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.|. Radical Dreamers .|.
Chapter 12 ~ * * * * * Hadn’t Boromir been so wrapped up in his own thoughts (was she not serious, or was she? Does she want me, or maybe she was joking? Damn, where does what *I* want stand in all of this?… … … what do I *want* in the first place?! Valar… ) he might have been able to notice something. Elrohir too was too worried trying to escape Gandalf, and the Wizard himself was too busy trying to assess some serious damage to the aforementioned Elf to really see what was happening. Arwen and Éowyn were indeed too taken up in their fight and in the dead animal burned beyond recognition that lied at their feet. While Elladan, who in any other situation would have likely been the first to spot the danger, was too busy trying to save his twin’s life, running after Gandalf and all but shouting soothing words to him. So, no one noticed the Orcs until they attacked, and then it was already too late to do anything. It was when Aragorn stepped back into the camp, smiling sorrowfully to himself, that Hell broke loose. The Spirits of Morfëataur (who, by now, we all know to be but harmless Hobbits) had been too engrossed with Legolas to play any of their usual tricks (like letting pillars of smoke and light spill heavenwards from the ground; make the trees and bushes rustle with invisibles cords in windless days; stomping their foots from their underground galleries,) and seeing the Forbidden forest so quiet had driven the Orcs to follow the Fellowship and the Aurêl they knew to be with them into the woods. Presently they stood crouched among and beyond the trees, snarling lowly in the dense shadows. Morfëataur was holy ground for Elves, or so it was once, and it made the foul creatures uncomfortable to walk it. Their love for battle was stronger than that ancient fear though, (that, or they’d got annoyed with the stupid author and wanted to make their appearance as she’d promised them a couple of chapters ago,) and as soon as Aragorn entered the camp they leaped on the Company, screaming and howling and generally making a hell of a noise. It probably would have been wiser to attack *before* the best swordsman of the Company returned but, alas! We’re talking about a bunch of *Orcs* here, and one annoyed with the author at that. Pretend to see them do things less than utterly stupid would be, well, stupid. So they rushed forward, cursing the Valar and the author alike (an author that will likely have the Company exterminate said bunches of Orcs without a fight if they don’t stop with their petty revolt *now*) and managed to catch them completely off guard. * * * * * Elves had always been famous for their promptness. Legolas was the pride and joy of his kin when it came to that, or so it looked like. As soon as his keen ears picked up the hideous uproar of the Orcs’ attack he swooped down, tucked each startled Hobbit under one armpit (guess he picked that move from his father,) and dashed towards the secret passage to the Headquarter. Once in front of it he jumped forward, ducked and rolled onto the grotto, not even losing a beat when he reached down, picked up a rock and threw it to the hidden device to close the doors behind him. Then he leaped to his feet –with the now struggling Hobbits pressed firmly at his sides- and broke in a mad rush into the dark corridor. He made it back into the room where he’d previously left Gimli in less than ten seconds. No need to ask the Elf which was his favourite subject back at school: Gym class, with all probabilities. The Dwarf was checking Merry’s letter to the Lady Galadriel when Legolas burst into the room. The door on top of the stairs swung open violently, almost flying off of its hooks, and Legolas appeared behind it. He snubbed the stairs altogether and leaped straight to the middle of the floor and at the Dwarf’s feet, dropping Sam and Frodo gently down. He checked the little ones over with one swift glance -too worried to even smile when Sam leaped at the dazed-looking Frodo to check him for any injuries after the wild ride- and then jerked his head up to gaze fiercely at Gimli. The Elf looked so angered than the very air turned to ice. Gimli started to back really slooooooooooooooowly away, while Lascaran took it to himself to unfasten the pocket of Pippin’s tunic, before going up and down on his knees a couple of times; throwing some punches to the right and then to the left; making some general exercises to warm his muscles; and then dived headfirst onto said pocked, hands pressed together and raised above his head. For his part, Pippin hauled dust as he ran away. Some may call him fool, but even he realised instantly that something was very wrong with the Elf. So it wasn't much of a smart thing to do, grabbing his cousin and using him as a shield. Merry just looked a little surprised by the interruption, his mouth and eyes wide and round. Total silence fell.
