The panicked look on Pippin's face caused Frances' heart to wring, and she tried to give him a reassuring smile. However, the young hobbits only had eyes for his accomplice, Merry, who was trying his best to keep his spirits up. The parting was indeed bitter for the two hobbits who had never been separated even during their difficult quest. For the first since they were born both of them would not be able to keep the other at arm's reach. Worst; war was raging outside.

Frances felt bad for them, and even more for Pippin's whose guilt might trouble him for some time. There was no worse moment to be apart, no worst odds regarding individuals' survival than those times. The same applied to her. However, deep inside, the young warrior remembered that her friends were staying at her side, and especially one Elvish prince who had become dear to her heart.

Shadowfax sprang forward, ending the touching reunion and the doors burst open and banged violently. Frances hobbled on the path to reach the outer walls. Merry was first – of course - and she followed him on the wooden stairs that led to the rampart. There they stayed, two ghosts more silent than the invisible breeze, their eyes set on the horse that carried wizard and hobbit away from them. Would they meet again?

After a while, a shadow came behind them, warm hands resting upon upon their frail shoulders. Frances relished in the warmth of his comfort, drawing strength from this small bond. Eventually, her legs started to protest from the cold wind, and the young lady shuddered; she had hurried out of her room upon hearing the catastrophic news of the Palantir and neglected to slip her cloak on. Now it was dearly missed. Aragorn's hand dropped from her shoulder.

"May I suggest that you find some place shielded of the cold wind? Healing is a taxing process."

Frances sighed. She hated being reminded of her weakness. Yet the ranger was right, especially since he also was his healer.

"I fear that you are right, Aragorn. I have forgotten to take my cloak and feel is absence dearly."

"Go and rest. I will come later in the day to tend to your wound."

Frances smiled at the authority in his voice. Little by little, the ranger unveiled his abilities to lead. And she was more than happy to oblige.

"Yes, please."

As she started to climb down the stairs, the ranger's hand came into view, offering some help. Frances' head rotated from left to right.

"I will hold on to the railing. It should suffice."

Step after step, the young lady made her way down the stairs. It was a difficult affair, but one that she was resolute to master on her own. She could not afford to rely on friends, not when war was coming so fast. She had to work on her shortcomings, and prod the limits of her body to make the most of it.

Failing to do so could prove fatal to herself, or worse, to her companions. So she progressed prudently, teeth gritted, careful to balance her weight to keep the stitches from ripping. And curiously, it worked. She was climbing down the last steps when a familiar figure came into view. Concentrated on her descent, she had failed to notice the elven prince and its light-footed approach.

Frances' eyes left the railing, curious as to the elf's disposition towards her. Had he been able to process the revelations from the night before? Legolas' gaze met hers, and she inhaled sharply. They were so deep in thought that the world seemed to have settled in his eyes. Her body unconsciously took a step backwards and her injured limb got tangled in the hem of her dress. Startled, Frances let out a yelp. Her hands flew to the railing, to no avail.

Her balance thrown off, she was already falling. Strong hands seized her arms to pull her backwards. Waiting for the inevitable impact, the young woman was surprised to land without a shock into something much softer than expected. The masculine odour of pine trees and fresh wood enveloped her, and Frances leaned into the elf to get her footing back.

Legolas did not know what to do now that she was safely locked into his embrace. Her reddish hair brushed his face and he breathed in her sweet scent, so naturally feminine and yet using no artifice. His reflexes had probably saved her from a bad fall; he could not be contrite for this. However, now that he felt her body warmth spreading to his body, the prince had to fight his heart to let her go.

It felt so good to hold her, like if it was meant to be. Her back was secured against his hip, and her head rested against his shoulder, her little form fitting his like if she had been made for him. Regaining a bit of composure, Frances tried to stand. The young woman's body trembled against his as she struggled to turn around with her stiff leg. Fearing that she would fall, the elf seized her arms to keep her balanced.

