Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Dunharrow

They reached Dunharrow on the morn, climbing the steep path under the greyish light of the new day. Frances was exhausted, and as soon as the lady Eowyn had found a tent for her, she collapsed in a cot. The afternoon was upon her before she lifted her eyelids, but she rose far better rested. Washing herself from head to toe, she hesitated between a bun and braid. Eventually, she decided against both and left her hair tumbling down her back; today was supposed to be battle free.

The young woman found the Dunedain encampment beside her tent. Soon enough, the twins had ordered her on the cot again to work on her wound. And be it magic or not, her leg regained much mobility thanks to their care. The gash was less painful, no more displaying the angry red around the scar. Walking still strained her thigh, but she could bend her knee a little bit further without tearing up skin and muscle. Once satisfied with their work, the twins left in haste to spend time with their kin. Of Aragorn they had not seen much. Dumbfounded, Frances watched them go, her eyebrows raised up on her forehead.

After several months of absence, she was surprised to find the bond between the three of them unscathed. Nor war, nor death had affected their relationship. They were, though, more overbearing and protective that they used to be in Rivendell. Had the wound reminded them that she was a mortal? Frances didn't know. She had no time to dwell on those thoughts. Her stomach was growling in the most unladylike fashion and she grabbed her cloak to go hunting for food.

Outside laid an incredible number of tents, and more hearths than she had ever laid eyes upon. The Rohirrim gathered around them, talking, sharpening swords, drinking and playing games. Frances was at loss. It was the first time that she walked through an army. And even if most people in this world tended to be civilised, or at least afraid to lay a hand on a high-ranked lady, she knew not to wander among soldiers about to fight the latest battle of their lives. Overwhelmed, she stood still, her cloak entirely closed around her frail body. She cursed herself for letting her hair loose. Its fiery strands stood out like a sore thumb among the golden heads of Rohan. Already, many eyes rested on her.

Frances' gaze roamed over the encampment. Higher on the hill towered the royal tent. Eowyn would probably be there, and able to guide her to a piece of food. Making up her mind, Frances seized her walking stick and started to climb the nasty path that led to the royal quarters. The stiff leg made the hike uneasy. Despite her new-found mobility, the rocky slope was tough given that she couldn't bend her knee so much. Swearing in French after sending a few pebbles tumbling down the path, Frances was surprised to hear an amused voice behind her.

"Is your mother language always so musical?"

The young lady turned around, blushing profusely. A few steps below stood the elf. Not Elladan nor Elrohir. No. Her elf. The twins were so very different than him, and their sister altogether. That Arwen would be called the Evenstar made sense; she was as beautiful as sunset, all dark shades and lovely colours. Like a blanket settling in on the rocky hills of Imladris, Arwen brought the solace of a restful night. The twins, though, represented something darker. They were the night. Full of shadows, yet beautiful. Deadlier than a cliff under the dim light of the stars, yet as hypnotising than the void beyond the edge. This void calling to the restless hiker to come closer, and take the deep plunge into the abyss.

But not Legolas. Bright and untamed Legolas. As brilliant as a day at the beach, all sunshine and light, his smile so radiant that it warmed her from within. Like the sun reflecting on sand and water, his moods seemed to reflect on her as well. It was so easy to get sunburnt such was his presence. He was as powerful as a star, as deadly as its flares. Yet gentle, allowing all life to grow in this planet and beyond. How could she not succumb to his presence?

A tentative smile graced Legolas' lips, he did not dare laugh openly at her expense. Frances did not know whether to be proud of him to tease her so, or annoyed at his smugness.