Characters and the world of Arda copyright Tolkien and all that, no money being made, utmost respect for his works.
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Warnings: R rating. Slash. You know the drill :)
Hey, If Jerry MacGuire was an R... this is practically a PG13...
Like chapter 7, the original NC17 rated version can be read on LJ:
livejournal.com/~strange_fate/7915.html
Chapter 8
Gimli woke to the nervous chatter of men and a great rumbling crescendo arising from the south. Axe in hand, the dwarf jolted upright, kicking aside his bedroll in his haste. His fingers opened and closed tightly over the wrapped axe handle, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly, and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to scour the darkness for the source of the men's outcries. The moonless night was like tar above them despite the pinpoints of stars, but somehow a visible smear of what might have been dark fog became visible: a groaning, shuddering mass sliding blackly over the landscape.
Panic was nearly tangible on the air as the company watched the darkness creep past them on either side of the river Isen, and the sounds of weapons being pulled to the ready sliced through the thick air. Gandalf directly bade them hold, assuring them that it would pay them no attention so long as they made no move. With uncertainty gnawing at their gut, the host of men lowered their arms and waited, cringing beneath the mystery of rumbling whispers, and at last, the mass passed them by and disappeared into the north.
Only Legolas seemed unaffected as they witnessed the trees of Fangorn retreat into the arms of their mountain, and the elf stood, not too far from Gimli, watching with a mysterious smile. The dwarf scowled after the disappearing forest, grumbling to himself without forming entirely coherent words. When he looked toward Legolas, he grunted disapprovingly before letting the butt of his axe fall against the earth.
"An' jus' what're you smilin' at?" Gimli asked with a halfhearted glare, squaring his stance and setting his jaw.
"They mentioned something about eating dwarves," the elf replied smoothly, accompanying his words with an absent wave of his hand. He leapt atop a nearby boulder whose edge dipped into the weak wash of the river, folding his legs under him as he sat, watching the stars roll over the water. "I was waiting for them to notice you, thenon."
Gimli neatly avoided spluttering, but he still managed to look quite aggrieved, and the elf's keen eyes thought they saw the skin redden visibly in the midst of his long hair and beard. The dwarf tossed his axe to the ground near his wayward blankets, gently by his standards, and crossed his arms. Truly, he was more appalled at the thought of those wretched plants being anywhere near him than Legolas's comment, but he did recognise bait when he saw, or rather heard, it. "If yeh're attempting ta get me ta back out of my promise, Master Elf," he said with a growl, "you'll 'ave ta do better than that." His brows drew downward so far they nearly hid his eyes; he may despair of the dark forest, but he was not about to back down. He would never hear the end of it.
With a soft laugh, Legolas shook his head, not deigning to otherwise respond. Instead, he merely rolled his shoulders and looked back to the river, the sound of his voice rising up once again into the night, and leaving Gimli without further recourse. The dwarf mumbled quietly and leaned to rearrange his bedroll, shaking free some of the dirt he'd kicked onto it. As he lowered himself to the ground, a hushed breath rose from the earth, and he paused, again ready to grab his axe. The men, too, rediscovered their restlessness, but none made a move in the wake of Gandalf's previous advice.
At length, the sigh turned to a rush and the waters of the Isen tumbled over the rocks of the river bed, rushing between the banks and filling the air with an insistent burbling as its flow returned with a deep familiarity. Gimli aimed an arched brow in Legolas's direction, briefly wondering if the elf had had anything to do with that, but he merely shook his head as he settled back onto the blankets. He was uncertain whether he would find sleep again that night, and from the waking sounds of the camp, it appeared the king's men felt the same. The dwarf hurled a heavy breath and pulled one blanket over himself; with the rise of the river the air had cooled slightly, and the wind bore just enough of an edge that he had begun to feel cold. He let the elf's song slowly lull him into near slumber, remaining half alert with the night's recent events dancing so freshly in his mind.
Legolas remained on the outcropping, watching the river pass him by, and so seeing the world reflected within its depths. As he so often could of late, he felt the fingers of Shadows tightening across his skin. He ran his hands over his arms as if such a simple gesture might brush them away, but it was to no avail. Nearly shaking his head in an effort to shed the dark cloak from his mind, he found his thoughts wandering to the previous morning.
