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.|. Radical Dreamers .|.
Chapter 11 ~ * * * * * Taking care of the provisions, noting down the profit and losses of the month, had always been the very one deed Merry *abhorred* above any other but, alas! was also the very one he couldn’t avoid for the world. So, his beloved and GARGANTUAN book open on his knees, some parchment on the desk and one long swan-quill in hand, he sat in the Common Room, trying to work on several things at once: check exactly *why* they’d consumed twice the chocolate and sugar and flour and cake-ingredients of the previous month; why they’d been using trice the smelling salts (wait, he knew that: it was due to Legolas’s presence and Gimli’s ‘small problem’, as he called it,) and write to their Lady to convince her that locusts had attacked Morfëataur (unbelievable), occupied their food-magazines (even more unbelievable) and devoured all their sweets (downright impossible) and thus she should send some cakes and sweets and such their way (that was actually possible, she’d always had a soft spot for him after all, but Merry was trying not to keep his hopes too high). So taken in his work he was, that the Hobbit didn’t notice someone trying to get his attention until something curled around his leg and tugged defiantly, actually making him slid off his chair some. With a squeal and a quickened heartbeat Merry looked down, his quill at the ready (you don’t know how deadly quills become when stuck into an aggressor’s eye) and blinked as Gimli gestured at him to be quiet from under the desk. “C’ptain?” “Shhhhh!!!” The Dwarf replied hastily, looking about him with wild apprehension. “Y’never know wher th’ blasted Elf may be.” He looked up at Merry then, and his eyes were huge and pleading. “Yo. Y’know where th’ Elf-kid’s gone floatin’ ‘round? I bloody Hell hope he’s annoin’ so’one very far from ‘ere.” Blink. “Is he? I tellja: I ain’t gonna come outta ‘ere ‘til I know the Elf is no’here near.” “Uhm… he’s with Pippin, C’ptain.” Merry answered, after taking a moment to consider. “Y’sure?” Nodding in confidence, Merry placed his quill and book on the table, and reclined back on his seat. “As sure as I’m of the sky being blue, C’ptain.” Giving a relieved sigh Gimli stumbled out from the desk and rose to his feet, patting his long mithril coat off of inexistent dust. Then he froze, his heart stopping and dying and withering and jumping and doing a lot of painful things in his chest as the delighted cry came from close ( and I mean *inches* close) behind him. “GIMLI!!!” the Dwarf spun around, his hands held out in front of him defensively, and indeed Legolas was behind him. Like Merry had said the Elf was with Pippin (who stood next to Legolas, waving at his boss with a toothy grin), but unlike what Gimli had hoped, the Elf wasn’t miles away. The Dwarf gave a disarticulated cry, turned to glare briefly at an angelic-looking Merry (Ehy, he’d never said Legolas was not there, had he?) and then whipped back on the approaching Elf, taking as much steps backwards as Legolas did forwards. “Yo! Fun meetin’ ya here.” He looked about wildly, searching for an escape route even as he retreated. “Ergh. I… really gotta go, though. All-a me lil’ fella’ve’d somethin’ ta eat ‘lready, but I haven’t had lunch yet... or breakfast. Now tha’ I think ‘bout it, I still gotta eat yesta’day dinna. Haven’t had time, y’know, what with my job an’ eveythin’.” Legolas batted his eyelashes cutely, and Gimli pressed himself flush against the wall as the Elf opened his arms at him. “Oh come on, Gimli…” The Elf urged. “At least be a polite guest and give me a proper good morning before you go!” he leaped at the terrified-looking Gimli, and the Dwarf’s reaction proved all the rumours about Dwarves being slow and graceless just *wrong*. He leaped onto one of the column-like roots standing all along the walls and crawled along it to its summit in the blink of an eye. Legolas, who’d fallen on the floor when his target had leaped away, rolled onto his back and gave a fierce laugh. “Why, I had never seen such an agile Dwarf before! And I thought your kin was clumsy and heavy and didn’t like highs!” Gimli shook a pointed finger at Legolas, thought better about it when he slid down the root some, and clutched to the plant with both pair of limbs, glaring down at Legolas. “It *AIN’T* fun, Elf-kid!” “No?” Legolas cooed, eyes sparkling. “NO!” Gimli hollered, shaking his arms fiercely – and thus falling head first off of the root, not unlike a ripe fruit falling from its branch. He picked himself up in no time though, and hid behind the table, eyes never leaving Legolas. “Y’know pretty *WELL* th’ effect ya have on me!” he said, and began scratching his arms and neck with sudden fervour. Red spots appeared on his tanned skin at light-speed, and Legolas’s