Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

The hands of a King

The company passed the doors, Aragorn first and the others in his wake. The captain of the rangers was cloaked, his hood pushed down, and he very much looked like Strider. Somebody noticed it too as he made his way to greet them, for a halfing was there, guarding the door, and he started bouncing at the sight of Aragorn.

"Strider! How splendid! Do you know, I guessed it was you in the black ships? But they were all shouting corsairs and wouldn't listen to me. How did you do it? Oh, Frances, well met indeed !"

Aragorn smiled, and this alone lightened the room for an instant before he turned his questions down. The hobbits's good mood felt warm after seeing so many dead in the battle field, and Frances embraced the Halfling as Strider passed them. Meanwhile, she heard Imrahil share his surprise with Eomer regarding the name that Pippin had used about the future king, and Elessar's answer in good faith that it was one of his many names. 'Princes really have to loosen up in this world,' she thought. Well, most of them anyway. As to where the heir of Greenwood was she did not know. Probably still working on the aftermath of the battle. Her thoughts went to him for a while, hoping he would stop to rest at some point.

This little argument over his name cast aside, Aragorn visited the three wounded. Frances and Pippin followed, staying behind while the hobbit murmured comments to the young lady. Gandalf spoke of the disease, and explained the principles of the black breath that ailed the sick. All of them were so pale that their complexion was slowly turning to grey. In Merry and Eowyn's case, their wounded arm had nearly gone black.

As Aragorn brushed Faramir's brow, a deep frown animated his features. Frances concentrated on the man for a second. His face was slick with sweat, but despite the unrest and suffering he looked fairly handsome. His rusty hair was scattered on the pillow, darkened by the water that had been running from his brow not so long ago. The young lady concentrated on him, and she felt the cold taking its hold over his body; it was draining him and the Steward wasn't strong enough to resist it. Frances' eyes crossed Aragorn's, and he knew she had felt the same thing as he had.

"He is a great man, strong in mind and very wise," said Pippin, his eyes regretfully leaving the young man's form.

"I am sure he his," whispered Frances, putting a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Can you tell?" he asked quietly, knowing how she could feel people inside.

Frances nodded, at loss about what to say. Seeing the ranger's worry, Eomer proposed that he rest and ate, but Aragorn declined, stating that Faramir's time was running out. As Pippin and Frances contemplated the young steward, she wondering how he could be helped, and the hobbit fearing that he might die, an old woman entered the chamber. The ranger asked her for Athelas, or kingsfoil, and her wrinkled features lightened up as she started speaking about how she knew this plant but did not use it. She was a stout little lady, seemingly wise but her flow of words was endless. Now was not the time, and Aragorn interrupted her after a few seconds:

"And now Dame, if you love the Lord Faramir, run as quick as your tongue and get me kingsfoil, if there is a leaf in the city."

Gandalf added for good measure that he could ride with her outside the city if needed, and the little woman disappeared in haste. Aragorn then turned back to Faramir, and enquired about the wounds he had sustained.

"He is nearly spent," he finally concluded, "but it does not come from the wound".

The prince Imrahil had been the one to draw the arrow out of his nephew, and both men discussed over the fact that it was nicely healing, fever cast aside.

"How do you read the matter?" asked Prince Imrahil, a spark of hope brightening his tired features.

"Weariness, grief for his father's mood, a wound, and over all the Black Breath."