.|. Radical Dreamers .|.

Chapter 19

~

* * * * *

Galadriel’s first reaction when Haldir had rushed to her and told her about the Orcs had been to start *pacing*. She’d gone back and forth across the talan for so long that a slightly hollow trail was already visible on the otherwise level floor. Celeborn, on the other hand, was still more on the land of sleepers than that of living, thus had no visible reaction other than falling asleep and starting awake repeatedly.

The Mighty Lord of the Golden Woods, Husband of Galadriel and Grandfather of Arwen Undomiel, was sitting on the edge of the bed in his favourite sleeping clothes –pearly white nightshirt, furry bunny slippers and one lovely cap complete with a fluffy ball on the tip- and being generally quite. He was nodding sleepily (having still to recover from all that Hobbit liquor he’d had after dinner), but much to his distress each time he dozed off he was awakened rather abruptly by either Galadriel’s disarticulated grumbles, or Rúmil’s elbow driving sharply into his side.

Haldir gave a wistful sigh, glanced briefly at the sun, and then shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The three Guardians had reached the royal talan few hours before dawn; now the Sun hung high over the horizon, but the Queen had yet to speak one single word. Not that we could really blame her: Orcs, the vilest creatures on Middle Earth and only race the Elves could say to hate, had been able to break into the Golden Woods. They were advancing hastily toward the inhabited area destroying everything that hindered their march, wanting to either capture or kill both the heirs of Gondor and Mirkwood. She was sincerely at loss of what to do – she doubted the tricks of the Spirits of Morfëataur would be of any use there, and fleeing was never an option… not with the pride of her people at stake!

Haldir was experiencing his first ever wave of dizziness when Galadriel finally stopped pacing, much to his stomach’s relief. The Lady looked still deep in thought, and it took her several precious minutes to come back to Middle Earth. Blinking wonderingly at it she stepped out of the trail she’d dug in the floor, and stood in all her glory in front of the three Guardians, a fierce determination wafting by her gleaming eyes.

“We must reunite the Fellowship of the Star and have them leaving the Golden Woods as soon as possible. Rúmil, Orophin! We’ve no other choice but to let them use the underground route! Go open it, and be ready to seal it again once the Fellowship’s left! Haldir, take care of reuniting the Fellowship at the Black Gate. All of you, be swift! And not a word must be uttered about the real identities of either the Aurêl or the Elfstone, am I clear?”

Rúmil and Orophin, albeit shaken, nodded to their Queen and hurried to the entrance of the underground route, muttering prayers in their minds that nothing foul would happen (or emerge into Lórien…) once they broke the seals on the Black Gate.

Haldir looked about him in a quest for words, then met Galadriel’s inquiring gaze obliquely.

“Your Majesty… couldn’t you possibly send someone else to inform Elladan and Éowyn…? I’m not quite sure I’ve recovered from the last visit to their talan.”

Galadriel is truly a lovable, kind and understanding person.

That’s why she just glared at Haldir, refraining from doing unspeakable things to him for putting up petty excuses in such a dire moment. Not getting his Lady’s infinite clemency Haldir opened his mouth again, ready to explain *why* exactly his last visit to Éowyn’s talan had almost scarred him for life. With innate nonchalance Galadriel raised her hand, and the light reflected off the magical Ring she was ‘accidentally’ pointing at the Guardian.

Before she could even blink, Haldir was halfway down the path towards Éowyn’s talan.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, within the Orc’s pack…

“&+%£-$£<@#|*§?!” Screamed the Orc-chieftain, which in the Common tongue translates approximately as “What the Hell does it mean, LOST?!”

“(/&=^<\$!” Replied calmly the Orc with the map, accompanying his words with a shrug. Several other Orcs made a grab for their Chieftain before he could lunge at the Orc-with-the-Map and slowly and painfully squeeze the life out of him. *he* was the Orc-with-the-Map after all… not to mention the only Orc that was just erudite enough to *read* the aforementioned Map.

