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This is adult material. If you are not of legal age to read adult material, bugger off. |
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MODERN EARTH SERIES 41 Investigations
Two of the rescued men remained near the front of the building. They were talking to several officers in squad cars. The pitiful captives had been rescued by angels, they said. Miraculously, after non-stop praying, the door of their prison had mysteriously unlocked. Then, they said, an archangel appeared at the back door, blond hair whipping about his shining face. A long, white hand gripped the arch of a bow. An arrow of flame streaked toward the leader of their demonic captors. The second man reported that the angel had been surrounded by a blood red glow of divine retribution. He had an army at his back, flying in through windows and slaying the creatures that had captured them. The creatures fell before the might of the heavenly army. It was an apocalyptic scene. They were amazed to stand alive recounting it. Lieutenant Davis listened over the crackling helicopter com system to his officer’s report of the situation. The ground troops had discovered a battlefield inside a warehouse, black blood everywhere, corpses of orcs in heaps. Outside in the back, a dumpster of gnawed human bones, skulls, hands and feet. Davis heard his officer gag more than once making the report. Cooking pots simmered inside full of human meat. Many of the personal effects of the dead lay in heaps. Other less valuable items were scattered by the wind in the alley behind the warehouse. It would take days or weeks to identify the dead and missing. There was red blood too, he was told, in more than a few places around the crime scene. The samples collected would be loaded with DNA evidence. Davis doubted he’d find elf or dwarf blood. Those two were truly experienced fighters. And they lived charmed lives. Davis sighed. Why did he feel his police dog instincts were barking up the wrong tree looking for the elf? Methodically, he ordered a scan of local hospital emergency room records for anyone coming in injured that afternoon or evening. He’d snare a few witnesses if he were lucky. He was sure of that. He’d give Old Took another call, and he’d have another chat with Ms. Winsom. She was curvaceous leg deep in all this too. After a quick check of his watch, Davis realized he’d skipped lunch. Then, he thought of the cooking pots his officers had discovered. Now, only a salad sounded appealing. He signaled his pilot to land back at headquarters. In the meantime he called in his lunch order. He’d eat it at his desk awaiting more reports.
Legolas and Gimli went underground again after dispersing both gangs, promising to meet them at moonrise in the park. Gimli stood proudly, his short legs wide apart as Legolas clasped each of the gang leaders in a comrade’s embrace. The gang members saluted the elf as they filed past. Then they melted into the narrow alleys and back doors of crumbling buildings. The hobbits, the Rohirrim and the park dwarves followed elf and dwarf into the complex sewer system so familiar to Master Builder Gimli. Mirandwyn and Eorand followed without comment into the cement conduit. The park dwarves hummed a low marching tune and seemed pleased by the pressure of tons of earth overhead. At home in holes too, the hobbits prattled ceaselessly about a hundred or more subjects not least of which was the legal ground they had to stand on with regard to the slaughter at the orc barracks. Three miles from the location where they had entered, they emerged near the 9th Street Bridge. Legolas breathed again and lovingly stroked the bark of a great oak. Gimli patted his friend's back without further comment. They exchanged weary grins. Narsi and Sober pointed out the local sights. A block north, on the other side of the stream were the formal gardens, the tea house and adjoining the picturesque koi pond where the Dark Lord previously met his minions. There was a good chance he’d meet them again tonight with a very different outcome. So, the weary band waited out the long afternoon, eating pizza ordered by the hobbits. Underhill took pictures of each of the park dwarves for the records, he said. He sent a few text messages on his phone too, all the while bemoaning the lack of his laptop. Brandybuck raised his bushy eyebrow and rolled his dark brown eyes. Birds chirped and bees droned, mixing with the casual traffic that wended its way home along the park boulevard. Then, as the sun was setting, Legolas sighed. Gimli asked if something were wrong. The elf said he was watching the play of light on the glass of the apartment tower across the wide parkland. Gimli said, "I can't make out anything at that distance. What do your elf eyes see?" "Softly the lights of our neighbors begin to glow, like the lamps of Imladris. Oh, Gimli, how I long for a peaceful night in our bed." Before the dwarf could reply, they heard the roar of motorcycles.