Once she was steady, he reluctantly let go of her arms and gave her a concerned look.

"Are you alright my lady?" he asked softly.

"I think so, thank you" she whispered, inspecting her body before lifting her head and finding his eyes.

As she connected with Legolas' blue gaze, Frances's heart nearly missed a beat. The elf was so close to her that she could feel his soft breath over her face; he looked magnificent as always. His manners were regal, and so was his posture. His whole being spoke of elvish nobility and there was none that could match his grandeur. However, even in his kingly manners he did not make her feel of lower birth. On the contrary, she felt honoured each time he would grant her some attention. Lost in the blue of his eyes, she stuttered:

"I …, uh…"

"Yes?' he asked.

Legolas' hand came back to brush her fingers, and she knew that this gesture was unconscious because he was staring at her like he had seen an angel. But she was only a lesser human, and she had a lover at home that was not even aware that she had disappeared for so long. Charlie loved her, and she loved him, didn't she? Flirting with the Prince of Greenwood was shameful, and she would not allow this closeness to develop further since he deserved so much better. A defeated sigh escaped her lips; Frances' head lowered and she uttered another "thank you" before breaking free from his warmth.

As the young woman rushed away, limping back painfully to the castle, the elf stood, unmoving. His face was unreadable, but the wheels in his head were running full speed as he tried to fathom what had gone wrong. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder; the young prince did not flinch for he knew that it belonged to his long-time friend. Had it been insulting for him to come so close? He only wanted to make sure that she was unharmed, and had her best interest at heart. Watching the flowing robe as they disappeared in the village, he asked what was tormenting his mind.

"Pray tell my friend, have I behaved rudely to have her run away from me in such a manner?"

"Nay Legolas, I think not."

His friend's words, instead of appeasing him, called forth a sentiment of anger very unfamiliar. Turning back to the Ranger, the elf looked at the future king, his eyebrows furrowing from the thinking.

"Then why did she run so? I did not want to frighten her, and I am no stranger."

"No stranger indeed my friend", answered Aragorn wisely.

He had seen the look in their eyes, to both of them. And he knew what it meant. As unexpected as it was, they were falling in love.

"A cryptic answer if I may say," uttered the elf, a smile making its way over his smooth lips, "did a wizard take you as an apprentice?"

"Legolas. I think the lady is facing issues that she is not ready to share. Give her some time to find peace…"

With this last comment, Aragorn shared an encouraging look with the elf, and left. In need of some time for himself, Legolas rushed to the walls of the city and watched the tiny cloud of smoke cross the lands of Rohan until he could see it no more…

In the lady's room.

Modern medicine

Frances hissed, inhaling sharply as Aragorn pulled slowly at the bandages.

"I am sorry," he said with a frown. "The wound has reopened and oozed. Those should have been changed as soon as you set foot on the ground."

His tone, a bit stiff, held an ounce of reprobation.

"I know I should have. But there was this ceremony going on, and then I crashed from exhaustion, and then I rushed to the stables to see Pippin off. I admit that time has been scarce."

Aragorn's grey eyes rested upon her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"I am not here to chastise you, my friend. Still, your life it is precious to any of us. I would hate to see this fester now that you seem to be out of danger."

Frances sighed. He was right.

"I will take better care of it. How long until the stitches can be removed?"

The healer worked in silence for a few more moments, assessing the gash as he cleaned it up with alcohol. Frances bit her lip to prevent from crying out. Damn, it still stung like hell!

The tremor running along Frances's body was enough to make Aragorn wince. He knew the effects of alcohol on a wound like this and he had to give her credit for not crying out: the lady was tougher than she looked. Still, he rested his hand on her shoulder, trying to provide some measure of reassurance. A few contacts here and there, or a short gaze. Fewer words. This was the way he communicated with her most of the time. But today, he felt like his presence, his friendship was needed.

"You will have to endure the stitches a few days more, I am afraid."

