Hey folks !
Somehow it felt only right to update so soon since so many of you are waiting from some kind of conclusion. I won't leave you in the dark any longer. I think Legolas is finally coming to terms with the tricks of the Valar :)
Happy reading ! (and let me know if you're happy :p)
Her lovely voice escorted them along the Anduin, the song endearing in the strange accents of her tongue. English, she had called it. A tongue he nearly knew nothing about. And if he remembered properly, a language that wasn't even hers in the first place. Joy, awe and a hint of sadness. All those emotions conveyed through the rising and falling of her voice. Was he the only one that felt them so strongly?
Legolas was at loss. Leaning upon the wooden railing of the master corsair ship, he couldn't make sense of the turmoil that had seized his heart. His thoughts, disorganised for the very first time since his mother's death, could not settle. Part of him wanted to hold Frances forever, chasing away the sadness that she sang so freely, replacing it with her smile. He would worship her to the end of her days. Such a short time, but the time of his life.
Yet, he didn't dare. What would become of him once she was gone? Would he fade, leaving his father behind, he that we his only remaining family? Could he really survive her death? For he knew now, that there was no turning back. His heart had chosen against his will; the bond had already begun to form. Like no before her, he could feel her emotions more clearly as the hours passed. His Feä had overlooked his reason, binding in the most unexpected manner.
There would be no other in his heart; his thought continually reaching for hers. And she was miserable without his presence. This, he could feel as well. Wherever she was, her emotions were now his. Her pain, her doubts, but also her immense and lovely heart.
Why! O why did the Valar punish him so? Giving him the prefect companion only to steal her away? Why did he have to be bound to a mortal? For he loved her, like no other before her, and he knew that he would never love again.
"Now I'm bathed in light
Something just isn't right
I'm under your spell
How else could it be
Anyone would notice me
It's magic I can tell
How you set me free
Brought me out so easily"
As she sang of love and sorrow, Legolas spared a look around him. Dark clouds hovered above their fleet, filtering the light and plunging the valley of the Anduin in darkness. Their arrival in Pelargir had been timely. Effectively stopping the corsair before they waged war on Minas Tirith, the dead host had cleared the vessels faster than any army could have. The Haradrim, cornered on the docks, had valiantly fought but to no avail.
Victory came swiftly, and Aragorn released the cursed men from their oath. The Dunedain had breathed in relief at being rid of their unsettling presence. Each one of the Grey Company had taken command over a corsair vessel, gaining in the process a little army from Pelargir and Lamedon.
For the men had come, those that Aragorn had summoned to follow before the great city of Linhir. They had answered his call, alike to the Dead host before them, and followed their future king to battle. Aragorn truly was an inspiring figure! Legolas hoped that he would come to see it someday.
The Grey Company had even found some prisoners, all of them eager to fight. Now they had set course to Minas Tirith at full sails. The wind blew from the sea, pushing them faster along the Anduin. It brought the smell of iodine, and with it the deep longing to answer its call. Legolas sighed. Those damned seagulls did nothing to hide his discomfort!
Truly, the elf had never been so lost during the long years of his life. And still, the lovely voice rose and fell in the air, telling him all there was to know to soothe his worries. Enthralled, Legolas surrendered his will and followed his heart. Silently descending the few steps that separated him from … the light of his days. Joy, kindness, softness and melancholy. All of it in her intense gaze.
The last note of her song had ended now, dying on her tongue like the sweetest melody. Frances' eyes locked with the deepest blue she had ever beheld. They were sad and happy at the same time, ageless and so profound that she would have drowned had he not spoken.
"Would you care to enlighten me about the origin of this song?"
Legolas' smooth voice felt like a caress, his glow the only real light in this dawnless day. Surprised that he would approach her, Frances made to stand up but the elf lifted his hand.
"Please, do not rise on my account. I will rather settle beside you and rest for a while if that is agreeable?"