Oblivious, the Orc-with-the-Map looked at the crossroad before him for a moment, his dark tongue peeking form between his lips in his concentration, and then brightened considerably. The Orc –chieftain watched warily on as the Orc-with-the-Map pointed in one direction with a cry of “£@^|£*%ì&<!” (trans: Lothlórien!), thought better, and turned in the other direction, navigating through the trees and singing a merry tune to himself.

High above them, the massive Royal Eagle that had been following (unseen) the foul pack for the last five chapters (WOW!) had problems to keep flying straight as it watched the Orcs march speedily away from their destination.

* * * * *

“I hope you’re joking.” Elladan croaked out, a look of horror on his face. Éowyn smiled apologetically at him, shrugging her shoulders a little as if to communicate him just how sorry she was that it was no joke. The muscles of Elladan’s throat worked soundly as he swallowed dry, not quite sure of what to do. Quickly he decided that, whatever his course of action would be, he would not look away from her. You never know, he could still wake spontaneously up from this nightmare, and he wanted to notice it as soon as possible so he didn’t have to freak out longer than necessary.

Then Éowyn tipped her head to a side, her grin widening in a way that defied most physical laws, and his panic turned into naked terror.

“C’mon, El-hon…”

“Elladan.”

“Whatever.” She titled her head to the other side, sweeping her eyes all over him. “You Elves are all so incredibly *pretty*… especially you. Seriously. And especially with those flowers *I* (go me!) put in your hair. Now we just need one dress to accentuate your curves, one touch of make-up-” she tilted her head again, raising one hand to her chin “-and you’ll become a really beautiful maiden! The most beautiful ever, if I can say so to my own creation.”

To say that Elladan was not impressed by the compliments is an understatement. Éowyn could do little but chuckle softly at the look on his face. He really was adorable, with that aggrieved air about him! For a moment it looked like he couldn’t decide between yelling angrily at her and blushing (after all, she had been telling him he was exceptionally pretty since they’d finished their dinner and had retreated in her talan hours before).

Then again, where’s the need to decide when you can do both…?

“I’m *NOT* a *MAIDEN*!” Elladan yelled for the umpteenth time that night, a bright blush spreading across his pale features. Éowyn grinned at him, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

“Oh, come on! Think about it as an… experiment! Better yet, some kind of bet we’re making! Where’s your sense of adventure gone to, El?”

“Elladan. And it is safely tucked away in Rivendell where the most dangerous thing I do is to comment on Elrohir’s hair in the morning before he’s had a chance to brush and style it!”

“I can’t believe it! Then what of your sister’s happiness? *That*’s what this is all about!”

“No, this is about humiliating me!”

“I’m just asking you to dress up as a Maiden and go all over Boromir as to make Arwen jealous!” Éowyn was exasperated. Elladan was not far behind.

“NO WAY! If you’re looking for a cross-dresser, you’ve picked the wrong Perendil!”

“You’re heartle—uh?” Éowyn blinked rapidly, eyes going all huge. “You mean it runs in the family? Then why are you being this noisy?! Just put one gown of mine on and go throwing yourself at Boromir already!”

“Make me.” The Elf dared, arms folded across his chest and his chin held up proudly. Éowyn looked at him no different than a snake seizing a prey.

“If you want to be *this* difficult…” she began, rolling up her sleeves. Elladan silently cursed his mouth.

Before he could ever look around for a way out she pounced, sending them both sprawled on the floor in a tangled heap, and began tugging at his clothes.

“Éowyn! Damn it! Stop!”

“Off with the shirt! Off I say!”

“Have you no shame…?!”

“I’m divesting the prettiest Elf ever of his clothing. Remind me what’s shameful in this?”

“Do you want a list?”

“Agh! Gotcha!” she threw the shirt behind her shoulders, almost chuckling at the astonished look Elladan sent at the flying garment and then at her. Her grin became feral. “Now, the leggings.”

“Don’t you *dare*!” they began wrestling for the laces of Elladan’s leggings, rolling across the floor.

It was like this that Haldir found them.

Imagine his reaction.

Suffice to say that his scream made Elladan and Éowyn both freeze and look up in mixed surprise and fear, with the fake Aurêl still laying on top of the Rivendell Elf with her hands on his hips.