He was distraught to find his heart could at once feel so light and yet so weighted. He had known from the start this was a betrayal, to allow himself to succumb to the warm embrace of that for which he had yearned for so many years. Yet it was also a treachery, to his own heart, to walk away, and he was starkly aware that it had become now a question of which betrayal might be worse. And yet, there was more to come which could lend sway to either side. With an inaudible sigh, Legolas wrapped his arms around his knees and let his mind slip away to more distant times in his homeland, spinning soft chords off into the night as he patiently awaited the arrival of the sun. His voice trailed off as nearby words met his ears.
"Lind lín matha faer nín, meldir," they said, their voice rivalling the softness of the rolling water. The elf's back straightened, and he glanced over his shoulder. He rested his palms flat against the cool rock beneath him as he eyed Aragorn. The ranger stepped closer, but did not scale the now half drowned rock; his boots were now and again splashed by the current, but he paid the attentions of the river no heed.
The elf watched the man for a long time before turning back to the water. "Does it?" Legolas asked, the corners of his mouth upturned just enough to draw Aragorn's attention, and the man watched the faint reflection of distant stars upon the elf's lips.
"Always," came the reply, with a dip of the ranger's head before he looked again to the river. "What does it tell you?" Aragorn asked after a few short moments, folding his hands in front of him to keep them silent.
Legolas's voice was muted, almost distant, and when Aragorn turned to him again, the elf was looking off to the north. "It speaks of change," Legolas said at last, eyes unblinking. "I think we will not come upon quite what we expect in the coming days." His eyes shifted to lock with Aragorn's and the ranger blinked softly before tearing his gaze away.
Gimli cleared his throat, though the sound was garbled and seemingly unintentional, but it caused the pair to turn their heads nonetheless. Nimbly, the elf jumped down from the rock without a sound, his hand taking Aragorn's just lightly enough that he allowed the ranger's fingers to slip through his as he walked away.
"Sedho vae," the elf whispered as he passed Gimli and leaned down to pat the dwarf's shoulder gently before continuing on. Aragorn followed, unable to prevent a smile as their friend offered a sleep laden grumble in response but did not open his eyes. The elf followed the river for a short distance, pausing at last at the edge of a small pool where the currents caught themselves up within some stoic rocks and the roots of a lone, twisted tree, twirling within their grasp a handful of broken twigs and leaves.
The ranger's steps slowed as Legolas stopped by the water, and for long minutes there was no sound save the sweet rush of the Isen between its banks. Aragorn thought the river sounded almost happy to no longer be such a meager shadow of itself. The sky was still dark, dawn seeming an eternity away, though to the elf's eyes it appeared only an hour or so in coming. The company was far enough behind them to be well out of sight. The movement was invisible in its shadowed swiftness, but suddenly Aragorn found himself being pulled by the front of his shirt, the toes of his boots scraping over damp stone as he nearly lost his balance. He quickly felt his back pressed up against the sharp undulation of tree bark.
Legolas pushed the ranger up against the tree, his hand fisted tightly in the fabric of the man's shirt as he closed the distance between them. His eyes flashed dangerously, and Aragorn was not sure if it was anger or something else, perhaps the faint light on the water, that glinted off the indigo depths. He found himself without a chance to decipher the elf's glare as Legolas claimed his lips, one hand moving behind the ranger's head to cradle it from the rough trunk of the old tree and tangle in his hair. This kiss was slow, no less fevered than any other they had shared, but its depth was more restrained. Aragorn yielded without complaint, slipping his tongue out to gently part the elf's lips, relishing Legolas's taste as the elf easily complied. He revelled in the scent of thyme and sweet moss as their tongues entwined in indulgent caresses.
The ranger felt swift fingers dispelling the knot work of his shirt, but as soon as his chest was exposed, Legolas stilled. The elf pulled back just far enough that Aragorn could feel his breath on his lips, running his hand over the ranger's chest. He let his palm come to rest within the shallow in the middle, feeling the heat seep into his already warm fingers with each thrum of the heart that beat beneath. Aragorn held still, save for his fingers, which were busy curling and uncurling in the soft cloth of the over tunic near the elf's waist. He shifted slightly at the growing tightness in his breeches, but Legolas appeared to pay this no mind as he held the man's gaze. Aragorn's throat clenched slightly, but he didn't look away.
The skin around Legolas's eyes tightened ever so visibly, crinkling just at the corners, though it was not a narrowing of the eyes so much as a reaction to the flood of words that had begun to well up in his chest. His eyes searched Aragorn's with an intensity the ranger had seen but once or twice from anyone in his long years, and the elf's previous words came back to him. The coming days would indeed prove difficult in their quandary, especially in light of much more pressing troubles. The man flicked his tongue over his lips and his shoulders sagged slightly before he reached up to smooth a barely errant lock of hair from Legolas's cheek.
