A Routine Mission...

OI!!! It's been ages since I have been here! *dusts off cobwebs* Goodness me. At any rate, here is a Final Fantasy VII fanfiction I've just finished! Just so that you know, this fic is a bit violent (you know me, I like to beat up my faves) and due to the world in which this story takes place, it's a rougher story than what you're used to from me in terms of dialogue. No swearing! Just more slangy. Alright! I'll say no more! Enjoy...hopefully. :)

DISCLAIMER:

Me: I do not own any of the characters, weapons, companies, or pretty much anything else in this story. As a matter of fact—

Reno: HEY! YOU.

Me: Reno! How are you, guy? *nervous laughter*

Reno: Ticked. I thought I was your favorite TURK!!

Me: You always will be!! But shut up before you ruin the story, will ya?

Reno: *mumbles under breath and walks away*



How’s it looking, guys?

“Clear so far. Target hasn’t made it to the building yet.”

It shouldn’t be long now, if Tseng’s intelligence is correct.

“Alright, Elena. We’ll keep looking.”

Keep me posted, Rude. I’ll be listening for you after – what is that? Reno, do you have to yawn in my ear?

“Aaahh…so sorry, but maybe next time you won’t choose 5 in the morning to start a mission.”

Take your sarcasm to Rufus. He gives the orders, not me.

“Right….”

Reno and Rude were staking out in a masterfully dark tinted car, courtesy of the Shinra Corporation. Well, the former Shinra Corporation. Three years after the Jenova disaster, the company was still having a hard time gaining any kind of support. But despite this, it was almost impossible to beat Shinra’s technological resources. This baby was top of the line.

The red-head ran a hand along the new leather and sighed satisfactorily. Sure, he was tired and miffed because Rufus had snapped his fingers, forcing him out of his nice, warm bed at such an ungodly hour. But with a beauty like this horse powered wonder to keep him company, it almost made up for it. Reno had a thing for cars, almost as strong as his thing for the copter.

Almost.

Unpleasant was a good word to describe the public opinion of anyone even remotely connected to the failed Shinra Corp. Underground groups and protesters, riots and occasionally acts of outright terrorism against the remaining remnant of the company popped up all over the place.

The target today happened to be the leader of a particularly problematic group of undergrounders. Several outbursts in the city and even one bomb threat had been traced back to these idiots. Had the explosive gone off, it would have not only taken out a whole section of the somewhat small building which now housed Shinra, but also a decent percentage of the shops and apartments nearby. This was no longer just about the company. These guys were willing to harm civilians in the wake of their frustration.

So now, it was up to Reno and Rufus to put an end to this little family by taking out the Big Daddy.

At five in the morning.

With no immediate backup.

Reno yawned again.

Any sign of them?

“What, getting impatient?”

Shut up, Reno.

“There!” Rude pointed, his arm passing right in front of Reno’s nose. The younger man’s eyes followed the line of direction and – Bingo. A man that fit the description was approaching the main entrance to the building they were posted outside of. Three others surrounded him…one on each side and one at his back. They obviously weren’t ones to take chances.

What’s going on?

“We’ve got a visual on the target.” Rude, the slightly more professional of the two Turks, preferred using terms by the book.

Excellent! Now, let me hear the general outline again.

"We go in through a service door on the left-hand side of the building. It’s the only one without a security check. We head to the fourth floor - making ourselves as scarce as possible, and take out the target,” Rude stated.

Alright. You're clear to proceed. I’ll be waiting to hear from you once you’ve completed the mission—and prepping a chopper in case you need any help. Good luck, guys!

Elena's voice cut out of their earpieces. The sun was just starting to decide it was going to shine that day, which didn't make for excellent lighting. Even the sun hated getting up so freakin' early, apparently. The two Turks gave it about ten minutes to let their soon-to-be dead man get settled into his morning routine.

"Are you ready?" Rude asked as he loaded the last cartridge of his gun.

"As I'll ever be." Despite his slightly moody outlook on life at the crack of dawn, Reno smirked. "Looks like it's showtime."

The two stashed their guns in their jackets and got out of the car. As discreetly as possible, they walked across the street at a leisurely pace, making ‘small-talk gestures’ that wouldn’t be read as threatening while they discussed some more of the details. They passed the front entrance, and then the service door they were looking for. To give the Turk duo some extra time to let things settle - and as an added precaution – Rude always insisted that they do a preliminary scan of the outside. So, they continued down the street.

After the first circling of the premises, the partners doubled back to the service door that would serve as their entry point. It was locked of course, but that was no problem for Reno. Within moments, the door swung wide open and to their relief, no alarm sounded. Reno waved an arm in the direction of the doorway.

“After you.”

Rude snorted.

Step one, gain entry, was complete.

No lights were on in the hallway they found themselves, so when they shut the door, it turned into a blind-leading-the-blind search for a way to the second level. Rude took out his phone and flipped it open, giving them a little more to go on. It wasn’t much in the way of illumination but it would have to do. They couldn’t risk drawing attention too soon. The hallway had three doors: one on the right, two on the left. Rude made for the first door on the left, Reno following at his side with his own phone.

“It’s locked,” the bald man said, keeping his voice low.

The red-head went over to the one on the right and tried the knob. “Hey, Rude…this one’s golden.” Cautiously, he began opening the door.

Thunk.

The Turks froze.

They stood there listening, unmoving, for a good thirty seconds. Something had shifted in there. But they heard no more sounds after that. Reno flicked his phone closed and put it in his jacket, silently retrieving his gun in the process. Rude’s right hand fingered his own concealed weapon while his left still held their only light. Reno caught Rude’s eye with a sideways glance that said

Three…two…one….

Reno flung the door open and immediately something struck Rude in the face. He jumped back, pulling his gun free and dropping his phone. The attacker landed in the floor with a loud CLACK. The two Turks fumbled around for a moment, groping defensively in the dark…before simultaneously realizing what had happened. Silence hung in the air for a long moment.

“Good job, Reno.”

“Oh, I see how you play. Like I knew it was a broom closet!”

“Keep your voice down.” After a moment Rude added, “Pick the ‘hostile’ up, genious.”

“Yeah, I’ll pick it up and shove–” Rude’s hand prevented any displays of sudden unsanitary language. Voices murmured above them in the direction of the second door on the left. Rude waited a moment before letting his comrade go; Reno had a tendency to finish his sentences and if he didn’t keep quiet they would both be in hot water sooner than necessary. To the first’s relief, the second had lost all interest in swearing.

“Looks like it’ll be Door Number 3,” Reno whispered. “Do you want the honors, or is it my turn? I forget.”

Rude headed for the third door and cautiously tried it. It wasn’t locked. Beyond they found a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor, which from what Tseng had said, consisted of an office-type set up: cubicles. And cubicles were an excellent way for two infiltrators to get themselves shot up if they weren’t careful.

“This is gonna be fun, yo,” Reno quipped as he and his partner scaled the stairs. “We just gotta go in classic Turk style: stealth, speed, and style. Am I right?” He grinned.

“Caution always helps,” said Rude. After a moment he added, “-especially in a maze of cubicles.”

“Too true,” Reno consented. “That’s a road we’ve crossed a few times before.”

Rude nodded. He pulled up short in front of the door to the second floor, listening. After Reno reached the top, everything was completely silent. No noises beyond. No workers doing their jobs. No friendly banter.

“This is just too easy,” whispered Reno. “Guess what that means.”

“Trouble.” The Turks readied their guns.

BAM

The door flung open, sending Rude back down the stairs. Four guards crowded at the top, unloading on the intruders. Lucky for the two Shinra men, the only light came from behind their attackers on the second floor, making it nearly impossible to spot and shoot right off the cuff.
Guns rang out, spattering bullets up, down, and sideways. The flashes of the shots added to the chaos. It took mere seconds for Rude to regain his feet, sending a barrage of heavy duty bullets back up the stairs. Reno had packed a pistol for this mission, besides his Electro-Mag Rod, and in quick succession the four guards found themselves returning to the Lifestream. Adrenaline surging, Reno and Rude rushed up the stairs. They took positions, one on each side of the doorway.

Cautiously, they assessed the situation. The room was laid out like a maze of cubicles, with the stairway acting as the entry point. At the far end and to the right was an open staircase that they assumed led to the third story. Fighting was going to be tight and tense; they were going to have to watch each other’s backs to get to their next objective.

“I’ll take left, you hang right. Ready?” Reno whispered, anticipation obvious in his voice. Rude pointed two fingers into the hallway in a Let’s Move fashion.

Making barely a sound the two swept into the hall space, reaching their first cubicles in tandem. Two soldiers waited in ambush for Reno, three for Rude. The bald Turk had chosen a compact machine gun. Shots fired in rapid succession, spraying the cubicle and its unfortunate inhabitants—even taking out another guard hiding behind an adjacent wall. The red-head dodged the first round from his assailants and with two well-placed shots took them out.

Before long the whole stretch of cubicles crawled with guards at every angle. Some were sprawled in the floor; others preferred to aim from the tops or sides—everywhere! Reno and Rude gradually carved a path to the stairwell…which hadn’t stayed open for long. Guards now poured from the third story, unleashing sheer havoc. The Turks dove for cover behind an overturned row of desks that their previous assailants had kindly left behind for them.

“Rude, you ok?” Reno yelled over the gunfire. “Your face!” The red-head pointed, and Rude put a few gloved fingers to the spot. Sure enough, they came away slick.

“Just a graze,” he yelled back. A bullet flew through the desk just between them, sending shattered fragments exploding in their faces.

“We gotta move!” Reno yelled, his face tense. Without further ado, Rude stood and hurled the desk they had been behind moments before into the immediate rank of guards. The domino effect took its toll. At least half of their problems now either sprawled on the floor or struggled to keep their balance, sending bullets in every direction—even taking out some of their own! The opportunity was not lost on the two Turks. The crisp cracking of Reno’s pistol and the roaring of Rude’s weapon of choice was the last thing that 16 unlucky guards blocking the stairwell heard.

The duo stood for a moment, winded and alive. But the clock was still ticking, and although a breather would have been nice, Turks weren’t paid to pause. Rude and Reno took off up the stairs, reloading their guns as they ascended the two spirals to the next floor. They didn’t even bother to formulate a strategy…their cover was blown and thinking just wasted time in situation like this.

An open doorway at the top led the partners into another office-like room…though perhaps a bit more formal. Organized desks and bookshelves took the places of the cubicles they had seen before. To their surprise, they were not immediately overrun by a swarm of angry guards. Instead, the opposition amounted to about five guys backing towards a bookshelf on the far wall, guns raised defensively. Reno did a quick second scan of the room, but found nothing. Just five unhappy guards left to fend for themselves.

The two stopped just inside the entrance and waited—showdown style. Taking his sweet time, Reno put his gun away and brought his trusty Electro-Mag into the game. He tapped it, slowly…steadily, several times in his hand. Rude smirked.

BA-BOOM

The building quivered beneath their feet as the sound of an explosion nearly burst their ears. It had come from outside. When Reno had regained his footing, he raced to the nearest window, a look of horror on his face.

“Oh, no, no, no!! MAN!! Did you have to blow up the car?! I didn’t even get to test her out yet!!” He turned, and if looks could kill, the opposition would have dropped dead then and there.

Ten seconds later, the guards were dead anyway.

“Elena, are you there?” Rude activated his earpiece. After a moment,

What’s up?

"They just blew up our car.”

Oh.

“Can you prep that chopper you mentioned earlier?”

No problem. There should be a small balcony on the fourth floor. You can make your way onto the roof from there. Just give me a shout when you’ve finished. It’s a shame about that car, Reno.

“You’re telling me.”

The earpieces deactivated.

“There’s supposed to be four floors,” Rude stated.

“Yeah,” Reno replied, still burned up about the car incident. “What’s your point?”

“My point is do you see any way to a fourth story?”

It suddenly occurred to Reno that he hadn’t noticed another set of stairs. In fact, there wasn’t any visible ways to enter another room. No stairs, no doors, nothing. He thought for a moment.