His fair features were set in such uncertainty that she blinked. He looked … adorable. Like a little boy caught in a compromising situation. Gone was the proud and confident elf, badass warrior from the fellowship. What he offered instead; doubts and sincerity was like an open bond to his inner self. Yet his eyes shone like gems in a pitch black sky, calling her home.
Frances' mouth quirked upwards.
"I would be happy to share this fantastic spot of creaking planks with you, my lord Prince."
The golden-haired elf smiled faintly, and lowered himself gracefully. Not too close, so as to avoid any discomfort to hit her. But not too far either, for he craved her presence. It had been too many days apart.
"I see that your wit never fades, no matter how exhausted you are."
"My wit is the only thing I have left."
Sadness washed over her features, a deep longing so similar to his own that his heart missed a beat. But she didn't allow him to interrogate her further.
"As for this song, it is from a TV show: 'Buffy, the vampire slayer'. And here, if I judge by the quirk of your eyebrow, I see that it raises a lot of questions."
And so, for the first time in ages, Legolas truly learnt something new as Frances described to him the principles of TV shows, of vampires and human legends, and the functioning of her world. He could spot the melancholy in her voice as she plunged into her memories. Travels, technology, sweets, traditions.
There was so much to say, and so little time. Yet he could hear her attachment to her world. Could she ever be happy in middle earth, provided they both survived the war? Would she forsake her whole life, her family and friends to stay?
It seemed that, to whatever end, their love was doomed to fail. And those blasted seagulls didn't help! But then, she startled him by laying a hand on his arm.
"Do not let the sea unsettle you, Legolas. I have myself a great love for the Ocean, and have bathed countless times in its waters. Yet, I am free."
His eyebrows shot upwards, stunned that she had felt his discomfort through their newfound bond. Or had she always been able to do so? It wasn't the first time she surprised him by her capacity to feel others' emotions. Always, she seemed attuned to her friends, mirroring their thoughts and searching to comfort them. Such was the depth of her heart. While his mind wandered through those considerations, he heard that she had started singing anew. Had his silence unsettled her?
"Row row row your boat, gently down the stream.
Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream."
It was the same verse, over and over again, and after a while she gestured for him to join her. And he did, stumbling at first over the words in this foreign language. His musical voice joined hers until they mingled totally in the melody. Then, Frances smiled at him and started singing variations.
Their voices entwined, dancing around each other, creating the most beautiful ensemble. It was exhilarating, so incredible that she lifted her gaze to his and lost herself in his eyes. Had she not been singing, Frances would have lain down in his arms to sleep. Or kissed him altogether.
He was so devilishly handsome, so bright under the grey blanket of the doomed sky. And, for once, totally open to her. Singing with him felt right, and Frances stopped thinking, her mind travelling to him over the rainbow of their entwined voices.
She ached to touch him; he answered her call by letting his hand brush her wrist. Then, his fingers settled on hers, skin tingling. And still, he sang, giving her a steady phrase to rely on as she embroidered the melody around his. This simple creation was so beautiful that tears came to her eyes.
The light protest of wooden planks caused his hand to retreat harshly, and their song to end. Legolas turned around to see two sets of very similar faces smiling down at them.
"What was this pretty song about, sweet lady?"
Frances lifted an eyebrow, seemingly amused by Elrohir's nickname. She did not know how fitting Legolas thought it to be; her touch had been sweeter than sugar on his palm. Soon enough though, the cold wind replaced warm skin.
Frances felt keenly the loss of Legolas' hand in hers, the slight tingling receding too fast. But she knew the twins to be insufferable teases; they would stop at nothing to invite a blush on her cheeks. Better then to hide her flustered face at the intimate moment she had been sharing with the elf. The joy of it, though, still lingered in her heart.
"It's a kids' song, about a boat travelling gently on the quiet waters of a river. A poetic way of remembering how time flies I think."
Elrohir's grey eyes twinkled, and she knew he was about to retort.
"So kids songs now, uh? You probably know that you are the youngest of us all on this deck?"