grin broadened. “I’ve much and many effects on many people, but you…” he sauntered toward the Dwarf causally, and Gimli reflexively hunched behind the table. “…you’re the first one I see that is--” he put a pause here, and when Gimli peeked from his hiding place the Elf all but leaped at him, laughing even as his prey leaped away yet again. “--allergic to me!” “This ain’t bloody funny!” Gimli roared as he ran and hopped and skidded across the room, Legolas hot on his tracks. He scratched the exposed skin of his face and arms as he dashed around, unable to stop the itchy red spots an Elf’s closeness triggered across his skin, or the prickle in his quickly watering eyes, or his nose from getting clogged, or his throat from constricting slightly. “Get’way from me, y‘heard me? Get’way!!” he hollered, still running. For a Dwarf he was pretty quick, Legolas mused as he ran after him, Pippin cheering and hopping at his side, and Lascaran (the squirrel) poised in battle-stance onto the Hobbit’s shoulder (and not onto Legolas’s, for a change). Amusing as the whole scene was, two pairs of eyes looked at it with detachment, brimming with sadness. Frodo and Sam stood at the entrance of the room, perched atop the stairway and looking down with quiet melancholy. Such mayhem may have been fun the first times, when Legolas was… well, Legolas, and was there in mind and heart, and not only in body. But that was not the case anymore. Legolas was changing, and losing some parts of him with each passing day. Worry registered all over Frodo’s face, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and low. “We’ve to do something Sam, and soon. Legolas is…” he broke off, his mind racing for the appropriate word. “Diminishing. Look at him-” he gestured to where Legolas skipped, dodging easily whatever Gimli launched at the Elf to prevent him from moving closer. Sam looked there as well, and despite himself chuckled when Legolas hopped on the table, dodged a complete set of goblets thrown at him, and finally glomped Gimli, squealing delightedly. The Elf moved from a comatose and twitching Gimli only when Merry dashed to his Captain’s aid, his book in one hand and a fuming goblet of potion in the other (they’d long ran out of smelling salts). Through it all, Legolas never stopped laughing; but it was distant, and cold, so different from the musical laughter that had lifted the Hobbits’ hearts when Legolas first came to Morfëataur. “It’s been days since he last mentioned the love he said he was suffering from and was so worried about. Or since he mentioned his family; or his companions in his quest. He seems to have forgotten each and every thing that isn’t Morfëataur. He’s changing, and losing himself along with his memories. I wonder why, though?” “Morfëataur is holy ground for Elves, no?” Frodo turned to Sam, who blushed under the curious gaze of the other. “The Lady said so once. I reckon we can say Morfëataur is enchanting Legolas and be pretty sure we’d put it right. Morfëataur… wants to keep Legolas here, if you see what I mean, Mr. Frodo. It *is* eating him, though not the way Legolas feared. It is making him enamoured with its depths and secrets. And it’s… eating from the Elf’s head everything that could lure him away.” The other nodded, glancing quickly at the Elf around which their conversation revolted. “I fear you’re right.” Frodo said softly. Then he shook himself. “Have you done what I asked you to?” Sam nodded eagerly. “Corridor 24 of the East Wing. Chamber 15-a. I saw him there. And if we hurry, we’ll find him there still.” Legolas felt the eyes on him, and turned from where Merry was kneeling in front of a twitching Gimli; the potion had long been forced down Gimli’s throat and sticks of sweet wood and candles had been lit around him in a circle. Merry murmured an Elven incantation under his breath, stopping now and again to flip the page of his book, face scrunched with worry. Pippin just pocked the unconscious Dwarf with one of the sweet-smelling sticks. Luckily for Gimli, it wasn’t lit. His previous game (aka, torturing Gimli) already forgotten, Legolas waved at Frodo and Sam, and ran up to them with a broad smile. Upon reaching them he clasped Frodo’s hands in his and spun around, head thrown back as he laughed. “Frodo my friend! Is it time already for our stroll? What wonders will you let me in today?” “Well…” the Hobbit replied, trying hard not to stumble on his own feet as he spun. “You know Morfëataur and all his secrets by heart already, Legolas!” The Elf let go of the Hobbit’s hands, and as the poor thing stumbled backwards and into Sam’s ready arms, Legolas performed a weightless twirl and then stood facing the two, arms spread out at his sides. “Tell me and show me everything once again, then!” He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, deprived by