|
.|. Radical Dreamers .|.
Chapter 6 ~ * * * * * If Aragorn had ever wondered *how* exactly a punching bag felt when pummelled mercilessly… well, he surely knew enough to write a manual, now. Not that getting into books business was a bad idea - he could definitely need some extra money, whether he got that position as King of Men or not. He doubted that sitting on a throne and shouting orders was a really money-making job – he’d always suspected Elrond to be secretly hard up. Oh, he could already see it, publicity slogans and everything! King Elessar’s Best Seller Book, “Why Shan’t Thee Hit Thy Punching Bag” is out on all libraries across Middle Earth! Elves, Ents, Men and Hobbits! Buy it now, and you’ll receive a lovely blond-Elf plushie to pamper and cuddle as you wish! Long legs, shiny hair and big blue eyes, the Legolas plushie is the best partner for your lonely nights, and— No, no, no, *wait*. He was getting sidetracked inside his own fantasies, here! Legolas had more power than he thought - at least on him. Aragorn shook his head clear and stopped, unintentionally dodging a punch from the thrashing Elf draped across his shoulder. Legolas’s deceptively slim hands and small hands held a strength one would not guess. Aragorn’s back had been having a close encounter with said small hands for the past minutes - an experience it wasn’t looking forward to repeat any time soon. There was maybe *one* place just between Aragorn’s shoulder blades that did not hurt. “Let me goooooo!!!” …erase that. The struggling Elf had just struck that one spot while pleading (ordering?) Aragorn to let him go. With a shrug that send Legolas squealing and holding onto him for dear life Aragorn rearranged the Elf across his shoulders as if a mantle, until the his long legs and arms were dangling from each of Aragorn’s shoulders. “I’m quite comfortable as I am now, actually.” Quiet true – with his back out of Legolas’s punches’ reach he felt quite renewed. He glanced a Legolas out of the corner of his eyes – was it just him, or the Elf was blushing? “Set.Me.Down.” Legolas hissed through clenched teeth. Aragorn shrugged again – and again Legolas had to hold onto him not to fall down. “Why? I mean, I’m comfortable; you’re comfortable, not walking and everything, why would we want to set you down?” “Because.” “*That* does not sound a reason good enough to me.” Aragorn laughed, and Legolas’s arms wound up around the Man’s neck in his quest for equilibrium. Being cheek-to-cheek with Strider now, it would have been impossible for Legolas to miss the look of satisfaction written all over the Man’s face, and the Elf felt his blood boil. If that human was doing that on purpose (why, you mean there were still doubts?) he’d better say so and *stop*! “I’m serious, human! Release me! *Now*!” “Or else? You don’t seem in the position to be giving orders, Elf.” Legolas flushed. No *one* plays with Legolas “Green Leaf”’s pride and survives. “On the count of three,” the blonde informed in a conversational tone, “You’re going to release me, our my friend the elven dagger here,” he pocked the Man’s throat with the blade just as casually, “Will be glad to show your vocal chords outside.” One second time and he was on the ground, patting his tunic off of inexistent dust. “Where did *that* come from?” Aragorn demanded, rubbing his neck with a pout on his face. Gods, either that elf was *swift*, or he was a magician – if not both. Come on, one does not get *such* a body by nature…
Even though so graceful, it was easy to say Legolas slim
limbs held considerable strength; like a feline he was, flawless and strong
and simply beautiful. With his blonde hair and bottomless blue eyes Legolas
was enchanting, Aragorn had to admit. Pretty, but not like a woman. Pretty
like only him could be. His long arms and nimble fingers, marred with marks
known only to archers, and still so delicate-looking. His legs, long and
lithe, clad in the tight leather of his leggings. The dark fabric was
wrapped around him like a second skin, following every curve and hollow of
the lithe tights and powerful calf, caressing the curve of his hips and
