.|. Radical Dreamers .|.

Chapter 14

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Everything was ready for the Company’s departure from Morfëataur.

The Terraship —as the Hobbits called the strange-looking machine— was at the ready in an impossibly huge grotto, teetered beside a high dais of stone and facing a tunnel leading to Lothlórien. All in all, the famed Terraship looked like a trail of high carriages bound together by thick cables of hard metal; it shone scarlet and gold and wet-like black in the dim light cast by the torches hanging from the cave-walls. Candid steam drifted up from the head of the Terraship, twirling around in lazy circles; and every now and then the giggle of gibbering bells could be heard from within the first carriage.

In the second carriage were four chattering Hobbits and one very excited Squirrel who, for the occasion, had dug out from his closet (Lascaran had a *closet*?! Valar…) his best piece of clothing – a miniature tunic of silvery velvet, iridescent in the scarce light, and one tiny golden chain that hung now around his neck. In truth he’d decided to put on a hat of black embellished with a russet Eagle-feather too; but provided that said feather was twice Lascaran’s own height and thus made it impossible for him to walk straight, (in truth, its weight had sent the Squirrel crashing down on the floor and helpless to raise, but he’d rather forget that one), he’d decided it would be best to wear no hat at all (even because, try as they might, not even the Hobbits nor Gimli had been able to pull the feather from the hat)

A third compartment followed the Hobbit-packed one, housing only some food and clear water other than huge (and I mean HUGE) books about Family Trees and Hobbit Genealogies. That was the one carriage the “Fellowship of the Star” (that’s how the Hobbits had named their guests) would have travelled on. The Fellowship itself was gathered on the dais, eyeing the Terraship strangely even as Gimli instructed them on what to do and what to tell the Fair Lady Galadriel once in Lórien.

The last carriage, black of colour and seemingly heavier, had been loaded already with the Fellowship’s few possessions and the gifts they’d received from the Hobbits. Surprisingly enough, Éowyn had recognized most of those gifts as those that Thranduil had given her for Elrond and that she’d lost; in fact when she saw them she’d collapsed on her knees in utter relief at the thought that her head wouldn’t be removed from its right place on her neck anytime soon.

It was perfect, really.

Only one minor, trivial, inconsequential, petty, irrelevant, not-to-mention insignificant little detail was still amiss: Legolas and Aragorn were nowhere to be found.

Not that it was news, really. Since the shocking kiss they’d shared in front of the Company and the Hobbits all, they’d often disappeared; and when they came back, hours later, few were surprised to see them slightly dishevelled, and tugging and pulling suspiciously at their clothes. To the records, if they preferred to stay away from the Fellowship it was to keep Aragorn safe from Éowyn’s untameable wrath; but partly –if not mostly- it was to… well… you know. Let’s call it “enjoy and explore the depths of their newfound love.” There - it didn’t sound half as dirty as it may actually be. I’m proud of myself. ^_^

Anyway, the Company was used to these disappearances of theirs by now – well, all of them except Éowyn, of course. And you can’t imagine exactly how *much* did Gandalf earn by betting with the twins or the Hobbits on how long and when Aragorn and Legolas would disappear, or on exactly how dishevelled they would be once back. Just another couple pieces of gold and he’d be the richest creature to ever walk Middle Earth.

None of the members of the Fellowship was, though, particularly content that the two lovebirds had decided to disappear when they were needed the most – i.e. when they were supposed to be sitting still and quiet in the Terraship on their way towards the Golden Woods. Maybe, the only exception was Arwen. She’d been sitting on the dusty stone floor watching the Terraship for the past dunno-how-long-but-surely-too-much, singing softly to herself. She was bored, true, but still infinitely glad that her cousin and her dear childhood friend seemed to share a love as pure as those sung in the tales of old.

Oh, why couldn’t she find herself such a fairy-tale love?! 

