.|. Radical Dreamers .|.

Chapter 21

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* * * * *

The Fellowship’s ‘small break to let the Hobbits regain some precious breath’ had lengthened considerably, seeing as “our guide assures us we’re within spitting distance from the exit, so let’s camp here! After all, what good can it do to push ourselves over our limits, (other than anti-aesthetic dark circles under our eyes)?”, as Elrohir had so courteously pointed out.

The outcome of the evening was inevitable: after they’d searched the ground, built up the fire and huddled around it like any good boy-scout would have, Éowyn decided it was *her* time to cook. However, she very well knew that she needed her companions’ permission before she could come anywhere near the food. She considered for a moment what she could do to convince them she *could* cook (no matter how sick Elladan had looked after trying her cookies out), dismissed it with a “Oh, well” and planted her feet on the ground in I’m_a_spoiled_princess pose, her hands on her hips, drawing in enough air for a yell even Sauron himself would have heard in his throne on the surface, past the valleys, beyond the river, behind a circle of Mountains and plains of stone, and deep within his fortress in Mordor.

The rest of the Fellowship turned towards her before she could speak a word, and just nodded (or shrugged, or waved) distractedly, telling her she could take care of the dinner, ‘if she so wanted’. Éowyn doubled into herself as if punched, and turned slowly towards Elladan, blinking owlishly. He too shrugged, and then promptly went back to braid Elrohir’s hair – the younger twin was currently in Seventh Heaven. He sighed contentedly from now and then, even purring at times (no matter how similar to Gollum and his reaction to Legolas that made him look). He was just so *glad* that he’d finally gotten all of his brother’s attention once again!!

Of course, the minor detail that he’d had to *blackmail* Elladan for that, was just, well, a minor detail.

Éowyn was less than impressed by Elladan’s sudden surge of brotherly love – it honestly made her grit her teeth that her favourite guinea pig had eyes for someone who wasn’t her. And it only aggravated her (already) sour mood when she discovered –or rather remembered- that there was NO food to cook, and that the only thing she could (and did) do was to split the last lembas cakes and hand the pieces around.

“Our last lembas.” Sam sighed, sounding morose. Merry echoed him with a sigh of his own.

“Lembas Again.”

“Lembas are very nutritious, Merry.” replied Sam in what hoped was an encouraging voice. Elladan shook his head.

“Other than the only thing Éowyn can cook.”

“Elladan… you don’t cook lembas… you eat them as they are!”

“Exactly my point.” Elladan replied, pressing himself flat against the floor just in time to avoid Éowyn’s flying frying-pan (still courtesy of Thranduil); and watching as it cut off the tips of his hair that weren’t fast enough before embedding itself firmly into the wall.

“Does anyone know where our guide is, by the way?” asked Frodo timidly, hoping this small distraction would save Elladan’s life.

“I think our Majesty here scared him away,” remarked the aforementioned Elladan, this time dodging a complete set of forks. “It’s true! You threatened to cook him, Éowyn! *I* would ran away, if I was him.”

“If he's ran, then we’re done for.” Elrohir tilted his head to frown at his brother over his shoulder. “No food, no water, no guide and no idea *whatsoever* of where we are.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” Interjected Gandalf. “Gollum said he’d go fishing up something for us. We crossed a small lake not so long ago, if you remember.”

“You think it wise to leave him alone?” asked Elrohir, snuggling closer to his brother. By coincidence, he did so the moment Éowyn handed Elladan his piece of lembas, and –well- if his movement made those two stop smiling stupidly at one another, it wasn’t his fault.

Gandalf said nothing, but bowed his head and sighed raggedly. Then, after getting a small nod from Arwen he said:

“He has a big part to play in our quest, whether if we trust him or not. But not even I know what to do of this knowledge. For the time being, just let him be.” Then the Wizard went back to mutter something inaudible to himself, puffing out from his pipe a remarkable amount of smoke. After some minutes, the chattering around him stopped, but the cloud of smoke continued to grow. Some other minutes, and coughs and sneezes began, but *still* the cloud of smoke continued to grow. At one point, Elrohir moved towards the Wizard with a smile, but drew back looking slightly sick from the pipe fumes before he could even say ‘bah’.

