Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Wargs

Frances was exhausted, terrified even. The wargs were so wild, so violent that each hack, each strike threatened to break her sword arm. Claws, teeth, body. Every part of the foul beasts was a weapon. At first, of course, she had landed her arrows in the enemy's flesh, missing some, yet not so many. Unfortunately, most of them had taken the bolt and not strayed from their killing paths, undisturbed by the blood that ran through their flanks. Those creatures were sustained by their lust of destruction, their bestiality hacking bodies like rag dolls.

King Theoden's closest guard already lay on the ground, his face still. A nice man while alive... But she could not linger on this thought. Twice, one of Legolas' arrows had saved her. Needless to say that despite her intense training, Frances wasn't so proficient. She was used to enemies in human form much more than fighting wild beasts. Although her reflexes were quick from years of Interpol training, ker skill with the blade wasn't enough.

Everywhere around her, chaos was spreading. Being on foot exposed Frances more than necessary. When Legolas had reported the attack, she had been too far away from Aragorn's horse. She nearly regretted launching herself in the fight. But here she was.

Too late to turn back.

And she would not, she could not leave her company behind. Yelling a battle cry, she set off again. It would not do to stay put; an unmoving form was too much of a target for the wargs. There were fewer and fewer beasts running around now, and Frances suppressed a grin. Goblins were a much better choice for her skills. Thrown on the ground by the death of their mounts, they opposed quite some resistance. But at this stage, the young woman was more proficient in hand-to-hand combat, especially to injured goblins. She dispatched many, making her way closer to the cliff in her deadly trail.

And then she froze, her blood running cold.

A familiar form was closing in on the cliff's side. His dark long coat as recognisable as the fingerless gloves on his right hand. A stricken wail left her mouth before she even processed the information. Aragorn toppled over the edge, falling to his death!

Stricken, Frances ran, passing the injured rider with hardly a glance, reaching the cliffside in a few very long seconds. Too long, for there was nothing left to see downstream. The river rushed in between the rocks, taking in its wake everything that was thrown into. Frances' tears were falling already, disbelief marring her bloody face. She stayed there, stunned into silence, as the battle field was cleared from the remaining enemies. And then, after what seemed like eternity, Legolas appeared by her side. His hand was clenched on something, his face lost in another world. Wordlessly, the elf opened his hand, his palm facing the sky.

The Evenstar laid there, dirty, and bloodied. Was it Aragorn's blood? Frances did not know. Did it really matter? Legolas' features were set in disbelief. She could feel his anguish, yet would not turn to him. If she did, she was afraid to break down and sink to the floor.

Frances reflected on the irony of life. Not a day ago, she was telling Aragorn how Arwen was watching over him. And now he was dead. It had taken but a second to make him disappear from the history of middle earth. The King that should have reigned on Arnor and Gondor alike, and saved the world from its gloomy doom.

Frances' chest constricted, and she took a deep breath. No, that couldn't be! She refused to believe the ranger gone. Mourning would come later, but she had to see for herself. She owed it to the fellowship, to the world, and to Arwen to find his body and bury him properly. A quick glance around her gave her the information she needed.

Arod was lingering nearby, riderless. Frances' eyes locked on the animal. Her mind was set. As the King decided to leave the dead, shocking Legolas, the young lady walked to the horse purposefully. She knew that the elf would try to stop her, hence the long strides. She did not turn back, hoping to be unnoticed. Was he too shocked to understand that she had no intention to follow them to Helm's deep? But Legolas was no fool. As soon as Frances left his side, he knew that something was amiss. Despite the intensity of his grief, he was still able to feel the absence of her soothing spirit as she walked away.