Something deep in her brain stirred as she contemplated the idea, and observed smartly that she had all the ingredients needed for a homemade fairy-tale love; namely: a handsome Knight called Boromir that adored her, and a whole package of strange symptoms –quickened heartbeat, furious blushing, countless hours of daydreaming, naked jealousy – that kicked into action each time the aforementioned Knight was in sight.

She frowned but kept singing, as her brain went through another “No, I do not love Boromir.” self-convincing session.

No-no-no-no-no. No matter what Éowyn said she was not, and I repeat NOT in love with Boromir.

Period.

Maybe the other way around.

Yeah.

After all, there was NO WAY IN HELL Boromir could prefer Éowyn at her.

She’d rather throw herself off a cliff (after pounding both Boromir and her rival to death into a wall, of course) before she let another touch *her* Boromir.

And no, she was not jealous, thankyouverymuch.

“That is the tale of Nimrodel, isn’t it?” Suddenly she heard someone approaching on silent feet and stopped singing, turning slightly to one side. Boromir had walked up to her and stood now beside her, bent at the waist and with his hands pressed flat on each of his knees. He smiled at her, more like smirked, and Arwen nodded.

“Yes.” She turned toward the Terraship and “It’s my favourite tale, next to that of Beren and Lúthien.” she added, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Boromir made a face, but she could not see it behind her back.

“I’m not quite fond of that one lay.” He said softly, but his voice was strangely firm. Arwen would have been affronted beyond words in any other occasion, but –being she already occupied trying to tame the mutiny within her mind- she let it slid aside with a shrug.

“Why not? It’s beautiful how Lúthien forsook her immortality for love. It’s a great sacrifice. She must have loved him beyond words.”

“I don’t like *that*.” Boromir replied firmly. Arwen’s eyes narrowed. A long silence stretched between them. The Knight looking at the Lady and the Lady thinking about the Knight.

Surprise, surprise.

Not that she’d been able to think about much else of late.

In truth she’d began thinking of him more and more, especially whenever Éowyn dared attaching herself to *her* Knight. But, ehy, it wasn’t a Freudian thing, right? Okay, she liked the Man – he was nice and everything, but that did not mean that she fancied him, right? The fact that she’d been teasing him like *that* of late did not mean that she was jealous, right? And the fact she was ready to pounce him at any time, and pepper his face with kisses and give him her necklace if he said something even vaguely comparable to a declaration, did not mean *at all* that she was in love with him, *right*?!

The annoying corner of her mind from before made another smart remark, putting the slightest emphasis on the fact that she shouldn’t_be_so_sure_of_it_my_dear.

The offending brain-deep portion was immediately dealt a quick blow, bound, gagged and put to rest by the rest of her brain. An Elven Lady as she couldn’t afford to have her brain go wild like that, especially when in front of many people and in a foreign land.

At last she huffed, vaguely irritated that the annoying –and gagged- voice in her mind was now –despite the gags!- laughing hysterically at her and her lack of logical retort to the whole “being in love with Boromir” issue.

“Well, I *do* like it.” She said eventually, rocking back and forth like a sulky child – another of those typically human moves Estel had taught his elven cousins without meaning to. “And I assure you I’d do the same thing as she, given the chance.” 

She did not know why she said it, but the moment she did she realized it was true. Odd, but true. It irritated the Man though; he grimaced at her words, before straightening abruptly and walking away with long strides.

“Exactly the reason why I don’t like it.” She thought she heard him hiss, but before she could question him, before she could grasp his hand and stop him from leaving, Aragorn and Legolas tumbled into the grotto, laughing hard and looking extremely happy and –dare we say it?- immensely satisfied. Their cheeks were rosy –hopefully for the long run and not for anything obscene…- and their eyes twinkled. Their hands were intertwined, and Legolas tugged Aragorn forward with him as though their palms had been glued together and there wasn’t anything strong enough to ever detach them.