Frances sighed, and suddenly let her body fall backwards on the bed while he bandaged her thigh.

"God, I feel so useless! I'm fed up with being a cripple!"

A soft laugh escaped Aragorn as he worked.

"That my lady, you can never be."

Frances lifted her face, her hazel eyes connecting with his.

"A cripple?"

"Useless"

Frances' head fell back on the bed, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Well, let us linger on that, don't you? I joined a fellowship of warriors and cannot even walk on my own. Let alone fight. And there's a war coming. How useful do you think I can be to the four of you?"

Silence. For a short stretch, Aragorn didn't know how to respond to her frustration. Had she not realised that her value outweighed her fighting skills by much? That her very presence had kept the cohesion strong within their company. That her weird sense of humour had sometimes been a blessing? That her stubbornness had saved him when he plunged into the river? Aragorn was trying to find the right words, but hers cut his musings before he could organise his thoughts.

"There's something I am very good at, it's stepping onto Legolas' feet or falling in his arms in a heap. This, at least, should win me an award in the comical section."

The ranger's eyebrows shot up, failing once more to comprehend all those cultural references. But he refrained from asking, for he felt that they were touching the main subject at last.

"Legolas has been very worried for your sake. When last he saw you before departing to Isengard, he was ready to turn around to stay by your side."

Suddenly, the young lady propped her higher body upon the bed, resting on her elbows.

"Has he told you about the pills?"

Aragorn's eyebrows climbed on his forehead.

"Whatever you mean?"

"The stuff I had him retrieve in my bag?"

The ranger shook his head softly, and she marvelled on how kingly he always behaved, even in private. Surprise, anger, despair, she'd seen all sorts of feelings in his eyes, yet his features always bore it with grace.

"He has not mentioned such a thing."

Surprised marred her features.

"Well. He could have. You are, after all, quite aware of my origins. Even if you don't pry."

"I fail to understand you."

The young lady reached for his hand. The ranger gave her a quick pull, resting the other one on her back to settle her properly on the bed. Seated in front of him, she plunged her eyes into his.

"When Legolas came to me, I was mostly unconscious. And dying…"

A sharp intake of breath answered this statement. The ranger had known, but told no one. He had refused to admit it, and would have been content with his denial had the rushing guilt not accompanied him to Isengard at leaving her behind.

"The fever was too high. I knew I had a few hours left before it claimed me. In my bag, I had some medicine from my home land. Just a little, but enough to save me from a massive infection. I asked Legolas to give them to me, but to keep it a secret. I couldn't afford to explain this to anyone, nor could I. I have only a little left."

"Can you not make some more?'

Frances's expression grew sombre.

"This medicine requires skills that I do not have. And machines, laboratories, plenty of ingredients and things I cannot even fathom. And I have not the slightest idea about how they are made. I'm sorry."

Aragorn's features darkened. For a while, the ranger stayed put, considering the implications of such medicine. So many he could save! Yet, it could not happen. It was, somehow, frustrating to know the capabilities of her world and to realise that it would be forever out of his grasp. But now, he understood how the lady had survived such a nasty infection. For a moment, he had doubted his skills, and more than anything, his diagnostics. Not that he was unhappy to be proven wrong. Still, her fast recovery had been quite puzzling.

"Do you have enough to make sure that your wound stays clean?", he asked.

"I think so. But this medicine is not miraculous. The gash still requires to be tended to."

The ranger seemed to deflate. His back came to rest on the chair, his arms suddenly heavy. All his worries over Frances's wound could be put to rest. She wasn't in danger anymore.

"I am sorry for not telling you of it. I was being selfish…"

His deep voice stopped her before she could start ranting.

"Frances. Do not be. It saved your life, and I bless the Valar you had the mind to depart your home world with this item in your belongings"

Frances winced, but let it go. Her guilt had been washed away in the blink of an eye by the ranger, leaving the liberty for her thoughts to get back to her main issue.