“Well…they seemed set on keeping us away from this.” The red-head walked up to the bookshelf on the far wall, his companion following. He wrapped his knuckled on one shelf, then another, and then a third one. He finally found it— “You hear that, Rude? Hollow in the back. How cliché.”
Rude chuckled…well, as much as he ever really chuckled.

“Now…which book would it be? Hmm…oh—you’ve got to be kidding.” He tugged at one particular volume and heard a click. Sure enough, the particular portion of the bookcase in question swung open.

“Which one was it?” Rude asked.

“LOVELESS,” Reno replied with a snort.“Two clichés in a row. After the reception we got, who’d a thunk he’d have been so…uncreative.”

The opening was just big enough for one man to get through, so they were going to have to do this single-file. Reno slipped in first, followed by Rude, who with his broad shoulders felt very claustrophobic. A tiny stairway climbed up and to the left. At the end of the line, the only thing that stood between them and their target was what looked to be a sheet nailed above the doorframe. Reno drew his pistol; Rude readed his gun.

Before they could make a move though, a voice called out,

“Come in, fine gentlemen. I don’t get many visitors from your side of town.”

Reno glanced back over his shoulder at Rude, his face full of suspicion. Rude nodded to proceed. What else could they do?

The pair emerged from the tiny passageway and into what looked like a studio of some sort. The sun, now a beautiful fiery red in the sky, cast its rays through the many paned windows and the glass door that led to the balcony. Reno squinted in the crimson light; Rude had his sunglasses.

A tall, gangly man stood off to one side, surrounded by a huge semi-circle of guards. There had to be at least thirty of them, all armed and ready. The target smiled grimly at the Turks.

“Poor Shinra dogs,” he growled. “Your Master feeds you, and because it does so you turn a blind eye to its evils. It beats you, enslaves you, kills you and those around you, and yet you return every time to it…wagging your pathetic tails behind you.”

“Sorry, pal,” Reno snarled. “But Shinra ain’t the same company it used to be. And you’re one to talk about killing those around you! That little explosion you were planning? It would have taken the lives of hundreds, and you call us dogs, you—”

Rude raised his weapon and suddenly the sound of thirty guns cocking filled the room.

“Try and destroy me if you must,” droned the target. “But you won’t get far.” He grinned an ugly, feral grin. “GUARDS, TAKE THEM OUT!”

Reno and Rude dove just in time to avoid instant slaughter as the room erupted with gunfire. Rude unloaded from the floor as he regained his feet, ducking, shooting, dodging, slamming, and on and on. Reno tossed his pistol into his right hand and grabbed the Rod in his left.

Pop-Pop SMACK Pop-Pop

The chaos was overwhelming. The two Turks found themselves surrounded by a massive tide of beings all intent on seeing them dead. It was crazy! Rude would blast holes through a group of them and turn just in time to find more right on top of him. Reno put everything he had into his attacks, but there were just sooo many. Both of them were losing steam fast.

As the intensity increased, the partners gave up any hopes of gaining headway. It went on for what seemed like a lifetime and a half…more and more and more without stop. Eventually they had room to spread out—although the floor was now a riddled mass of human bodies…making maneuverability close to impossible. Each took a few blows: a graze here, a bruise there. And despite the men that they struck down, in the back of their heads they knew it wasn’t officially over until Big Daddy was dead. So as if staying alive wasn’t enough, they had to keep the target in the corners of their eyes at all times.

“Where is he?” Reno shouted over the peppering explosions all around them. He popped off a shot or two, and then struck another man in the face with his Rod. Rude suddenly heard a CLICK. His gun stopped firing.

“I’m out!” he yelled. Reno jumped to cover him. As Rude frantically resupplied his weapon with ammo, he took a quick glance around the room. The target wasn’t anywhere in sight. His guards made sure of that. He knew one thing with certainty: they were in deep trouble if things didn’t change soon. He finished reloading and turned—face to face with the feral grin he was looking for.
“Surprise!”

BANG

Rude went rigid, his heart skipping a beat. The room seemed to freeze in his mind for half a second…just enough time to notice the lanky arm that had used his right shoulder to steady a pistol.

He looked back to the target as he collapsed, a bloody hole ripped through his gut.

Rude whipped around, his heart rate slowly steadying up. That had been way too close for his
taste. Reno had already engaged another guard in hand-to-Rod combat. Rude cocked his gun and took aim for the first hostile he spotted, taking him out instantly. Rude caught his friend’s eye amidst the chaos and nodded in gratitude. He was lucky to have Reno at his back.

With Daddeo dead, the ‘kiddos’ lost their gusto to fight back. Finally, the tides decided to turn. The floor was now more crowded than the room. When the guards faltered, the Turks took them out. At last one man remained. He had jammed himself in a corner, pointing his gun shakily in the direction of his adversaries. The two partners lost no time. They rushed forward with weapons raised, and just before either could pull their respective triggers, the disillusioned guard pointed his own gun to his head and did their job for them.

The silence that suddenly overtook the room was only broken by the sound of two Turks trying to catch their breaths. They stood, panting, for a long moment. Then, Reno and Rude looked at each other and started laughing in their own fashions as their adrenaline eased. They were tired and trembling from the overwhelming exertion but they had done it. Alive…they were alive and had pulled off the mission!

Reno let the Electro-Mag Rod drop from his hand as he wiped the sweat from his eyes. Grinning with satisfaction and relief, he gave Rude one of his patented Oh Yeeeah looks. He waved his gun sarcastically in front of him.

“Piece of cake, right?”

BANG

Rude’s jaw dropped as he watched Reno’s body jolt backwards, slamming onto the floor. It happened so fast that he barely had time to register what was going on.

“RENO!”

Rude whipped around, and to his shock and disgust saw the target, his gun still smoking. Rage boiled inside him.

“Filthy Shinra….dog,” rasped the twisted man, a demented grin spreading across his face. “Guess we’ll just have to…put him down.”

Rude cocked his gun and unloaded…and didn’t stop until the last bullet had been fired. With a roar, he hurled his useless weapon at the now unrecognizable body as a parting blow, swearing at the top of his lungs.

A wounded groan turned Rude’s attention to his friend. He knelt down, taking in the damage and assessing what he could do about it.

Reno lay sprawled on his back, a gaping hole in his chest where the bullet had exited. Blood already drenched his white shirt and had started pooling beneath him. His blue eyes were wide in agony. With growing dread Rude could actually see the color draining from his partner’s face. Each breath was a fight. He would gasp a few short puffs of air, as if trying to muster the strength to get in a full breath. He would finally breathe in—and cry out as his body exploded in pain, the sound cutting off as he ran out of air and then had to repeat the process over again.

The reality of the situation slowly seeped into Rude’s heart.

Reno was dying.

Are you two about done yet? I’m getting bored over here! Rude froze as the voice hit him.

“ELENA!”

Rude? What—is something wrong?

“Reno’s down. Shot!”

WHAT? Is he ok?!?!

“It’s not looking good. You’ve gotta get over here. NOW!”

I’m headed out as we speak. Move to the roof so we can get him in the chopper as soon as I get there!

Reno’s raspy cry hit the earpieces.

Oh, Reno…hold on, guy. You’ll be alright!

Her concern was cut off with the deactivation of the earpieces.

Reno was losing blood fast. Rude took off his jacket and used it to try and staunch the flow from his partner’s chest, applying as much pressure as he dared. Reno gasped, the pain spiking from even this slight strain on his wound. There was no way he could be moved safely. But the roof was their only ticket out of here.

Rude felt a lump rise in his throat at the thought of it.

Rude hadn’t seen his friend this bad…ever. He and Reno had been in some tight spots before for sure, but somehow they always managed. They’d had their share of blood and bruises. But now, this...this was different. It was too real.

“We’re gonna move to the balcony. -I’ll try to make it easy on you. Just…hang in there.”

To Rude’s surprise, Reno’s hand shifted into a trembling ‘thumbs up’ for just a moment before dropping back to the floor. Reno was Reno, no matter the circumstances.

How many times had the red-head’s carefree, sarcastic sense of humor driven Rude up a wall? It was amazing how things changed when you knew that your friend—no, your best friend—had maybe minutes to live. Suddenly jibes and complaints didn’t seem to matter nearly as much as they had before. Annoying quirks weren’t so annoying. Rude would have given anything at that moment for Reno to pop up and announce that it was all a big joke…and even roast Rude for seriously falling for it.

The other man’s lifeblood dripping from Rude’s hands vaporized any hope of that.

Rude contemplated the easiest, least aggravating way to get his friend to the balcony. Every possible scenario ended with Reno in worse shape. Finally he just gave up thinking and acted…he was better at that anyway. Blocking out the initial cries that tore from his partner, Rude hoisted Reno into his arms and headed for the door.

Blood poured down Reno’s back, making it difficult to keep a good grip on him. With every step, it became harder for Rude to block out his friend’s raw pain. Reno trembled beneath his fingers…his breath would catch at the slightest extra jarring. His eyes would shut tight for a few seconds as he tried to master the overwhelming hurt in his body, and then snap open—wildly searching for something…anything…to make it stop!

Hold on, partner. Just…hold on.

The moment they were outside, Rude set his friend down again. Now, he had to wait. He sat next to Reno in silence, heartbroken that his long-time comrade was in anguish and there was nothing he could do but wait. Behind his shades, tears welled in his eyes as he listened to the harsh sounds of breathing next to him. This couldn’t be their last mission together. But it was going to be if Elena didn’t get moving.

“Yo…”

He shouldn’t have been talking. He could barely breathe for Jenova’s sake! Rude looked down at Reno and could see the enormous effort it had taken just to get that word out. The red-head’s throat was hoarse and his breathing labored, but by now the strength it took to vocalize his pain was leaving him. He wasn’t looking at Rude; his half-lidded blue eyes had drifted off to the side and seemed to be staring at nothing. Moving had taken its toll on his broken body.

“Tough…luck, right…?”

“Yeah,” Rude replied, fighting the emotion in his voice. He knew Reno wouldn’t like to hear the pain Rude was feeling. Reno always liked to act as if nothing was ever wrong—no matter how ridiculous it was to do so. So Rude cleared his throat and tried to blink back the moisture in his eyes. “I took care of the target.”

“So I…heard.” Reno attempted to laugh but choked. Rude grimaced. After a moment,

“Elena. She…coming?”

“Sure,” finished Rude. “In the new chopper.”

Reno smiled.

“Perfect.”

Just on the edge of hearing, the beating propellers of a helicopter could be heard.

“…too slow.”

“Yeah. She’s cautious in the pilot’s seat. Unlike you.”

“It’s…too much…fun.”

“No, it’s crazy.”

“Got that—right.”

Reno’s eyes seemed to be having a hard time staying open. His voice had gone low and quiet. His chest rose and fell hardly at all. Blue tinged his lips and fingernails. Alarm pulsed through Rude.

“Reno—”

“Rude…”

The fading blue eyes drifted to meet his friend’s hiding ones.

“…gonna…miss me?”

A lone tear slid from behind the shades.

“Yeah.”

A weak, crooked grin played over Reno’s lips as he closed his eyes. The helicopter was fairly roaring in Rude’s ears by now, and the wind was picking up speed. Rude could see Elena’s worried face in the cockpit as she zoomed overhead and landed on the rooftop above them. Finally, she made it! He glanced down at Reno, opened his mouth to speak, and froze.

His chest.

No rise.

No fall.

“RENO!!”

I Could Never Love A Man In Tights

*This is something I wrote a little while ago...I WILL finish my LOTR story, but life has swallowed my time....*

“I’m saving this kiss for the Prince of my heart!”

How many times have we ladies sung that? Even if you weren’t a part of PKSS or The Battle for the Heart, your thoughts have sung that line. My guess is that at the word prince, a picture of a handsome, romantic, richly dressed figure pops into your mind. For me, the idea of a prince makes my mind instantly jump to the bumbling Edward in Enchanted. You know the type: always smiling, hair set perfectly in place, completely rich and yet somehow never spoiled, pining away for the girl of his dreams. In short, I see a fairytale prince this way: Prince Plastic the
Loaded, the helpless romantic in tights.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about the ‘Saving this Kiss’ song. I think that song portrays perfectly what a girl should be thinking when it comes to relationships. But personally, I just never loved the whole Prince Charming idea. Perhaps a certain maiden with hair so long it could be used as a ladder ruined that for me. Sword Fighter ≠ Damsel in Distress…the thought of leaning out of some window in a high tower, waving a hanky and wailing “SAVE ME!” at the top of my lungs, hoping that Prince Plastic would come to my rescue never appealed to me. But that’s just me.