"You know what this is," Legolas said at last, his voice fluting as if carried upon the water itself. His fingertips brushed against the skin just below the ranger's collarbone.
Aragorn's head tilted in a minute motion, but it was only a moment before he understood. Of course he knew; his familiarity with elven custom left no room for denial. A gust of hot air kicked up from the east, rustling the grass and carrying to them the distant cry of a hunting night bird: the first sound of a wild creature he had heard in days. The wind seemed to cut straight through his breast, and he felt Legolas start quietly, as if the elf could feel the fire that seemed to feed on the breeze. The ranger drew a sharp breath and placed a rough hand over the elf's fingers. He had forgotten how long he'd folded pieces of himself away, left them smouldering just beyond reach, and for days beneath the last moon he had more than once thought he might be going mad. He'd felt a change beneath his skin that seemed to him unwholesome and damnatory, until alongside his waning control he'd seen a remarkably familiar light in Legolas's eyes, a reflection of something deep within himself. Thus, Aragorn had slowly begun to realise it was not the foul whispers on the wind, nor the invisible fingers of shadows, strange though they might twist one's actions, that might be laid to blame.
"And it would rest as close to my heart as yours," the ranger said with a burr in his voice, lifting his other hand to place it behind the elf's neck and trace the soft patterns of hair there. Legolas's eyes flicked back and forth between the storm clouds so close to him. "You question your decision." Aragorn's voice deepened beneath the stated question, but the edge was carried away on the wind. His fingers stilled.
Legolas did naught but shake his head faintly, letting a long moment of silence stretch between them. "What of her?"
The ranger took a rushed breath and nearly looked away. But his eyes held fast. He had expected such a question, since even before the previous afternoon. "Legolas," began Aragorn, his voice barely above a whisper but seeming to echo the strength of the Isen. "I have learned more of love in these past days, nay, in times longer still, than I ever have sought. I shall not boast falsely that she means little to me, for she means a great deal, and will always hold a part of my heart I have no desire to deny her." He was not certain what response he might receive, but the elf's expression did not change, and his eyes did not falter. "But I have found that you, as well, hold a part larger than I can say, my friend who knows me like no other. Orthach 'uren ir tirich enni, meleth nín."
His grip tightened on the back of Legolas's neck, and he pulled the elf nearly close enough to kiss. But instead he took his hand from Legolas's and placed his fingers gently against the elf's mouth. "It was my intent to let things pass, alone and untouched, in the hopes that my heart would forget itself should we survive the days ahead. Yes, Legolas, I know just what this is, to you, as it would be to me. Though I oft worry that no matter how closely I might hold it to honour, it is not quite enough. I fear I am torn, between rejoice and despair, for knowing such a thing fulfilled." His eyes darkened, and at last he looked away with lids drawn down and brow furrowed as his fingers slipped from the elf's lips. In truth, he knew of no bond that might be stronger, no matter the intent of the Valar.
Legolas smirked faintly, more the barest of upward motions by one corner of his mouth, as the ranger's words trailed off into the fading night: Elessar, calling into question the honour behind his intentions. As the man's hand slipped away, he caught it gently within his own. "Honour is so fickle a thing, Aragorn. Perhaps there is little honour to be found in this," Legolas said, pressing his thumb lightly into Aragorn's palm. "Rather, perhaps there is much." His gaze was met with a flash of grey from the ranger's eyes.
"Estel," came the elf's voice again as he took a moment to nip one of the man's fingers. "Will we be forever held beneath the uncertainty of this honour you call into question, or shall we choose to rejoice for the time we are able?" His tongue flicked out smoothly across a fingertip, and Aragorn drew a sharp breath, twisting the fingers of his other hand into the elf's pale hair. Legolas pushed aside the heaviness entangling his heart for now, though it took a great effort at first. The world may pass in the blink of an eye, and he wished to keep his own eyes open.
Aragorn grunted as Legolas pushed him more strongly against the trunk of the tree, losing all account of whatever answer he may have been prepared to provide. He traced the elf's lips with his fingers before tilting his head forward and taking Legolas's mouth beneath his own. The kiss was like fire, lips searing against each other without restraint, tongues seeking one other beneath mingled, heated breath. Aragorn felt the elf's hand trail down his chest and made a small sound of protest as suddenly it disappeared. His eyes slipped open briefly before he moaned; fingers had reappeared just above his belt, which they set about moving before sliding into the thick cloth of his breeches, dangerously close to his swiftly returning hardness.
