Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Campfire

"That witch King was wicked. Black like the worst moonless night, and so cold...", Pippin gathered his arms around himself, trying to fend off the mark of those who had – unfortunately – encountered Nazgûls from too close. On a whim, Frances reached for him and rubbed his back. The hobbit started, words stuck in his throat before he eventually relaxed under her touch and smiled. "I nearly peed my pants!"

Prince Imrahil sent the hobbit a disapproving frown over the campfire.

"Master Took, please. Mind your language in presence of ladies."

The hobbit reddened under the fatherly scolding, but Frances only snorted. Knowing that Imrahil was Boromir's uncle made sense for they shared a few mannerisms; those Gondorians and their views...

"All is fair in war and love," she retorted. "I am surrounded by six thousand males, and none of their jokes have shocked me yet, your Highness."

The Prince gave her an appraising look, but didn't push the issue. By his side, Eomer scoffed in his stew.

"You're so alike my sister, sometimes."

Dearest Eowyn; she had to be going crazy in those houses of healing. At least, Estel was pretty confident she would escape the black breath. The parting, though, had left him pretty sour; it must have been difficult. Frances suspected that the white lady still pined after the future King. But, misplaced loved or not, she still was a strength to reckon with.

"Except that she didn't pee her pants," Frances stated. "And attacked a wicked wraith."

Both the Prince of Dol Amroth and the newly appointed King of Rohan sent her a shocked look. She only grinned; they needed to understand that she wasn't following the army like a gull follow the seaman. If she shied away from a little dirty vocabulary, who would believe she could kill orcs? Their skittish manners didn't help anyone here.

Even the twins of Elrond – currently on patrol with Legolas – treated her like a kindred spirit and not like a fragile lady.

"So did you."

Aragorn's quiet voice called for her attention, and Frances lifted an eyebrow.

"Uh?"

"On weather top. You attacked him as well."

Gaping, the young woman realised that that blasted Nazgûl must have been one of the five wraiths she's stumbled upon at the very beginning of her adventure.

"Oh, you're right, Strider. He was there too!"

The young woman shivered, the memory of those five wraiths sending bells of alarms deep in her belly. She missed entirely the stunned look Imrahil send her as Aragorn regained control of the situation.

"You were telling us of the arrival of the Rohirrim, Pippin."

"Oh yes, glorious, weren't we?" Eomer boasted.

Frances nodded; redirecting the hobbit back to his original tale ensured he wouldn't dwell upon weathertop and the events that led Frodo to be stabbed – better to keep his part secret for now.

As Pippin started weaving his story once more, she couldn't help but share an inquisitive look with Estel. His grey irises shone with both wisdom and mischievousness; why had he mentioned, on purpose, her so-called prowess against the ring wraiths?

The question lingered at the back of her mind, but the hobbit's tale soon distracted her. He really was a master at spinning tales, and, this time, there was no need for exaggeration. The battle of the fields of Pelennor would be remembered for centuries ... of the people of middle earth survived.