I prefer the idea of the Knight in Shining Armor. Sure, he’s sweaty. He’s dirty. He probably smells like horse, and he can’t sing “I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss” like an actor in a Broadway musical. But that’s the man for me, and I’ll tell you why.
When you think of a knight, what first comes to mind? Probably a guy sitting atop a white charger in full armor, with a sword that never leaves his side. He’s most likely not the richest man in the village or township. In fact, he’s probably a farm-boy who’s been given a chance to make something of himself through a lifetime of service to King and Country. His years will be spent in and out of fighting. He will often come back wounded and beaten. But to me, he trumps the Prince ten to one.

Think about the characteristics of a knight.

First off, ponder the horse. It would be a shabby knight indeed if he rode up on an old sway-backed thing, its mane and tail all matted, mud and dirt caking it’s sides to such an extent that you couldn’t tell what color it originally was. That would be laughable! The strong, beautiful charger our minds picture displays a high level of responsibility. The Knight in Shining Armor is used to caring for other things. He makes sure that his steed is fed and cleaned and groomed.

Horse = Responsible, Caring.

Next comes the armor. When we think of the classic knight, we’re thinking full body armor. This guy is not going down in a battle because of exposure. The Knight in ‘Shining Armor’ has guarded himself from everything the world dishes out: arrows of impurity, spears of temptation, etc. Having said that, even the best suits of armor have weak points. That’s why the true Knight will be vigilant in the fray and flee the ‘spears and arrows’, not out of cowardice, but out of the knowledge of his weaknesses. The foolish knight will say, “I am strong enough to face these!” and rush headlong into the barrage. By the time he has realized his folly, it is too late and he limps away, riddled with the darts of the enemy. Sir Foolish is then scarred for life, and because of this, his personal effectiveness in future battles is limited…although through passing on his knowledge to other knights, he may save them from harm. The Knight in Shining Armor will have guarded himself so well that his scars are small or non-existent.

Armor = Pure, Regretless, Unsoiled Testimony.

Now comes my favorite part: the sword! No knight is a knight without a sword. Also, you never see a true Knight without his sword. He is constantly swinging it, keeping himself in practice so that if ever attacked, he won’t be caught off guard. The Knight in Shining Armor is the same, only his sword is not made of steel. He wields The Sword. He knows It up and down, and uses It so much that It becomes an extension of him. He carries the knowledge of his Sword with him always, and is not afraid to use It.

Sword = Devotion to God’s Word.

What is a knight’s duty? To serve the King and people. It is to be the strong example of stability and chivalry to the ones around him. ‘Nuff said.

Duty = Serve God, Serve Others, Be an Example of Righteousness

The life of a true Knight is constant battle. He knows and has accepted this fate with a heart full of trust in the King, and defiance for the enemy. When he rides into battle, the enemy ranks are filled with both hate and fear. His name is known to them, and because of his great deeds and his renown, they wish to strike him down. The Knight in Shining Armor is well trained, well armed, and well protected. But sometimes, even the best of fighters are overpowered. A true Knight will call to his fellow Knights for aid when the odds turn against him.

Fellow Knights = Humility, Accountability

So, to me, a Knight in Shining Armor is a man of character, of principle, and of God…one who is willing to devote his life to his King, one who will stand and fight when necessary and one who is not afraid to do the right thing by fleeing as well. To me, the grimy, sweaty Knight that may or may not rise to fame and fortune is MUCH more worthy than a Prince who sits on his backside all day, devoted to himself and his pleasures. Now, granted, not all Princes are like that. Some have the luxury of a God-fearing King and Queen that have guided him in the ways of chivalry. But for me, I want a Knight in Shining Armor, one who will be responsible, caring, pure, and will have no regret from a soiled testimony. I want a Knight who is devoted to God’s Word, one who willingly serves God and others, and is an example of righteousness. I want a Knight who is humble and who accepts and desires accountability. That’s the man for me. That is my Knight in Shining Armor. And that is why I could never love a man in tights. ;D

Ai, Valar it has been so long! Well, I rewrote this chapter because I found it horrid, so here is the new version.


Chapter 8

A day had come and gone since Gimli’s news had reached the Elf’s less than enthusiastic ears. Anxiety, but also frustration had doused his already low spirits. But after a night alone to his thoughts, accompanied only by the trickling of spring water and the gentle glow of starlight, he had resolved to keep his irritation to himself. At least, he thought, to the best of his ability. After all, Gimli wanted to give his friend a good experience among his Dwarven kindred. Legolas did not wish to disappoint his sturdy companion, either by his fouled mood or by his fear of being trapped beneath the earth. As the night waned, he had readied himself for the coming day, resolved and accepting of whatever this forced time with the Dwarves would bring.

************

The halls and passages were alive with sounds and scuttling as the Dwarves made their separate ways to wherever each began the day. Legolas walked without pause, ignoring some of the more curious looks cast his direction. It seemed the news of his ‘illness’ was a source of bewilderment and gossip for the more talkative of the inhabitants. Hushed whispers and sideways glances clung to him like his own shadow. But the Elf strode on purposefully, acting as if he had seen or heard nothing.

“Master Legolas! You’re up and about again, I see!”

Legolas’ pace slowed as the voice registered in his mind. Mistrust flared up inside him, but when he turned, his face was as unreadable as ever.

“Greetings, Master Kori,” said the Elf. “Indeed, I am. I was just on my way to find Gimli and ask if there was anything I could do to make myself useful.”

Without missing a beat, Kori took a step forward.

“I’m sure there is something for you here. It is unfortunate for you, being forced to stay with us for such a length of time. But there is much to be done in Aglarond. In fact….” He paused a moment as if thinking. “There is one thing that needs doing. It would be a bit of a stretch for one of our kind, but you look to be the perfect height.”

“What is it?” Legolas asked. His emotions battled beneath his ‘mask’ of calm. No matter what this Dwarf had said previously, no matter the apologetic appearance, Legolas had lived too long to be blind to a double motive in even the most seemingly innocent of souls. Kori seemed a mite too eager to help too often. And that was a rare trait in any Dwarf. Aside from this, the overseer had sent the Elf into the deepest bout of Sea Longing he had endured in a long time. Legolas swallowed hard, as if the taste of salt had not yet left his mouth.

“Well, you see,” Kori began, “about a month ago, we carved our way into a large cave deep within the mountain. To our immediate dismay, there were no jewels to be found, but soon after we stumbled on something we did not expect. Upon further investigation, we discovered that a stream of some sort runs above the stone of the cave’s ceiling. The stream would be an excellent reserve source in the event of an emergency shortage. The only trouble is it’s a good way above our heads. Even you would need a ladder, but being one of…um…advanced stature, you should be able to access the stream nicely and far more speedily than we could. Already there are channels dug into the cave floor to route the water.”

Kori paused, his gaze suddenly sweeping the Elf’s face. His dark, bristly brows rose a little in what appeared to be an almost sarcastic display of an apology.

“Of course, I realize my request does not come naturally for one of your kind. A hammer and pick never quite sit well in the hands of an Elf. But you’re definitely tall enough that it wouldn’t take long for you finish the job. Dwarves are not very gifted in the way of balance, as you know. The stream is small and should be easily accessible. Are you up for the task?”

Legolas hesitated. He wanted to do something to keep him active and to hinder his mind from dwelling on his frustrating situation. But the thought of venturing deep into the bowls of the mountain caused a bolt of unease to pierce his chest. Elves and dark holes beneath the earth simply did not go together. And what was more, his faith in Kori had all but disappeared the moment Legolas had tasted of the sea in his mug. The Elf leveled his powerful gaze over the Dwarf before him, searching for some sign of treachery hidden there. Something like mischief danced beneath the friendliness of Kori’s dark eyes.

“If you still feel unwell, I am sure that I can find something less strenuous for you to do,” said the Dwarf. The look that accompanied the suggestion was innocent enough, but beneath the concern, something other than pity lurked. Legolas had seen it as surely as if a banner had passed between Kori’s eyes.

A challenge.

“No, Master Kori,” began the Elf, returning the same message. “I am recovered. Lead the way.” His response had betrayed nothing, but in his deep, blue eyes, it had been spoken.

I accept.

****************

Stifling. That was the word that came to Legolas’ mind as Kori led him by torchlight deeper and deeper into the earth. The cavern’s smoothed walls had grown slowly wilder and untouched the farther they went. Without the light of the torch’s fire to guide them, the darkness would have been total. A sort of heaviness weighed on the Elf’s heart with each step. His ingrown aversion to the depths of the earth was making every breath a struggle. The ground began sloping downward, and the floor became slick with sediment. A small voice inside him whispered urgently for him to turn back, to escape this dank pit and the horrid Dwarf leading him ever deeper into the darkness. But he did not heed its pleading. Instead, he lifted his chin a little higher, and strode on.

Suddenly, the ground leveled off and Legolas found himself in the cave. The floor was muddied, and water dripped from the ceiling, creating an empty, echoing melody. Just as Kori had said, small channels leading to vacant pools had been dug into the ground to contain the flow once freed. Kori waved the torch slowly this way and that, as if inspecting the job his workers had left behind. Then he turned and faced the Elf.

“Listen,” he said.

Legolas did so. There was a low gurgling sound coming from above him.

“That’s what we need you to reach,” said the Dwarf, lifting his torch high, and shedding light on the rocky roof. The ceiling was about 3 feet above Legolas’ head. He would need something like a ladder to stand on, or perhaps he could find a large box….A grin hidden in the darkness stole over his face at the sudden memory.

“Now, I know it is a bit high, even for you,” Kori stated. “My workers used a ladder in the far corner over there. Some of them attempted to break through already as you can see by the smattering of stone chips round about. But, as I’ve said, the height was simply too much of a strain for them. They left their picks and a hammer down here as well.”

The Dwarf made his way to one side of the cave and sure enough, the harsh orange light of the torch revealed the needed equipment exactly where he had said. Moving over to the wall, Kori waved the flame back and forth, searching. Finally, he found what he was seeking. Another unlit torch was placed in a small iron ring protruding from the wall. It was a good foot above his head.

Standing on the end of his toes, Kori lit the torch and faced the Elf once more.

“Well, I believe that’s it,” he said, grinning. “It is all yours, my friend! Now, if you need any assistance, I shall be overseeing the clearing of a new branch of caverns to the east side. As soon as the water is freed, the rest will take care of itself. Any questions?”

“I cannot think of any.”

“Very well, then! I shall leave you to your work.” With a bow, Kori turned and began marching back up the path. Legolas watched him go, with a mixture of relief and apprehension. He was now left alone, with nothing but a pick, a hammer, and the sound of gurgling water. The Elf couldn’t help but wonder if this would turn out to be another one of Kori’s ‘accidents’.

He stood there in the semi-darkness for a long moment, listening, feeling. But this only caused his heart to beat faster and his breath to quicken. Blasted mountain.

Enough of this, he told himself mentally. Move.

Legolas made his way over to the tools. He knelt down, hefting the hammer in his hands as if testing the weight of a weapon. His eyes followed the ladder all the way up to its top, judging the length and sturdiness of the object. The ladder was solid and the rungs were wide; obviously they were made for Dwarven hands and feet. The Elf knew he would have little problem scaling it. He chose a pick that looked the least used. A feeling of satisfaction washed some of his foreboding away. No matter what the Dwarf had said, Elves did indeed use picks and hammers, although perhaps not in the same way. Some of his kindred were sculptors, fashioning beautiful images out of a mound of shapeless stone or wood. Dwarven hands formed chiseled walls and hefty columns. Impressive as they were, they were not beautiful to his Elven eyes.
To see my kindred in Imladris once more, Legolas thought as he mounted the ladder and began to climb. Their craftsmanship is truly something to behold. But…they are almost all across the sea by now.