Legolas moved his lips to Aragorn's neck, biting the tender flesh there lightly before tracing the valley behind the man's jaw with his tongue. He shifted his hips against the ranger's, his hand still caught between them, and elicited another groan. Aragorn's eyes had slipped closed again, and Legolas once again claimed the man's mouth as he eased his hand around Aragorn. A moan reverberated through the man's throat and was caught in the depths of Legolas's mouth, muffled beneath a slow, deep kiss. The elf began a deliberate rhythm, and soon Aragorn's breathing had become ragged, and he moved his hands to grip the elf's shoulders. The man could see Legolas's eyes gleaming almost black blue just as he threw his head back, oblivious to the force with which it hit the jagged bark behind him.
"Legolas, I cannot -- Oh..." He grunted, his entire body going rigid as he swore he saw the sun break over the hills in the distance with a violent intensity. Shivering, he worked to catch his breath, but when he opened his eyes it was still dark; the stars had only just begun to recede into a sky slowly paling to a deep blue. Legolas had already produced a rag, though the ranger cared not just yet to ask from where. Whatever surprise he felt at the elf's preparation was quickly forgotten as he pulled Legolas to him, cupping the elf's jaws with soft hands as he kissed him. Hands travelled down the smooth skin of Legolas's neck and began playing at the fastenings of his tunic.
While the elf did not pull away, Aragorn became aware of movements around his waist, and he broke the kiss to glance down. Legolas had already retied his breeches and lifted his hands to the man's questioning face, running his thumb along a dirty cheekbone.
"It is dawn," the elf said, and as the words tumbled from his lips the faintest orange light appeared on the horizon. The man looked at Legolas sceptically, and with more than a little longing burnishing his grey blue eyes, but even from there they could begin to hear the dimmed, telltale sounds of the company packing up their mounts and gathering for departure.
"Dawn," the ranger said with greatly exaggerated contempt before pulling the elf to him roughly for one last kiss, and ultimately useless attempt at dulling his hunger, especially when Legolas crushed his lips as fiercely against his. But a moment later, the man felt teeth on his lower lip, playful but sharp; he yelped.
"Away," Legolas commanded with a faint grin, pulling Aragorn from the tree trunk by his tunic and shoving him in the direction of the camp. The man stumbled slightly in his recovering condition as he threw his hands in the air, bowing his head with a smile before turning to stride back toward the company.
Legolas crossed his arms as he watched the man go, ignoring the thin braid of hair the wind slid beneath his chin. As Aragorn's form began to melt into the lingering shadows, he shifted, placing a palm gently against the tree and breathing deeply as he felt the rough bark beneath his fingers. He cast his glance upward as the last of the stars slipped without remark beneath a blanket of grey blue, and then set off to join the others. The knot that had so recently been plaguing the pit of his gut seemed to have migrated to nest behind his ribs. Now he could feel the wrapping of tendrils around his heart, causing it alternately to soar and to fall.
He was finding it difficult to heed his own advice, to cast aside for now whatever worried the edges of his mind to a fray. It was not doubt, but dread, and he had never before felt such a thing. There was reason, always, to fear grief in its bolder strains. Until now, it had forever been a distant fear, detached, as one who watches some wild creature take down its prey, knowing well it could kill you, but seeing no reason why it should. Legolas shook his head and swallowed uneasily, one hand held lightly in a fist against his chest. No, for now he would take, and give, what he could, and keep despair where it loomed bright on the periphery: descend without falling.
A fog hung heavy in the air, choking the sky and smothering what should have been the dawn's golden light into a palette of barren greys. The sun could not be seen, though it seemed to be rising as usual by the testimony of the dispersing darkness, and a stench was upon the land that cause a rippling of murmurs among the men as they prepared to ride on. Gandalf had already accomplished the duty of rousing Gimli, who was now standing, looking sourly at Arod. The horse was returning the dwarf's attention plaintively, large dark eyes shining as a shudder of breath passed through his wide nostrils and he tossed his head. Legolas smiled when Gimli made an aggravated sound and without any true zeal raised a hand at the animal as if to shoo him away. Arod only whickered again.