“Ergh---Ella-uhm,Éowy—err, Milady Aurêl-uhm, young Lord- I mean, uhhh…I didn’t want to… uhh… I mean, I wanted to say, I mean, I was here because, I mean, I was sent by…”  He continued stammering on for several minutes. Then he gave up and simply told them that –due of Orcs- they had to gather in front of the Black Gate and there await further instructions. Period.

Their quarrel forgotten Elladan and Éowyn scampered to their feet, looking for Elladan’s lost shirt.

On his way out, Haldir stopped and asked the couple with flat eyes if there was one special gift they wanted for the wedding, and that only a Guardian of Lórien could find them. Elladan was proud to say he resisted the urge to propel Haldir against a tree, sensing that the subsequent thump would surely attract some unwanted attention, maybe even the Orcs’.

Yet, he was even prouder to say that, when Haldir left, it was amidst one remarkable rain of furniture that Éowyn threw at the retreating Guardian with almost-Elven strength and speed. Once that the blonde Guardian was out of sight Elladan and Éowyn high-fived each other, before hurrying to find the still missing shirt.

* * * * *

Haldir distinctly thought that there should be one division of Elves who get paid to wake up lovers at the crack of day and watch them as they pranced naked around the room in their quest for clothes, not quite managing to get theirs hands off each other and yet glaring murderously at he who dared to disturb them.

At first, while shuffling towards their talan, Haldir had hoped he would find Aragorn and Legolas in a position that wasn’t too traumatic for him too see - after all, he still had to recover from what he saw in Éowyn’s talan.

No such luck.

But it was okay, in a way - he’d always known himself to be a tad too hopeful.

When he’d peeked inside the talan Haldir had found the two lying together on a crumpled quilt, hugging each other tenderly and sharing chaste kisses and whispered words of love.

“That was the first time for you as well, wasn’t it?” Legolas was saying, and then Aragorn had turned away, face flushed, staring at anything but his lover.

While it was most natural for an Elf not to experience the pleasures of the body until he met the true holder of his heart (especially if said Elf is noble, thus requested not to spend time with commoners, and has a very protective Father; not to mention two very protective brothers and one very, incredibly and exceedingly protective personal Guard), Aragorn felt somewhat ashamed that he, a human, had never made love in his long 20 and more years (a.n. yes, I made him way younger that he’s in the books or movies… he has more time to spend with Legolas this way…). Anyway, any embarrassment he may have felt melted like snow when Legolas leaned over, and whispered against his ear, his voice soft like butterfly wings. “I’m glad. Because now, wherever life may bring us, I’ll have a special place in your heart – as you have in mine, meleth.”

Then they’d kissed, softly, thoroughly, the natural glow of Legolas’s elven skin spreading out to infuse them both in a soft silvery light.

That would have been enough to send Haldir kneeling on the floor (or rather stumble down the rope-ladder to the floor) in a fit of “awwwwww”. But then they had moved, the flimsy sheet sliding to reveal naked, flushed skin, and their hands had started roaming in places Haldir really didn’t want too see. Yelping, the shocked Guardian had then proceeded to stumble unceremoniously into the talan, gaining one deadly glare from Aragorn, and none other than his best and most scary “you_have_3_seconds_to_be_gone” look from Legolas.

Since apologizing on his knees for the intrusion didn’t seem the right reaction, Haldir had done the next best thing, and, clamping his hands safely against his eyes, he’d told them what was going on in the Golden Woods as Their Oblivious Majesties cuddled.

“Orcs have managed to break into Lórien… for your safety, the Lady invites you to leave as soon as you hear this message. Also, she suggests you to go through the underground route to Edoras, the ruined Capital of Rohan, and from there steer towards Gondor. She awaits you at the Black Gate, the only entrance to this secret route.” Haldir then waited one moment before peering at the couple between his parted fingers, *hoping* the two would heed him and rush to the gathering.

Again, no such luck.

Hell, being so hopeful really sucked sometimes.

In their defence we must admit that Aragorn and Legolas *did* try to dress up quickly… but they couldn’t really be separated for more than 0,0000001 nanoseconds that they would have this sudden need to share a caress or a kiss, looking like they’d die if they didn’t.