"Anyway. I am surprised that Legolas kept silent about it, especially to you."

"Legolas is loyal to the core. He has respected your wishes, and still would, even if you had not returned."

A pensive expression passed upon Frances features. She seemed so far away, and Aragorn gave her a little time to collect her thoughts. As the pensive mood went into a nervous frown, the ranger eventually reached for her forearm.

"What ails you, my friend?"

She blinked, like a child whose curtains were drawn too fast in the morning.

"I have seen this expression on your face many a time, but much more lately. Maybe I could help this internal struggle of yours?"

The young lady gave him an incredulous look, followed by a hearty laugh.

"Well, that was bold, especially for you, dear Estel. I would have expected this from the twins, but not from you."

The ranger seemed to consider his options for a moment. Would he dare prying into her life? Her hopes and doubts? Her soft brown eyes held his, hope and fear melting altogether in her gaze. Aragorn sighed. Yes, she needed it more than ever.

"I fail to see how I can compare to Elladan and Elrhoir. I, at least, have the grace to ask for your opinion before prying. The choice is yours."

His tone, if playful, held a serious edge. A corner of Frances' mouth lifted, amused by his rightful indignation.

"You are right, Estel, you are considerate, patient and never pushy. I am lucky to count you as a friend, and happy that it would be you, asking the questions, rather than the infamous twins by my bedside."

"As flattered as I am by your compliment, I fear you are stalling", came the ranger's deadpan reply.

Damn. The guy was subtle. Frances laughed.

"You will make an excellent king. You've got everything you need to navigate politics."

Twice already she had told him as such. And it lightened his heart to hear such faith. Frances was, after all, the Keeper of Time. Who better than her could foresee the future? The answer was very simple. Arwen and her father could. Where was his beloved at this very moment? Did she finally succumb to reason and sail to the undying lands?

But today wasn't about him.

Aragorn settled in the chair, giving Frances the silent treatment until she started talking. And surprisingly, she did. For a while, her voice filled the room, spilling away doubts, fears and frustration in a monologue uttered in such haste that the ranger had to grip the armrests to follow her train of thoughts.

Everything was mixed up in her head, and Frances jumped from pillar to post as fast as her wandering mind would take her. The disbelieving expression on her companion's face wasn't enough to deter her. And soon, she had turned his mind into mush.

She knew that she was falling in love with the Prince of Greenwood. The guilt of cheating on Charlie, sweet sweet Charlie, had not been enough to keep her heart from steering in this unexpected direction. This relationship, the first one of her young life, was slowly but surely becoming a souvenir. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that what Charlie and she had shared was at its best a strong affection.

But it wasn't love. Not really. The bound she had with Charlie paled in comparison of what she felt today. Never before had she reduced her world to a single being. No matter how hard she tried to keep a cool head, the young lady knew that her life revolved around the elf.

Legolas was her sun, he was the air she breathed.

The simple mention of his name made her heart soar. He made the colours brighter, the world livelier by his presence alone. She was head over heels in love with him. There was nothing to do, except to accept it. The only question that remained now was whether she should act on it or deny it altogether.

Had he been human, and she someone from this world, the difference in status alone might have been their undoing. But there was more. So much more that stood in the way. First of all, she didn't know how Legolas felt about her. Secondly, he was a Prince. A goddamn prince! He deserved, no, he ought to marry an elleth with status. But in the end, it wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was that she, the Keeper of Time, would go home at the end of her mission. And it could be anytime. And even if she didn't, she was a lesser human. Her life span, eighty years if she was lucky, would leave an empty shell of a prince at the time of her death. Frances did not even mention the ageing. There were too many "if' before it even came in the picture.

Eventually, Frances calmed down. A single tear escaped her eye, and she washed it away with her sleeve. Now that her concerns were out in the open, she felt drained. How ridiculous she must seem, she, a young lady of not twenty years, in love with an elven Prince! Now was the time when Aragorn would gently, but surely tell her that her feeling were not reciprocated, and that she had twisted her mind over an impossible feat. Frances let her head fall into her hands, hiding in shame from the steady grey eyes of the ranger.