As the cycles roared by, Mirandwyn and her boy ducked for cover with the park dwarves beneath the bridge. Gimli crouched stone-still under his grey cloak, one more picturesque boulder along the edge of the stream. Hobbits hid within the thick roadside brush. Quick as thought Legolas sprang into the branches of a great oak and found friendly shelter there. Then, he trained his eyes upon the small teahouse in the distance. Oriental lanterns lit the peaceful scene. A long black limo was parked nearby. A man in black clothing casually dropped crumbs into the fishpond. He turned as the bikes roared up and parked near the limo. The biggest biker swept off his death’s head helm. Long, stringing hair, the color of straw, framed a scarred face. Legolas breathed again. The man was no wraith. The rest, clad in pitch black, stood at deceptively watchful ease. Trained fighters they were, silent killers without conscience or remorse. They awaited only a master’s orders. Battosai, yakuza, ninja, they were known by many fearful names. From the look of ire on the Dark Lord’s face, the leader of the Nine must have reported the loss of the orc army. The dark cloaked figure paced and clenched his fists. There, on the index finger of his right hand, he wore as Sauron had, a heavy gold ring. It was a new ring of power glinting in the lantern light. "Gimli," Legolas hissed. "Gather the others. We attack now before they disperse again." There was a hiss as steel was drawn from scabbards, and at a run they closed the distance, elf sprinting ahead. With a shout in elvish, Legolas appeared in the lantern light and challenged the Dark Lord. The elf had set aside his bow and quiver. He’d fight the man hand to hand. He flourished Gandalf’s elvish blade and waited. The man waved off his assassins and stepped into the clear. Then, calmly with a twitch of his ringed finger, Sauron’s heir beckoned the last elf to his doom. In the same instant, the Leader of the Nine wheeled to face Gimli charging with his great axe and shouting dwarven battle cries. The huge blond biker snatched up a studded mace and the battle ensued. Moments later hobbits, dwarves and Rohirrim swarmed over the black-clad minions of the Dark Lord. Everyone was engaged. At times, Gimli fought three opponents, swinging his axe in dizzying arcs, unaffected by throwing stars and steel darts. Even the hobbits fought with tooth and nail, appearing at first as easy prey. They too, withstood the poison of the dark foe’s darts. The Rohirrim fought with amazing stamina and righteous wrath. Mirandwyn heard her husband’s voice cry out to her. She fought as he had. Again his voice called in her mind. She ducked a whirling stick and came up under the deadly weapon, thrusting her sword straight in. The black creature died without a sound, slipping from her blade as she stepped to aid her son. Eorand dodged right and left, unafraid of glittering falling stars. He wore his father’s armor and he grinned as he faced his foe. Often the Rohirrim were termed grim warriors. Not true, Eorand thought. He remembered Eothred his father singing as he taught his son to fight. There was glory in a just war, when one protected hearth and home. Valor was a prized quality, and song filled the heart with courage when freedom’s price was dear. The black clad foe parried and glanced about as the boy swung at him. He must have seen his comrade lying dead upon the field. He took a last stab at the youngster and then turned to run. Eorand tackled him, but the creature was slippery and fled into the shadow of a thick clump of trees. Eorand heard a strange sound. There was a cracking like splitting wood and then a snap as the crack shut. The boy heard a faint wail and then silence. The movement of the tree had not escaped Gimli’s notice. He laughed as he cut downward with his axe. Handily he ducked a smash from the heavy mace of the biker. So, Gimli mused, Legolas had been waking trees in the park? Teaching them to talk, no doubt. And tonight they repaid his favors. Gimli backed one of his black-clad opponents nearer an old, mossy trunk. Long branches swept down and snatched up his foe throttling the man in an instant.