That had lead Haldir to the terrible conclusion that, unless he stayed there to prevent it, their cuddling would escalate into something that would make them late. And Galadriel *hated* when the people she summoned were late. Not to mention that terrible habit of hers to lash out at *him* whenever the people he’d summoned for her were late.

Summarily, those were the reasons why Haldir was waiting on the couple at the entrance of the talan, with his hands still placed firmly on his face. He just peered at the couple between his fingers each time the noise of dressing ceased – or worst yet was replaced by smooching noises and small moans – and promptly shutting his eyes again, he reminded them to be quick.

Seriously, he found himself thinking when he got a glance of Aragorn and Legolas rubbing their noses together cutely, I should really convince the Lady Galadriel to find people to handle this sort of things. I doubt I’m paid enough to endure such shocks.

…

…

…

…paid…?

Now that’s an idea…

* * * * *

Waking up the Hobbits was a less traumatic experience– but way more difficult. The Little Ones were all experiencing one painful hang-over and weren’t even capable to be remotely aware. Only Sam, being the far-sighted Hobbit that he was, had not gotten drunk the night before and could now support himself on his own legs. However, even with his help it was a slow and painful operation to wake up –well, at least relatively- the Hobbits and walk them to the gathering – or, in Pippin’s case, *roll his sleeping form downhill* to the gathering.

How very ungrateful to have a major crisis in such a moment of panic like that.

Relatively speaking, the easiest to drag to the gathering was Lascaran – especially because the Lórien Elves thought it unwise to let him follow the Fellowship, and tried with all their might to leave him behind. Result? They found him perched atop one small boulder in front of the Black Gate, dressed in one tiny military uniform and tapping one minute feet warningly. And he was even the first to arrive…!!

Boromir had been packing since dawn, and emerged from the mallorn trees with bags hanging from his shoulders, arms and hands as though he was a Christmas Tree. Gandalf just appeared as if from thin air, looking relaxed and refreshed as though he’d just spent some hours in a still-to-be-invented Jacuzzi bath.

Either way, once they were all there (some relatively conscious, some less so) it was easy to see that only Arwen was missing. It troubled Boromir beyond words (even though he tried not to fidget too evidently), and he almost sagged on the ground in relief when she came running out from the forest, flinging herself into his arms, and apologized to her companions with a smile.

Even as he blushed, stuttered, trembled and tried to tame both the butterflies in his stomach and the snickers of his friends, Boromir was slightly taken aback by her appearance - even though he said nothing about it. She had shed the lovely gown from the night before and wore now an Amazon attire not unlike the one from the previous part of the journey. It differed from that for the colours: pale green and silver instead than lilac and blue. Her usually unbound hair was held in one long braid that hung from her shoulder, and Boromir was surprised to see filaments of gold shine amidst her dark mane – if anyone was to see her, they would mistake Arwen for a warrior-maiden from Mirkwood instead than a Lady of Rivendell.

He was distracted from that train of thought when he heard Elrohir and Elladan –with Éowyn whining in the background- shout and whistle cheerfully. Turning a little wonderingly, Boromir couldn’t help but beam at the sight presented to his eyes.

A rather worried (read: distinctly panicked) Legolas had buried himself into Aragorn’s welcoming arms, and the Man was whispering reassuringly into his Elf’s ear, caressing his fair head and generally doing his best to ease his worries about the Orcs and the underground route (“But, Aragorn… it’s *dark* down there!” “Aren’t Love Tunnels in the Luna Parks also?!” “…what…?” “…never mind.”). And to think that, when they had first met, those two would do nothing but bicker… If he had ever been sure of something before, Boromir was now sure beyond words that that arranged wedding was truly a gift – not only it would lead their World closer to a much-awaited peace, but it had blessed his best friend and only Prince with true Love and Happiness.

