrolls and fallen fast asleep. Being short, and being a normal man didn't help the two's endurance.

Legolas and Aragorn however had taken out a pair of pipes and were now smoking by the embers of the fire. Saber just sat nearby, tired, but not ready for bed. She preoccupied herself with polishing her sword and scabbard, which were slightly stained with orc gore and dust.

"Arturia, do you wish to join us?" asked Legolas.

Turning to the elf, Arturia paused for a moment, then sheathed her blade and sat herself between the pair. Aragorn produced a spare pipe and filled it with some of his tobacco. Legolas lit it with a small twig and passed it to Arturia.

The king of Britain took the pipe in her hand, put it in her mouth and sucked in on the pipe, only to burst into a fit of hacking coughs as cloying smoke filled her mouth. Aragorn patted Arturia on the back, and she managed to recover some dignity.

"This is very strong weed," said Arturia.

"You have never smoked before have you?" asked Legolas

Arturia couldn't help but redden slightly. "No I have not. I never understood why my knights, and my foster father Sir Ector enjoyed this." Undaunted, she put the pipe to her mouth and let the smoke fill her mouth again, slowly this time. Now that it wasn't choking her, Arturia could tell the smoke had a sort of fragant aroma to it.

"It is relaxing, and a good way to pass the time when you cannot sleep," said Aragorn.

Arturia popped the pipe out from her mouth and shrugged. "I suppose so." She put the pipe back in and continued to smoke alongside the man and elf, silently.

A sudden thought occurred to Arturia's mind and she decided to act on it. "Legolas, you are a Prince of Mirkwood if I recall correctly, tell us a tale. Maybe it will put us to sleep faster and give us strength for the chase ahead."

Legolas pondered the question for a moment. "Very well, I shall tell of the Akallabêth, the Rise and Fall of Numenor, and the founding of the Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor."

Aragorn had heard the tale many a time, but listened to his friend speak. Arturia, who had never heard of the saga sat in rapt fascination, puffing from her pipe every so often as Legolas spun the saga in the dramatic, yet sometimes strangely gentle voice of the elvish bards.

It was quite late by the time Legolas had finished and the eyes of them all were tired, but the tale had served its purpose.

"Thank you very much, Legolas, for the story," said Arturia as she stood up.

Legolas smiled, his fair eyes twinkling. "You are welcome, your highness."

Arturia chuckled as she mockingly glared at the elf. "My name is Arturia, Legolas, and unless you want me to call you Prince, I suggest you just address me as so."

"As long as you grace us with a tale for the next evening," said Legolas.

Arturia nodded. "It is only fair, and I have many a great saga to tell of my knights."

"Very well, good evening, Arturia."

Author's Note: Woah, sorry for late updates. I was stonewalled by assignments and then by writers block and then by grad school applications. Here you go :D

Also, someone asked for more Legolas dialogue. I have delivered.

Also, TV Tropes Fanfic Rec? Plox?

Omake: Momma Saber and Mordred

A possible side-story idea I came up with. In a kinder, more modern world, "King" Arturia of the United Kingdom of Great Britain has to raise little Mordred, her clone by her mad-scientist half-sister Morgan le Fay. All the while, she must maintain her status in the real world, but also in the online game "Grail Wars."

Arturia spluttered as her prime minister, Lancelot nodded to confirm her fears.

"You cannot be serious, Lancelot?" she stammered, gripping the arms of her chair. They were in Buckingham Palace, sometimes code-named Camelot.

Arturia's faithful secretary and former girlfriend Guinevere only confirmed her husband, Lancelot's nods with her too-bright smile. "I am very serious my liege, you must raise Mordred as your daughter and heir."

Saber glanced at the tiny, cooing baby in the crib. "But…"

"Unless you want to get married?" asked Defense Minister Gawain, a cheeky smile on his features.

"Heavens no! Hasn't my rejections of that oafish King of Uruk and that crazy serial killer French Lord Gil du Ray shown you that? One just wants me because I'm somehow belong in his "treasure trove," which is more like a harem. The other just wants me because the new French PM Jean of Arc dumped him!"

"Then you must adopt Mordred and raise her as your own. Besides isn't she so cuuute?" cooed Guinevere, holding up the baby to Arturia. The blond-haired, green-eyed infant giggled waving her tiny hands.

Arturia sighed and gingerly took Mordred from Guinevere's hands and lifted her closer. She didn't smile, and was actually doing her best to hide her annoyance.

As if sensing it, Mordred's eyes seem to only grow wider as she pawed the air with her tubby little hands and gurgled:

"Pa, Pa."

Arturia's heart melted at those words and that overkill level of trust, love, and cuteness in Mordred's puppy-dog eyes. A smile making its way onto her tired features, she lifted closer to her.

"I don't know how she knows I'm her dad, but this works for me," said Arturia with a soft smile.