Arwen shook her head, and handed around some tissues that the other members of the Fellowship promptly pressed against their mouth and nose – you may never know, it could help them breathe some slightly fresher air...

* * * * *

The grotto was dark.

…predictable.

And he’d stumbled a couple of times already, scratching his knees and soaking himself to the bone.

…even more predictable.

And the water of the lake was freezing.

…all the more predictable, I’d say.

And there wasn’t even ONE fish for him to catch.

…did I say ‘predictable’ already?

Oh, but he wouldn’t give up. Oh, no. He needed the fish! Needed-needed-needed-needed-needed-needed-needed*pant*needed it!!!!

The equation was simple:

More food for the Fellowship = More trust for poor Precious.

Yes. Yes. Easy, indeed. And he needed more trust. Oh, if he did. Because, if they trusted him, then they’d follow him. Follow him to where *she* was, and she’d be happy, because she’d have not one, not two, not even *three* but TEN people for dinner! And with even one Squirrel for dessert!!! Oh, she’d be so happy! And so proud of him! She wouldn’t hit him this time, that huge spider! She wouldn’t whip him with her venomous legs and make him shake with fever and nightmares! Nor would she sink her sharp, long teeth into his flesh!

And –on top of all- she’d be so happy with the dinner he’d brought her, that she would heed him if he asked her to spare the beautiful Elf.

At the mentioning of the Elf, Gollum stilled, watching his reflection ripple before his eyes.

Legolas was so kind, so warm… Gollum loved the way the Elf made him feel important. Precious had never felt that way before, but he loved feeling useful. Feeling wanted. He wouldn’t let her touch him. Oh, no! Shelob would be free to eat the other members of the strange company how and when she pleased, but not Legolas! Legolas…

…Legolas would stay alive and keep Gollum company. Yes, yes. Company. So that he’d finally have a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone that would listen to him instead than use him to find food. Someone that would comfort him and not beat him. Someone that would bring some light in his life of darkness and pain. Someone in whose arms he could cuddle when nightmares kept him awake – or if the pain of her whipping did.

Yes, yes.

For what he cared Shelob could eat the white beard, those two creatures with the identical faces, the blonde woman with the sharp teeth… and yes, even that cute, short, curly creature with the wondrous blue eyes. Yes, Gollum would give her even that little thing who had so gently handed him some spare food in secret before, and had wrapped a clean cloth around the slashes on his arm. Even him. Even him.

But not Legolas.

So, come out of that stupid, smelly, freezing, dark water quickly you stupid, smelly, cold, shiny fish, or ELSE!!!!!!

He thought it, and the fish jumped out of the water and straight into Gollum’s arms! Yeah baby! Precious found his calling in life! Enchanter of fishes. It sounded cool, if you asked him. Not a very lucrative job, he supposed, but with such a cool sound to it!

Laughing heartedly, Gollum put the squirming fish into the leather bag he’d brought with him, and then went back to doing shooing sounds to the lake. In no time, *five* fishes jumped into Gollum’s ready arms without him breaking a sweat… well, at this point, we can safely assume that some of Aragorn’s psychic powers had somehow passed into Gollum.

C’mon, one can’t wave his hands at some water and have what he desires jump straight into his arms and… wait a moment, here. *rushes to fill the bathtub, and once it’s done begins flailing her arms wildly while shouting ‘Legolas! Legolas!'* … … …*rushes back* Nope, it doesn’t work. But Gollum continued his previous activities anyway, ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind that accused him of being heartless. He did have a heart… (he put a hand on his chest to be sure). Of course he did. However, he couldn’t follow it, because it was still safely tucked inside Shelob’s lair, where he put it whenever he went hunting – the same place where he should put this inner voice too, from now on. It was annoying. And it sounded suspiciously like… no wait. It didn’t sound *like* him. This *was* that Ranger from the company… what was is name? Strummer? Stroller? Skidder? Oh, right! Strider! Gotcha.