It was exactly in that moment that it occurred to him that Estel and Legolas still didn’t know *exactly* who they were marrying once they got in Gondor. Now that he thought about it, the last few weeks of blissful love must have been pretty hard for them… they’d found love and happiness, and were sure they would have to surrender it soon for the greater good. (because he *KNEW* each of them was just TOO PROUD to tell the other or his identity; for not only they risked to give the Orcs another reason to pursue the Company if they spoke… they could make a fool of themselves as well!)

Throwing carefulness in the bushes, Boromir opened his mouth to tell them the whole, naked truth (hoping it would be easier this time, to make Aragorn realize that his spouse was Legolas) when Elrohir and Elladan began to chant their usual “Kiss him, Aragorn! Kiss him! Kiss him! We know you want to!!”.

To everyone’s surprise, Aragorn did just that.

Grinning like a madman he tipped Legolas’s head slightly back and kissed him fully, the Elf’s lips parting submissively, their tongues clashing inside his sweet mouth as Legolas arched, pressing himself flat against the Man, fingers twining in the dark hair he’d admired for so long. When they parted, breathless and flushed, it amused them to see the rest of the Fellowship pick themselves up cautiously, some pinching their cheeks, some mouthing like fishes on dry land and one pinning another to the ground to prevent her from getting Aragorn’s head (guess who!)

“A-A-Aragorn, what did you just do?” Elrohir said in shock, his left eyebrow twitching and his hand reaching mechanically to drop some gold into Gandalf’s open palm.

“You asked me to kiss him, so I did; although, I don’t really need a reason to kiss my fiancé,” he replied calmly, amused to feel Legolas’s cheek heat up against the naked skin of his neck. After one moment of ominous silence there was a cry of “YOUR WHAT?” that echoed through the whole forest, making most of its habitants clamp their hands against their ears. Aragorn wordlessly took Legolas’s hand and showed them all the ring of Barahir he’d given the Elf as a token of undying love.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Boromir murmured, hands joined and eyes pointed skywards. Unconsciously he held Arwen to him and began to spin her around happily. They had finally told each other of their true identities and were going to get married! They had finally confessed! They—

“I won’t marry for duty.” Aragorn kept on in the same calm, even tone. “Not now that I have Legolas. We’re going to be together.”

Feeling his energy drain from his body Boromir released Arwen and flopped back on the grassy ground with a groan and a whimper, with a rather stunned Arwen falling to her knees right next to him.

Yeee! His headache was back! Boromir was almost starting to miss it. He would have thrown a ‘welcome back party’, hadn’t he been so busy massaging his throbbing temples. Why, he could already picture it, when he broke the news to Denethor.

Yes father, I too am happy to be back. No father, I did bring the Prince back with me but he’s kinda reticent to marry. Yes father, I know it was his idea, but he really doesn’t want to pledge himself to Prince Legolas. Actually, I’m here to ask your help to break off their engagement. Why? Well, because he wants to marry Legolas and not the Prince. No, I have not hit my head anywhere in the recent past, why?

After another moment of stunned silence, they all turned towards Éowyn, expecting to see her leap at the Man’s throat, or at most to see her still pinned to the floor under Elladan’s weight. Well, it was to their eternal astonishment that they saw an incensed *Elladan* being pinned to the floor under *Éowyn*’s weight, while she whispered soothingly in his ear.

“It’s quite all right! I don’t mind this, really…! They’re cute together… all that counts his Legolas’s happiness… El, please!”

“He can’t decide such a thing without asking you—I mean, his fiancée!! And it’s Elladan!”

“They’ll talk about it, later!”

“But it’s not fair! He should have asked you-her! He can’t go and break hearts like that!”

“But if you said his fiancée couldn’t even stand him!”

“That’s beyond the point!”

“Elladan, please!”

“It’s El!” Beat. “I mean…” Éowyn’s smirk was so bright they would have no problems to walk the darkness of the underground route as long as it lasted.

“Caught.” Elladan dropped his head on the grass with a groan. Great! Just the last thing he needed right now.

Elrohir shrugged at his twin’s antics, and eyed Aragorn and Legolas from head to toe, his happiness for his cousin clear in his eyes.

“Good catch, Aragorn.” he jibed. Laughing, Aragorn pulled Legolas closer to him, feeling the Elf lean on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmured into Legolas’s blonde hair.  Legolas smiled lovingly at him and tipped his head to kiss the Man’s chin.

