Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Modern medicine

Frances hissed, inhaling sharply as Aragorn pulled slowly at the bandages.

"I am sorry," he said with a frown. "The wound has reopened and oozed. Those should have been changed as soon as you set foot on the ground."

His tone, a bit stiff, held an ounce of reprobation.

"I know I should have. But there was this ceremony going on, and then I crashed from exhaustion, and then I rushed to the stables to see Pippin off. I admit that time has been scarce."

Aragorn's grey eyes rested upon her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"I am not here to chastise you, my friend. Still, your life it is precious to any of us. I would hate to see this fester now that you seem to be out of danger."

Frances sighed. He was right.

"I will take better care of it. How long until the stitches can be removed?"

The healer worked in silence for a few more moments, assessing the gash as he cleaned it up with alcohol. Frances bit her lip to prevent from crying out. Damn, it still stung like hell!

The tremor running along Frances's body was enough to make Aragorn wince. He knew the effects of alcohol on a wound like this and he had to give her credit for not crying out: the lady was tougher than she looked. Still, he rested his hand on her shoulder, trying to provide some measure of reassurance. A few contacts here and there, or a short gaze. Fewer words. This was the way he communicated with her most of the time. But today, he felt like his presence, his friendship was needed.

"You will have to endure the stitches a few days more, I am afraid."

Frances sighed, and suddenly let her body fall backwards on the bed while he bandaged her thigh.

"God, I feel so useless! I'm fed up with being a cripple!"

A soft laugh escaped Aragorn as he worked.

"That my lady, you can never be."

Frances lifted her face, her hazel eyes connecting with his.

"A cripple?"

"Useless"

Frances' head fell back on the bed, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Well, let us linger on that, don't you? I joined a fellowship of warriors and cannot even walk on my own. Let alone fight. And there's a war coming. How useful do you think I can be to the four of you?"

Silence. For a short stretch, Aragorn didn't know how to respond to her frustration. Had she not realised that her value outweighed her fighting skills by much? That her very presence had kept the cohesion strong within their company. That her weird sense of humour had sometimes been a blessing? That her stubbornness had saved him when he plunged into the river? Aragorn was trying to find the right words, but hers cut his musings before he could organise his thoughts.

"There's something I am very good at, it's stepping onto Legolas' feet or falling in his arms in a heap. This, at least, should win me an award in the comical section."

The ranger's eyebrows shot up, failing once more to comprehend all those cultural references. But he refrained from asking, for he felt that they were touching the main subject at last.

"Legolas has been very worried for your sake. When last he saw you before departing to Isengard, he was ready to turn around to stay by your side."

Suddenly, the young lady propped her higher body upon the bed, resting on her elbows.

"Has he told you about the pills?"

Aragorn's eyebrows climbed on his forehead.

"Whatever you mean?"