As he had surmised, within moments the ladder was scaled. The sound of the burbling water above him eased the tension within his heart still more. In his mind’s eye, Legolas could see the Nimrodel, could hear the songs the Elves sung of her and the stream that bore her name. This brook had a different voice: one of stone and earth. Yet the unmistakable voice of the water soothed him.

He set the pick, lifted the hammer up for the first strike, and began.

***********

Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. Legolas ran a hand over his face, but perspiration was soon trailing down again. His neck was beginning to stiffen from its prolonged position, and his hands were growing numb from the repetition of the strikes. But this was not what was causing the beads of liquid to pool on his forehead.

The cave had grown steadily hotter. Elf as he was, the heat had not bothered him for a long time. But the intensity had increased to such an extent that even he felt its force.

Legolas stopped working abruptly, rubbing a wet strand of hair from his eyes. Something was not right. He leapt off the ladder, landing lightly on his feet. Quickly, he dropped the tools and swiped the lone torch from its ring. He then made his way to the far side of the cave.
Legolas blinked furiously, the amount of heat growing more staggering the closer he got to the stone wall. Never in all his days had the world felt so hot! By the time the Elf reached the wall, the temperature was nearly unbearable. Hesitantly, Legolas placed a hand on the rocky surface. He instantly regretted it. The Elf jerked his hand away, swearing aloud. It was almost as if a fire had been lit within the stone. Legolas swore once more as he looked down at the blisters now forming on his hand from the burn.

A noise suddenly drew his attention from his stinging fingers. He paused, still glancing at his hand, listening intently. It was coming from beyond the stone. It was distant, but approaching fast. A hissing. The light around him turned from a shadowy orange to a deep red. Legolas looked up. The cave wall was glowing, casting everything in an angry crimson. The floor began to tremble and a rending groan sounded, muffled only a little behind the rock. The Elf took a step back in alarm. Some evil was at work here. This was not something of rock or stone. This was of malice.

Legolas dropped his torch and began backing away, gaining speed as he went. He made for the entrance passage just as an explosion ripped through the cave wall.

The blast seemed to rip the earth out from beneath his feet. The Elf was thrown headlong into the passage. He landed hard, rock and debris raining down on him. Dust and smoke hung heavy in the air, and sweat stung his eyes. He attempted to stand, but the ground was rocking too violently. Stone crashed around him, and Legolas realized with sickening certainty that the cave was going to collapse.

Suddenly, a new noise joined the already tumultuous chorus of sounds. Shrill cries and shrieking voices began shouting in the cave, echoing off the remaining walls. The Elf knew that sound only too well from his hated trek through Moria.

Goblins.

Struggling to his feet, Legolas turned and looked back into the cave. Through the fog and rain of debris he could clearly make out the Goblins scrambling into the newly blown entrance like ants from a disturbed ant-hill. Their voices combined with the groaning earth were almost deafening. Dirty steel weapons were held in their hands, and their small bodies and bowed legs were protected by random pieces of armor. They filled the cave, screaming, scurrying about, completely frenzied. One caught sight of the Elf and gave a loud cry, pointing his sword in his direction. At least 20 pairs of Goblin eyes turned and fixed on him.

Legolas’ hands went to his back, but the familiar feel of knife handles was not there. Cursing himself beneath his breath, he turned and stumbled back up the passage. The tremors were becoming fiercer. He looked around for something, anything resembling a weapon. Seeing no alternative, the Elf stopped and scooped up a stone.

The Goblins were now in pursuit. They seemed to feel nothing as stones and dirt poured down on their heads. The lust for blood and the light of killing was in every slanted eye as they clambered over large rocks and scrambled towards their prey.

Legolas took aim at a particularly ugly creature and threw, scoring a direct hit full in the ghoulish face. The Goblin fell where he stood. The rest of the filthy horde kept coming, shrieking in rage over their fallen comrade. Legolas ran a few paces back, grabbed another rock, aimed, and tossed. A small, sniveling Goblin yelped in surprise as he fell from the blow.

The game of stop and go went on. Legolas would dispatch one of the foul creatures and then hastily retreat several paces, only to repeat the process once more. This went on for some time, until the rocks grew less and less and he was forced to begin pulling torches from the walls and launching them into the midst of the Goblins. A blast of cool breeze at his back told him he was coming out of tunnel. Relief flooded through him. Weaponless, he stood precious little chance against the frenzied horde at his heels. Hoping that someone would hear him, he began shouting out an alarm.

“Goblins! Goblins have breached the cave! Arm yourselves!”

A hissing noise was all the warning Legolas had as a Goblin arrow shot past him, barely grazing his shoulder as it passed. The shaft clattered against the wall, falling harmlessly to the ground.
The end of the path was in sight now, and already a few curious Dwarven faces were peering through the entrance. Immediately they began bellowing out an alarm, and by the time Legolas had raced into the open cavern half a dozen fully armed Dwarves had arrived, with more running down the halls towards them.

Legolas turned to face the coming storm.



*There you go! I hope to right more soon, but my sister is very...firm when it comes to keeping me from Lord of the Rings.*

Chapter 8....not edited....

Please tell me if this is just terrible. It's not the whole thing, but a bit. Comments are welcome.


Chapter 8

A day had come and gone since Gimli’s news had reached the Elf’s less than enthusiastic ears. Anxiety, but also frustration had doused his already low spirits. But after a night alone to his thoughts, accompanied only by the trickling of spring water and the gentle glow of starlight, he had resolved to keep his irritation to himself. At least, he thought, to the best of his ability. After all, Gimli wanted to give his friend a good experience among his Dwarven kindred. Legolas did not wish to disappoint his sturdy companion, either by his fouled mood or by his fear of being trapped beneath the earth. As the night waned, he had readied himself for the coming day, resolved and accepting of whatever this forced time with the Dwarves would bring.

************

The halls and passages were alive with sounds and scuttling as the Dwarves made their separate ways to wherever each began the day. Legolas walked without pause, ignoring some of the more curious looks cast his direction. It seemed the news of his ‘illness’ was a source of bewilderment and gossip for the more talkative of the inhabitants. Hushed whispers and sideways glances clung to him like his own shadow. But the Elf strode on purposefully, acting as if he had seen or heard nothing.

“Master Legolas! You’re up and about again, I see!”

Legolas’ pace slowed as the voice registered in his mind. Mistrust flared up inside him, but when he turned, his face was as passive as ever.

“Greetings, Master Kori,” said the Elf. “Yes, I am indeed. I was just on my way to find Gimli and ask if there was anything I could do to make myself useful.”

Without missing a beat, Kori took a step forward.

“I’m sure there is something for you here. It is unfortunate for you, being forced to stay with us for such a length of time. But there is much to be done in Aglarond. In fact….” He paused a moment as if thinking. “There is one thing that needs doing. It would be a bit of a stretch for one of our kind, but you look to be the perfect height.”

“What is it?” Legolas asked. He fought for control of his ‘mask’ of calm. No matter what this Dwarf had said previously, no matter the apologetic appearance, Legolas had lived long enough to spot a double motive in even the most innocent of souls. Kori seemed a mite too eager to help too often. And that was a rare trait in any Dwarf. Aside from this, the overseer had sent the Elf into the deepest bout of Sea Longing he had endured in a long time. Legolas swallowed hard, as if the taste of salt had not yet left his mouth.

“Well, you see,” Kori began, “about a month ago, we carved our way into a large cave deep within the mountain. To our immediate dismay, there were no jewels to be found, but after a moment we heard water rushing overhead. Upon further investigation, we discovered that a stream of some sort runs along the cavern floor above us. The stream would be excellent backup in the event of an emergency shortage of water. The only trouble is, it’s a good way above our heads. Even you would need a ladder, but being one of…um…advanced stature, you should be able to access the stream nicely and far more quickly than we could. Already there are channels dug into the cave floor to route the water.”

“In short, you want me to chisel a crack in the cave ceiling in order to re-route some of the stream’s water to this level.” Legolas summed up.

“Exactly!” Kori replied. “Of course, I realize my request does not come naturally for one of your kind. A hammer and pick never quite sit well in the hands of an Elf. But you’re definitely tall enough that it wouldn’t take long for you finish the job. Dwarves are not very gifted in the way of balance, as you know. The stream is small and should be easily accessible. Are you up for it?”
Legolas hesitated, battling within himself. He wanted to do something, anything to keep him active and to hinder his mind from dwelling on frustration that bordered on despair. But the thought of venturing deep into the mountain caused a bolt of fear to pierce his chest. Elves and dark holes beneath the earth simply did not go together. And what was more, his faith in Kori had dwindled the moment Legolas had tasted the sea in his mug. The Elf swept his powerful gaze over the Dwarf before him, searching for some sign of treachery hidden there. Something like mischief danced beneath the friendliness of Kori’s dark eyes.

“If you still feel unwell, I am sure that I can find something less strenuous for you to do,” said the Dwarf. The look that accompanied the suggestion was innocent enough, but beneath the concern, something other than pity lurked. Legolas had seen it as surely as if a banner had passed between Kori’s eyes.

A challenge.

“No, Master Kori,” began the Elf, returning the same message. “I am recovered. Lead the way.” His response had betrayed nothing, but in his deep, blue eyes, it had been spoken.

I accept.

****************

Stifling. That was the word that came to Legolas’ mind as Kori led him by torchlight deeper and deeper into the earth. The cavern’s smoothed walls had grown slowly wilder and untouched the farther they went. Without the light of the torch’s fire to guide them, the darkness would have been total. A sort of heaviness weighed on the Elf’s heart with each step. His ingrown aversion to the depths of the earth was making every breath harder to breathe. The ground began sloping downward, and the floor became slick with sediment. A small voice inside him screamed for him to turn back, to escape this dank pit and the horrid Dwarf leading him ever deeper into his worst nightmare. But he did not heed its pleading. Instead, he lifted his chin a little higher, and strode on.

Suddenly, the ground leveled off and Legolas found himself in the cave aforementioned. The floor was muddied, and water dripped from the ceiling. As had been said, ditches had been etched into the ground to contain the flow once freed. Kori waved the torch slowly this way and that, as if inspecting the stone. Then he turned and faced the Elf.

“Listen,” he said.

Legolas did so. There was a low gurgling sound coming from above him.

“That’s what we need you to reach,” said the Dwarf, lifting his torch high, and shedding light on the rocky roof. The ceiling was about 3 feet above Legolas’ head. He would need something like a ladder to stand on, or perhaps he could find a large box….A grin hidden in the darkness stole over his face at the sudden memory.

“Now, I know it is a bit high, even for you,” Kori began, “so there is a ladder in the far corner over there. Some of my kinsman attempted to break through already, but the height was simply too much of a strain for them. They left their picks and a hammer down here as well.”
The Dwarf made his way to one side of the cave and sure enough, the needed equipment was exactly where he had said. An unlit torch was placed in a small iron ring protruding from the wall. Standing on the end of his toes, Kori lit the torch and faced the Elf once more.

“Well, I believe that’s it,” he said, grinning. “It is all yours, my friend! Now, if you need any assistance, I shall be overseeing the clearing of a new branch of caverns to the east side. As soon as the water is freed, the rest will take care of itself. Any questions?”

“I cannot think of any.”

“Very well, then! I shall leave you to your work.” With a bow, Kori turned and began marching back up the path. Legolas watched him go, with a mixture of relief and apprehension. He was now left alone, with nothing but a pick, a hammer, and the sound of gurgling water to combat the fear and aloneness that only the heart of a mountain could bring.

He stood there in the semi-darkness for a long moment, listening, feeling. But this only caused his heart to beat faster and his breath to quicken.

Enough of this, he told himself mentally. Move.