“Are we late?” the blonde Elf asked innocently, very well knowing they were supposed to be already half-way down the tunnel by now, which commonly speaking means they were late of at least two hours. Gimli rolled his eyes at him, but did so good-naturedly. The look of pure hatred Éowyn bestowed upon Aragorn was not friendly at all, though.

“Y’jus’had t’be a botha’ till th’last minute of it Elf-kid, hadn’t’chu?” Legolas flashed the Dwarf his brightest smile, batting his eyelashes at him in his best “I’m an adorable and innocent creature and you know that you love me”–look.

“Would I *ever*…?”

“As sure as Hell, Elf-kid.” Gimli interrupted, raising a thick eyebrow at the now chuckling Elf. The expression of mixed puzzlement and amusement looked funny on the usually collected Dwarf, and Legolas had to bury his face against Aragorn’s shoulder to keep the laughter at bay. It didn’t help much though, and soon Legolas had wormed his way in the Man’s welcoming arms, his face nuzzled against Aragorn’s chest, as he shook with quiet laughter.

Éowyn didn’t like the scene in the slightest, but in order not to delay their departure any more, she did nothing more but eye Aragorn angrily and with her arms crossed, tapping one feet in ominous warning.

“I hope you’re *done* delaying us all, *Ranger*.” She said irritably, glaring emphatically to her favourite victim Aragorn. The Man smiled nervously at her, tugging the collar of his shirt loose with his free hand, trying at the same time to hold Legolas, push him away some and rearrange his own unruly hair and clothes as best as he could. This earned him another scowl, but in the end Éowyn opted for hurting him not, just this once.

Instead she turned toward Gimli, and on her face was a sweet, grateful smile. She took hold of both his hands and pressed them to her chest as she dropped gracefully to her knees.

“I plead you Master Gimli to forgive us for all the problems we may have caused you and your adorable companions.” She flashed a brief smile at the Hobbits gathered close behind Gimli, watching them as they puffed out their chests proudly. “And let me thank you once again for the help you gave us.” She continued. “May your courage and generosity become a beacon in these dark times for us as for all in need of hope.” Gimli gave a fierce laugh, and disentangled himself from the Elven-looking Lady’s grasp as politely as he could (he feared that his allergy could kick into action at any time, even thought he could tell Éowyn was not a real Elf; but he tried to hide his discomfort at her closeness, suspecting that Éowyn in offended mode was something he would *never* want to see).

“Nay, y’needn’t thank me, M’lady. Th’only reason we look’d out fo’your asses’s’cause Elf-kid here’s got the hots fo’ th’Man.”

“Gimli, *please*…” Legolas mumbled from within the circle of Aragorn’s arms, mortified and red in the face. Aragorn though, who looked *very* interested in what the Dwarf was saying, pleaded him to go on, wiggling his eyebrows at Legolas as the Dwarf narrated how the Elf had literally begged for help to save ‘his beloved Aragorn’ (never once even mentioning ‘his companions’, or ‘his friends’).

By the end of the tale Éowyn was being pinned to the floor, restrained from leaping at Aragorn by Gandalf, both the twins and a whole bunch of Hobbits; meanwhile, Legolas had turned such an amusing shade of red by then that it was almost impossible to tell him from the flaming Terraship. Not to mention the effects the tale had on Aragorn’s ego! It had reached proportions that could rival those reached by Gimli’s own when Legolas had bowed before him and showered him with compliments.

It looked like the departure from Morfëataur would be delayed some more, but luckily for them Pippin had had enough of waiting. The young Hobbit peeked from one of the Terraship’s windows, and with a cry of “Are we going or *not*?!” he threw at them a bawling and scared-looking Lascaran-missile.

What had happened? One moment he was sitting peacefully on his own seat (you didn’t expect Lascaran not to pretend a seat of his own, did you?), reading the news (the *news*?! Heck, this Squirrel is a constant surprise…); and the next he was soaring through the air, his arms flailing, headed directly for Legolas.

