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.|. Radical Dreamers .|.
Chapter 7 ~ Two days walking, and the first trees of Morfëataur were already looming around the Company, statuesque and mysterious. From above Morfëataur looked like a stain of dark amidst the green of Mirkwood; a patch of black exhaling dark fumes. From the ground it looked like a cave made of intertwined branches of black, open like a beast’s maw. Dark mist had been lapping at the Company’s feet since morning, and the more they walked the darker and more silent the forest got. Apprehension had started to seep into Aragorn’s heart. He was edgy and high-strung, and his whole mind had narrowed to the task at hand of leading his dear Elf – ehm, dear Company to safety. Dear *Company*. Stupid brain, always slipping whenever Legolas was concerned. Admittedly, Aragorn regretted choosing such route now, but turning back was never an option, not with Orcs swarming amidst the trees. So taken he was in his own worry that a simple crackling in the woods caused him to start and spun around as if caught in a whirlwind. A reflex deep in his mind made him reach for Andùril, but something gripping suddenly onto his arm prevented him from seizing the sword. When Aragorn looked down, it was to see the top of Legolas’s blonde head, his golden hair swinging as the Elf whipped from side to side in alarm. “What was that?” The Elf whispered urgently, not expecting an answer, nor receiving one: Strider was far too out-of-focus to reply. Aragorn hated it when it happened, but the part of him that always whispered sweet nonsense about Legolas had got its voice back, talked several other mind-parts into it, and was now murmuring about Legolas’s hair. Whenever Legolas moved his hair swung like the wings of a dove, or of one of Lòrien’s swans, beautiful and soft. It was shiny, like the moonbeams spilling through the clouds after a storm… and so sweet scented, too! Like flowers, and honey and— A tiny crack behind them made Legolas spin quickly, and his grip on Strider’s arm tightened so much that it cut his blood-flow, dragging the Man out of his reverie. As his grip on Strider’s arm tightened even more, (if that was possible) Legolas’s keen eyes scanned quickly the dark foliage, not unlike a cornered animal readying himself for fight or flight. As his instincts concluded that there was no danger nearby, he appeared to relax, his grip slowly slackening. Aragorn sighed in relief when he felt the blood flowing through his limb again. “I can’t see what made that noise…” Legolas murmured softly. “‘tis too… dark, here.” He said, and shivered slightly at the last word. Strider looked down at him with a glint in his eyes. “Scared of the darkness?” Legolas instinctively tensed for a moment, his grip on Strider’s arm tightening again (making the Man regretting having ever asked). The Elf’s head moved slowly from its resting place on the Man’s chest, and Legolas blinked up at him with wonder in his eyes. Strider grinned. Legolas looked down at their linked arms. Blinked. Looked up at Aragorn. Blinked. Looked back down at their linked arms, and finally jumped away. Aragorn’s arm sang in glee as sensibility started returning to it, while the rest of the Ranger’s body growled in discontent. Why couldn’t that Elf press up to him and *stay* *where* *he* *was* for once?! Either he learned to stay still, or Aragorn would handcuff himself to the Elf, or something. It was getting more and more difficult to pry his thoughts away from the blonde Elf, Aragorn realized. Even thought Legolas quickly moved away each time the two of them touched, the Legolas-fan part of Aragorn’s mind kept acquiring supporters with each occasional touch. As his last resort to tame his crush on the Elf, Aragorn began staring at him deeply, trying to find a flaw… … but Legolas shook his head, an angry flush spreading over his cheeks, and part of Aragorn melted at the sight. Damn. He’d lost count of how many times he’d told himself he wasn’t attracted to Legolas during those past two days. Maybe he’d better stop trying altogether and just kidnap Legolas, carry the Elf away to a villa on the seaside and have tens of babies. No, wait… there was something basically *wrong* in that sentence. Oh yeah… Elves and Seas are best kept apart, if one wants a solid relationship. Maybe a small house by the beautiful Shire? Aragorn shook his head clear and Legolas, mistaking the gesture, flushed even darker. “It’s true!” he said, flipping his hair back nonchalantly. “I’m not scared of the darkness… I just don’t like it… much. Yeah. We Elves are not meant for walking the darkness. We’re meant to live