Legolas made his way over to the tools. He knelt down, hefting the hammer in his hands as if testing the weight of a weapon. His eyes followed the ladder all the way up to its top, judging the length and sturdiness of the object. The ladder was solid and the rungs were wide; obviously they were made for Dwarven hands and feet. The Elf knew he would have little problem scaling it. He chose a pick that looked the least used. A feeling of satisfaction washed some of his foreboding away. No matter what the Dwarf had said, Elves did indeed use picks and hammers, although perhaps not in the same way. Some of his kindred were sculptors, fashioning beautiful images out of a mound of shapeless stone. Dwarven hands formed chiseled walls and hefty columns. Impressive as they were, they were not beautiful.

Ah, to see my kindred in Imladris once more, Legolas thought as he mounted the ladder and began to climb. Their craftsmanship is truly something to behold.

As he had surmised, within moments the ladder was scaled. The sound of the burbling water above him eased the tension within his heart still more. In his mind’s eye, Legolas could see the Nimrodel, could hear the songs the Elves sung of her and the stream that bore her name. This brook had a different voice: one of stone and earth. Yet the unmistakable voice of the water soothed him.

He set the pick, lifted the hammer up for the first strike, and began.

***********

Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. Legolas ran a hand over his face, but perspiration was soon trailing down again. His neck ached from its prolonged position, and his hands were beginning to grow numb from the repetition of the strikes. But this was not what was causing the beads of liquid to pool on his forehead.

The cave had grown steadily hotter. Elf as he was, the heat had not bothered him for a long time. But the intensity had increased to such an extent that even he felt its force.

Legolas stopped working abruptly, letting the tools fall from his grip. Something was not right. He took a moment to allow his body to relax, and then leapt off the ladder, landing lightly on his feet. Quickly, he swiped the lone torch from its ring and went to the far side of the cave.
The heat grew the closer he got to the stone wall. By the time he reached it, the temperature was nearly unbearable. Hesitantly, Legolas placed a hand on the rocky surface. Instantly, he jerked it away, swearing aloud. It was almost as if a fire had been lit within the stone. Legolas began rubbing his hand feverishly up and down his tunic to ease the pain, but stopped short.
A noise was coming from beyond the stone. It was distant, but approaching fast. A hissing. Legolas’ brow furrowed in confusion. What was that? The ground began vibrating beneath him, and the Elf took a step backwards. What was happening? But suddenly a memory gripped him, so fully that he almost thought he heard the words.

Legolas! Dago han! Dago han! And then the world had seemed to be torn asunder. Helm’s Deep’s great wall had been breached. And what had defeated the stone? Fire….

Legolas turned and ran. He made for the entrance passage and leapt into it, just as an explosion ripped through the cave wall. The blast of heat nearly overwhelmed the Elf altogether, and his senses were skewed. Rock and debris rained down on him as he lay in the passage, his arms shielding his head. Dust and smoke hung heavy in the air, and Legolas began coughing lest he choke. The world spun, and the earth trembled.

Suddenly, a new noise split through the fog in Legolas’ head. Shrill cries and shrieking voices pierced the cave. The Elf knew that sound only too well from his hated trek through Moria.
Goblins.

Struggling to his feet, Legolas turned and looked back into the cave. Goblins were scrambling through the newly blown entrance like ants from a disturbed ant-hill. Their voices echoed off the walls until the sound was almost deafening. All of them were armed, and their small bodies and bowed legs were protected by random pieces of armor. They filled the cave, screaming, looking about themselves, completely frenzied. One caught sight of the Elf and gave a loud cry, pointing his sword in his direction. At least 20 pairs of Goblin eyes turned and fixed on him. Legolas’ hands went to his back, but the familiar feel of knife handles was not there.

That was when they charged.

Still disoriented, Legolas stumbled back up the passage. He scooped up a stone, turned and ran a few paces backwards. Then he faced his pursuers. The Goblin horde was gaining fast, even with the uneven terrain. The one who had sounded the alarm was in the front of the line, presumably the leader. He gnashed his teeth as he half ran half climbed his way to the Elf. Legolas took aim at the leader, his eyes locking onto his target. He steadied his arm, and then threw the stone with as much force as he could muster. But even as he released the rock, his vision blurred miserably. The rock struck true, but it was a mere glancing blow.

The Goblin yowled in pain, grabbing his head and shaking it miserably back and forth. The horde stopped short, snarling in surprise and rage.

Legolas took the opportunity to retreat a few paces back, collecting what ammunition he could from the ground. If he was to be killed, it would not be said that he ran from this confrontation.

My Apologies...

Forgive me for the delay. Our beloved computer has passed on into that great mother board in the sky. So we now have a new one, but it has taken me a while to find all of my files. More story should be underway...

Part the Second...a Second Time...

I have a wonderful new template...but it has messed up my settings. I re-posting this so that it will hopefully straighten out.

“Master Gimli.”

Gimli’s glance shifted from the carven walls and settled on the approaching form of Derin behind him. He had not seen the craft-master since the evening of the Feast, for all of the inhabitants kept themselves very busy. The cave echoed with the sounds of picks, hammers, and other assorted tools, not to mention the many voices of the Dwarves that wielded them.

“Ah, Master Derin,” Gimli called. He waved over the other figure. “Come to have a look at the progress?”

“Partially,” replied Derin. His stroked his short chestnut beard as he spoke. His youthful eyes scanned the work in progress. “But I also wished to speak with you.”

“Oh?” Gimli faced the smaller Dwarf. Derin was rather young to have such close standing with Gimli, but the Dwarf had proved himself with hammer and anvil. He had a way with the crafting of metal. His works were bold and sturdy, and his reputation was just as solid.

“Has he been poisoned?” Derin asked bluntly.

“Who? The Elf?” Gimli replied. This was an odd and unexpected topic.

“Yes,” Derin replied frowning. It seemed to Gimli that the young creature was both embarrassed and annoyed at his own question. Derin’s eyes darted away from Gimli’s and settled on the cracks in the floor, and then on the workers nearby.

“Well,” began Gimli, “No. Not really. It isn’t anything deadly; at least, I don’t think so. I suppose you could say he’s been poisoned by the sea. It’s rather confusing to me, lad.”

“Elves are a queer lot,” Derin said, his eyes meeting Gimli’s once more.

“But then, aren’t we all in some way,” Gimli replied. Derin’s bristly brows furrowed deeply.

“What’s changed you, Master Gimli?” he asked. “My father told me before I left for here that he had known you once. He said that he had been good friends with your father, Gloin, and that he thought you were one of the more solid in our ways; at least, from your generation. What made you go off and join the Nine Walkers? Or, at the very least, what drove you to befriend an Elf?”

Gimli stood silently for a moment, his mind running from one memory to another like pages in a book being swiftly flipped through. What had exactly caused this shift in his thinking? He knew the answer to that, of course. The Dwarf lord smiled fondly as he answered.

“Surely you have heard of the Lady Galadriel?” Derin hissed.

“The Elf-witch of Lorien,” he spat. Gimli scowled deeply.

“Nay, she is no witch! But I once thought much as you did. When Aragorn, now Elessar, told me that we were to pass under the leaves of Lorien, I was deeply dissatisfied. I wanted to go nowhere near that place; have nothing to do with whatever secrets lurked within that wood. But it was in Lorien that I began to see things a little differently.”

“How so?” Derin asked.

“After a rather rude introduction into that forest, we were escorted before the Lord and Lady of the wood. It was then, as I stood before Galadriel, that something was awakened inside of me that I had never felt before----and I doubt I shall ever feel again. A witch you call her, but although she possessed strange power she did no evil to me. She spoke words of comfort to my heart, as I was deeply grieved over the loss of those in Moria. Her words were like a gentle, warm breeze on a chilly afternoon. And her beauty…ah…never again shall I call anything fair save the Lady Galadriel. I said it then and I’ll say it now: she is fairer than all the jewels beneath the earth!”

“But she is of the Elves,” Derin stated grimly. “Who is to say that she isn’t a witch—and simply put you under her spell?”

“If I am bewitched, I am glad of it!” Gimli cried. “I would rather be spellbound by that Lady than to be master of my own thoughts. But I am not mad or enchanted. After seeing her, my mind was changed towards the Elven race. Now, true, all Elves are not the same. Some are just as wicked as Orcs and as distorted too. But not all are evil; in fact, many are good people, if their pride will allow others to see it.” Here Gimli chuckled.

Derin studied his Lord for a long moment, seemingly debating something within his mind.

“I suppose I shall get to see for myself,” he said at length. “Your Elven friend isn’t going anywhere soon.”

Part the Second of the 7th Chapter...

Here is the remainder of the chapter...review if you read please! ;)

“Master Gimli.”

Gimli’s glance shifted from the carven walls and settled on the approaching form of Derin behind him. He had not seen the craft-master since the evening of the Feast, for all of the inhabitants kept themselves very busy. The cave echoed with the sounds of picks, hammers, and other assorted tools, not to mention the many voices of the Dwarves that wielded them.

“Ah, Master Derin,” Gimli called. He waved over the other figure. “Come to have a look at the progress?”

“Partially,” replied Derin. His stroked his short chestnut beard as he spoke. His youthful eyes scanned the work in progress. “But I also wished to speak with you.”

“Oh?” Gimli faced the smaller Dwarf. Derin was rather young to have such close standing with Gimli, but the Dwarf had proved himself with hammer and anvil. He had a way with the crafting of metal. His works were bold and sturdy, and his reputation was just as solid.

“Has he been poisoned?” Derin asked bluntly.

“Who? The Elf?” Gimli replied. This was an odd and unexpected topic.

“Yes,” Derin replied frowning. It seemed to Gimli that the young creature was both embarrassed and annoyed at his own question. Derin’s eyes darted away from Gimli’s and settled on the cracks in the floor, and then on the workers nearby.

“Well,” began Gimli, “No. Not really. It isn’t anything deadly; at least, I don’t think so. I suppose you could say he’s been poisoned by the sea. It’s rather confusing to me, lad.”

“Elves are a queer lot,” Derin said, his eyes meeting Gimli’s once more.

“But then, aren’t we all in some way,” Gimli replied. Derin’s bristly brows furrowed deeply.

“What’s changed you, Master Gimli?” he asked. “My father told me before I left for here that he had known you once. He said that he had been good friends with your father, Gloin, and that he thought you were one of the more solid in our ways; at least, from your generation. What made you go off and join the Nine Walkers? Or, at the very least, what drove you to befriend an Elf?”

Gimli stood silently for a moment, his mind running from one memory to another like pages in a book being swiftly flipped through. What had exactly caused this shift in his thinking? He knew the answer to that, of course. The Dwarf lord smiled fondly as he answered.

“Surely you have heard of the Lady Galadriel?” Derin hissed.

“The Elf-witch of Lorien,” he spat. Gimli scowled deeply.

“Nay, she is no witch! But I once thought much as you did. When Aragorn, now Elessar, told me that we were to pass under the leaves of Lorien, I was deeply dissatisfied. I wanted to go nowhere near that place; have nothing to do with whatever secrets lurked within that wood. But it was in Lorien that I began to see things a little differently.”

“How so?” Derin asked.

“After a rather rude introduction into that forest, we were escorted before the Lord and Lady of the wood. It was then, as I stood before Galadriel, that something was awakened inside of me that I had never felt before----and I doubt I shall ever feel again. A witch you call her, but although she possessed strange power she did no evil to me. She spoke words of comfort to my heart, as I was deeply grieved over the loss of those in Moria. Her words were like a gentle, warm breeze on a chilly afternoon. And her beauty…ah…never again shall I call anything fair save the Lady Galadriel. I said it then and I’ll say it now: she is fairer than all the jewels beneath the earth!”

“But she is of the Elves,” Derin stated grimly. “Who is to say that she isn’t a witch—and simply put you under her spell?”

“If I am bewitched, I am glad of it!” Gimli cried. “I would rather be spellbound by that Lady than to be master of my own thoughts. But I am not mad or enchanted. After seeing her, my mind was changed towards the Elven race. Now, true, all Elves are not the same. Some are just as wicked as Orcs and as distorted too. But not all are evil; in fact, many are good people, if their pride will allow others to see it.” Here Gimli chuckled. Derin studied his Lord for a long moment, seemingly debating something within his mind.

“I suppose I shall get to see for myself,” he said at length. “Your Elven friend isn’t going anywhere soon.”

