Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Physical therapy

Frances nearly collapsed, her bad leg threatening to buckle under the assaults of King Elessar.

"Duck!" cried Elrohir from the sidelines.

She spared him a glance, surprised to find some audience. What had started as a training session between her and Aragorn had gathered many authority figures; both Eomer and Imrahil had joined the circle, as well as some of his swan knights and higher-ranking officers of the army. People probably wanted to know how good their King was with a blade.

A bead of sweat ran down Frances' temple, both from the exertion, and the sudden attention. The young woman ignored how gross she felt in favour of evasion; she allowed her body to fall backwards, only to roll and shift the weight to her good leg for a parry.

Clank!

Metal met metal, and she twisted her hips to block Estel's blade to the side. She pushed with the momentum, and soon found herself in another precarious equilibrium, facing his greater bulk. Her lungs hurt as she heaved, the exhaustion of the day threatening to take over.

Only four days left before the confrontation with the Dark Lord. She couldn't afford to be sloppy. The twins had drilled some exercises into her mind, some routines she performed every time the army stopped. Fortunately, the pace of said army – six thousand men – afforded for longer breaks since Legolas or the twins allowed her to ride ahead with them.

To her surprise, though, Aragorn's relentless blade stilled as he nodded.

"Good," he said, sheathing his sword without flourish.

Frances' eyebrow rose.

"Good?"

The former ranger actually smiled. It was but a faint quirk of his lips, but his grey eyes crinkled at the corner, pride shining through. Frances' heart grew warm; now that he was King, Aragorn was so burdened by the responsibility that his expression was mostly grim. Fortunately, the grey company and the last members of the fellowship kept him busy, at night, around a campfire.

Frances swayed on her feet, cursing her weakness. Estel was at her side in an instant, but it wasn't his arms that kept her aloft. Legolas, bright and sturdy, had circled her waist. She addressed him a relieved smile, and the elf's chuckle tinkled in her ear.

"Don't look so surprised, meleth. You evaded most attacks, and avoided spraining your leg. A few more days and the memory muscle will do the rest."

The elf's presence shone like a beacon, brightening her whole world with the simple contact of his hand through the linen tunic. His previous words echoed in her mind. I could never fight you, he's said. Hence the reason why Estel had agreed to push her limits. The ranger seemed satisfied enough.

"Legolas is right," he confirmed. "You've done well."

The impromptu pep talk caused Frances to beam at the two companions, and she allowed Legolas to lead her to the side when Eomer issued a challenge to his new King.

"I have brandied my blade by your side, my lord. Would you allow for a friendly spar?"

Aragorn accepted the offer graciously, and what had started as an impromptu training session turned into a friendly set of duels. Eomer yielded to Estel with grace – the ranger had the privilege of many years and elvish training. It showed in their different styles; where Eomer used more brute force – sorely needed when charging on a warhorse – Aragorn fought with the grace of his brothers. How he managed to match them, with his human body and heavier build, was a mystery.

As Frances and Legolas settled on a boulder so she could catch her breath, Gimli joined them with his pipe and commented on the style and skills of all those who entered the fray. His coments were hilarious, but always to the point.