Elladan's hand came in front of her to haul her to her feet, holding onto her shoulders while she found her balance. Silently thanking him for the assistance, Frances turned her head left and right, her gaze sweeping the deck. Her eyes lingered a moment too much on Legolas' glorious features. His eyes still shone from the moment they had shared, deepening his glow.
Even in this gloomy atmosphere, the nobility of his countenance and gentleness of his gaze did not fail to comfort her. Behind him, at the top of the stairs, stood Aragorn. Face set in a worry, shoulders slumped, knuckles white upon the railing. Frances frowned, and turned back to the twins.
"I am the youngest all right. But our Chieftain up there is the second youngest."
"A feat for such an old man," chuckled Elrohir.
Aragorn's attention turned to them, and Frances snickered. Such was his habit at being teased by the twins that he instantly knew what the discussion was about. The young lady eyed him merrily, and spoke loudly enough so he could hear.
"Let it never be known that an eighty-seven-year-old man led me on a merry ride!"
The twins laughed openly, and a snort echoed from above. For the split of a second, she caught a glimpse of Aragorn's smile. There, she had done it! Beside her, Legolas' hears had turned a lovely shade of pink. His expression, oscillating between horror and mirth, told her all she needed to know. Her forwardness had shocked him! How innocent could an elf be, after so many years of life? Frances was dumbfounded, especially in the light of the twins' snickers behind her.
Legolas exhaled slowly, chasing away the image Frances had called forth with her words. He should really know better than to imagine her in such an activity! And she winked at him, the little vixen! A mischievous gleam shone in his gaze, and the elf bent forward, his mouth but a few inches from her face.
"I didn't take you for the kind of women who like older men."
Frances turned to him, her eyes but a few inches from his own. She could feel his breath on her cheek as well as the mixed scent of pine trees and leather. Inspiring in delight, her lips curled into a shy smile.
"How you are mistaken, my lord prince. Older is the perfect age for me."
Legolas' eyes widened in surprise, searching hers thoroughly. Was there a message behind her boldness? Her cheeks reddened; the heightened colours of her complexion making her more desirable than ever. Did she not see how stunning she could be when showing her true self? The gentle breeze caught a few of her fiery locks, mingling them with his perfect golden hair. The strands danced together at they stared into each other's eyes until a more powerful gust obscured her view completely.
When Frances managed to brush her hair off her face, Legolas had disappeared from her side. In the distance, the sound of fighting was increasing.
"Damn hair! Must braid it before it leads me to my death," she muttered, gathering her undisciplined mane.
"Let me help with that," said Elladan.
Frances stared at him in shock. How often she forgot of the keen hearing of the firstborn. Never whisper what you can keep silent, especially when jesting about the legendary Glorfindel and his hair! That was a lesson that should have been well learnt by now.
"Of course, you heard that."
The elf's stern gaze fell upon the flustered young lady. He had seen all and, for once, refrained from commenting. He knew when to tease and when not to, contrary to his brother. Grazing her elbow, he directed her to the steps and started untangling her messy hair. Frances hummed in contentment.
"You know, for a super warrior, you sure have a nice healing touch."
Elladan smiled.
"Fighting is a necessity. But we eldar relish in beautiful moments much more than in killing. A healer's hands must be strong, yet caring at the same time."
Her shoulders shook as amusement dripped from her voice.
"Aye, I guess it wouldn't do if you ripped my head off."
"No, I guess not."
Behind them, the clear gaze of the Prince was boring holes in his back. As he caressed her surprisingly soft hair, Elladan took his time before rebraiding it tightly. Just to let the Greenwood prince know what she liked… Smirking, he turned to Legolas while Frances stood.
"Right. At least I won't be blinded. You have my thanks, Elladan."
Before she could leave, the twin seized her arm. All mirth was gone from his features as he stated:
"Frances. We need to find a safe spot for you to hide. Your leg cannot sustain the fight to come."
Legolas was approaching, his face set in a stern expression. He felt more than he saw the argument raging in her mind, but he couldn't help relief to flood his body when she sighed. Her defeated look said it all.
