AN- Here is a chapter that was written to answer the request of one of my more close friends. Hopefully my friend will like this. To answer a previous request, no, I don't think I'll write a sequel of The Dark Wanderer featuring Elanariel and Legolas. There is just too much to encompass in this universe of mine, and I'm comfortable with what I'm doing now. I was also asked to include a background check on the characters as I wrote their respective chapters. I will try to do so, and this might also up the word count.

This chapter has 896 words, excluding the AN. Read, enjoy, and please review.

LOVE NEVER ENDING

My name is David Âmul. My age is twenty-eight human years, though I am not human. I am Durvagorian, and I look like I'm fifty-eight. My serial number is 073-68-8303. I have served in three wars and countless battles. I have single-handedly killed more men and orcs than I can conveniently count. I retired at the rank of Captain, with full benefits. I can still run from the gates of Minas Tirith to Osgiliath without pausing. I can also lift over one hundred fifty pounds at once.

I am a master at hand-to-hand fighting, as my eldest daughter can attest. I can hit a moving man-sized target at one hundred yards with a 7.62mm assault rifle, designated the M14. I can do the same with a .45 caliber pistol at a third of that range. Despite the fact that I am retired, all that I need to be reactivated is Lord Donovan's word. I will unhesitatingly answer his call.

I answer only to Lord Donovan, King Elessar, and Queen Arwen. I was the leader of the single most dangerous force upon the face of Arda. The Black Guard, as we were called, got the best training in the world. Stealth and range attacks from the elves, as well as wilderness survival. Defensive fighting from the dwarves. And finally, marksmanship and hand-to-hand fighting from Lord Donovan himself. Wherever the king goes, we go. He is never unprotected, thanks to us.

But still, I am now retired, as I have previously stated. And, truth be told, I am happier as a retired man. Oh, sure, I'm proud of what I can do. But I'm much happier working my business, which I plan to hand down to my eldest son carrying my blood in his veins. Speaking of that business…

"OW!" I roared as a gob of boiling hot fat splashed out of the fryer and landed on my hand. "You bloody sonofa-!"

"David?" came the call from the house. Immediately I silenced my swearing, and I could feel my beard bristling at the effort. I really tried to watch my language around my wife and family, I really did.

"Yes, honey?" I strained out as calmly as I could.

"Did you burn yourself again?" Adra asked, her voice getting louder.

"Yes, dear," I answered as she entered into the bakery. I wiped my still hurting hand on my flour covered apron and sighed. "It's not like I can just stop making the stuff. People love my sourdough bread. Particularly when it's been deep fat fried. I can't ignore the demand. People depend on me to feed their families."

Adra laughed and came up to me, wrapping her arms around my neck and embracing me closely. "That's why I love you. You don't care about whether or not you make money from this. You do it because you honestly care about the people."

I held Adra close, clutching her tightly against me. She was undoubtedly of Numenorian descent, for she looked like she was forty, even though she was sixty. I long got over the fact that she was my elder, and I always found it amusing that people always thought that I was the older one.

Coming out of my thoughts, I gently smiled and tilted Adra's head up before meeting her mouth with mine in a sweet and chaste kiss. I broke away after a few moments, and rest my forehead against hers. "I was just cleaning up here. I'm done with business today, so after a few more seconds we can head in." Without even giving it a thought, I cleared her a space on one of my preparation tables and lifted her up onto the surface. I gave her a quick peck before returning to the task of putting out the fires under the deep fat fryer.

I considered myself very lucky. After more than twenty years of marriage to Adra we have only really fought once. And that was in regards to my decision to catch an arrow for Eldarion, Aragorn's eldest son. Adra was very worried and angry that I had done so, and we didn't talk for nearly two weeks after I came back home. But other then that, we have only had minor disagreements that were resolved with a flip of a coin. Even after twenty years, our love for each other ran strong.

Finally finishing my duties, I took off my apron and rolled my shoulders, and I felt my muscles strain against my shirt. Just 'cause I look like I'm nearly sixty don't mean jack-diddly-squat. I sauntered up to Adra, and gave her my best smile, one that was reserved solely for her. People knew me as a hard ass, but that wasn't necessarily true.

"Adra, are the kids home?" I asked in a low voice that made her visibly shiver with anticipation.

"No," she answered, a glint in her eyes.

"Good," I growled as I swept her up into my arms. After kissing her senseless, I made my way to our bedroom where I gently tossed her onto the bed. I wanted to spend some quality time with my wife, and by the Valar no one was going to dare stop me. I swooped down upon Adra and began tickling her, grinning despite her loud protests amongst squeals of laughter. It was good being me…