Legolas stalked the Dark Lord within a small circle of light. Dimly, troops engaged the enemy. In a tiny corner of the elf’s long memory, he recalled the description of Fenton’s killer. A tall man with long blond hair. The Leader of the Nine must have been at Fenton’s ranch. The horseman had been discarded or killed to provoke the local police. Glaring eyes, then blades whispered in a steel kiss as Legolas engaged the Dark Lord. The gold ring on the man’s index finger gleamed in the small circle of light. Narya glowed red as an ember, coursing warmth down the elf’s slim arm, through his delicate shoulder and into his very heart. The elf’s cool eye caught the ripple of light along the waved blade of an ancient katana that crossed his own elvish blade. Feint and parry, the man fought almost playfully. He did not fight in the traditional Eastern style. He waited for the elf to engage him. He reeked of pride and overconfidence. Legolas stepped back and looked more closely at the hand that gripped the hilt. He frowned. Then he looked under the long, dark fall of hair, to the fine features and the pale skin. Almond shaped eyes and ear tips like the elf’s own. Fear stopped his breath as it had when he beheld the balrog at the bridge in Moria. A sweat-slick palm loosened his grasp on his sword. The shameful memory of dropping his bow crashed against his consciousness. Legolas staggered, barely able to maintain his guard. Screams and shouts of his comrades did not pierce the glass bell of silence around the ring-wearers. The Leader of the Nine knocked Gimli off his stout legs and kicked him hard as he lay stunned. Mirandwyn drove straight at the huge man, her sword level with his belly. He swung his mace and sent her flying too, blood spraying from her scalp wound. The huge biker turned to strike Gimli another blow. The dwarf rolled closer to the man’s feet and chopped at his heavy boot. It was just enough to shift the giant’s balance and spoil his swing. At the same moment, Eorand snatched his mother up and pulled her out of his range. She was unconscious, yet she breathed. The boy placed her near one of the sentient trees, patting the trunk and speaking the elvish word for friend that Legolas had taught him. Out on the grass, the hobbits fought back to back against two shadows. Eorand shouted and ran to their aid. The shadows fled. Then as the boy congratulated his friends, arrows flew toward them. Eorand gasped as he looked down at a barbed point protruding from the flesh of his thigh. "Take his other arm," Underhill hissed. "Behind this tree," they said. The pain was fierce and hot. He nearly fainted looking at the arrow again. He sensed something pushed between his teeth. He heard a sharp crack and tearing cloth. they were still standing. One of the hobbits was holding him tightly. He heard the other from far away. "Now," Brandybuck said. The arrow slid from his leg. Swiftly, small hands bound the wound tightly with strips of cloth, as tightly as the hobbit’s arms that held him upright. The field of stars wheeled overhead and he heard his father’s voice calling him to awake.
As the giant fell, the Park dwarves leaped upon him. Gimli scrambled to his feet and delivered a killing blow of axe blade to neck. The head rolled free and the man’s eyes rolled upward in his head. Blood soaked the ground and tree roots writhed like snakes to drink. Gimli scurried clear. The Park dwarves backed away in horror. “Mellon,” Gimli said softly, holding his axe well away from the rough bark and patting the tree with his left hand. The tree’s branches rustled and the dwarves heard a soft sigh. Then the tree seemed to sleep again and the sounds of the battle returned to their ears. Gimli’s gaze shot in the direction of his comrade. Legolas was stepping back from his foe. The soft moaning of the injured boy and the tenor murmur of the hobbits drew Sober and Narsi toward the outer ring of the battlefield. Gimli ran to the center, to Legolas. The look of shock and terror on the elf’s face were blows to the dwarf’s heart. His chest hurt suddenly, either from the vicious kick or from running. Despite the pain, the dwarf entered the circle of light, flanking the Dark Lord and becoming clearly visible to his friend. Gimli knew he must neither distract Legolas nor get in his way. Yet the dwarf worried that his friend was over-matched. Honor forbade joining the fight. This was a duel between the elf and the Dark Lord. Yet, there had to be something he could do. In the darkness, on the far side of the field, Mirandwyn lay still at the base of the sheltering tree. She thought she heard voices calling her and she tried to answer. Dimly, she looked out upon a shadowy mountain vale. Heavy snow was falling. The air was freezing cold and the rocks proved poor shelter from the cruel wind. Then she saw a man she recognized. He was walking toward her. He was Eothred, her husband. His arms were outstretched and his face beamed with joy to see her. She stretched out her arms to him. As she encircled him, her hands encountered the thick black orc arrow that had taken his life. The shaft protruded from the armor he wore. It had entered his body just below the shoulder blade on the left side, piercing his heart. He had walked at the head of the ambushed column and he’d been the first to die. Mirandwyn could not make sense of anything. She was cold and a dull pain ate at her reason. She accepted the embrace of her loving husband. She listened to his soothing voice. “How is our son?” Eothred asked. “Strong and brave,” she answered. “And my dear wife?” “Unwell, I fear, husband,” she whispered. “You have nothing to fear, Mirandwyn,” Eothred said, taking her in his arms and lifting her off her feet. “I will carry you home.”