"Shoot," she said, her voice muffled through her hands.

"I beg your pardon?'

Frances' head popped up, moisture kept at bay in her brown gaze as she straightened.

"Do not hold back on what you wish to say, or treat me like a child. I am ready, I think, to hear your advice."

A warm hand seized hers, and the ranger offered the little comfort he could through this link. Surprisingly, the words that came out of his mouth were melancholic.

"Such is the burden of us, second born, when we set our eyes on which is fairest. There is not much we can do, except to let them take their own decisions, and respect their wishes no matter how painful that may seem

Frances's eyes widened, and her fingers linked around his, waiting for more. His deep gaze, so pensive, held sadness buried deep within his soul.

"I am in a situation similar to yours, and altogether different. Similar, for my lifespan, if greater than yours, can never compare to Arwen's eternity. Different as well for she can choose to become a mortal, and will die a wither for the love of me because she is a Peredhil"

Frances's mind was running full speed. She knew of the lore of Beren and Luthien, but she had never connected the dots to Elrond's ancestrors. Elros, his half-brother, had chosen to be mortal and lived five hundred years. Arwen, as a Peredhil, could also make that choice. Thus, Aragorn would be, indirectly, responsible for her death.

"Do you feel guilty, Aragorn, for loving her?"

"I have. Sometimes, I do not feel that I deserve her love. But I am learning to accept that her choices are hers to make. Should Legolas decide to … should he feel the same about you, he will not face the same choice. He will remain immortal, and have the opportunity to sail to the undying lands once you are gone."

Frances sighed, and Aragorn refrained from adding some more. He could not tell her that elves were prone to despair. When losing their loved ones, they would fade, slowly, but surely, to a certain death.

The ranger could see the wheels running in Frances' mind, and he gave her some space for her thoughts. Would she, possibly, condemn the elf she loved to an eternity of solitude? Legolas had, before her arrival, been single for three thousand years. Would it be so bad for him to resume his life as it was?

"Our life, to them, is shorter than that of a bird, of a butterfly," she stated.

"Time is apprehended differently for them that for us. Among themselves, it flows differently."

"Like this time we stayed in Lothlorién?"

Aragorn nodded. Even he, used to the strange aura of Lorien, tended to lose track of time in the Golden woods.

"Arwen told me once that we, second born, live so intensely. When left to their kind, the existence of the eldar is much more peaceful. It cannot ever be compared to the way we comprehend it."

Silence met this statement, neither of them willing to delve deeper into their insecurities. Never before had Frances thought about the weight on Aragorn's shoulders. Fortunately, the born-to-be king had a solid set of shoulders. Broad, and sturdy. Aside from his lineage, which brought considerable pressure onto the man, the consequences of his love for Arwen had tremendous repercussions.

Never would Arwen set foot on the bright shores of Valinor if she decided to stay by his side. The twins, her father and her mother would be lost to her. And she to them. How could he find the strength to persist when the rest of the world was against him? It was such a heavy price to pay in the name of love.

But true love was boundless. Better to live a short life in bliss than eternity in the shadows. Arwen had told her as such before the company left. And Frances knew, deep in her heart, that the Evenstar was right.

Now was the time to tread carefully. She needed to determine if her infatuation with the elven Prince was a fling, a passing fancy created from her position as a lowly human. After all, young ladies were quite prone to fawning whenever royalty was involved. And, needless to say, that Legolas was handsome.

Definitely, incredibly handsome. And kind, and wise as well. And the hell of a warrior… And a legend from another world. That was enough to have half of the girls from earth swoon. But she wasn't like them. Despite her young age, Frances had lived through dire situations and many life-threatening moments. She wasn't easily impressed. Still, the elf called to her heart.

