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Fandoms: DC (random JLA time) and LOTR (Two Towers, in Fangorn Forest)
Characters/Pairings: Bruce, Clark, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli. No pairings, really.
Rating: PG
Summary: You never know what you'll run into in a place like Fangorn
Notes: for slvrbld7474
Wordcount: 409
Gimli wasn't grumbling. He wasn't. The other two were doing the whole elvish tracking thing, focusing on random twigs and bits of moss like they meant something, and they apparently needed silence for this. So he wasn't grumbling. He was seething instead, ranting quietly inside his head along the lines of 'bloody forest, bloody trees, bloody elves'. It made a nice, rhythmic loop to march to.
Unfortunately, he was so focused on the theraputic chant inside his head, it took him a second to notice that the other two had stopped dead, that Aragorn had shifted to a battle-ready stance, and that the elf was staring intently up into the canopy whilst easing his bow forward. Gimli froze, following their gazes, his own hand slipping readily to the axe at his side. He didn't think orcs climbed trees, but this was Fangorn bloody Forest. Who knew what was up there?
And then, the leaves rustled up there. Even he heard it. Something moved, and before he could even think, an arrow was arcing clear of the elf's bow, straight at whatever it was, flying true ... and bursting into flame as an arc of fire lanced down from the trees. Without even pausing, Gimli threw himself for cover, hearing Aragorn cry 'magic!' behind him, and trying to resist the urge to ask how he'd guessed. He peeked out from behind his log, and watched as two figures dropped down from the canopy. Well, one dropped. The other just kind of floated. He stared.
The heavy one, the one whose actually touched the forest floor, was dark and shadowy, a vaguely human shadow. It looked for all the world like a Ringwraith, save for a glimpse of a human chin, real and living. And the other ... Gimli remembered the stories his cousin had told him, remembered Smaug, and the dragons that could fly, and breathe fire, and the old tales that said in younger days there had been dragons who could take a human form ...
"Bruce?" the dragon asked. "Where are we?" The wraith looked around, his white eyes scything inexorably to Gimli's hiding place, to Legolas where he crouched in the lower branches of an elm, to Aragorn where he stood armed and ready to Gimli's right. And then the wraith sighed heavily, a distinctly human sound, and reached up to pull off his hood.
"I believe, Clark," he said tiredly, "that the witch might just have sent us to Middle Earth."