Aragorn was busy fastening the last of his gear to Hasufel's saddle, and the great grey horse pranced sideways impatiently. As the elf approached, he listened as the man calmed the animal with a few soft whispers, and the steed's hooves fell silent. Legolas passed him by to clap Gimli on the shoulder.
"Not ready yet, Gimli?" the elf asked with one eyebrow neatly arched, and the stallion opposite the dwarf nickered, stamping one foot into the soft grass.
Gimli grunted, scowling at the horse in front of him and shaking his head. "I'm ready enough, Master Elf," he replied, loathe to take his eyes off the beast at any moment. "I can carry my things quite well on my own. An' besides, jus' where do you suggest I pack anythin' on this ... creature?" he added, gesturing to the bare steed.
Though the action begged his attention, the elf refrained from snorting in mock indignation. Instead, he crossed his arms and straightened his back. "I merely thought you might be on the horse and waiting for departure, master Dwarf," Legolas responded with high brows as he returned the endearing formality.
Gimli finally removed his gaze from the horse to glare at the elf with horrified amazement, his jaw working soundlessly beneath his beard for some time before he clamped it shut at last with a click of his teeth. He was about to retort when the horns sounded the host's departure, and Legolas leapt easily onto Arod's back to hold out a hand. His smile might have been smugly triumphant, but instead it was only understanding, and the dwarf grumbled something soft enough even the elf could not discern it before stepping up to accept the offered hand. The stallion sidestepped as Legolas pulled Gimli up behind him, and the last thing anyone heard before the thunder of hooves was upon the air was the gruff exclamation of, "Miserable beast!"
The road here was well tended, and the going was easy as they entered Nan Curunír; the bleakness of the landscape, though, caused many a rider to catch his breath. While the land had once been a fair world of richness and greenery, it was now a torn and desolate scape of thorn and weed, of upturned and razed earth. Broken and shattered rock dusted the field of grey soil. Even to those who had never seen the Wizard's Vale in lighter days might imagine from the tattered and axe-torn stumps of the great wood what it might have once been. Smoke and steam mingled in hollows and crouched heavily over the land around them, lending a worry to the silent riders who began now to doubt the outcome of their journey's end. The only sound that met their ears was the stony wash of the river and the clatter of horses' hooves upon the battered earth.
Legolas's heart lurched at the sight, and an unearthly cry as he had never before heard came to him. It tore its way through his head and down his backbone before it swirled around within his chest: the cry of a dying land betrayed, of the fragments of tales that had come now to some bitter, untimely end. So heavily was he hit that is hands dropped to steady himself with the grip of Arod's mane. His shoulders slumped forward as his back bent, and without words Gimli knew what it was that caused the elf to cower so. A steady hand found Legolas's shoulder and held on gently, if hesitant in its reassurance. The dwarf remained silent, for even his own heart was marked with sorrow in the face of this malignant display. He sighed and squeezed the elf lightly as they rode on, and Legolas slowly regained his composure. The river ran here again, and with luck the world could begin to rebuild itself.
From atop Hasufel, Aragorn saw the elf's reaction, and he fought to still his seat and hold his hands steady as he nearly rode over to him. But they had come at last to a great stone in the earth painted with the likeness of a white hand, its fingers pointing northward, and it was clear they were nearly upon Isengard. The mists remained impenetrable to their eyes, calling for a sharp watch out into the mists, and the ranger told himself, in all truth, that Gimli was capable of giving Legolas as much comfort as was possible now. He breathed deeply of the stark air and smoothed the worried line of his brow, returning his attention to the road. The path beneath them had become paved, though no longer did any blade of grass grace the cracks and breaks of the stone, and Aragorn continued to look ahead for signs of their destination.
Suddenly the landscape changed as they entered between the walls of the mountain that rose up on either side. Houses sprung up from the land, just within visibility. Halls, chambers and passages were carved into the walls of stone that curved around to the west, north and east, leaving the only entranceway open to the south. The plain, too was carved with shafts and tunnels, their tops covered in domes of stone that cast the land as some deathly haunt. All the roads that ran between these delving mines bore down upon the centre of the plain, where stood a great tower that seemed wrought from the earth itself by the hand of no man. Orthanc, the stronghold of Saruman, stood darkly before them, half shrouded in the distant choking sky that surrounded its spire: a shadow barely visible beneath the smog.