butt. A nice butt. *Very* nice. No doubt. “Its scabbard.” Legolas said dryly. Aragorn gave a fake short laugh, wry. “Very funny. Couldn’t you have just *told* me if you wanted to be set down?” “I *did*.” Legolas snorted. “It’s *you* who wouldn’t listen!” “You’re saying this as if I was holding you captive by force and wouldn’t let you go!” One of Legolas’s slim eyebrow rose up sharply. “You were.” “I wasn’t.” “You were. Since from your arrival you’ve been holding me as if tomorrow wasn’t to come!” “I wasn’t! Why would I want to hold *you*?” Legolas’s other eyebrow followed its brother’s lead, and the Elf stared at Strider before glancing quickly but efficiently at himself. Aragorn flushed when the Elf looked up and him, but had the gumption to hide his flaming cheeks, bringing a fist to his mouth and coughing as if to clear his throat. “Okay, erase that. I see *why* I would hold you… though it doesn’t mean I was.” Legolas, who had been revelling in his little victory on the Man, gave Strider one of his looks that said ‘I’m going to hit you’ (the Man would soon know how many ‘looks’ Legolas actually had, and the multitask quality of most of them). Strider flashed him a smile that usually annoyed even the always-calm Elrond, and Legolas proved to be affected likewise when his eyes narrowed. “You were, though, leaning against me Elf. Weren’t you?” Legolas blushed and glared together, one thing negating the other, though the effects they had on his loveliness remained. He looked so good right then, so *desirable*, all embarrassed and angry, that Aragorn wondered briefly how could Éowyn be the Morning Star when there was such a wonderful creature around. “*You* started it!” “Ah-ah! So you admit it! You *were* leaning on me!” “You were *holding* me!” “You still aren’t denying that you were leaning on me.” “You didn’t deny that you were holding me either!” Aragorn smirked, cockiness written all over his face. “But I didn’t admit it, either.” Legolas crossed his arms and looked away, blonde hair swirling around him, and Aragorn almost lost his focus again. Almost. He should definitely force Legolas to wear a hat whenever he wished to talk to him: his hair was too much of a distraction. The Elf himself was. Maybe a long cape and a drawn hood could help? “Neither did I,” Legolas muttered back. He sighed. “’This not good. We should collaborate, not bicker. We’re going together to Gondor, after all. Collaboration and friendship are needed as air if we want to survive the wilderness.” Aragorn looked down. “I know.” Legolas bit his bottom lip, feeling as if coldly dismissed. Aragorn too realized he wasn’t exactly up for winning the ‘most polite Ranger of the year’ prize, and cleared his throat nervously. “So… you’re coming with us for real?” He said it slowly, trying to leave the hope out of his voice. Evidently he had done that a touch *too* good, because not only he didn’t sound hopeful in the slightest, but Legolas gave an angry growl, tightening his fists as he heard the Man, sure he was implying the Elf would be a bother for them. “Of course I am! Whether you want to have me or not!” Aragorn frowned, jerking his head up to stare at the Elf. “Of course I want you, Legolas!” he cried, then winced. That didn’t come out the way it was supposed to. “To… come along, I mean.” “Of course you meant that.” Legolas smirked. Many before had showed interest for him. It had even annoyed him at times, to have so many pretenders, but *this*… this was absolutely priceless. A pity he was to be married in a few days. At that moment Éowyn came crashing out from the Castle’s impossibly high front doors, panting and stumbling under the weight of tens suitcases. On the last steps of the staircase that lead to the dais Aragorn and Legolas were in, she noticed how close they were, gave a screech and, miscalculating the distance she put a foot in fall, tumbling down to their level. Aragorn hurried to help her, (he was her future husband, after all) but the first thing she said, before picking herself up from the ground and even before understanding what had happened at all was, “Don’t… *ouch*… touch him… *groan* or I’ll get your head…” Aragorn gave up helping her and stepped away, retreating into a corner and laying his back against a tree, arms folded across his chest. What’s with this Man and shadowed corners anyway? Legolas took the Man’s place next to Éowyn, and frowned down at her as she checked her… ehm… let’s call it ‘lower back’ for any damage. “You don’t need all that luggage, Éowy.” “She *can’t* bring it, need or not need.” Aragorn corrected from his corner, pouting. *Éowy*?! Those two were *that* close? Damn. He’d better do something, and *soon*, if he wanted to marry Leg- ehm, *Éowyn*. Yeah, Éowyn. “They’re not really my things.” She said as she grabbed Legolas’s hand (which he had not offered