Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

Who wants to live forever ?

This chapter is slighty bittersweet.

Dinner was a quiet affair, yet merry among the kin of Dol Amroth. Now recovered, Frances had been attired in one of Lothiriel's dresses of clear blue and upon asking where Imrahil's daughter was, had learnt that she had left last year to marry Eomer, the new king of the Mark. The memory of the proud Marshall brought a smile to Frances' lips. Princess Lothiriel would certainly have a lot on her plate with that one!

There was much for Frances to learn; many tidings, ill or bad, awaited her after three years of absence. Legolas had tried his best to cover the main events; Aragorn's coronation and marriage, the burial of Theoden King, Eowyn's nuptials to Faramir, steward of Gondor, the skirmishes to repel the remaining orcs and the hobbits' adventures as they found their home overthrown by Saruman.

No amount of comfort could release the guilt that dwelt in the pit of her stomach. She was loath to admit how sad she felt to have missed all those events. In truth, she also knew, deep down, that her absence had been keenly felt by all parties of those events, and had cast a shadow over the fellowship's members.

Yet there she sat, enjoying a marvellous dish of white fish heavenly prepared, trying to catch up on Arda's news with Prince Imrahil, his children and his wife. Said wife looked quite older than Imrahil himself, and the contrast of their apparent age sent Frances into spiralling thoughts. What would she look like, fifty years from now, lingering at the arm of her ever-young Prince? But the woman was far from stupid and caught Frances's startled gaze.

"Do not let Imrahil deceive you, Lady Frances, for he is 65 years of age like I am."

Frances hid her surprise with a jest.

"Age does not seem to affect your fighting abilities, my lord,"

She had heard tales of Imrahil's swordsmanship from both Aragorn and Legolas on the fields of Pelennor. His wife smiled, her pride showing on her face, and let her hand rest on his fingers. Prince Imrahil caught it, bestowing a kiss upon her knuckles. His gaze was so full of love that it warmed Frances' heart. Love could endure. Still, the concept of age seemed quite messed up in middle earth, so she asked.

"I remember that Legolas said you had elven blood. Are you also blessed with a long life like the Dunedain?"

Imrahil laughed slightly.

"Nay, but our ancestors came from Númenor as well. You might be surprised to learn that our King is ten years my senior, and will outlast me by nary a century. But I might live to be a hundred in good health."

A hundred...

Something akin to longing passed across Legolas's features, and he smiled at Frances, his intend reassuring. Yet his eyes did not lie. The ocean of his gaze was tinted with sadness.

Five hundred years had Legolas walked the paths of Arda, neither being truly happy, nor unhappy. And now what would become of him when she died?

Needless to say, that Imrahil wasn't fooled.

"But if that interests you, let me tell you about Mithrellas, my ancestor, an elven maiden who fell in love with Imrazôr."

And so the sadness was washed away as Frances learnt about this silvan elf who, after getting lost in the woods of Belfalas a thousand years ago, had wed Imrazôr, borne him three children, and disappeared once more never to be found. Legolas added a few details, being familiar with the legends as Mithrellas was a sylvan elf from Lothlorien who accompanied Nimrodel to the bay of Belfalas to sail to the undying lands.

But for now, no more was said about Mithrellas and Imrahil's elven blood, for dessert was upon them. And what a dessert! Oranges and almond cakes baked with honey, all adorned with whipped cream and pistachio nuts. Frances' eyes widened, thanking profusely their hosts for this fantastic treat.