in light and open spaces. That’s all.” Aragorn’s eyebrows rose, and when Legolas caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes he whipped away, but if it was to hide a blush or rather a scowl we do not know. “There are other Elves here, and it seems to me that they are managing just well.” Aragorn replied slowly. At this Legolas turned, a smirk on his beautiful, full, kissable and luscious lips. (Aragorn scowled at his brain for even suggesting such adjectives) “Just well?” he sing-sang, chuckling to himself. Legolas glanced away, and following his gaze Strider found his knees almost failing him. Behind the always-smoking Gandalf he saw Boromir walking, stumbling and limping as he went, eyes flat and sweat dripping from his face. In his arms was Arwen, looking around wildly, wide-eyed and almost frightened. Her countenance was that of a deer cornered by a predator, and at the smallest noise she’d hide her face against the Man’s broad chest, squealing, only to look around again when the noise ceased. “It’s *dark*!” she kept whimpering softly, a scared child in her mentor’s arms. To his account we must admit that Boromir *had* tried a couple of times to squeeze and comfort the poor thing, but he’d given up soon, noticing it was downright *impossible* to move his arms *at all* while Elladan and Elrohir each gripped one, eyes wide as they surveyed the dark greenery. “It’s,” One twin often began, and “Dark!” the other would finish, over and over. And whenever a noise reached their ears, it resulted in twin grips that cut all blood-flow to both the Man’s arms. Lastly, sprawled across the Man’s back, not really scared but doing a good job at pretending, was Éowyn, who kept interjecting pleased sighs to her fake scared whimpers as she snuggled closer to the Man’s warmth. “Yeah, dark. And whatever they’re saying. Mh-mh.” “Hmm… maybe not so well,” Aragorn conceded with a cough, and Legolas smirked at him, pleased for his small victory. The Ranger looked around, noticing for the first time they’d stopped in a small clearing, easy to defend if need ever came and protected from the weather by strong ancient trees. He surveyed the Company, fighting the urge to chuckle at the Elves dangling from Boromir like fruits from a tree, and gestured vaguely to their surroundings. “What about setting camp here? We could build up a fire and--” He’d just finished saying the word ‘fire’ that the twins both were at his feet, lighting up a fire in record time. Aragorn blinked, staring in amazement at the leaping flames. “I’ll take that as a resounding ‘yes’.” * * * * * “You’re so foolish! I can’t believe you lead fou-*five*-” Remember Éowyn, Legolas, remember Éowyn. “-Elves to Morfëataur, you JERK!” Legolas yelled, fists frozen at his sides. Aragorn stood before him, and suddenly seemed taller than usual, prouder. Those who recognized the one on his face as the ‘I’m the King of Gondor and thus have the right to kick your ass’ look whimpered, cowered, and shook their heads pitifully at Legolas. “Only because you’re scared of a stupid fairy-tale, you Elf-boy, that does not mean you can tell me what I can and cannot do!” Legolas screeched angrily. “Elf-boy?! Watch your mouth, human child! I’m at least 15 times your senior!” “…said the one who’s scared of the darkness!” “I’m *not*!” “You are!” “No!” “Yes!” “No! And stop yelling at me, jerk!” “As soon as you stop calling me names, childish Elf!” “Excuse me, mister I’m the_mighty_Leader, but I’m not the one being childish here!” “I’m not childish!” “Oooh, and I suppose that leading fou-*five*! Elves to the realm of the Elves-eating Spirit was wise!” “Don’t try to change subject! That’s just a tale Elves tell their children to scare them when they misbehave, silly Elf!” “Don’t call me silly!” “Ooh, now who’s being childish?” “You’re just a pathetic human! If we didn’t have to travel together to stop the war, I would have never associated myself with the likes of you!” “This is racism! Why do you ever hate humans?!” “I don’t!” Legolas protested, stomping his foot. “And I’ve my own reasons!” He spat, remembering his upcoming marriage. Aragorn snorted. “This is incoherent, Elf-boy!” “I’ve had enough! I’ll find the Spirit and drag it to you so you’ll see who is the child here!” Legolas said and twirled around, stomping off into the woods. Everyone except the already sleeping Éowyn stared after him in shock. “I’ll enjoy watching you drag here thin *air*!” Aragorn yelled, and stomped away in the opposite direction. The two disappeared from sight simultaneously, and as soon as they did Arwen released a sigh, plopping down onto the log Gandalf and Boromir were sharing. “This