any flame he may have possessed once. “Tell me of the cascades you keep in your houses and can command!” “Showers, Legolas.” “And of the hot mouths of stone, and the goblets than send your voices to the surface and the boats you keep than can sail earth and sky!” “Ovens, Legolas.” Frodo smirked. “And microphones, the terraships and our one airship.” The Elf waved his hands dismissively. “Those, those. And tell me again of Glòin Gimli’s Father, and Tùrin; of The Hobbits and the Shire, and Galadriel your Lady.” Frodo laughed, but shook his head nevertheless. “You know all of that already. Today I wish to show you something new.” Legolas’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward with an eager smile. “Today you shall meet the Fellowship of the Star.” Legolas regarded the Hobbit with curious eyes, tipping his head to one side, then the other, as Frodo grabbed a torch and led the way into a dark tunnel, Sam following faithfully behind. The two were already nothing but a small light in the depths of the gloom corridor when Legolas moved, hurrying behind them with light feet and a troubled mind. …Fellowship… of the Star? I wonder… The trio walked into the gloom, moving through a long series of twisting, never-ending hallways leisurely. The low ceiling and the cold walls fused together in the gloominess, so that Legolas felt like moving through layers of darkness, much to his own grief. Frodo and Sam though, moved through the shadows as part of them, knowing those tunnels and shadows too well to really need to watch their steps. Legolas was too nervous though, to pay them or the amused glances they sent behind now and again more than little attention. His heart had been settled on fire by some unknown feeling that he couldn’t understand, and he wondered at it, his mind hurting as he tried remembering. Star? Someone… someone called me Star. Not Star… … …*Morning* Star. Aurêl. That’s how they call me, still. But someone… someone didn’t call me either that or Legolas… he dared call me… call me… boy… elf-boy… and treated me like a child… and I…resented him for that. I hated him. … I… …no… … it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that… … it wasn’t like that at all! Whoever it was, I… I… I lo- So wrapped up in his own thought he was that he almost ran into Sam when he stopped under a low arch leading into a glittering grotto. The floor there was black as night, while the ceiling and walls seemed to sparkle as if scattered with stars. Frodo tugged on an hanging cord, and a panel moved, revealing two huge slits like scars in the eastern wall. Legolas drew in a shaky breath, awed, as light spilled in from the slits, and billionths particles of dust glittered in the golden radiance as though dancing stars. Since he would not move Sam hurriedly tugged the Elf by his sleeve up to the ray of light. Peering from the slits (which were invisible from the outside we may add), the two (and Frodo) found themselves few feet from where the Company had camped. And, to Legolas’s surprise and the Hobbits infinite satisfaction, Aragorn was there as well. Upon seeing him, it was as if the floodgates opened inside Legolas’s mind and heart. He sagged to the floor in what seemed relief, smiling even as his eyes glistened. I love him. Strider… Strider… Strider… my… “…my Aragorn…” Legolas whispered softly, and Frodo and Sam celebrated their success with a manly shake of hands – then thought better about it and hugged. Currently the Man stood in a threatening battle stance in front of an ancient tree, his legs bent at the knees and Andùril in his hands. His forehead was bathed in perspiration, and stray curls of his dark hair were plastered against his clammy face and neck. He eyed the huge plant for one long moment, mutely, and then dashed forward, slashing it repeatedly; “Where is him?!” he yelled to no one in particular, then focused on some innocent low branches and wild bushes that had the only fault to be near him. “Where?!” He slashed blindly, twirling around often and quickly, as if surrounded by many foes - and judging from the trail of fallen branches and cut leafs behind him, Aragorn must have done that for a while. “Where?!” Sam and Frodo blinked. Make it a *long* time: the clearing he was standing in had been crowded with bushes and plants last time the Hobbits had checked. Gandalf was watching the whole show from atop a flat boulder, sitting with his legs hanging from the edge. His pipe was in his mouth, and considering the ashes-heaps at his feet, it’d been there for as much as Aragorn had been slaying innocent plants. It went on like that for longer that the Hobbits had the patience to wait, Aragorn fighting invisible demons and Gandalf watching. Then Aragorn delivered one last strike to the huge tree, before staggering backwards and flop bonelessly on the same boulder the Wizard was on, exhausted. Andùril slipped from his grasp and Aragorn let it go, merely running a hand through his hair. The Wizard sitting at his side moved the pipe from his lips and blew out a thin steam of smoke. It was shapeless, and not unlike any you may see rising from a quiet campfire or an upstart’s pipe –i.e.