Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

On the brink

On the brink

The drugs had kept the young woman in uneasy slumber, tremors replaced by agitated sleep. Incoherent words of a language they could not understand flew past her lips. Gandalf and Aragorn had stayed hours beside her, washing the cuts and bruises and preparing some mysterious healer's paste before wrapping her right leg in tight bandages. The bruises would heal, even if their colour and surface were impressively extended over such a small body.

Eventually, the ranger left for a few hours of sleep. The gash was nasty but there had been no poison in the dirty blade. A small relief, for the cut was deep; half a finger. Fortunately, nothing vital had been severed; If Frances survived, she might regain her senses and mobility. The crimson line ran from the inside of her knee to the middle of her thigh. The blood pouring out of it had left the elf aghast.

The young lady had remained silent during the whole ordeal, her eyes wide open, unable to utter a breath. Her stoïcism had gained their respect, and if she had had the energy Frances would have snorted in amusement. Silence was not of her will, it was a requirement from her constitution. When in pain, the concentration it asked her not to pass out left her speechless. There was nothing she could do about it; when the feeling of agony spread amongst her nervous system, the young woman could not utter a sound. Some things were too painful to voice them.

The lady of Rohan was now tending to her patient in a corner of the improvised healing ward. Without a sound, Legolas approached slowly, and his eyes took in the small form clad in a blanket. Frances' face was dead white, probably a result of the lack of blood. The elf frowned, his souvenirs fresh an ever-bouncing lady who had lightened their mood during the hardships of their travels.

She was gone now, replaced by the ghost of her body, sweating with fever and trembling from the pain. It was not an encouraging sight, and even if he knew there was little he could do to improve her condition Legolas clung to the idea that his presence could somehow ease her agony. Now that he was facing the situation, those hopeful thoughts seemed to be good for burial. What could he do except watching her body struggle against the fever?

The lady of Rohan lifted her eyes and met his gaze, staring at him in wonder. The cold water ran down from her outstretched hand to her elbow, and Eowyn stood up abruptly, wiping away the trail forming along her forearm.

"My Lord?", she asked. "Did you need anything?'

The elf hesitated, gaining from the lady a startled look. His noble ascendancy should have prevented him from intruding in a moment like this. But they were at war, and a silver sparkle clouded his ever-blue eyes.

"Nay my lady. I was wondering if I could be of help to my friend, but I hold little hope."

"There is indeed little than can be done", answered Eowyn. "Though, I could use some help. She must be kept cool to limit the damage done by the fever. Could you replace me?"

Legolas nodded. This task he could perform for sure. As he took the lady's place on the stool, Eowyn showed him the rags she had been using to soak Frances' forehead. Then she made to go, but a falter in her step intrigued the elf.

"Is there naught that can be done other than this?"

Eowyn turned to him, her face reddening at the thought. It was improper, highly improper to ask this of him. But she had many more warriors to tend to, most of them in dire need of her presence if only to get a smile from the white lady of Rohan. Frances, on the other hand, seemed to hold little love for her.

Had the situation been reversed, if her uncle and Aragorn had allowed her to fight, of course, would the redhead have taken as much care of her than she did now? Better to leave the people close to her tend to her needs.