Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Along the Anduîn

It was cold outside Lothlorién, but much less misty. The air was drier than it had been in the Golden woods. Aragorn consented to light a fire. Neither him nor Legolas sensed any danger on this particular spot.

On they went, for several days paddling down the Anduin, munching on the supplies from the golden wood for lunch, and cooking at night. The river meandered around cliffs, sometimes gaining more speed, sometimes snailing gently. As they reached further south, the company progressively tensed. Discord was once again brewing between Boromir and Aragorn, much to everyone's distress. Frances knew better than to approach Boromir whenever he was angry. His words could wound as icily as a blade when his pride took over reason.

Legolas, impervious to his moods, remained his calm self all along. It somehow helped to travel alongside the elf. His soothing presence allowed Frances' mind to stay clear. And Gimli was as sturdy as a rock. No disagreement among men would tame his cheerful character.

On the fourth day, the current suddenly picked up. Boromir and Aragorn started shouting orders to paddle up and set the boats on the bank. But it was too late. The elvish crafts grated on the rocks as they were caught in the flow. Adrenaline shot into Frances's body. In this moment, she realised how frail their raft was and how easily they could be turned over and thrown into the water. She doubted she could drag Gimli ashore. Fearing the icy touch of the water splashing, the young lady followed the elf's instructions without fault.

In front of them, Aragorn's own little boat came in and out of the view as he tried to negotiate the currents. And then, in the middle of chaos, black arrows whizzed past them.

- "Yrch" yelled Legolas as he turned around.

The elf attempted to seize his bow but the current was too strong. It forced him to get back to paddling lest they be drowned. Several arrows plunged into the agitated waters. Setting her fright aside, Frances blessed the current to lead them away. She'd rather end up in the river than face the orcs. A quick look at the passing boat of Boromir told her that neither Merry nor Pippin knew how to swim. Pure terror oozed from them as they clutched the edge of their raft. Frances tried to send them some comfort with a smile, but she doubted it reached its intended destination. The hobbits' eyes were wide with terror.

Finally, the black arrows ceased their assault, and the company went on for a little while before accosting on the western bank. Although most of their clothing was wet, Aragorn couldn't consent on making a fire. Miserable, they huddled together to keep warm. Dread had seized the hobbits at hearing that they would not be able to eat stew, and there was disagreement in the ranks.

Frances felt unnerved. As usual, Frodo sat, flanked by his ever companion Sam Gamgee. The gardener offered comfort and shuffled around the ring bearer, never asking anything in return.

Frances had long ago stopped her attempts at making conversation with Frodo. If he answered politely to any question she might have, he would not share his suffering with any of them. The effort of making conversation seemed to take a toll on him and Frances didn't want to make him uncomfortable. The hobbit was slowly fading from the world of the living, and there was nothing that could be done to prevent it.

The ring called to her sometimes. The jewel tried to pull all the strings. Compassion, anger, envy and power. All of it. She heard it when she slumbered. And now, sitting by the company as the day settled, it was stronger than usual.

Frances decided to cast its whispers out of her mind; she concentrated on the elf's glow sitting beside her. His light, so soft and ethereal, appeased her heart until she heard the ring no more. The eldar's aura was soothing; would he ever know how he protected her from the ring ?