- watch your back ‘cuz the end of days must be near. “Have you got your wits back, young Man?” The Wizard queried slowly, he too eyeing the trail of smoke oddly. “Famishing yourself and raze Morfëataur to the ground won’t help you find the Elf.” Gandalf brought the pipe back to his mouth and then blew another shapeless trail of smoke – on the count of three, reach the nearest anti-atomic bunker. He turned to where Legolas and the Hobbits were, and his eyes twinkled strangely. He faced forward before Aragorn could notice his attention was diverged somewhere else and “Legolas has been missing for twelve days, already.”, he added casually. At those words the Elf whipped toward the Hobbits, expecting -aching almost- to see them deny it, but they just nodded awkwardly, their cheeks flushing guiltily. The Elf’s head spun. Twelve days. He’d been missing for twelve days. And Strider still… still… He turned hopeful wide eyes to the Man, watching him shake his head mutely. He’s still searching for me… “I heard each star is, was, or will be the reflected light of an Elf on Eä. Legolas’s star is up there-” the Wizard said carefully, gesturing vaguely at the sky. “I know you won’t talk to me, you haven’t for days, but try addressing to it: it may make the pain bearable, at least some.” Legolas blinked, not daring to hope. Pain? Strider was pained by his absence? He hadn’t spoken, or eaten for the worry? The worry caused by *him* missing? “I… can’t stand this, Gandalf!” The Ranger cried out suddenly, hiding his face in his hands. Gandalf glanced briefly to where the spies were taking cover, the twinkle still in his eyes, and then turned back to the Man. “What if I’ll never see him again? What will be of… of me, then?” Legolas’s heart skipped a beat. “What if he’s dead already? Tortured to death, or cooked slowly to the Spirit’s liking? He may have left this world cursing my name, not knowing that I… I… I…” “That you love him?” Aragorn’s head jerked sharply up, but he didn’t dare move his face more than few inches from his palms. Legolas and the Hobbits froze, breath held, Frodo looking up at the Elf with wide eyes. Legolas looked on the verge of a heart-attack. He was pale, trembling, and his eyes glittered suspiciously. Aragorn struggled for words, gazing at his palms unseeingly. “I… I…” Gandalf looked at the Man expectantly. Legolas licked his lips. Frodo clasped his hands together and held his breath, while Sam shut his eyes, crossed his fingers, murmured some prayers to various and casual Valar and tried to watch and stay silent all at the same time. At long last Aragorn parted his lips. “Actually, I don’t…” but just then Elrohir skidded into the clearing, announcing less-than-cheerfully that Éowyn’d had the courtesy to make them a cake (out of what, he was not sure) and that their presence was requited back at the camp. He returned alone, if not for the flaming, flying wizard-staff chasing him and for the curse-shouting wizard-staff’s owner bestriding it. He would have had Sam hot on his tracks as well, hadn’t Frodo jumped on the other Hobbit before he could leap at the dark-haired Elf and squeeze the life out of him. Legolas, tense as the too-drawn string of a bow, had fallen down at the intrusion, and didn’t seem about to recover anytime soon. If anything his eyes had brightened even more, and that had become impossible to deny or hide, even from himself. Frodo looked at the Elf, and something incredibly sad flashed by his gaze. “Sam?” He muttered softly, and the dark-haired-elves-cursing heap of limbs and cloak under him mumbled something in reply. “I think Legolas may need some time to himself.” Sam stopped squirming, and raised his eyes enough to peer from a gap in the clock he’d ended up entangled in. One pale green eyes gazed at the Elf from said gap and then blinked, it too filling with sadness. “Aye. I reckon we’d better leave.” Frodo moved enough to let Sam pick himself up, and then cleared his throat. Legolas didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. Frodo glanced at Sam in hope of some help, but the best the other Hobbit could came out with was to scratch the back of his head, his cheeks flushing slightly as he said, “I… uhm… think I left my cake in the oven. I can smell it burning from here.” And then dashed off into the wrong direction (well, wrong if he wanted to save this rumoured cake). Frodo nodded hurriedly. “I think I left his cake in the oven, too.” A moment later, he was halfway down the (wrong) tunnel Sam had dashed in