Gollum didn’t want to be found anyway, so he jumped deeper into the water, shuddering from the cold, hoping against hope that the Man would go away, and do it soon. However, Strider didn’t seem affected by Gollum’s NOT THIS WAY vibes, instead jogging up to where the fish enchanter was.

“There you are!” said the Man with a smile. “I thought you could need some help with the fishing, so I followed you and – are you all right? You’re shivering.” Gollum blinked. Why would this Man care? No one did. Not Shelob. Not the Whitebeard, nor the blonde woman. And certainly not him. Only Legolas did.

“F-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-ine.” He said, annoyed by the way his teeth clattered. “Gollum found fishes. Good fishes for good friends, Gollum’s found.” Aragorn glanced at the bag Gollum held, and smiled again.

“So many fishes! So big, and in so little time! The Hobbits will be most pleased. They were weary of lembas, potatoes and dried meat.” He reached out, offering Gollum help to stand. “Thanks Gollum, really.” He added warmly. Gollum blinked again, starting backwards from the offered hand. That Man… he was… thanking him for the food? Shelob never did. She just took it and ate it, and left nothing for poor Precious. “Ah, I just hope I had arrived in time to give you some help!” Gollum tilted his head to one side, then to the other. This Man wanted to help him? What a strange creature… it was almost as if he cared… cared for real… about Gollum.

But no one never had, right? Maybe not even Legolas had been this warm. Maybe not even the light in the elf’s eyes could compare to the warm glow inside the Man’s own.

Gollum was so shocked by this new notion, so confused by the mere thought that someone would thank him and want to help him, that he didn’t notice the dark shape swimming underwater towards him, nor the bubbles it produced when it came to stand right behind him.

Luckily for him, Aragorn did.

“Watch out!” yelled the Man, and, reaching out for his sword, he pounced.

Gollum shrieked in fear when he saw the Man jump at him, the gleaming blade of Anduril coming one mere inch from his face. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest upon feeling the Man’s hands come around him and held him to the Man’s chest. He struggled, but it was in vain! The Ranger’s grip was vice-like! And to think that Gollum was starting to trust him! To believe him! To think that--- his thoughts went no further. In that moment one sticky tentacle curled around his waist, tugging defiantly at it. Gollum’s eyes shot open, and he found himself face to face with a horrifying cross of all the tentacled animals he could think of – and a failed one at that. And it was breathing right on *his* face! Oi!!!!!

But then Aragorn moved, and sank his sword into the monster’s side to the hilt – the squashy thing lost its grip on Gollum, who felt Aragorn’s arm tighten around him. Reflexively, he resumed his struggling, kicking his legs and flailing his arms to gain some leverage. The monster began to slid back into the water and as Aragorn turned and ran towards the shore, it opened its black mouth, and shot Aragorn a dose of its acid poison.

Aragorn isn’t a Ranger just in name, and saw it come.

Just as he saw that if Gollum didn’t stop squirming, the acid load would surely hit one of his flailing limbs.

Acting on instinct, the Ranger made a dive for the shore, pinned the defenceless Gollum to the floor none-too-gently, and shielded him with his body with the hope that his thick clothes would prevent the acid from touching his bare skin.

For being formulated in such a dire moment, and so quickly, it was a good plan. And for the most part it worked. But the acid did a little job of corroding the fabric of Aragorn’s coat and tunic, and burned the flesh hidden beneath, drawing vicious red marks all over his left arm and hand.