When Sober and Narsi found the hobbits, they were nearly finished binding up the boy’s leg. He was conscious and dealing well with the pain. They decided he would be safer watching over his mother by the sentient tree. Sober propped up one side of him and Narsi the other for the walk to safety. Underhill and Brandybuck kept a sharp lookout as they walked. They’d lost count of the black-clad killers. There was no telling if any of them were actually dead except for those the trees might have gotten. The hobbits shivered. The trees… Who would have known? When they found Mirandwyn she was dreaming, talking to someone. Eorand tried talking to her at first but she was far off in her dreams. She was speaking to the boy’s father, the hobbits concluded. They shook their heads. "Eorand," Underhill said. "Hold your mother’s hand if you can bear it. She is going to your father. There is nothing any of us can do." Tears filled the big eyes of the young hobbit. The Rohirrim boy, in dreadful pain himself, stared in disbelief at his mother. He clutched her cold fingers, gathered her into his arms and kissed her pale cheek. Then he just held her, biting his lip to push back his anguish. At last, Mirandwyn lay still and Eorand turned his face into her long, blond, bloodstained hair. Finally, the boy wept. The Park dwarves, the hobbits and the boy huddled around the trunk of the sentient tree. The dwarves took turns as lookout for more dark-clad shapes. They could not see Legolas or Gimli. The last sound they’d heard was the elf’s tenor cry of surprise. ******* Gimli watched Legolas back away from the Dark Lord. The look on his companion’s face was one of complete shock and dismay. The point of the elvish sword dropped and the slim fingers holding the hilt seemed nerveless. A spell, Gimli thought. The Dark Lord had Legolas enthralled. "Come, cousin," the black-clad figure said softly. "Join me. Wear Narya in my service and we’ll rule the world." Gimli saw Legolas sway, and then shake his head, long hair flying. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open in a mute scream. The Dark Lord raised his own weapon and at that moment Gimli bowled into the man’s legs. The dwarf hit with his shoulder and then he felt himself impact on the pavement. He curled and tried to regain his feet. He couldn’t. Somehow, the Dark Lord had avoided his rush and now stood with one foot on Gimli's spine. "I expected this creature’s attack," the Dark Lord said, sneering and raising his eyebrow. "Don’t hurt him," Legolas replied, panting for breath. "You came here to fight me." "But I want you on my side, Legolas," the Dark Lord said. "And, aren't you ashamed of this friendship? Their greed caused us much mischief. Your father must have warned you. I know my father did." "Who was your father?" "His name is not important. Like yourself and Thranduil, I am of the house of the greatest craftsman of our entire race. The one who saw most clearly because he captured the Light, before it was dimmed and stolen from him." "Feanor’s House." The Dark Lord nodded. "So, you see how useless it is to fight me. Come, I’ll even conclude this bad business for you." He gave Gimli a sharp kick. "And then we’ll discuss the future." "Don’t touch the dwarf." "Ah, you want the honors. Of course, be my guest."
The Enemy shifted his footing and gave Gimli another vicious kick purely out of spite. The dwarf grunted and Legolas winced. There had to be a way, Legolas thought frantically, to save his friend. But how? And the puzzle of the Dark Lord himself remained. Who was this creature that claimed to be of Noldor descent? Was he even an elf? Legolas lowered the point of his sword and looked about. By now, all other fighting had ceased. Gimli had beheaded the big biker, no doubt to the dismay of the Dark Lord. Sounds of the city surrounded them: siren far away and the rush of traffic on the freeways. His opponent was breathing easily, confident that he had the upper hand. Conceit, Legolas thought, appeal to his vanity. "Before I swear my allegiance to you," Legolas blurted out, "I must know your lineage." If there were missteps in the historical record, Legolas would know the man was an impostor. Legolas warily glanced downward. Gimli was lying still upon the pavement. Legolas willed his features to freeze into indifference. At least the dwarf was breathing. The dark-clad man rested the point of his sword on the toe of his shoe. He said with a shrug, "I know not how I inherited all my powers. I was born in Grey Havens in the Third Age. My mother, a daughter of the Noldor, was an exile of Imladris. Upon my birth, she left me and sailed into the West. They said I was the spawn of Evil and treated me so. So, evil I became." "You said your father spoke to you of the dwarves. Name your father if you can." "My father spoke to me in dark dreams. He had no name. He told me how he’d raped my mother in the tower of Dol Guldur. He said he tortured a dwarf there who refused to part with a great treasure, one that was rightfully my father’s." Legolas blinked. He could not believe what this man was telling him. If the tale were true then Sauron who was himself one of the Eldar raped Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel and wife of Elrond. She then fled Middle Earth after bearing an offspring of tremendous evil genius. "What is your name?" Legolas whispered. "I've nearly forgotten my elvish name, you know," the Dark Lord said glancing to check on Gimli. Then he returned his menacing gaze to Legolas. He answered the elf, "I think it was Celebdil, no doubt named for the mountain where my mother was captured." He paused and then added, "Oh, I like to render it into common speech as Whiteclaw." Legolas shivered remembering the suffering of his comrades in the cruel, snowy Misty Mountains. Then, there was Moria under the mountains, full of goblins and the great terror that the poor dwarves had awakened. How Celebrian must have suffered there. And Elrond, unable to bring about her cure, agreed to be parted. Did Elrond know of the child? "So, Legolas," the Dark Lord said silkily, "hand me your sword and I will knight you into my service."