her, anyway) and rose to her feet, checking her gown. “They’re gifts for Elrond from Thranduil.” “Gifts?” Aragorn and Legolas said in perfect unison. Éowyn nodded. “Anything you can find in Mirkwood, from Blueberries Jam to clothing woven of spider silk, is in these-” she patted the nearest bag, grinning. “-bags.” Legolas groaned, hiding his face in one hand, and Aragorn began glancing from one to the other and back. What…? Éowyn wiggled her eyebrows. “Someone has a crush on Elrond, it seems.” She said as she collected her bags and hurried to were the rest of the Company was gathering. With a groan Legolas followed her. “Please, don’t remind me.” he fell in step with Éowyn, took most of the bags from her, and helped Boromir and the twins hoisting it onto Hasufel and Arod’s backs. Soon they were entering the woods, the horses walking unsteadily under the immense weight of Thranduil’s gifts and Thranduil’s (fake) daughter, but Aragorn was still in his shadowed corner, eyes round. *Who* had a crush on *who*? Oh, my… He shook himself out of his reverie and hurried in front of the Company, leading the way as always. Beside him was Gandalf, and just behind him Elladan, while Elrohir was last in the file. Arwen and Legolas came after Elladan, and Boromir came after them, leading the horses. Arwen glared briefly at Éowyn, who batted her eyelashes at Boromir from atop Hasufel. She did nothing about it though, upon noticing Legolas’s wistful look. “Are you sad because we said no farewells?” the blonde shrugged. “Nay, we’ve known of your arrival for days, and thus gave our farewells to our home and dear ones some time ago, as to be ready to depart the moment we met, but-” he glanced at the Palace, quickly. “-something’s missing. My departures from the Castle have never been so… quiet, before.” He shrugged it off, and with a nod beckoned Arwen to turn. Arwen did so, blinking, and caught Éowyn just as she was convincing Boromir he should mount Hasufel as well and hold her, because she feared she would fall. Arwen hauled dust as she hurried over to them, Legolas skipping out of the way before she could knock him over. The oblivious Man explained the fake Princess for the umpteenth time that Hasufel could *not* carry both of them and the baggage as well, when he found his arms full of a *very* jealous She-Elf who wanted to be carried because tired. “*Tired*, Milady?” Boromir asked Arwen, both worried and surprised. No need to say he did not understand at all Arwen was acting out of jealousy. “*Tired*” Arwen assured, tucking her head under Boromir’s chin and smirking up at Éowyn before wrapping her arms around the Man’s neck. Boromir found it strange, of course. She’d never ordered him anything like that, but he thought that give in to her occasional whims was part of his duty of Guardian as well. And then again… …then again, when they would have reached Gondor he’d have to say farewell to her forevermore. Do anything she said for these last few days they’d spend together would hurt no one, would it? With a shrug the Man took the Elf in his arms, oblivious of the murderous look Arwen and Éowyn were sharing behind his back. Legolas laughed, the loveliest sound that could accompany this strange departure, and Aragorn found himself smiling despite the route he’d chose to follow. They’d head due south toward the river Anduin and toward Lothlorien where Galadriel resided. They’d evade the common routes and cross the darkest part of Mirkwood – Morfëataur, the Woods of the Dark Spirits. Estel just hoped that the rumours they’d heard about Elf-eating spirits dwelling in Morfëataur were just that: rumours. * * * * *
Meanwhile, inside Mirkwood’s Castle. “Oh, and you should have seen how lovely he was when, just 73, he participated to his first Hunting Contest with the adult Elves! 125 Orcs he shot, the precious little thing! *sob* Oh, I’m so glad you’re here with me in this hard moment! I knew I could count on you Arwen, and you Boromir, to listen to my pain… … … … … … … … Arwen? … … … Boromir? … … … … … … … … … … … ... … … … … … … … anyone?”
TBC *grins* I’ve a cute lil’ idea swirling inside my mind for the next chapter… *wiggles eyebrows* How many other than me would like to see Aragorn wanting to take a bath and finding Legolas, nude, in the water? Many I hope!!! =D *giggles* Can’t wait to type that scene down… Oh, and I can’t wait to put Gimli & Co. in the story too! If not in chapter 7 then they will make their appearance in chapter 8! =D
|