is terrible! Why can’t they stop fighting?” She asked, her chin cupped in her hands. Boromir shook his head. “I don’t know, but--” Gandalf removed the pipe from his mouth and blew out some dove-shaped and bell-shaped smoke-rings. “It’s because each fancies the other so much it confuses him, and thus tries to hide his feelings behind a mask of rage.” He said slowly. Boromir looked at him as if the wizard had grown a second head, but Arwen’s eyes literally lit up. “So, fighting is their own way of flirting, you mean?” Boromir turned to her, mouth wide to point out how ridiculous that was, when Gandalf’s voice behind him made him whip back around in shock. “Isn’t that obvious?” “But-but-but!” Boromir spluttered, “People who are in love do not fight like *that*!” He said, pointing shakily at the spot where the two soon-to-be husbands had last stood together. Behind him Arwen shrugged, and patted the Man’s shoulder before moving toward the campfire and the meat she was burn-ehm, *cooking* there. “Guess not all couples are harmonized as we are.” She called back as she retreated. Boromir’s eyes went round. Couple? They? Couple? *They*? They as in, Arwen and Boromir? Arwen the Undòmiel and Boromir the Gondorian Knight? The Elf and the Human? *Couple*?! No,waitjustamomenthere. Boromir blinked, turning toward Gandalf with a round mouth. “Couple? Us? I mean… she thinks… did I let her… I mean…” Gandalf shook his head with something resembling pity in his eyes, patted the Man’s shoulder comfortingly and rose, skidding weightlessly outside the clearing. Now alone on the once-crowded log, Boromir turned to stare forward, not really seeing anything. “Couple? The two of us? Couple? We’re not a couple!” But what if she thinks we are? But she can’t… probably she meant that as ‘couple of friends’… … … …why ever comparing us to Estel and Legolas, then? … …maybe she cares for me… I can ask her. Yeah, right. What if she was serious and went in a fit of grief because I asked?! On the other hand she was probably joking. Of course she was! And if I start thinking we are a couple, it could ruin our friendship, so I’d better… Wait… if I take this lightly and be insensible, she’ll hate me. But if I take this seriously and she did not mean it, she’ll hate me for thinking she could ever care for *me*… By the Valar, he was in serious need of some athelas here! His head throbbed like crazy and Boromir did not see the end of his headache coming anytime soon. But we never have acted like couples do, have we? Okay, we’ve walked the riverside under the moonlight when in Lothlòrien, but that does not mean… uhm, we even dinned by candlelight once… or twice. Maybe three times. Make that four. Five. Six. Err…But the twins dine by candlelight as well… *every* day!! Uhm… and the fact she and I go everywhere together does not mean we *date*, does it…? But what if she thinks— * * * * * Aragorn, Strider, Estel, Longshanks or whatever is the nickname of his you like the more was rushing through the forest, muttering darkly under his breath as he steered through over-grown trees and dangling lianas. That maddening Elf-boy! How could Legolas annoy him so much and yet go under his skin like no one had never –and probably would never- been able to do?! To try and tame his temper Aragorn had sat down on a flat boulder for quite sometime, but he’d soon found himself stomping back and forth like a caged beast. He had then caught the faint sound of running water, decided a bath was just what he needed to calm down, and started to rush toward the gurgling sound. He was close now, he realized, and started to tear at his tunic furiously. The Man circled the last barrier that divided him from the water – a behemoth of a tree- and had to fight not to keel over from a heart attack. The little pond there formed was already occupied, and by someone who looked like Legolas. Double check: a very happy, very wet and very *naked* Legolas. If I’m dreaming, Aragorn thought, let’s hope I’m in a coma and won’t wake up before fifty years or something. Legolas turned his back on him, and Aragorn’s mind reeled. Fifty years? Let’s make it fifty hundreds instead, and I’ll have made the deal of my life. He wondered for a moment if he could live that long, but thoughts completely flew from his mind when Legolas gracefully leaped underwater. I *said* he had a nice butt, didn’t I? Uhn? Uhn? He_who_had_not_been_looking_at_Legolas’s_butt_before thought. Legolas, still completely oblivious of the Man’s presence, resurfaced, and ran his fingers through his hair. Aragorn had to lean himself against the behemoth-ish tree. Legolas’s hands dropped and the Elf moved his