Yet, she couldn't act upon her feelings until she was sure. For the moment, she knew nothing except that he cared for her. Frances wasn't about to ask Aragorn about it. It would have been far too humiliating! Frustration built up inside her chest. So many unknowns, so many obstacles in the way. Needless to say, that dying could clearly put an end to those musings; something she was not looking forward to but could very well happen very soon.

"Ugh"

Aragorn startled, disturbed from his own moment of wallowing. Frances was standing, her leg stiff at her side as she balanced her body from left to right.

"This is stupid. Plain down stupid!"

Now, Frances was nearly yelling in frustration, wobbling on the floor like she intended to pace.

"What is?'

Straight and to the point. For once, Aragorn had chosen a shorter route than the wisdom he usually provided.

"I'm a stinky human for fuck's sake!"

The ranger cringed, but this time, Frances did not apologise for her rudeness. He understood her point; he too, felt low and dirty when he was beside Arwen's flawless silhouette. She was the light, and he was the night.

"As I am."

Frances" brown gaze bore into his, and he could see her anger rising as she pointed her finger to his chest. Aragorn stood up, facing her in all his glory. Yes, his hair was dirty most of the time, his clothes filthy, and he smelled of sweat and horse. But not only. And it was a part of this that made him the hell of a man!

"Nonsense! This whole Luthién and Beren thing, he was a man! And not the last of idiots you know. Just like you! It's so very different for me, don't you see?"

For once, Aragorn was at loss. His brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend what she meant.

"I fail to understand how that makes it different."

"Have you ever considered that you are the man? Even if you smell, it only adds up to the maliness. The hairs, the beard, the gruff look. It doesn't matter so much. Hell, maybe it's part of what Arwen is looking for. You're the goddamn guy."

Aragorn's shocked face should have stopped her. Never before had someone pointed to those very intimate facts, and he was very fine with it. But Frances, as young and seemingly innocent, did not back down. Instead, she nailed her point without subtility, seizing her cane to keep her body upright.

"Have you looked around you in Lothlorién? In Rivendell? Those elleths, not a hair askew, always beautiful, with perfect skin, and perfect hair … this is my competition! When I get kids and my skin gets marred by pregnancy lines, when I get sick and my nose gets red and swollen, when I don't bath for a day and I stink of sweat! How will I look like except for a stray dogs compared to those elleths? With their ethereal beauty and stupid glow. I will look tired, I will age and get lines on my face, on my body. But they never will… A man maybe, could put up with me and be satisfied. But an elf. And Elf Prince at that… This is crazy!"

Eventually, Aragorn understood. And his heart went out to her. Many a time he had felt so gruff, so dirty when in Rivendell. But Arwen accepted him, as a second born.

Frances' breath was short, an effect from the stress.

"There are circles, already, under your eyes. And like us, you have been travelling with no occasion to bathe. Legolas knows who you are, and the hardships or our condition as humans. If love, real love rises from your relationship, surely he will not let this bother him. Perhaps, as you said, the fact that you are a human is the very thing that is of interest to him. I know he is curious about you, and protective of your well-being. As for the rest, it is not my place to delve deeper."

Frances sighed, her gaze falling on the ground. Her hands were trembling on the cane and she threw it away. Then, she reached for Aragorn, and hugged him fiercely. "Thank you," she whispered as the ranger tightened his arms around her. "You are very welcome," came his soothing reply above her shoulder.

The following days spent in Edoras were awkward at the best, sometimes painful, and sometimes blissful when Frances would let her guard down. Her head would not stop spinning of all the questions that were plaguing her mind, and the imminent death that was coming her way haunted her.

For the time being, the young woman worked hard to keep her reactions professional and enjoy the time to recover. The elf had been more than helpful, and had stayed his charming self without breaking into her private bubble even once. His self-control was unnerving, and within a few days the young lady was even starting to wonder if she had not dreamt all of this.