Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Mending

Step after step, Frances and Legolas roamed the streets in a haze of happiness. The air seemed fresher, the colours more vivid, the sensations of her body sharper. Never before had she felt such life fuelling her every cell. It was an exhilarating feeling, to be close to him, to belong to him. She had no eyes for anything else but him, no ears for the street but the sound of his voice, for every little thing brought her back to him. There, attached to her arm, tall and solid like a small tree, lithe and supple like a reed, indestructible. And he was hers! She had trouble believing her luck; she would not have thought it possible but for his solid presence and discreet scent.

"I have meant to ask, but did not dare before."

His voice, low and smooth, called for her attention. And she gave it wholeheartedly, knowing that he would navigate through the cobbled streets her while she searched his face.

"The jewels at your ears, are they traditional in your culture?"

Frances nodded, understanding the unasked question.

"I was six years old when my ears were pierced. My mother told me I was the one who asked. I honestly cannot remember any of it... Maybe I was compelled to ask for my ears to be pierced to fit the mould."

"I have trouble understanding how one can consciously accept to harm one's own body."

Frances squeezed his arm slightly, eyebrows frowned in thought. She had never reflected on this tradition since it was part of her culture. In Mexico, many babies had their ears pierced at birth. Still, it made sense to question it. Where was the line between scarification, piercings and earrings? And how to explain it to a being who respected his needs and his body like the formidable tool it was?

The frown on her face had not eased, and Legolas replaced a lock of her hair behind her ear in a tender gesture.

"I'm sorry Frances, I did not mean to criticise."

"I know you didn't. And honestly, I do not know what to answer this. We human have a lot of weird habits, all of them to make us feel more ... suitable. Some would go to lengths you cannot imagine for the sake of appearances. Painting one's face, plucking hairs, perfuming skin or wearing boned garments would be a few of those..."

Frances kept quiet about aesthetic surgery and other stratagems that the 21st-century ladies used, thinking that it might get a little difficult for the elf that already seemed deep in thoughts by her side.

"I have yet to be a witness of such extravagances," he stated smoothly.

"The noble ladies of Gondor will probably sate your curiosity. You have to understand that, unlike you first born, we are far from perfect. This knowledge, and the constant judgement from our peers tend to make us uneasy. Hence the make-up, and piercings, and anything that might make us look to our advantage."

A handsome eyebrow was lifted in mirth.

"Perfect? Is that what you think of elves?"

Frances did not dare looking at him, self-conscious of her own shortcomings compared to his dashing looks.

"Mmmm. And you will find that this sentiment is much shared among humans, especially to those who have lived the longest in their company. We sometimes suffer from the comparison."

He knew what she meant. Estel, his oldest human friends had complained more than once about his abilities. Even so, after a week's ride, the smell that emanated from him was nowhere as foul as the one coming from the ranger. He knew that, and so did Aragorn, subjected to the jokes of his foster brothers. And regarding all those horrendous things that Frances was talking about, he had to admit that he was curious to witness it. The slight twitch of her companion's fingers on his arm called his eyes to her face.