before, dragging the rather confused Hobbit back toward Legolas. (weren’t we supposed to leave Legolas alone, Mr. Frodo?) They hurried back to their starting point, slipping silently behind some huge boulders, (well, Frodo slipped, Sam was not-so-gently threw behind it, his eyes round as he still tried to realize what they were doing back *there*) as to keep an eye on the Elf without being seen. Legolas, though, wouldn’t have noticed them even if they started dancing in front of him in twin Hippo outfits. He slumped down and turned to lay against the cave-wall, unaware that he stood now like Aragorn’s perfect mirror image, their backs facing. //Actually, I don’t…// Strider had said. And Legolas had been foolish enough to hope, even if just for the smallest moment, that the Man may… may… Legolas slipped his eyes shut, and sniffled, drawing his legs to his torso. Gods, he hated feeling this way, worn out and weak. If what he was feeling was Grief, he’d to remember asking the Valar to banish such hideous feeling from middle Earth once he was done dying out of it and had reached Valinor. “I may love you, Strider.” The Elf admitted softly. “But I sure as hell hate you like nothing else, as well.” The voice answering his was just as soft. “Legolas?” Aragorn inquired softly from outside the cave, and Legolas’s chest contracted almost painfully. Had he been heard? Had he been found? He pressed himself flatter against the wall, head tilted, unaware that Aragorn had done exactly the same on the boulder. “Legolas, can you hear me?” The Man’s voice was still soft, still barely above a whisper. A star above him seemed to tinkle intermittently, and he smiled. “Wherever you’re now, hold on Legolas. I’m coming to save you.” The Elf released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, only to remain breathless and dizzy a mere moment later. “You aren’t going to get rid of me so easily, melethron-ne. Not now that I know that I love you.” Aragorn grinned to the sky. The star overhead tinkled again. Legolas felt like crying and laughing at the same time. That foolish Man! Legolas’s love wasn’t unrequited! Strider loved him back! Strider hadn’t been toying with him! Strider cared for him for real! Strider *loved* him! Strider… …Strider thought he was dead, or at best alive but hating him with a passion!!!! Legolas’s eyes reached the size of teacups, and whirling around he began searching the wall for a way out. He had to tell the Man! He had to! He groped blindly across the rock-walls, until Frodo jumped from his hiding spot. Legolas turned toward him in surprise, but hadn’t time to register fully what was happening that Frodo had already pulled a secret device deep inside one rupture in the wall. A door-like gap appeared right in front of Legolas, and the Elf scampered outside before it had even opened completely. He cried out Strider’s name even as he came to his feet, looking around expectantly, already savouring the feeling of Strider’s arms wrapped possessively around him. But Aragorn wasn’t there, not anymore, and Legolas’s heart fell, his lovely feature scrunched up in hurt and disappointment. He looked down, shoulder hunched, gazing at the grass as though it was the most fascinating sight in the world. He remained quite for a time, and then his whole body straightened suddenly. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides; he looked like he was trying to summon the strength to move, but lacked the energy for anything exceeding quite trembles. “Legolas?” a voice asked, but the Elf didn’t acknowledge the Hobbits until there were standing next to him, and Frodo touched his hand gently. Only then the Hobbit and the Elf looked at each other, and Frodo was astonished to find terrible anger mixing with sadness on Legolas’s face. “Legolas…?” He asked softly, hesitantly, but Legolas heed him not, instead whipping up and around toward his friends’ camp, his teeth bared. “Yyrch!” He hissed sharply, reaching for the daggers he hadn’t noticed never carrying with him to the Hobbits’ city. Sam gasped, and Frodo had the instinctive need to yell the same Legolas had in Westron. “Orcs!”
TBC *hits herself on the head repeatedly with Éowyn’s frying pan* The fic sort of grew on me, I had to battle one nasty author’s block, and as a result the Orcs didn’t make their appearance. >< Ach, sorry everyone… BUT! Next chapter, along with the Orcs’ attack, you’ll (finally) read of Legolas and Aragorn meeting each other again, this time conscious of their feelings. *wiggles eyebrows* I won’t make it sad or romantic, but it’ll be still cute, I think… =) On a side note, more detailed info on Morfëataur, the Hobbits, the Shire and Galadriel will be given ASAP, before or when the Company reach Lothlòrien and meet the aforementioned Elven Lady. ;)
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