Gimli listened, one ear pressed to the gritty concrete, the other ear listening to the polite elven discourse in the midst of battle. Only elves would take such a pause, he thought, rolling his eyes behind tight shut lids. And what a tale Legolas had uncovered. If it were true, their enemy’s origin was astounding. Gimli had his own questions. Why had the son of Sauron waited so long to take an interest in Legolas? Had it taken him that long to forge a new ring of power? Gimli ground his teeth when Celebdil spoke of the tortured dwarf. Thrain was the last of the dwarves to possess one of the seven rings. Gandalf had found him dying inside the dungeon of Dol Guldur. Then Gimli tried to remember all he knew of the elven rings. None of them had been touched by the Evil One. Celebrimbor had died rather than surrender them. The Lady Galadriel had believed that the other rings would diminish when the One had been destroyed. Gandalf believed differently and made a gift of Narya to Legolas. So far the ring had not lost any of its power. Surely, this was why the new Dark Lord wanted it and its wearer. Gimli carefully breathed. He’d kept his short arms wrapped around his ribcage after he’d fallen. A thick pair of leather bracers on his forearms absorbed much of the power of the Dark Lord’s kicks. No cracked ribs except for the two the Leader of the Nine had given him. Breathing hurt but he’d mend, if his companion could talk his way out of this one. With the soft lilt of the tenor voices Gimli’s thoughts strayed and drifted like falling leaves. Which elf had more cunning? Legolas, Gimli thought proudly. The other was arrogant, stiff-necked like all elfkind in dwarven estimation. So, he claimed he was a son of Celebrian. That would make him half brother to Arwen and the twins. No wonder he had his minions smash the sculpture that had belonged to the happy royal pair. And the ruined paintings in the apartment had been scenes of Lothlorien and Imladris, again places of loathing to the Dark Lord. “Come, Legolas,” the Dark Lord’s soft purr coaxed. “Take the dwarf’s head and I will share my world with you, cousin.” “Give me room then,” Legolas replied in a harsh whisper, “to wield my sword.” Gimli couldn’t help blinking. Suddenly, his back felt cold, exposed. The Dark Lord stepped back and Gimli sensed the light footfall of his life-long companion. The air was perfumed by the elf’s warm scent. All at once, Gimli heard the sword cut the air in a sweeping upstroke. The pit of Gimli’s stomach clenched and he set his teeth for the blow.
