Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Thoeden King

Frances' newfound enthusiasm was doused soon enough. Her senses tingled at discovering the foul mood that hanged in the air. Where she expected grand tapestries, carvings and light, only silence and gloom welcomed her. A quick look towards Aragorn indicated that it wasn't usual for the great hall to be cast in such heavy shadows. Gandalf, his face impenetrable, lead them between the highly decorated columns, his path straight. At the far end of the hall, a lone figure crouched upon the throne, his posture so defected that it seemed miraculous that he could even sit without falling. His eyes were veiled, totally devoid of any humanity, his beard unkempt and grey, and his body failing. Frances gasped, shocked by the appearance of King Theoden. For it was him. What could have happened to leave him in such a state of prostration?

At his feet, a sickly man sat on the steps of the dais. If the King did not bother greeting them, choosing to stay silent, it was the pale man who did in in his stead. And his words were as slimy as his figure. He took his time, wailing that Gandalf had, after passing through Edoras, chosen to leave with Shadowfax. Frances could not fathom how the choice of a steed was so important, but it seemed that the house of the King had taken great offence in seeing Gandalf leave with one of the Mearas.

Of course, the horse itself should not have accepted its rider for it was meant to bear the house of Eorl only. How lucky she had been to mount Shadowfax herself ! In the background, the slimy man went on and on, feeling bold enough to insult all of them as they came. Frances raised an eyebrow at his impolite harangue.

— "Do you bring men? Do you bring horses, swords, spears? But who are these that follow at your tail? Four ragged wanderers in grey, and you yourself the most beggar-like of the five."

— "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden son of Thengel", Gandalf boomed.

And as he lectured the King and his counsellor over the mightiness of his unexpected guest, he opened his arms and suddenly cast his light into the great hall. A great brightness extended over the wall and the pillars which golden scales shone in turn. Frances took a quick glance around her, feigning to admire the beautiful decorations on the pillars that supported the wooden roof. In truth, she sensed the danger that lurked behind them. Several men had entered the hall, following the fellowship's members like shadows. All were armed and ready for battle; their faces said it all.

— "This can't be good," she muttered, forgetting about the keen hearing of the first born.

As a whiff of sweet pine scent passed, the quiet shuffling of leather gently sliding over linen confirmed the elf's presence by her side. His subtle move was meant for protection and reassurance. He stopped right behind her, covering the external side of the group. Frances could nearly feel his body against hers.

Legolas had to refrain himself laying his hand on the small of her back, just to signify that he was there, but he knew better. The slight shifting in her posture indicated that she knew that he covered another angle of the room. Furthermore, Frances was a tigress when fighting with her bare hands. Even unarmed, she could definitely hold her own in hand to hand combat; she did not need his protection. And yet, he could not help but feel uneasy about the situation and what settled his heart. Best to watch her back.

Wormtongue's voice was like a screech of nails sliding over a blackboard, and his semi-standing posture spoke of such submission and sneakiness that Frances was glad he had not noticed her before. His dark aura and trembling speech unnerved her, and now her weary eyes followed him. His wanderings were drawn in a very deceptive pattern, but in reality his moves followed the ones of a snake, stalling but ready to strike.

More men had appeared behind them, and the little group was neatly surrounded by regular guards, who eyed them with curiosity, and other men that looked a tad more vicious. She could only guess that some were part of the king's suite while the others might have been appointed by the slimy counsellor himself. As Grima finally came to face Gandalf, his head only reaching to his chin, he uttered the last words his king would ever take in consideration. There was only blame and lies in his words, and therefore the seemingly grey wizard lost patience.