They rode on over the sodden earth, passing now near the doors to Isengard which rested torn and broken upon the ground. Rock lay strewn in ruinous heaps, shattered and broken in great mounds, which beyond them could be seen peeking dreadfully out from beneath the flood that had claimed the inner ring. They could see where the water splashed and pulled at the foot of the tower that remained somehow unbroken beneath this storm. The company marvelled as the sight, for it seemed to them that Saruman's power was overthrown, though by what means they could not yet guess.
They rode on over the wet road, and Gimli's hand slowly slipped from the elf's shoulder as they stared at the chaotic, but silent tableau laid out before their eyes. No one seemed able to speak as the strides of the horses began to fall with soft sucking noises in the ever dampening ground. At last the sight of two figures atop a pile of stone near the doors caught the attention of the king and his men. One seemed to be sleeping amidst a mess of bottles and bowls that one would expect to find at a feast; the other rested not far off, his back against a ridge of rock as he rested, puffing small rings of smoke from his mouth every now and again.
Amidst the wreckage of Isengard, this appeared to be the strangest sight of all, and the group approached with as much curiosity as apprehension. Of a sudden, the smoking figure leapt to his feet, pipe in hand, to show himself as a person of small stature, half a man one might say, with curling brown hair and a cloak that, though battle stained, matched those of Gandalf's company.
After a pause, the small figure bowed and welcomed them all to Isengard, introducing both himself and his friend, whom he now bothered with a dig of his foot, and announcing that the Wizard Saruman and his friend Wormtongue remained trapped within the tower above. Isengard, the short figure explained, was now under the management of Treebeard, who had left them with instructions to watch the ruined doors for any passing visitors.
Gimli immediately berated the pair of hobbits, launching into a great tirade about their arduous journey, the hundreds of leagues and battles and death they had suffered whilst on the hunt for their two friends. And here they had stumbled upon them drinking and smoking pipe weed! Legolas could not help but smile at the dwarf's state; he was uncertain as to what might be the cause of Gimli's seemingly imminent explosion -- rage, or sheer joy.
But Merry and Pippin were found, and safe, and this was in the end all that came to matter to the Three Hunters. After the hobbits had introduced themselves and their kind to the king's company, Théoden and Éomer along with the rest of their men departed with Gandalf to go in search of Treebeard. Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas remained behind with the two hobbits, letting their horses stray in search of good grazing. The Hunters shared their desire to learn about the travels of their small friends, and in turn Merry and Pippin announced they wished to learn more of this seemingly spectacular Hunt as well. Legolas bid the hobbits go first, but Gimli protested any further action in favour of a meal, complaining of a sore head and requesting the hobbits proffer a share of this plunder they boasted.
Merry and Pippin were happy, of course, to share what food and drink they had found, and the companions set off for the simple comforts of what remained of the well-stocked guard house, whose store rooms had been high enough to be spared by the flood. Gimli showed a particular interest in how the hobbits had stumbled across the pipe weed, but they promised him that story later. At last, they took some well earned respite at a table by a cozy fire, and when Pippin produced a pipe to replace the one Gimli had lost in Moria, the dwarf declared the score to be settled between them.
At this, they were content to settle back, pretending as though they were once again within the comforts of Rivendell, and end enjoy each other's company as they began to share the tales behind their separate journeys that had once again led them to the same path.
thenon - short one
Lind lín matha faer nín, meldir - Your song touches my spirit, friend.
Sedho vae - Rest well.
Orthach 'uren ir tirich enni, meleth nín - You lift up my heart when you look at me, my love.
silvertoekee: Thanks greatly for your constant reviews and support :) It really means a lot. I'm glad you enjoyed chapter 7! It really wouldn't be right to make this into anything other than a tragedy, but I hate making them suffer so.
Lady of Nimrodel: Thank you so much :) *turns red* This chapter's been a bit long in the works but I hope it meets the standards of the others, I worry I'll forget how to speak English sometimes.
Kel: Glad you are liking it! It's getting more difficult to predict them both, and Aragorn's been driving me crazy with his sense of honour... *grins*
Gwyn: Sorry this one took so long! But thank you for all of your encouraging words!
The: Oh yes, this really can't be too happy of an ending, but I think they're coming to realise the value of this at last... slightly thick skulls these guys sometimes.. :) Thank you, I am so glad you're enjoying it.
rumpy: Thanks! I love the dwarf, he's hard to write, but I hope I am doing his part justice.
Maria Christina: Thank you :)
Chrissy: I do find myself having to cut my sentences short sometimes, but I am happy you find it intriguing! Hope this chapter is enjoyable :)