At the precise moment in time that the sword stroke should have severed the dwarf’s thick neck, Gimli heard an ear-splitting, high-pitched wail, a scream of both fierce anger and extreme agony. At once, a fountain’s spray of hot blood spattered him and Gimli turned his head to look up. He saw a grinning wild-eyed elf, flaxen hair loosened, face bloodied, a gleaming, smoking sword in his hand, and his long legs straddling him. Sword ready, Legolas faced the Dark Lord who wailed anew and clutched his severed wrist, the source of the bloody rain. "You’ll pay, Legolas," the Dark Lord hissed as he backed away, katana clattering to the pavement. Just then, Gimli heard the engine of the limo start up. The Dark Lord managed to get the door open and fall inside. At that same instant, the driver’s side window opened and the muzzle of a pistol appeared. Gimli tried to knock Legolas off his feet. Then, the gunshot split the night air and the elf fell atop him. As if still far away, Gimli heard the beat of helicopter blades. Dimly, he heard the police order him to drop any weapons. A sudden wind blew gravel into his face. All he could think of was sheltering his lover, his friend who’d saved his life. Legolas lay unmoving in his arms. Instead of hitting his chest, the bullet had grazed the elf’s skull. Brandybuck found them breathing but the others, he said, had not been so lucky. Underhill had taken charge. He’d ordered the Park dwarves to hide. Then, he walked straight up to the nearest police officer and ordered him to get medivac choppers for the injured. The boy, Eorand, would go first. Ground transport would follow with his brave mother. Before the police approached them, Gimli grabbed Brandybuck’s sleeve. He twisted the ring off of Legolas’ finger and gave it to the hobbit for safekeeping. "Now, you are a ring-bearer too," Gimli whispered. "Keep it safe and away from the police." Lieutenant Davis himself walked up and checked the condition of the dazed elf. Then, reverently, he took possession of the two swords. His men collected the other weapons on the field of battle and marked off the whole area with yellow crime scene tape. An officer approached with handcuffs. Davis waved him away, ordering his men not to bother the wounded. Brandybuck and Underhill volunteered to make statements. They’d been attacked, they said. Everything had been in self-defense. When the second chopper landed, Legolas was lifted onto a stretcher and the dwarf was allowed to go with him. Gimli hated flying but he hated being parted from Legolas more. The view of the city from the air was like looking into dark caverns glittering with gems. It was a beautiful and terrifying sight. Then, just before landing, Legolas stirred and tried to shake off the IV they’d started in his arm. Gimli’s voice calmed him and he closed his eyes again. Out in the park, the trees went back to sleep too, and koi nibbled at the flesh that had sunk to the bottom of their pond.
As Gimli watched the city lights flicker below them, he clung to the elf’s icy hand and listened to the paramedics chatter. The pilot of the chopper asked, "Hey, think he’ll make it?" "I really don't know," a big man said, paper between his teeth and an needle in his hand. "I never had to hit a vein in an elf before. And he’s a famous one." The man looked at his smaller partner. "Do you want to try this, Ben?" "Oh, not me, Quent," Ben answered. "Bad enough I have to shove a trake tube down him and then set up a catheter." "He can’t be too dangerous," Quenton commented with a shrug of massive shoulders. "The cops didn’t want to ride along." Gimli saw the smaller man smile and nod. A crease deepened in the young man’s forehead marking his concentration. He reached for the elf’s belt. He opened it and began to unbutton the silk shirt. He was gentle as he unlaced the leather vest and then began unfastening the closure on the dark jeans. Unable to make sense of the medical jargon, Gimli caught the sleeve of the younger man as he struggled with the short row of brass buttons. "Now, there’ll be none o’that, laddie," Gimli growled. "Leave him be." "I can’t old-timer," the beardless boy replied softly, patiently. "I’ve got to prep him." "For what?" Gimli asked, meeting the boy’s intense emerald gaze. "They’ll have to operate as soon as we get him to the ER." The look of shock on the dwarf’s features prompted the young man to continue his explanation. "Your friend’s in good hands. First they’ll take some x-rays to see the fracture. Then, they’ll operate to relieve the pressure on the brain. Until they do all that, this old boy’s not getting up." "Can I stay with him?" Gimli asked, frowning and fearing the answer. "I’m afraid not," the young man said gently. "But, hey, you look a little banged up yourself. Let’s take a look at you next, eh?" "I’m fine. Mere scratches." "Let us be the judges of that, will you? Now, I have to finish here. Please." Gimli watched glowering, as the young man tilted back Legolas’ head and slipped a tube down his throat. "So he can breath," Ben said. Then he finished opening the elf’s clothing. Gimli’s eyes widened as the young man pulled out Legolas’ penis. Expertly prepping a plastic tube, he inserted it with a smooth motion and then tucked everything back into place. "See? He’ll be fine. I’m good at this. Trust me," Ben said with a tiny wave of his hand. Gimli blinked and his heart calmed. He could see the hospital roof now. It was coming up fast. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes as the helicopter thumped to a landing. Opening his eyes, Gimli saw people running to meet them. As the door opened and arms reached for Legolas, Gimli felt the larger man’s hand on his shoulder. Deep blue eyes met the dwarf’s. "Stay close to me," Quenton said. Gimli nodded.
Go on to Chapters 51-60 Back to the beginning, or back to LOTR.
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