When it seemed to him that the danger was gone Aragorn moved himself cautiously from Gollum’s prone form. He was racked by violent shivers, and his face was covered in blood. Horrified, Aragorn began to check him for injuries, all the time speaking softly to him, telling him it was all right, that he was safe, that the monster had gone and Aragorn had protected him. Gollum nodded numbly to all of this, watching with huge eyes as Aragorn wiped his face clean with gentle hands, used his cloak to dry and warm him up. Once he was sure the only wounds Gollum had got were the nasty-looking scratches on his knees, Aragorn quickly divested himself of his tunic, and cutting his undershirt into long stripes, he carefully bandaged the still shivering Gollum.

As soon as he finished, Aragorn sat back on his heels to look at his handiwork. He was visibly relieved, yet he couldn’t help but wonder where did the blood on Gollum’s face come from. He  had resolved to ask, but before he could even just blink Gollum wound his arms around the Man’s waist, effectively trapping him, and bawling like a newborn Orc.

“Gollum is sorry! Gollum thought you wanted to hurt him! Hurt him, yes! Like she does! Like she always does! So Gollum got scared! Gollum is so, so sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s all right.” Aragorn said gently. “The only thing that counts is that we’re safe and—”

“But your hand!” Gollum whined. “Your gentle hand, that protected Gollum! Gollum thought it evil! Gollum thought it wanted to hurt him, hurt him yes! And then Gollum’s teeth had sank into it! Yes, yes, they had! Evil teeth! So evil! But Gollum didn’t want to! Gollum! Gollum!” he began sobbing loudly, hiccupping and shivering, and Aragorn was left wondering what the *hell* he was babbling about, until he got a good look at his hand. When he did, he did a double take.

It was bleeding profusely, and under the red liquid he could see the marks left by Gollum sharp, little teeth.

“Gollum is sorry! Sorry! Now you hurt him? Hurt him, yes! He deserves it! Deserves punishment, he does!”

“Don’t be silly.” Aragorn remarked in a gruff voice. Gruff, but still gentle. He quickly cleansed his own wounds, bandaging them quickly but efficiently. Then he looked at Gollum with his head tilted, and a strange gleam stole into his eyes. “Or better yet, yes, you *do* deserve a punishment.”

Gollum swallowed soundly, and squeezed his eyes shut when Aragorn reached out for him. He expected to be hit for what he’d done, but the pain –the pain he could so vividly imagine, for knowing it so well- never came. Instead he felt a gentle caress on his bald head, and he dared opening his eyes slowly– first one and then, after glancing about some, the other. The strange gleam in the Man’s eyes had increased tenfold.

“*You* fished all that food and now *YOU* get to carry it. No objection. And don’t you *dare* ask for help.”

Gollum didn’t. He just hugged the Man with all the strength he could muster, and then scampered to his feet, insisting that the Man used him as a walking stick on their way back to camp.

In the end, Aragorn did carry the bag of fishes half of time.

“Feel like doing it.” he said. And Gollum grinned.

Maybe, there really was someone that could care for him.

* * * * *

“What happened then?” Pippin said around a huge yawn. Inside his breast pocket, Lascaran nodded, yawning himself. The flurry ball at the edge of his sleeping hat bobbed left and right as he did. Legolas chuckled.

“Then they travelled back to the Prince’s homeland, and there they met his father the King.” Pippin’s eyes shot open, but in less than a second sleep had closed them back down.

“The---yawn---same King that had sent his son off to marry, only because it would give him more prestige?”

“Yes, Pippin, that same King.”

“And?”

“And they bowed before him, the Prince and his beloved, and talked to him for nights and days, telling him of their adventures and of their love. Of how the Prince’s heart forbad him to marry only for politics, now that it knew true love. And how wrong and painful it was, to separate two souls who are in love.”

“And then the Prince’s beloved plummeted the King against a wall until he saw the light…?” Asked the Hobbit, and his voice was low and slurry with sleep. He shifted a little under the covers, curling into a tight ball, and leaning into the caress Legolas bestowed upon his curly head. Inside his pocket, Lascaran was snoring soundly already.