“Yyrcs!” he growled lowly. “Into Morfëataur! They’re attacking the Fellowship, Gimli! I plead you, please aid my companions, for you alone can save them!” The Elf’s pride suffered a great deal in that moment, and Gimli’s ego swelled to incredible proportions (another inch, and he would have to duck his head to walk through doors). Upon hearing Legolas’s words Merry gave a gasp, dropping his book onto the cold stony floor. “It can’t be!” He said urgently. “Orcs don’t dare approaching these woods, and even if they did the bells…” Frodo swayed on his feet, leaning on Sam for support. Strange that the brief run had affected him *that* much. Uhm, whoever sees this as a ploy to shamelessly lean on the other Hobbit please raise his or her hand. “The sentinels have been removed from the borders: they too wanted to see Legolas, Merry!” He said. “And even though it’s Dwarven work, the bells *can’t* ring on their own.” “But,” The other Hobbit bit his bottom lip. “There are traps all around that would have set the bell off, had the Orcs stepped on them.” Pippin peeked up from behind him, and Lascarean’s eyes appeared behind the ridge of his pocket. “We deactivated them, because the members of the Fellowship stepped on them many and many times a day…” he reminded softly, before hiding again upon feeling the anger that erupted from Legolas in waves. Note to self: never endanger this ‘Aragorn’ in any way if I don’t want to suffer Legolas’s wrath. Legolas just bent further forwards, his forehead hovering inches above the floor. “Master Gimli, I know my behaviour has been childish and bought you nothing but pain and troubles, but please help me! Don’t let those foul creatures harm Aragorn, I beg you! There’s nothing I alone can do for him!” It was a bizarre sight, even as it was strangely heart-wrenching. Such a proud and lawless creature reduced on his knees in the name of love. But we all know what a strange feeling love is, and if even Kings have to bow in front of it, why not a Prince, then? “He’s everything to me! It will take my life if he dies, for not even an Elf can survive without his heart! Please! *Please*…” He seemed close to tears, Gimli realized in some far corner of his mind where he’d retreated in his shock. Shaking himself awake the Dwarf gave a whistling sigh and folded his arms across his chest even as he backed away another step (his skin was already starting to itch, curse his allergy). “Uhmpf.” He rumbled deeply in his chest. “Y’know, I’d hate soundin' mushy an’ all, but cursed’ll be who dare say Gimli son of Glòin woul’ eva stop two lova’s from meetin’ ‘gain.” Legolas looked up at him, and the hope that shone in his eyes and smile was so beautiful it hurt. Gimli fondled his beard nonchalantly, trying to ignore that look as best as he could. “And ya still might die if I jus' let those vermin close t’ that Aragorn of yours, an' I can't have that, not after all-a the trouble ya gave us. Might as well go savin’ his ass, since it’s about impossible tha’they’ll mak’it on their own.” “You will help me, then?” Gimli continued with his pretence of nonchalance even as he was moved by Legolas’s feelings for the Man, and waved one hand distractedly to the kneeling Elf. “Don't worry none, you Elf-kid. If I hafta fight Orcs to death to finally get rid of ya, s'what I'll bloody hell do!” Legolas inhaled sharply, his smile stretching to the point his lips might hurt. The Dwarf turned around from that beautiful smile, and vehemently shook his fist in the air, “All right, ya lamebrains, let’s gonna get ‘hem!” With a cheer as loud as thousand thunders the Hobbits leaped each into one corridor, all but shouting to their companions it finally was party-time. For his part Legolas couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He leaped at Gimli, squeezing him as he murmured his thanks over and over. He then stamped a huge kiss on the Dwarf’s forehead, before sauntering after Pippin and Lascaran. Gimli blinked after him, opening his mouth and imitating a goldfish almost perfectly, and then after a second’s time swayed and crumpled onto the floor, out cold and with huge red spots flaming in stark contrast on his olive skin. It looks like the Spirits will have to party without their Captain, this time. * * * * * Meanwhile, back in the camp… If the Orcs had expected that overcome the Company would have been easy… well, they found a surprise waiting for them. Aragorn, so distraught by Legolas’s disappearance was more than happy to have some moving target to vent his rage upon, and Orcs fell in front of his sword as leaves in Autumn. Gandalf, still enraged with Elrohir, had whipped with flaming eyes on the foolish Orcs that had dared leaping at him, and those who didn’t break into a run at the fierce look he gave them now sported various souvenirs