Chapter 7, Part One

Ok, since it is taking me a while to get these chapters down, I shall give you the first bit. Tell me of any corrections you would make. Hannon le!

*************


Gimli stood just outside the ornate doorway that led into Legolas’ chamber, battling with himself. He grumbled and muttered, took one step forward, hesitated, and then took one step back. It had been days since he had last seen his friend, and he wondered if he should disturb the Elf or leave him be.

Several hours after the salt incident, the Dwarf (despite his words) had slipped away from the feast and down the many passages to Legolas’s room in order to confirm that the Elf had made it there. Having seen no sign of his friend out and about, Gimli had decided that it was his duty to peer into the chamber and verify the Elf’s presence within. So, with a quick dolen the Dwarf watched as the door slid open, revealing his companion sitting with knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on them wearily but comfortably in sleep.

To Gimli, Legolas had looked so strange in that moment, as if in slumber all of the frets and years had fallen away from his countenance. The Dwarf had always seen his friend as fair, for so his people were, but now as he slept, Gimli realized just how young the Elf was. True, the princling was considered fully matured in mind and body as far as the ways of Elves went, but he still had not lived long compared to others of his race such as the Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, Lady Arwen, or even Haldir for that matter. For some reason, Gimli had never really thought of his Elven companion in that light before. Names such as ‘laddie’ he had simply tagged onto Legolas in friendly teasing, and although at least a millennium older than the Dwarf, the Elf was still considered by his own to be just leaving his ‘tweens’, as the Hobbits would call it. An interesting observation, Gimli had thought to himself. But youthfulness would only keep a fool from underestimating him. Or a Dwarf. Chuckling a little villainously to himself at some past encounter, Gimli had stealthily slipped back out and into the hallway. Soon he had returned to the feasting, satisfied that the Elf would be himself by the following morning.

But after nearly a week of patient waiting (which makes any Dwarf look the part of a suffering saint), Gimli had decided that it was time for the Elf to return to the world of the living once more. The Dwarf had generously offered the service of himself—and his fists—to Legolas if ever he had need of them. Now, Gimli surmised, was as good a time as any to see to that promise.

Why he stood in front of the Elf’s wooden door hesitating the day away he wasn’t sure, but Gimli was not one to back down—even from himself. The stubborn side within him stated that Legolas would get up when he wanted to, and it was not up to the Dwarf to decide when that was. Along with that, rather unpleasant news was Gimli’s to relay, and it might be best just to let the Elf sleep to his heart’s content. But the friend side nudged in the opposite direction: Legolas needed to find out sooner or later. He had been lost to slumber quite long enough.

This is my fault, Gimli admonished himself. This whole thing could have been avoided. But you had to go and get yourself mixed up with a Ring and a Council and a Quest and a blasted Elf…

He decided upon sooner.

Clearing his throat so as to will away any final apprehension, Gimli uttered the word dolen and the door opened as commanded. Then, without another pause The Dwarf strode into the room and--after taking a deep breath--was just about to give the Elf a wake-up call to remember when he noticed that his companion was already up.

Legolas sat on the edge of his pallet, his hair not quite as neat as when the Dwarf had last seen it, yawning quietly to himself. He looked up with eyes a bit unfocused, as is want to happen after a long slumber, and offered his Dwarven friend a contented smile. All the air that Gimli had gathered hissed out of his lungs in an exasperated sigh.

“Good morning, Gimli,” said Legolas, as if not a day had passed.

“Good morning, he says,” Gimli replied to no one in particular. “Good morning?!”

“Well, it is a ‘good’ morning, is it not?” Legolas replied. “I certainly feel it is. Or, will be.”

“More like ‘was’,” the Dwarf countered.

“Was?” Legolas inquired, giving his host an apprehensive glance. “Have I slept late?”

“Late, he says,” Gimli replied. “Late?!”

“Must we keep repeating one another?” Legolas remarked.

“I should say you’ve slept late,” Gimli stated. “Have a guess as to how long?”

“I haven’t the slightest,” Legolas replied, “I slept quite soundly, but I do remember getting up and moving to the pallet---”

“5 nights and 4 days,” announced the Dwarf.

“By the Valar,” Legolas hissed as if it pained him to hear it. Hastily he stood to his feet and moved past Gimli to a pack full of his belongings. A comb and a new set of clothes were produced from its folds and placed upon the Elf’s pallet, ready. After this, Legolas quickly made his way to the pool and began washing up, splashing the melted snow water on his face and neck.

“Legolas…” Gimli began.

“I have never slept this late in all my long years,” the Elf admonished himself.

“Laddie,” Gimli started to speak but was once again cut off.

“Ai…you shall have to forgive me, Gimli, but I must prepare to leave---”

“Laddie,” Gimli repeated, growing louder.

“I know…I am truly sorry,” Legolas continued, wringing some stray water out of his hair. “But it is imperative that I return to Ithilien before—”

“Legolas!” Gimli had to nearly shout to get the Elf’s attention. Legolas turned, his eyes locked on the Dwarf. A look of puzzlement settled on his features at the sudden outburst.

Gimli began shifting his weight from one foot to the other. This was it. He had news to deliver, and he wouldn’t leave this spot without sharing it. But the reaction that would follow…now that was a thing to be nervous about. Gimli cleared his throat, his eyes scanning the leafy floor as he began.

“It’s like this, lad. After Kori’s little prank, I came and made certain that you”—here Legolas frowned---“made it back alright. Go ahead! Call me Mother Hen. But if you had seen your face on me you would have done it too.”

“That is quite an unsettling thought,” Legolas replied.

“Oh, keep quiet,” Gimli growled. “Blasted Elf. At any rate, I thought it best to let you rest. So I did. Morning of the next day came and went, followed by the next and the next until I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to die in here.”

“Ah, the ever amusing Dwarf,” Legolas countered.

“So, I decided that when the next day came, I was going to see to it that you were roused. But when I awoke this morning, word got to me that we had received an…unexpected gift.”

Legolas’s features slowly melted from perplexed to the closest thing to horror that Gimli had ever seen cross the Elf’s face.

“It seems that during the night, the Valar decided to grace us with snow.”

Gimli braced himself for…he wasn’t sure what. An outburst, a protest, anything. But to his relief and confusion, Legolas simply sat in silence.

“I see,” he replied.

It was quiet for a long time, the silence thick on the air as it waited for voices to dismiss it.

“The Elves of Ithilien will be expecting my return, and in the absence of this, some word of why I tarry,” Legolas remarked, falling into his emotionless mask. He searched Gimli’s gaze with his own. “Is there...no way to at least send some sort of message?”

“I’m afraid not,” Gimli replied. “Once the doors close, they remain closed until—”

“The thaw,” Legolas finished. Gimli nodded.

“Best get used to caves, lad,” the Dwarf said with an apologetic air. He searched for something that might lighten the news of the Elf’s entrapment. “They’re not all bad, you know. In fact, I find caves to be quite beautiful, especially here in Aglarond. I shall have to show you some of the deeper corners of our settlement here. After excavation, we’ve found that some of our caves are simply glowing with jewels! It’s quite a sight. Oh--and you can’t forget our fine Dwarven cookery! That is a thing that no stomach should ever have the misfortune to go without! Let’s see…”

Gimli’s words trailed off as he saw the despondent expression that his friend was trying desperately to hide. Then Legolas stood, and beneath his masked face several emotions battled for mastery over his features: wrath, sadness, confusion…and fear.

“Thank you, Gimli,” Legolas said, his voice devoid of any one sentiment.

“Yes, well,” Gimli replied, a little defeatedly. He turned to leave but then seemed to remember something and stopped. “Luncheon is in a half-an-hour.”

“Do not expect me,” Legolas replied with a nod. Gimli paused and contemplated the virtues of scolding the Elf for his lack of appetite.

“Very well,” he said finally, slipping back out into the hall as the door shut behind him.

There's more coming...I promise!!! I'm having trouble keeping up with my writing lately, but it is coming! :D

Chapter 6

Ok, my dear proof reader friend has dropped out. The poor thing has way too much to do. So your help is needed. Please, share what you like, dislike, or think needs to be changed. Your comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks!



Chapter 6

Something was not right. Something was in fact, very wrong. Gimli watched in confusion as Legolas slammed into a rather heavy set Dwarf (sending the creature sprawling on his backside) without so much as a pause. The Elf didn’t even glance behind, but instead pushed and shoved his way wildly through the crowd like a hunted animal attempting to escape the jaws of its pursuer. Having learned much during the course of their friendship, there was one thing Gimli knew to be absolute truth: Legolas ran from no one.

Something was definitely wrong.

“Legolas!” Gimli called, but the Elf paid no heed. He barely dodged a chair that suddenly blocked his path and rushed out of the Hall. Confusion and concern mingled together in Gimli’s mind as his friend disappeared from view.

It was then he noticed Kori.

The flustered looking Dwarf seemed to be following the path of mayhem that Legolas had left behind. Then he too slipped into the passageway beyond. Gimli growled fiercely and stormed towards the Hall doors. Behind he heard Barn yelling for his lord to enforce justice upon his sluggard kitchen hands. But at that particular moment in time, the Lord of Aglarond was not interested in drunken servers.

Fueled by worry and frustration, Gimli rounded the last table and barged through the large wooden doors of the Hall. Quickly he glanced down the passageway to his right, but seeing nothing looked to the left.

Just in time to see his Elven friend fall heavily to the ground.

“LEGOLAS!” Gimli ran forward as fast as his rather limited stride could carry him. He knocked Kori aside in his worried haste, sending the black bearded Dwarf reeling. Gimli knelt as best as he could beside the insensible Elf. Legolas lay sprawled on his stomach, his blue eyes hidden behind closed lids. That fact in and of itself caused Gimli concern. Only once before had he ever witnessed an Elf with its eyes shut.

That Elf had been dead.

As gently as he knew how, Gimli swatted Legolas’s face several times, all the while calling his name. The Dwarf hoped for some small response, anything that would bring his friend out of this strange stupor. His efforts went without reward.

“Oh, great Aulё,” Gimli whispered, his emotions teetering between extreme annoyance and panic. He leaned back and looked over the Elf. There was no wound, no bruise, nothing that would physically cause such a state of complete oblivion. Legolas had made it very clear on several occasions that Elves did not succumb to the illnesses that Men were prone to surrender to. But he had also said that the Firstborn could become subject to poisoning…

A thought crept suddenly upon him, and as it took hold, Gimli turned blazing eyes upon the form of Kori, who stood to the side of the hallway observing the scene.

“YOU,” Gimli rose to his feet and stalked menacingly towards his overseer. His eyebrows were furrowed so low that you could hardly see his dark orbs. “YOU did this. Somehow, someway, it was you.”

“There you go pointing fingers at your own people,” Kori growled. “I did no such thing. I hardly laid a finger on him, and when I did, it was to keep him from falling over himself like a blundering idiot. I have never seen a creature so drunk in my entire life!”

“Drunk?!” Gimli bellowed. “Drunk?!" The Dwarf lord could not believe his ears. "Let me bestow on you a little information about our guest, Master Kori. You are the first and last to ever hear of this, but that Elf bested me in a contest of consumption. ME! Not only that, but even after downing 12 pints of ale in one sitting he still did not show a single sign of intoxication. I, on the other hand, was out cold for the rest of the evening. Now, you’re going to stand there and tell me that he got drunk in little less than five minutes time?!”

“I can’t explain it any other way,” Kori replied, ever the picture of indifference. “He leapt up from the table just after a toast and started blabbering on about how he ‘had to go’ and knocked his chair over and started running like there were goblins after him. What else am I to think? He had an awfully strange look about him, I thought. I know nothing of Elven ways, but he acted as if he’d had too much than was good for him.”

“That’s not it,” Gimli growled. “I know for a fact that’s not it.” He paused for a moment, his gaze boring into Kori’s unrelenting eyes. Finally, he hissed, “What did you put in his drink?”

Kori tensed subtly for a fraction of a second, but the action came and went so suddenly that one had to be looking for it to see it. “Nothing harmful, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What did you put in it?!” Gimli pressed, his ire rising.