“No, Pippin. They showed him their love was pure, and the King granted them their wish. So, the Prince wedded his beloved upon the day of Midsummer, and all were happy, and no shadow lingered above the couple as they shared vows of eternal love. And they lived happily ever after, till the end of their days – and then beyond, in the Halls of Mandos, forever and evermore.”

It was but a dream, and Legolas knew it. A mere illusion. An exaggeration. Who knew if an elf and a Man –if he and Aragorn- could really meet again beyond death? But Pippin said nothing to it, because he’d fallen asleep at last, one hand curled gently over his pocket, warming and protecting his little squirrel friend. Legolas chuckled amusedly at the pair, but the soft look in his eyes gave him away. Pippin’s eagerness, his simplicity, his cheerfulness, touched him deeper than he cared to admit. He let out a sigh. The unruly Prince of Mirkwood, the proud and stern warrior, had a very, VERY soft heart, it seemed.

“What a wonderful mother, you’d be.” The words had barely reached his ears that Legolas had already swivelled around, fists up and at the ready, picturing very clearly in his mind how poorly he would reduce Aragorn for such comment. Then he saw the warm sparkle in the Man’s eyes, the tenderness of his smile; felt the gentleness of his touch when he held Legolas to him, kissing his brow.

He saw it all, and could do nothing.

“Aragorn?”

“I can’t tell you how much I want us to have children.” Legolas sagged against him.

“It can’t be done, meleth. We’re both--”

“I know.” Interrupted Aragorn. “But I can’t stop my dreams to be filled by an image of the two of us sitting in the gentle glow of an old, huge hearth, such as is the nature of Gondorians to possess. I can see us tucked side by side in the folds of a warm blanket, doing nothing but bask in each other’s presence. And then in the dreams seeps the merry sound of laughter - the laughter of our children as they play with your hair, or beg me to teach them how to handle a sword. And we revel in that sound, we find it precious, almost as precious at the one of our hearts beating in unison.”

For the longest moment, it was impossible for Legolas to reply, for his breath had been stolen by Aragorn’s words and hidden somewhere he couldn’t really reach. He stared long into Aragorn’s warm grey eyes, glimpsing a smallest hint of painful longing wavering amidst all the love there pooled.

“Aragorn…” The Elf whispered at last. Funny how, when in the presence of this Man, Legolas lost all his (in)famous eloquence.

“I know. It’s silly. It’s impossible. It’s--”

“It’s beautiful.” Legolas whispered, kissing him gently, and then again and again. At last he moved away, but his lips still caressed Aragorn’s enticingly with each breezy word he uttered. “And…”

“And?” Legolas grinned.

“And, as my father so eloquently put it before I left, ‘There’s always adoption, or we could ask Mithrandir to mix a potion to make me fertile’.” The Elf’s grin grew impossibly large, and it made him look as impish as a little kid. “And then again – I quote him- when one is as young as we are, what matters is not succeeding… but trying!!!!’”

Aragorn just stared at him. For one whole minute –I swear- he just stared at Legolas.

“Your *father* said that to you?”

“Every single word.”

“He seems eager to become a Grandfather, I’d say.”

“Oh, more than eager.”

“Should we try, and work a little on these grandchildren?”

“Definitely.” The Elf stood on tiptoe, touching their lips together. It was a light peck at first, but it quickly built up into a mind-blowing crescendo. Then Aragorn broke away, smirking at the obvious pout on Legolas’s flushed face.

“Maybe we should wait for Gandalf to mix that one potion before we—MFF!” Legolas -who he hadn’t fooled even for one moment- dragged him back into another soul-searing kiss, wrapping his arms around the Man’s neck as Aragorn tried to remove his coat.

