Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Faramir

Frances drifted through the battle field in a haze, her limbs coated in sugar as she stumbled through the mist. Bodies littered the floor, their numbers so great that no strand of grass could be seen under their lifeless forms. For ages, the young lady strode on, hoping to escape the maze of ghosts and dying soldiers. But she was trapped on the battlefield, pursued by shadows and volutes of fog alike. Eyes heavy, feet dragging on the ground, she followed an orange glow that shone in the distance. A fire! It was a fire !

With renewed hope, Frances tried to hasten her pace, but her legs would not follow. No matter how hard she tried, she was rooted to the spot, unable to escape. And then the mist cleared out, and suddenly she was facing the great fire, closer than she imagined. How badly she wished for the fog to come back ! Such a horrid sight !

Frances wanted to close her eyes, but even then, the monster of fire was in her mind. A pitch black oval form surrounded by flames so dark, angry. She had seen it before, blaring flames of darkness; The Balrog. But instead of a monster of flame, she now faced evil itself. The great eye was Sauron the defiler. He reeked of darkness, his malice so grand that it oozed from its burning form. Her skin burnt, consumed by his anger. A horrible voice filled the air, a voice so dark that it seemed that the earth itself was speaking from within.

"There is no hope, Keeper of Time. Very soon, there will be nothing to save."

A hand dragged her foot and Frances snapped out of her trance. Erbaran 's bright eyes stared back at her, his mouth distorted in a cry of agony.

"Save me..." he repeated as he sank in a pool of blood.

The young woman tried to seize his wrist and pulled hard. His skin was slick with blood, and no matter how firm her grasp, the ranger was sliding away from her. He screamed then, and was sucked away in the horrible blaze, leaving red marks on her fingers. His clear eyes held her as the great eye devoured him alive, terrified.

Frances screamed, helpless.

In his stead stood Halbarad, proud and tall, eyes ablaze.

"You arrogant fool! You distracted him, you delayed us and dragged your useless form on the battlefield. My son died because of you. You should burn as the witch you are !"

A deep booming laugh greeted Halbarad.

"And so she will," said the voice beyond the grave.

Dread filled Frances as the flames engulfed her, tearing at her flesh. Her hair caught fire instantly, disappearing in mere seconds in a heap of black smoke as her skull burnt. But then, a great light surrounded her, so blinding that her eyes closed. The pain receded, replaced by the softness of a warm breeze upon her skin. The light kept her in its embrace for a while until dawn replaced it. And then it lifted, and Frances, barely awakened, went back to sleep.

Many hours later, the young woman stirred under the covers. Opening one bleary eye, she realised that morning had probably come and gone without her batting an eyelash. The clouds of Mordor had receded temporarily, allowing Minas Tirith the respite of a proper daylight. Confused, she sat in her bed and waited for consciousness to wash over her. Had she dreamt the latest evening, or had she really managed to share her energy with Aragorn?

Shaking her thoughts, Frances sighed. She could not discern the truth from the rest. The exhaustion of the later days had finally taken their toll. But she felt better rested now, especially after sleeping half the day away. Still, her mind was a bit cloudy. Her body though, ached everywhere. Dragging herself out of bed, she found a few slices of bread and cheese on a tray, and wolfed it down. Then, she settled in front of the fire with a cup in hand, sitting in silence.