from the courses he’d shouted without thought: some had a crown of flashing pink hair now, some other had been turned into frogs or lizards, while some had turned into frogs or lizards *with* flashing pink hair. And those weren’t even the most shocking effects of his thoughtless shouting – if Gandalf learned something that day, it was to never mix spells. Boromir, still lost in his private world didn’t notice the Orcs attacking them for several minutes, and just mumbled under his breath about marriages and Elves and grief. The shocking thing was that even without noticing anything he managed to dodge each and every attack. And if someone got hurt when the Orcs leaped at him, it was the Orcs themselves. When the Man gathered his wits back at last, he became no less deadly than Aragorn himself, he too needing something to vent his stress upon. Arwen and Éowyn stood glaring at each other in the middle of the battlefield, flushed faces inches away as they breathed heavily in barely restrained annoyance. It was kinda funny though, because they tried to be nice about it, and smiled half-pleasantly at each other even as their eyes flamed. “*You* burned our dinner to ashes!” If eyes could burn a hole through people, Éowyn would have a void as big as Rivendell in her head. “Do you *know* how much it took me to catch that deer?!” Arwen all but yelled, pointing the heap of charcoal at her feet. “I told you already ‘lady’ Arwen,” Éowyn began, raising her fraying pan distractedly to smack in the face the Orc leaping at her from behind. “It’s not my doing! The flames Gandalf shot your brother ended up upon *my* deer and burned it so!” Arwen shrieked, poking in the eye the Orc peering over her shoulder, and then retrieving her fork to stab the one sneaking at her from the left without as much as a wobble in her shouting. “Mine, mine, mine! Anything you place your eyes upon becomes yours?! It does not work quite like that, Princess!” Éowyn gave a screech of her own, running one Orc’s arm through with her kitchen knife, and at the same time punching in the face another one. “Just admit it, that you’re jealous because Boromir’s mine now!” Arwen gritted her teeth, ducked the Orc-sword aimed at her neck and with a swift movement slashed the stomach of the sword’s wielder standing behind her. “I told you already, he’s *not* something you can own!” “Indeed? Yet he clearly favours me!” Éowyn said, elbowing another Orc. “He’s just being *polite*, for the Valar’s sake!” Arwen replied with raising fervour, taking care of three Orcs at the same time. “And if there’s someone he favours, that’s *me*! He grew up in my *home*, and *I* am the one that raised him!” Éowyn sneered, and another Orc fell. “Then you can see on your own that you’re too old for him, granny! How could he *ever* look at you that way if you mothered him?!” Arwen’s pale face became as red as the strawberries she loved so much, and *four* were the Orcs that fell this time. “Who said anything about… about… about such things?!” “Ah! Wake up, that’s called denial, my dear!” They kept on like that, and Orcs fell and fell and fell AND fell as the two bickered and yelled. Had the foul creatures been less dull they’d understood it wasn’t that clever to come between two Ladies fighting upon a man, but they were just mere Orcs. So it was that they kept attacking, even if every time they did they’d immediately dash away, bawling in pain or fear. Elladan and Elrohir were, at first glance, the only ones of the whole Company to be in real danger. Busy tending to the burnt marks Gandalf had made Elrohir (my hair! He burned my hairtips that cursed Wizard! May the Valar punish him as he deserves!) neither Elladan or his twin did anything to stop the Orcs, and now stood, side by side, pressed against an ancient tree as the foul creature advanced on them. “Elladan?” “Hm?” “I heard… I heard Orcs like to eat Elves at times.” The muscles on Elrohir’s throat worked soundly as he swallowed, loosening the collar of his shirt nervously. Elladan looked the approaching creatures with eyes shockingly huge. “You *do*?!” He all but shouted, and when the Orcs drew back their lips and smirked, showing rows upon rows of sharp teeth he swirled round, pinching his twin’s belly and grinning nervously. “If you want to eat someone, then eat him! What would be better, much and fatty flesh like his, or the skin and bones of such a scrawny creature as I am?” He murmured pleadingly, hollowing his cheeks slightly. Elrohir swirled on his twin, looking on the verge of tears. He sported one perfect pout, complete with huge watery eyes, glistening teardrops at the corner of said puppy dog eyes, trembling bottom lip showed forward and flushed cheeks. “But, Elladan!!” He shouted pleadingly, worrying the fabric of his shirt with trembling