“Well, Master Gimli, I meant no true harm in the joke,” began Kori a little sheepishly, “but I thought his beer might…well…need a bit of flavoring. It was only in fun, Gimli-”

“OUT WITH IT!”

"Salt! It was salt. It was obvious to me that he was trying to stay within protocol. Princes usually do, and Elf princes even more than most, or so they say. So I thought it might be amusing to watch him down a mug of salted beer in an attempt to keep from offending anyone by not finishing the whole thing. I slipped a rather large bit in his mug before it was filled. The mineral is harmless, master. Everyone knows that.”

“It was not beer, you imbecile,” Gimli almost moaned. All was revealing itself and he finally understood what the trouble was. Or at least he guessed what it was.

“It was water,” came a voice. Gimli whirled and lost some of the stern edge to his glare. Legolas had come-to. Slowly, the Elf pulled himself into a kneeling position. He put a firm hand to his chest as if it pained him. Gimli opened his mouth to speak and was about to step forward when he was interrupted.

“This was meant in jest, Master Kori?”

“Indeed it was, Master Legolas,” replied the Dwarf in question. “I would never have even given it a thought if I had known about the--reaction it has caused. What was all of that? That is, if you don’t mind my inquiring about it.”

The Elf slowly slid down into a sitting position. His jaw muscles were tight and bulging as he contemplated his response. Or was it caused by pain from some unknown hurt?

“It is…” Legolas began, his face stern and grim, “a sort of malady among my kindred. The sea is a wonderful and terrible power to the Elves. To see, hear, or taste of it is as the tormenting of a lover long separated from the embrace of his love. It is too great a longing…and it can be harmful.”

“I ask your sincerest pardon,” Kori replied remorsefully enough, “and I pray you will forgive me. Dwarves, as you know, are not very learned in the ways of your people.” He bowed deeply and his beard drug across the floor for a moment as he righted himself.

Legolas was long silent, locking his piercing gaze with Kori’s dark one. His hard face told nothing of what he had decided was held within the other one’s stare. But after a moment he suddenly replied, “It is well, Master Kori.”

“My thanks,” Kori replied, bowing low once more. Gimli humphed and shook his head at the stooped form of the overseer, but his attention soon turned to his friend.

“You don’t look well at all, laddie,” Gimli sighed, stepping forward to help the Elf to his feet. He held out a hardened hand and was angered at how heavily his friend leaned upon him for support. The moment he stood, weariness began overtaking Legolas rather dramatically; his face drained of what little color he had regained and he swayed a little. But even as his strength dwindled his hard expression did not falter.

“All is well, Gimli,” Legolas replied. Gimli snorted. “I wish to return to my chamber, if I am allowed to take my leave.”

“By all means,” said Kori. “You look very unwell, Master Legolas. If you like, I can see that things are looked after while you escort the Elf back to his rooms, my lord.”

“No escort is needed,” Legolas replied firmly, despite the slight tremble in his voice. “I am no child that requires looking after.”

“It is not that,” Kori began, but Gimli put up a hand.

“As you wish, Legolas,” he replied with a warning look. “But don’t be angry with me if I come and see to it that you’ve made it to your room.”

“No, Gimli,” Legolas stated. “Your concern is appreciated, but unfounded. I assure you, all will be well by the morning. Rest is what I seek, and rest I will not get if you are continually peeping in your head at me like a mother hen. Let me be.”

Gimli looked up at his friend. The princeling Elf, despite his presently weakened state, stood firmly; the subtle power within him was still evident, even in his current circumstances. Ever the picture of decorum, Gimli thought to himself. Blasted, stubborn, prideful, son of a—

“So be it, then,” Gimli muttered aloud. Then, beneath his breath he added, “I hope you trip.”

“Would you like the honors of seeing to it yourself, or would you like Kori here to stick his foot out for you?” Legolas asked, obviously amused in spite of his efforts to conceal it.

He caught that, of course, Gimli mentally growled. Blasted Elf.

“Your eyes swear more than your lips,” Legolas said, as if in answer to the Dwarf lord’s thoughts. He offered a sort of half-grin and nodded graciously. “A good night to both of you. If I may take my leave…”

*******************
As soon as the door had shut securely behind him, Legolas slid along its length to the floor. Never had he felt, in all his long years, this utterly exhausted. Not after the Battle of Five armies, not even after the final battle that freed Middle-earth from Sauron's hold. He wondered, half amused, if he could drag himself the six feet it took to get to his bed. Even then, he wasn’t sure he’d have the will to pull himself into the pallet once he made it there. Legolas let out a long, defeated sigh.

Absently, he scooped a handful of leaves from the floor of the chamber and let them sift through his fingers. The foliage fell from his digits and floated softly to the ground once more. Presently, only one, small, green leaf remained. Gently, he took it between two fingers and examined it. The tender greenery smelled still of the tree from which it had fallen, a sweet, wooden odor that lingered in the nose. The scent was welcoming and calming to the wounded soul of the Elf, and the Sea’s eager grip on his heart lessened. It took his thoughts far from the roar of the waves and back under the boughs of the forest once more.

His mind’s eye slipped beneath the canopy of greens and browns, and it seemed to him that he could once more hear the voice of the woods. The trees greeted him as he passed, asked him questions, whispered warnings, and sang softly in the tongue only the Eldar and the Ents could distinguish. A stag called to his dame and together they fled along unseen paths into deeper thickets. A songbird flew above, its music mingling with that of the trees in a wondrous melody that stirred the heart of any being, mortal or immortal. The sun’s warming light found its way through the maze of leaves and branches and delighted itself to kiss the Elf’s cold cheek. It was here, in this realm of beauty, where his heart had belonged.

Legolas Greenleaf long under tree: In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more…

The Lady’s words whispered in his mind as he slowly faded from the conscious world and into the Elven realm of sleep. Although his mind’s eyes wandered still beneath the rustling boughs of the woods, the sun’s soothing embrace was abruptly sundered by a sudden shadow looming behind him. He tried to turn, but could not. Instead he felt a spray and swallowing up all other sounds was another. A roaring…

Chapter 5

More story............



“So, where exactly are you—AI!”

“Ooh! …Sorry laddie. Forgot about that step, there.”

“Apparently.”

After several hours of talk (and a helping of bread and cheese) both the Elf and Dwarf had decided to retire in order to catch any small amount of sleep they could before dawn. For a reason only known by him, Gimli had insisted that his friend be blindfolded. Legolas had instantly refused the request, but after a bit of coaxing he relented. Now, as he stumbled along unseeing, he was beginning to regret that decision.

“There are three steps in front of you,” Legolas heard Gimli say. “They’re not too big. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Easy for one who has eyes in order to seethem,” the Elf countered, the irritation evident in his voice. “There is a good reason for all this I’m certain.”

“You’d be correct in that assumption,” Gimli said. Then, with a harrumph he continued. “Oh, and complaining isn’t going to get you anywhere. Moving might be a start.”

“I would be happy to,” Legolas retorted, “if my guide would be so kind as to warn me before an obstacle appears.”

“Agh, for goodness sake, shut your mouth and move your feet!”

“As you wish,” Legolas replied, sharply. Thus far, he had nearly run into a wall, tripped over two ‘somethings’, and rammed his foot hard against a stone step. Gimli was many things, but he was definitely lacking when it came to navigating the blind.

Tentatively, Legolas lifted his foot and slowly let it down again, testing the step first before ascending. He could hear the Dwarf growling impatiently behind him as he repeated this movement twice more for the remaining steps, but the Elf ignored the noise. It was his dignity, after all, that was being risked---not Gimli’s.

“The going is straight forward the rest of the way,” Gimli said as he came up the steps.
The smell in this new passage was different than the others Legolas had gone down. The Elf breathed deeply. The mildewed, almost metallic odor of the stone walls was still present, along with the oily, ashy smell of torches that looked like glowing orange smudges beneath the woven fabric of his blindfold. Another scent, one of hewn wood, took prominence in his mind. Suddenly he felt Gimli’s thick hand at his back, pushing him forward.

“It’s not far,” said the Dwarf. The pair walked forward for what Legolas counted to be fifteen paces. The orange hazes went by one by one, until there were none. As the Elf passed out of their light, the smell of wood grew stronger. The flat hand at his back quickly grabbed at the fabric of his tunic.

“Stop! Far enough.” Legolas immediately halted. The hand released his clothing and several heavy steps echoed in the Elf’s ears as Gimli moved in front of him. “Now...take off your blindfold.”

Legolas’ slender fingers made quick work of the knot of fabric hindering his sight. He cast the blindfold upon the stone floor, and his blue eyes locked onto the object he had been forbidden to see. A large wooden door stood before him, adorned in designs of silver that laced and traced all across it. Legolas instantly recognized the foremost symbol: a leaf. It was veined in silver, and green crystals of some kind finished the crafted bit of foliage. Above it and near the top of the door was his name, once more in silver, but written with Elven runes. Many other delicate pieces were etched along the wooden frame. Legolas could feel his friend’s eyes watching his every motion expectantly. It was indeed, a beautiful door.

“Gimli, did you—”

“Hold that thought,” Gimli interrupted, holding up a hand. Then he paused, looking at the door, and then back at the Elf. “Seems as if there’s…something missing.”

Legolas took the hint and turned his gaze towards the door once more. He glanced up and down it, silently taking in every detail. Then he stated:

“There’s no handle. No knob.”

“You would be correct,” Gimli replied, the anticipation obvious in his voice. “So how do you suppose one is to enter?”

Legolas looked down at the Dwarf, attempting to understand where his friend was leading the conversation. In his mind, the Elf tried to decide whether this truly was a legitimate door, or if this was the beginning of an elaborate hoax. But trust won the day.

Slowly, he reached out a hand and placed it against the leaf shape, gradually applying pressure. There was no sound, shift, or jolt. Nothing. He took a step back and gazed the length of the door once more, searching for some means of entrance. Finally, he raised his hands in submission.

“I know not. How does one enter?”

Gimli grinned once more, and then began stroking his beard in mock thoughtfulness. “Legolas,” he began, taking his time, “I was wondering…what is the Elvish word for secret?”

Legolas’s brows furrowed. This was a puzzling turn of conversation. He couldn’t think of the last time Gimli had actually requested to hear some of the fair tongue. More often than not, the Dwarf growled for him to ‘speak plainly’. What little Elvish Gimli knew he had heard in Rivendell, Lothlόrien, or from Legolas himself. Now the Dwarf was suddenly ‘wondering’ about the language of the Eldar. Legolas was curious, but he would not let his friend see that. Instead, he cast a hard glance at the stunted being before him warningly.

“What is this Gimli?” he asked, his voice matching his gaze.

“I simply would like to hear your word for secret. Is that a crime?” The innocence in Gimli’s voice and demeanor was not lost to the Elf, and unknowingly his eyes began to allow his curiosity to seep through. For a long moment the two stood silently. Legolas attempted to gage Gimli for motives, either foul or friendly, but found nothing but expectancy in the Dwarf’s dark orbs. With one last confused glance, Legolas replied.

“Dolen.”

There was a dull clank, and a long split appeared suddenly down the center of the wood. A bluish light poured in between the one door now turned into two. Legolas was surprised, but his face never showed any hint of it. Save, perhaps, his eyes that had suddenly lit up with intense curiosity.

“Well?” nudged Gimli. “Are you going to just stand there gawking or do you want to see what there is to see?”

Legolas ignored the comment and reached out, sliding four slender fingers into the newly opened space. Slowly, he pulled the door open and slipped inside.

The room was illumined in a gentle blue glow that seemed to come from some unknown part of the ceiling. But it lent in an inviting aura to the chamber that reminded the Elf of starlight. The floor was carpeted with leaves; so many that the stone beneath could not be seen. In the far left corner, a natural spring trickled gurgling water down the stone wall and into a pool of clear water. It steamed as the chilled snowmelt brook met with the warmth of the sandy bottom. To the right was a cot, laden with throws of greens, blues, and silvers. A wooden chest sat at its foot, ready to receive his belongings and clothing. Ivy shoots were just beginning to grow along the left wall, and pegs in the shape of branches sprouted next to the door: a place to hang the treasured Bow of the Galadhrim.