The faint echo of pop love songs could still be heard coming from the riverbanks (whatever that potion in the cookies was, Gandalf had made it just a tad too effective…), and it was with than unusual BG that Galadriel made her appearance, Celeborn trailing sleepily behind her. She eyed the Fellowship slowly, nodding briskly at Arwen and then closing her eyes.

“It seems that the Orcs have… momentarily retreated from the City.” She began, shaking her head slightly. She knew that Orcs’ intelligence went as far as a human could throw an Olyphant, but turn left instead than right at a crossroad and get lost in the woods even as they had a map… that was downright ridiculous!

The Lady shook her head clear, focusing back on her audience and smiling brilliantly for it.

“It’s not safe for you to walk the Golden Woods at this time, for they’re swarming with Orcs. We can do naught but open the Black Gate, and let you into the underground route – the only safe way remained to leave or reach Lórien.”

“Underground route?” Éowyn dared to ask, shifting her weight slightly as to find a more comfortable position. Please note that she was still sprawled upon Elladan’s prone form, but she had her chin propped on her cupped hands now, her elbows digging into the elf’s back. She looked like she just needed some backrub and one bowl of pastries to be in 7th Heaven.

Galadriel turned toward the fake Elf, and her eyes glinted with kindness.

“Centuries ago, the brave Dwarves that excavated the tunnel between Lothlórien and Morfëataur began to work on their greatest dream – one dream that caused them to lost first their health and then their life. They wished to link all the major strongholds of the Free People with underground tunnels – Lothlórien, Mirkwood, the City of Edoras in Rohan and Minas Tirith in Gondor- and so began to dig, deeper and farther into the ground. However, they soon understood it would be unwise to complete the underground net, for, if the Enemy ever took over one of those posts, then he would have one open way to all the others.” Nods and agreeing whispers from the audience. Even Celeborn nodded… but that’s because he was falling asleep again. Sigh. How he missed his bed. He would be sleeping peacefully, blissfully tucked under some smooth and warm covers now, hadn’t Galadriel taken his teddy bear in hostage.

“Greatly it pained them to cease their mining work, for years and lives had been shed and one tunnel already finished.” Continued Galadriel. “But it was for the greater good that that tunnel was sealed with both gates and magic, and then forgotten. And this one tunnel you’re about to walk. Behind the Black Gates, through darkness and fear, it will lead you to the ruined Capital of Rohan… it will lead you to Edoras.”

“Edoras…” Éowyn whispered softly. Edoras! Home! Her home! Her home! Overjoyed she swooped, flinging her arms around Elladan’s neck and squeezing *tightly*, almost chocking the poor thing as a result.

Galadriel nodded again, wondering in a far corner of her mind how come a male Elf with the strength of at least five mortals could be overpowered so easily by a young maiden. Shrugging, she glanced at Arwen again, lowering her lids some.

“What awaits you in the depths, even the wisest can not know for sure. Unfathomable dangers await for you in darkness, yes. And creatures that never sleep will watch your every move. But do never lose hope! Perilous indeed will be your journey from now on, and hope will be your only strength. Let hope and love guide you back into the Light.” She paused, staring one moment more into Arwen’s eyes, then gestured to Rúmil and Orophin to open the Black gate and hand the Fellowship some torches and the bags she’d readied for them. “Namarië*.”

With an ominous clangour the Black Gate opened before them like a beast’s mouth, exhaling putrid fumes. The members of the Fellowship stepped carefully inside, huddled together as to gain some strength from their closeness. Then the Gate closed behind them.

BOOM!

The seals were put back into place, iron bars and locks and spells.

CLANG!

The Fellowship of the Star was left alone in the Dark.

TBC

Namarië*= Farewell

I’m not 100% satisfied with this one chapter, but it’s still cute, I think. I hope you think so, too! =)

I’ve yet to decide what kind of foes they’ll meet in the Dark… another Watcher, Orcs, Uruk-hai, Spiders, maybe even Gollum… I really can’t choose.  o.O;;