fingers. “Would you really let them eat me, your only brother? Your beloved twin, flesh of your flesh and blood of your blood? He who sang lullabies to you when you were little-” “That was me, Elrohir.” “-that let you win all the times we trained with either sword or bow, just to see you smile-” “That was *me*, Elrohir.” “-that protects you each and every time Father discovers you’ve done some mischief-” “Elrohir? Hello? Anyone home? That’s *me*.” Fascinated more than anything, the Orcs all dropped on the floor, legs crossed, and reclined back, snacking on some dried meat and what looked like vegetables (bear with them, popcorn and chocolate pocky still had to be invented) as they watched the two identical creatures fight. Distracted as they were they didn’t even notice it when both twins reached for their weapons and pounced. Soon only a heap of unconscious bodies remained of the attackers, and Elladan stood proudly above it, hands on his hips and long hair flowing in the breeze. It almost ruined his moment of glory when a hand curled in his cloak and pulled, though. He stumbled backwards and almost lost his footing, but managed to recover himself just in time, swaying a little and flaying his arms wildly. Then he turned, and it was to see his brother’s pouting face few inches from his. “Elladan…” Elrohir sniffled. “Hm?” A blink. “…do you really think I’m fat…?” He never had time to reply, though, because new Orcs leaped at them from the surrounding trees, and the battle began again. * * * * * No matter how many Orcs fell, hundreds more kept coming, vomited from the shadow as thought it was breeding them. They came, wave after wave of foul creatures, as though the Company stood on the shores of an Ocean of evilness. Aragorn wondered briefly if the trick they’d used last time could work again, and hoped will all his might for some help. He would later wonder if he didn’t have some psychic power or something, because the moment he thought it, Legolas appeared from the woods, a vision of light and nobility amidst the shadows. He gave a battle cry, diving onto the host of Orcs with the same passion of a fangirl jumping her favourite star’s goodies during sales. At his command the forest itself became alive, the Spirits of Morfëataur answering his call with fervour. Again pillars of smoke came, intertwining and melting as they spiralled upwards. Flames and light burst into scorching jets from the ground even as it opened and swallowed most of the Orcs. It was but a bunch of tricks, made thanks to the strange devices Gimli and the Hobbits were keen to build, but to the Orcs it looked like work of evil magic, and they scampered away as fast as their clumsy legs allowed, giving fearful cries. The few fools that remained behind were summarily dealt each a quick, sharp blow with one weapon by the Company members and the brave Hobbits that had come to the surface in full battle attires – harmed with forks and kitchen knifes and wearing metal basins as makeshift helmets. Soon only one Orc remained, and when he too fell, it was because Aragorn and Legolas both hit him. Andurìl sliced the Orc’s throat even as one of Legolas’s arrows (he’d retrieved a bow and a quiver in the underground city) embedded itself on his dark heart. The foul creature fell on the ground as though moving in slow motion, and as he did both the Man and the Elf became aware that nothing now stood between them. The smoke and light and flames disappeared as though they’d never been there. Countless secret passages were opened and Hobbits crowded the ruined battlefield as wave after wave of cheers exploded. Gimli too appeared on the surface, scratching thoughtlessly the proofs of his allergy, and promptly went to explain to the Company who and what he and his fellows were (even though he refused to come any close to the Elves or Éowyn, who was dressed like an Elf herself; and would talk only with Boromir and Gandalf). But none of this reached Legolas or Aragorn as they stood gazing at each other, lost in a world of their own where nothing existed but them. After a breathless eternity the first to move was Legolas. He leaped forward, cat-like and yet eager, shouting Aragorn’s name as loud as though wanting the whole Eä to hear it. And Aragorn just echoed him, shouting Legolas’s name at the top of his lungs even as he dashed forwards with arms wide open. Soon, but barely soon enough, they were lost in an embrace, hidden and forbidden emotions flaring into sudden life at the touch. What happened afterwards, none of them was sure how it started or who did, but surely neither wanted it to ever end. Their lips met, and they kissed eagerly, desperately; as if tomorrow wasn’t to come. And the electricity was instantaneous. So overwhelming and undeniable, shocking them both to their