Legolas stood still, his eyes casting this way and that in silent awe. A sense of relief washed over him, followed soon by gratefulness. Gimli had known (for Legolas had made it clear on several occasions) that the Elf had no love of deep caves or enclosed spaces above or beneath the earth, and so he had gone to great lengths to ensure his Elven friend’s happiness. Legolas turned and found Gimli standing beside him. The grin on the Dwarf’s face could have bested a Hobbit’s smile upon discovering a hidden horde of mushrooms.

“Like it?” he asked, the eager tone readily apparent in his voice.

Legolas grinned slightly, both at his friend’s anticipation, and at the thoughtfulness behind the surprise. Then, with a true smile that reached all the way to his eyes, he replied.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

*********************

After showing Legolas the ins and outs of his private chamber, Gimli had left him be and the two had engaged in as much sleep as they could in the few hours before dawn. But as the sun rose in the sky, so did the Dwarves of Aglarond, and soon the whole place bustled with activity, for this was to be a day of great festivities.

The First Year celebration was a tradition begun by Gimli and was anticipated greatly by all the inhabitants of Aglarond. It was a day of revelry and jubilation, and the Dwarven community delighted in the opportunity to feast free of duties---and to partake in the copious amounts of beer that was readily served. This day commemorated the first year of toil and hard work that had resulted in the thriving settlement of Aglarond and was a date all the Dwarven folk marked with great expectancy.

Gimli, being the Master of Aglarond, had the job of seeing to all the preparations for the feast, and so after a quick breakfast with Legolas, saw little of his Elven companion for much of the day. Legolas took this opportunity to explore the depths of the Glittering Caves in solitude.
At sundown, all gathered in the great Dining Hall for the monstrous feast to be had there. Legolas slipped in quietly just as Gimli was finishing a speech. He had learned much from the experience of the previous night, and so in the interest of avoiding further animosity, he decided to stand silently by the door until invited to do otherwise.

“But enough of me,” bellowed Gimli from the far side of the room. He stood upon a large table in front of a great fire that lit the room in shades of red and orange. “There’s drink to be had!” He clapped his hands and laughed uproariously. “Well, lads, what are you waiting for? BEGIN!”
There was a great chorus of cheers and hearty laughter, followed by the almost overwhelming sounds of clattering plates, clacking tankards, and Dwarven voices all talking at once. The room smelled strongly of smoke from dozens of pipes, and serving platters were brought forth filled to overflowing with meats and breads and cheeses. Huge barrels of beer lined one wall, and lines had already started in front of each. Legolas stood watching, observing, and waiting for Gimli to call him over. Several of the Dwarves had noticed his presence by this time, but had chosen to ignore it. Others cast suspicious looks and hateful glares his way. But the Elf leveled his gaze on the dancing flames on the far side of the room and said nothing. Presently, his patience was rewarded.

“Legolas!” called Gimli from the main table. The Dwarf had climbed down from his position atop the round wooden board and now sat with four rather important looking Dwarves. He took a leg of some sort from the large platter before him and raised his hand. “Come and finally taste the hearty cuisine of the Dwarves!”

Legolas made his way past two tables, slipped between several chairs, and stepped over and around an endless sea of bones that already littered the floor. Such are the eating habits of feasting Dwarves, he thought to himself as he dodged a piece of meat that had been thrown from a nearby table. How appetizing.

“Have a seat, laddie!” Gimli motioned towards a chair on his left. Legolas quickly ducked a flying roll, and after shooting an annoyed glare in the direction of its previous owner, sat. The other occupants of the table sat in glowering silence, their eyes glued to their food and drink. Gimli looked at the sour faces around the table and cleared his throat loudly. Four pairs of dark eyes glanced up simultaneously. They stared at their lord with expressions of annoyed indifference. Gimli’s brows lowered warningly.

“I don’t believe you’ve properly introduced yourselves,” he said, the underlying hint evident in his tone. A black bearded Dwarf sitting across from Legolas pushed back his chair from the table and bowed low.

“Overseer Kori, at your service,” he announced. His dark eyes locked with Gimli’s for a moment as he straightened.

“I have no need of your service,” Legolas replied genuinely, “but the pleasure is mine all the same.” Gimli kicked the Elf sharply under the table. Legolas jumped slightly and glared questioningly at his Dwarven comrade.

“The reply would be a simple ‘thank you’ laddie,” he whispered, loud enough for the others to hear. Understanding crept into the Elf’s mind and he turned his attention back on the still standing Dwarf. The others snickered or pretended to choke as they chuckled behind their hands. Indignation and the tiniest hint of embarrassment washed over Legolas’s otherwise expressionless mask, but centuries of experience aided him in keeping it down.

“My apologies, good Kori,” he replied. “I meant no offense. I am not learned in the customs of your people. Thank you for your courtesy, and forgive me for my lack thereof.” Kori bowed once more.

“You’re quite forgiven, Master Legolas,” replied the Dwarf, taking his seat. “No harm done.” The other three Dwarves stood and bowed in turn.

“Bombel, at your service.”

“Derin, at your service.”

“Orni, at your service.”

“Thank you, Master Bombel, Master Derin, and Master Orni,” Legolas replied with a slight smile.

“Have a drumstick,” Gimli offered, pointing a greasy finger in the direction of the platter. Legolas hesitated. There was a pewter plate and a mug set before him, but there were no utensils to be had. He also noticed with dismay that there was nothing resembling a napkin on his or any other table around him. Face first eating. Delightful.

Forcing these negative thoughts aside, Legolas reached out and chose a particularly small drumstick from the massive pile. He set the morsel on his plate and looked down at it, unsure as to the best way to eat it without completely soiling his hands and face. To the mind of his Dwarven companion who sat eying the Elf with scrutiny, Legolas was the perfect image of a dog whose master had just thrown him an eaten corncob instead of the cat that he had wanted.
Not wanting to embarrass himself or Gimli further, Legolas swallowed the pride that was welling inside him and picked up the drumstick. Without hesitation of any kind he took a good-sized bite of the meat. He chewed it once, twice, three times and then swallowed. The Elf could feel the curiosity that Gimli was attempting to hide.

“Well lad?” Gimli asked. “What do you think?”

“It is…” Legolas drew out the word and added to his friend’s anticipation.

“Yes?” Gimli replied hastily. “What? Too salty? In need of a little more garlic?”

“Excellent.”

Gimli laughed aloud. “Haha! I knew you’d see my way once you had actually tried it.”

“Master Gimli!” called a rather irritated voice from behind. Legolas turned and saw a particularly round Dwarf waddling up to the table. He wore a rather soiled apron, his beard was grey, and he was balding rather drastically on the crown of his head. His huffing and puffing, not to mention the red complexion of his cheeks, told all who saw him that he was a most displeased Dwarf.

“Master Gimli! A word with you if you please!”

“What is it, Master Barn?” Gimli inquired a little less than enthusiastically.

“It’s my kitchen staff sir,” Barn replied. “They all gone and gotten themselves drunk, and now
they refuse to work! There’s already been calls for seconds, and I’ve got no hands to help me!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gimli said. He cast an apologetic look to those around the table and rose. “If you’ll excuse me, masters.”

“Of course,” replied the one called Derin. Gimli heaved a sigh and stalked after the ruffled Barn, grumbling something incoherent as he left.

“Master Legolas,” Kori said suddenly. Legolas looked up, eyes measuring.

“Yes, Master Kori?” the Elf replied.

“It is truly an honor to have you as our guest.”

Orni spluttered and coughed abruptly. Legolas was taken back by this change of opinion. If his memory served him, he thought he had remembered seeing Kori among the riotous bunch of the night before. The Elf made a mental note to be wary but ready to go on the defensive should something unsavory result from whatever this Dwarf was getting at.

“Thank you,” Legolas replied with as much sincerity as he could muster. “It is an honor to be here.”

“I must beg your forgiveness for what happened last night,” Kori went on, equally sincere. “It was late, and having been friends with Master Gimli for as long as you have, you must know what a terrible mistake it is to wake a Dwarf in the dead of night,” he finished with a chuckle.

“Yes,” Legolas replied, outwardly amused. “I had observed as much.”

“Let us make amends, shall we?” Kori said. “I propose a toast!” The Dwarf pushed back his chair and stood to his feet once more. The other three wore the same bewildered expression, and it was very obvious that they thought their companion had gone quite mad. But not wishing to provoke the wrath of the overseer or their lord, they stood and held their mugs aloft. Kori scooped his tankard up with a flourish and held it high. Legolas, unsure whether or not this was all some sort of grand jest at his expense, tentatively stood to his feet as well. He lifted his mug and glanced at the contents out of the corner of his eye. Water. No beer this time, Legolas thought to himself. Odd. But within he wondered hopefully if Gimli was finally at an end of his constant nagging over why the Elf should have stronger drink.

“To Aglarond, its glorious Halls, and to our honored guest!” Kori proclaimed. “May his stay with us be long remembered!” Then the four Dwarves lifted their drinks to their lips and without pause, downed the entirety of the brew.

An interesting toast, Legolas thought as he too brought his mug up for a drink. He tilted his head back and took a large, deep drink…

The tankard fell from his hands, splashing its contents across the table.

Not water.

Salt.

Salt water.

Legolas blanched miserably as the brackish taste filled his mouth. It shocked his senses and instantly he could not only taste it, but also smell it, hear it, feel it. The call. Her call.

The call of the Sea.

No. He could not let it happen here. Not now. Her song had already begun to play in his heart, plucking at his longing like a stringed instrument. His vision grew cloudy—misty—and the noise of the room was drowned out and replaced by the sound of waves lapping at a distant shoreline. A sudden, cold sweat took hold of him, but to the dimming mind of the Elf it felt more like a gentle salt spray than perspiration. From some far corner of his mind Legolas could hear Kori asking him if he was well, and this awoke within him a sudden, desperate urge to flee. He could not let them see what she could do to him…they could not see…he could not let them…
FLY! The small voice of awareness screamed in his mind. He found himself staggering away from the table, felt himself back awkwardly into his chair, knocking it to the ground.

“Master Legolas!” Kori cried. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

“I..forgive me…I must go…”

“Go?” Kori came forward and grabbed his arm in a gesture of concern. “What is the matter, Elf? Do you need aid?”

Desperation threatened to overwhelm Legolas as his mind continued to be drawn into the droning of the sea. He would not allow himself to appear weakened or helpless in front of these Dwarves---in front of anyone. His bleary eyes locked with Kori’s for just a moment, and it was in that second that he realized what had happened. For beneath Kori’s attempt at genuine concerned eyes, a gleeful malice lurked that laughed at the Elf’s faltering pretense of infallibility. Somehow, someway the Dwarf must have known about Elven sea longing. Perhaps Gimli had explained it, but somehow he had learned. Kori truly had been angry when Legolas had first arrived, the act of friendship he had just displayed was a farce, and now the Dwarf was detaining him to exploit in front of all of Aglarond the most vulnerable place in Legolas’ heart.
He would not let it happen.

“Release me!” he growled as he jerked his arm free. Kori feigned hurt and attempted to come forward, once more hindering the Elf from escape. Legolas turned and stumbled as fast as he could, shoving past tables, chairs, and Dwarven bodies. He knocked into some and tripped up over others in his flight, but he had to get to his chamber, had to be free from prying eyes. They could not see!

Legolas heard his name being shouted behind him and knew the voice to be Gimli’s. But time was slipping away and he was nearing the end of the Hall. Frantically he flung back the large wooden doors and reeled into the passageway beyond. The call fairly roared in his heart by now, to the point where it caused literal pain. He staggered to a stop in the middle of the shadowed hallway. It was becoming hard to breathe: he couldn’t breathe. He was drowning…being pulled into her dark, comforting caress. He heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned just in time to see Kori round the corner and stalk in his direction. He pointed a trembling finger in the wicked Dwarf’s direction and gasped out one word.

“YOU,” he said, storm clouds racing across his visage.

Then all fell into darkness.