fingers slowly across the water, concentric ripples dancing around the tips. As if performing some ancient rite he let water run through his finger, creating waves all around him. He was moving his arms slowly to and fro, looking very much like a child and yet strangely surreal, almost ethereal. Little ephemeral lights danced all around him, floating downward to gently brush the surface of the lake only to waltz heavenwards after a mere, teasing touch. Fireflies they were, and fluttered all around him in a seductive dance, sending iridescent little lights to trace the sensuous lines of his face. Flickers of silver had dyed his hair to a silvery shade, and his skin was magnified to a glistening white, so beautiful it hurt. Aragorn had never been one easily amazed. He’d grown up with Elves after all, the most beautiful creatures on Middle Earth, and had even shared his childhood with the most exquisite member of that beautiful kin, Arwen his cousin; still, he could not move, or breath, caught as he was in the Legolas’s beauty. Moonlight cast a silvery sheen on the ebony water and trees, reflecting off Legolas’s body enticingly. Who ever said that Morfëataur was a place of ugliness? They’d never seen Legolas in it. Had they, they would have surely mistaken the dark woods for Valinor itself. The Elf’s presence alone elevated the ghastly Morfëataur to a temple of beauty. Aragorn however, had never been one very respectful fellow, either. He was more inclined to rebel, and usually disrupted sacred moments more than pay homage to them. Misbehave was probably his secret middle name… or 123.795th nickname, pick your choice. With a wicked grin the Man divested himself quickly of his tunic and undershirt and slipped as silent as the Ranger that he was toward the pond. To the records, Legolas *did* hear Aragorn approaching, Ranger or no Ranger. But when the Elf turned toward the noise of leaves crunched underneath Aragorn’s foot, he saw nothing but the quickly-disappearing concentring ripples dancing where Aragorn had already dived underwater. The Elf dismissed the ripples as caused by some leaping fish or fallen leaf, and went back to rinsing. He ran his hands up and down his arms quickly, looking as if wanting to scrub his previous anger away from his body. He ran his fingers across his dripping hair, his hands skipping then down his neck and across his chest before splashing back quietly into the river. Then, a voice came from behind him, a voice at the same time welcome, feared and unexpected. “Such a lovely place for a midnight bath, isn’t it?” Legolas whipped around, and Aragorn was only just inches from him, water dripping down his raven curls and bare chest. Legolas’s reaction to the sight was a first-prize one - let’s analyse it step after step. The first effect was to blush brightly, eyes running up and down Aragorn’s body as if to make sure he was there and was, indeed, as shirtless and gorgeous as he seemed. Then, once his eyes had somehow managed to leave the sinuous paths the water traced down the Man’s muscular body, the Elf opened his mouth, blushing even harder when words would not come. Third stage, Legolas blushed harder still and closed his mouth, settling for glaring at the Man. It wasn’t all that effective because the lovely blush negated the murderous glare, but that’s beyond the point. Final stage, the unnecessary statement. “Strider!” “The one and only.” The Ranger grinned smugly, fanning his arms to and fro at his sides like Legolas had done before. Damn, the Elf thought, he’d been caught off-guard by a human! How humiliating! And of all the thousands of humans populating Middle Earth it just *had* to be Strider, hadn’t it? Legolas doubted that existed a human who was more irritating, smug, annoying or simply more gorgeous than Str-- Wait. What was that? *That* Man… gorgeous?! … Oh, please… … … …though, he had to admit, Strider *was* good-looking. Not your average elven beauty, but still… and he always made Legolas feel protected. Wanted. Happy even… Okay, stop. Rewound. Erase the thoughts. Okay, let’s go on. Legolas turned back around to face the Man and glared at him, though just a bright halo atop his head could have made Strider look more innocent. Legolas opened his mouth, thought better about it and tightened his lips in a thin line. Strider just leaned back and smirked, still creating waves with his spread arms. Legolas just hoped the warmth spreading across his face did *not* mean he was blushing.
TBC … *bright halo atop her head* Cliff-hanger… aren’t I evil? ;) LOL But you’ll get more naked and wet Legolas this way…
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