core. The world suddenly fell from underneath them, and revelling in the warmth spreading through them they held each other tightly, as thought letting go would mean dying. Somewhere deep inside they’d wanted this. Since they first met they’d desired nothing else, even though they did not know it. And as it happened at last, it exhilarated and scared them, for never before they’d felt anything akin that. Such power, such bliss. All that passion, all that emotion. Each could feel the other’s soul and heart in the kiss, and the way they were given to him without restrain or fear. Their lips and tongues met in eager touches, over and over again in an oddly exhilarating dance, pouring passion from one mouth to the other and back. As though their very souls were meeting and melting right then; as though their hearts were fusing together in blissful abandon. The need to breath forced them apart all too soon, and when they pulled reluctantly apart it was to share the sweetest of smiles, each marvelling at how right it felt to hold and kiss and belong to the other. It was in that moment that a foreign noise seeped into their private, wonderful world, and as Éowyn screeched profanities at the Ranger, they became finally aware of what they’d done, and of the audience that had witnessed it. Immediately they jumped apart, as if burned. They swirled around wildly in their embarrassment, looking at anything but each other, and then dashed away into opposite directions. Well, that’s what they did until Aragorn realized that last time it had happened Legolas had got lost for days, so he abruptly changed his course and dashed after the embarrassed Elf with a blush of his own standing proudly on his angled cheekbones. In the background, Éowyn squawked, held back by Boromir before she could launch herself at the fleeing Ranger. She struggled and shouted angrily, kicking her legs to try and gain leverage to pull out of the Man’s hold, while Arwen all but tried to pry the two apart, her own shouts and whines adding to the general confusion. Gimli and the Hobbits just cheered, some laughing, some whistling, while Gandalf –who stood between Elladan and Elrohir- just held out his hands to the two, one in front of each twin, palms turned expectantly up. When he returned his hands to his pockets, it was too fill them with the gold he’d won. Aaah, if just all the bets were *that* easy to win! As if there had ever be *any* doubt that those two would fall in love… He was more than sure that everything would go wonderfully from now on, from the journey to the wedding of those two… …especially once they told them about it!
TBC *bows* Sorry for the delay, but school, work, new Aragolas fics and whatnot kept me too busy to update! *bowsbowsbowsbows* To any of you that was confused by all the strange devices filling Morfëataur: sorry! *bows again* Let me give you a proper explanation! All those devices are made of wood and function thanks with steam, so they aren’t all that technological (no microchips, no electricity, no computers or anything.) =) The showers and microphones aren’t really *showers* and *microphones*. Not the ones we know and use, at least. ^^;; Not having lakes where they can bath underground, the Hobbits just store water in huge containers inside (or without) their houses and use it to take baths. They just happened to ‘invent’ showers, creating a device that would pump up the water from its container and then make it rain back down upon them. The ‘microphones’ are but goblets connected to long ‘tubes’ that allow their voices to be heard on the surface. And in fact the ominous voices of the Spirits that Legolas heard in chapter 9 was Gimli’s voice brought up to the surface through those pipes… … … … … Valar, I suck at explaining. -_-;; About the terraships and the airship … well, I just had to put in the latter because I’m a HUGE Final Fantasy and RPG fan, and every RPG has its own airship. ^_^ The terraships are something I made up, and I needed them to speed up the Company’s journey: using one of those they can reach Lothlòrien in no time, and we’ll have more yummilicious A/L moments once they get there. ^_^ Both the airship and the terraships move with the steam engine (like FFIX’s own airship, for those who’ve played the game) The secret door that opened in the previous chapter (and that Legolas closed rather… theatrically in this one, LOL ) is just like one of those secret passages you see filling castles and palaces in all the Fantasy movies (like… uhm… dunno, the only thing I can think of right now if the sliding trapdoor in Dragonheart…) I hope this was useful and comprehensible. Unluckily I really *suck* at explaining, and usually my explanations are more confusing than anything. ---___---()
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