The Elf caught the little thing effortlessly, and in turn it attached himself to Legolas’s hand, showering the Elf’s thumb with grateful kisses and hot tears. Aragorn chuckled and whispered comfortingly to the Squirrel. Lascaran looked up, sniffled, and promptly threw himself at the Man’s neck, his tears falling fountain-like.

“Sorry, Lascaran!” Pippin hollered from the Terraship, one hand cupper around his mouth and the other waving wildly in the air. “I just wanted to wave you, not to throw you.” He said, looking sincerely sorry, but also as though he waved his friends in the air at a daily routine. Lascaran looked up, watched the Hobbit through a veil of tears, sniffled, and then whipped back around to cry (again) against Aragorn’s neck, bawling in Squirrel-ish (or whatever tongue Squirrels use) about what could have he done to be treated so badly.

Legolas chuckled; and then noticed all of a sudden that to protect his beloved from the Squirrel-missile Aragorn had picked him up and held him now against his chest. He knew he shouldn’t, especially not when Éowyn was around, but Legolas could not resist the temptation. Sighing dreamily to himself he snuggled closer to the Man’s warmth, blushing pink. The action resulted into three predictable reactions:

a)     Aragorn looked down at him, smiled, and held him even closer.

b)     Éowyn –though she was still being pinned to the floor by many restrainers- screeched angrily and leaped up, though the weight of all those who were on her sent her sprawled back on the floor.

c)     The twins began roaring with laughter, and while Elladan grinned smugly at Gandalf, Elrohir hollered to his cousin, “C’mon, why don’t you just give him another of those heart-shattering kisses, Aragorn? We know you want to!”

Aragorn obviously brightened up considerably (not that he was in a bad mood before, but his face literally lit up at the thought of kissing Legolas), but Gandalf gave a scowl, knowing very well that if the two kissed now he would lose the bet he’d made with the twins.

Luckily for him, but unluckily for Aragorn, when the Man leaned down to claim Legolas’s lips the Elf stopped him, merely placing a finger across the Man’s mouth. He glanced briefly but efficiently at the fuming Éowyn, and Aragorn –despite himself- put the Elf down, expression sullen. Legolas, being the kind-hearted Elf that he is, could not stand to see Aragorn sad; so he leaned closer to whisper something into the Man’s ear.

Well, whatever it was, it put a smile on Aragorn’s face as bright as one thousand suns, even if more than a little dazed. 

As quick as lightning he grasped Legolas’s hand and all but dashed into the Terraship, shouting his goodbyes to Gimli and the Hobbits as well as prompting his companions to follow and do it *quickly*.

Some grinning and shaking their head, one picking himself up from the ground -having lost the hold he had on Aragorn’s neck when the Man had dashed away- one fuming and muttering curses, two paying a bet they’d lost, and one smiling from ear to ear as he carefully placed the Gold he’d won in his pocket - they complied; and very soon the Hobbits staying on the dais beckoned to the one piloting the Terraship it was time to go.

So, with a clamour of bells and Hobbit cheers, the newly reunited Fellowship of The Star began its voyage to Lothlórien, the Golden Wood of the Elves, Realm of Magic, Land of the Golden Lady, not to mention current residence of the Hobbits’ one and only “C’ptain in Chief” – the Lady Galadriel, Wife of Celeborn, Mother of Celebrian and especially very_very_VERY protective Grandmother of Arwen…

… a very_very_VERY protective Grandmother who –we’d like to remind you- had been standing straight and still and feeling stupid in a dusty and dark grotto (not to mention in front of the whole Lothlórien Philharmonic Orchestra), waiting mutely for a Fellowship that was already three hours late.

To say that she felt murderous, means put it lightly…

*very* lightly…

TBC 

What do you think? ^_^ I hope you like how things are going between Aragorn and Legolas… and that you approve of Boromir and Arwen! Do you think I should develop it further? ^_^ Drop me a review if you’ve got any comment – I’d love to hear from you!!! ^^