Soon, but barely soon enough, it was off. Aragorn regretfully broke the kiss and spread the coat on the ground. Turning, he picked Legolas up, and gently laid him on the floor, their lips locked, the Elf’s arms back in place around the Man’s neck. Aragorn got the hint when Legolas began to pull, and slowly slid his body on top of that of his love. Passion, desire and love exploded through them as they kept kissing, moaning softly into the other’s mouth.

Aragorn’s hands became bolder, and swiftly found a way under the Elf’s shirt, caressing gently the warm velvet that was his skin. Legolas purred –actually purred- and the sound had nothing in common with Gollum’s or even Elrohir’s purr. It was a whispered, mewling noise that made Aragorn shiver helplessly.

“I love you Aragorn.” said the Elf, reaching up to undo the laces of the Man’s shirt.

“Me too, forever.”

“My love.”

“My beautiful…”

“My beauty sleep!” Came an annoyed Elf-voice from somewhere in the middle of the camp. Elrohir. Of course.

“Please, not when we’re within hearing range…” This one was Gandalf.

“Hold me back, hold me back, hold me back… or else I’ll get his head… hold me back… someone… anyone…” guess who?

“You said they were cute and you didn’t care!”

“Oh please, Elladan! She was saying that only to calm you down!”

“You were?”

“Not now, okay?! This is Legsy we’re talking about here! Just hold_me_back!”

“Elllllllllll~llllllllladan! My hair needs bruuuuuu~uuuuushiiiiiing!”

“He brushed it until one moment ago!”

“And now it’s tangled again! Here, Ella--NO! My brush! Arwen, why?!”

“Elrohir, please, let them be! Can’t you see they wish to—I mean, they need to—I-I mean, that your hair is so wonderful we could be blinded by the mere sight of it? So soft, so shiny, dark and smooth as thought woven of the night itself?”

“Why, thank you dear sister… I didn’t know you liked my hair so much. Go on, go on, please. Don’t stop just now. Keep praising me.”

“Err…”

Legolas burst out into laughter, hiding his face against Aragorn’s broad chest. The Man, shaking with laugher himself, sank his face into the Elf’s sweet smelling hair. He rolled the two of them to one side, letting the elf worm his way deeper within his arms.

“I don’t think they’d really notice us, if we continued. But I think it wise to stop now anyway, and continue this once back on the surface.”

“I agree. The exit can’t be still that far, can it?”

“And once in Gondor, we’ll get a room…”

“…like they’ve begged us to do for days!” Legolas agreed with another laugh. He went to clasp the Man’s hand, and saw him hiss in pain and recoil. Worried, he looked down and gasped, seeing Aragorn’s left arm and hand bare and covered with bandages.

“Aragorn! What? Who?”

“No need to worry, love.” Replied Aragorn, putting a finger over his lips. “I just had a close encounter with a monster, down at the lake.” He smoothed Legolas’s hair away from his cheeks and forehead. The Elf too smiled at the touch, and kissed the finger that silenced him, his tongue flicking over the Man’s calluses. With swift Elven grace he slid one leg over him, lifting his body to press closer to Aragorn. The Man held him closer, with a soft moan that may or may not be his love’s name. Legolas kissed him again as his palms wandered across the Man’s shoulders, up and down the muscles of his back, eliciting a low rumble from him.

Someone cleared his throat loudly behind them.

Close behind.

The two froze.

Then sighed.

With a choreographic synchronism the likes of which we hadn’t seen since Arwen and Boromir went to talk with Thranduil in his rooms.

“Good night Aragorn.”

“Good night Legolas.”

Pippin drew a breath of relief, turned his back to the pair, and went back to sleep.

TBC

I had finished this days ago, but FF.net wouldn't let me upload it... ;_; 

Sorry for the delay!! *bares her teeth in pure Éowyn-style at FF.net* I hope you liked the part about Gollum… and the A/L scene: it was less –uhm- sexy in my thoughts, but then it turned out like this… it seems those two can’t keep their hands off each other. I swear, they’re… possessed! oO

See you in the next chapter! =) *waves*