"I had hoped to be able to fight once more by your side, but this blasted leg refuses to heal."
Elladan squeezed her shoulder in support.
"It is but two weeks since you sustained the wound, fiery lady. Even elves do not heal as fast as you would wish to. And the strain of the ride has nearly torn the stitches. You would not survive such a battle."
And then, just like that, humour returned to her tone once more.
"I bow to your wisdom, my dear healer. It would be unfortunate to waste your good care away."
"For sure! Ada would kill you!"
Frances turned around, welcoming Elrohir with a raised eyebrow.
"Can't kill a dead woman. And you can't chase me around in the halls of Mandos, na!"
Legolas blanched. Fortunately, his dwarven friend distracted him from such dire thoughts.
"Nice braids. The design is strange but they become you, lass."
Frances turned to the dwarf, surprised to hear a compliment from the gruff warrior. On a whim, she turned to show him the intricate pattern that maintained her reddish hair out of the way, earning a quick laugh from Elladan.
"Ah. I though the elvish style would be nice on you. Even if you don't fight this round, you have won the warrior braids with honour."
"Great honour indeed. You have fought valiantly at Helm's deep, and for all this Rohan has been grateful."
Frances bowed to him, her eyes shining and cheeks reddening such was the depth of her gratitude for his praise. Aragorn gave her a thorough look before speaking anew.
"Yet, given our circumstances, I would rather you be safe now. Our fleet accost in Harlond soon enough. You must hide away."
The young lady nodded while thoughtful expressions replaced the previous playful ones on the twin's face.
"What about the crow's nest up there?" suggested Elrohir.
Dark, blond and reddish heads lifted up to stare at the mast. An obvious place to hide, with a little climbing but she had three elves to assist her. How difficult could this be? And this could prove the be the best possible solution to stay alive.
"You'd be away from the battle field, and in no one's line of sight."
Elladan's comment was met with several nods of approval. Legolas, still considering the mast, was eyeing the little structure on top, trying to assess its depth. Satisfied he turned to Frances.
"Yes, it is safe enough. If you sit, no one should be able to see you."
"Safe enough as you say. Unless a Nazgûl decides to eat me alive, it seems to be a good spot."
Blood drained from Legolas' face, his eyes widened in horror as the twins protested noisily. But it was Gimli that broke the argument.
"So where now, lass? In the captain cabin?"
Elrhoir shook his head.
"She'd be too exposed. What about the hold?"
Gimli's face lightened.
"Yes! My kin hid in fishing barrels to enter Lake Town. That would be a decent hideout."
"No!" she shouted suddenly.
A stunned silence met her cry, and Frances released a shuddering breath. She'd had enough of being huddled into dark and cramped places. Her claustrophobia wouldn't take it. A gentle pressure at the small of her back brought her a little solace.
Frances didn't need to turn around to know whose hand had settled over her waist, hidden from their companions. It was but a caress, the slight touch of a gentle soul whose mind conveyed his support. Enough for her to regain her bearings. Forcing her heart to slow down, Frances managed to plead her case.
"What if the ship is sunk? Or if any foe tries to flee? They'll find me eventually. And I certainly don't want to be locked out of sight with any of those creatures. Down there, anything could happen."
Around her waist, fingers seized her tunic with incredible force. Legolas' hand retreated as he attempted to rein his conflicting emotions. But he was not the only one affected by this horrendous possibility. The twins' gaze had darkened, their anger surfacing so quickly that Frances regretted her words immediately. Their mother's fate was no secret to their little party.
"Then someone must stay with you," stated Elrohir.
"Certainly not!" she exclaimed. "We need all able warriors on the field. The absence of any of you could mean the death of many."
Once more, Aragorn settled the matter. As his feet led him down the steps, his brow creased with worry.
"I am sorry to say that Frances is the wisest of you all. We cannot let her inability to fight hinder our goal."
The ranger came closer still, and seized both of Frances' hands in his.
"Please forgive me for saying so, my dear lady. You know how it grieves me."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Frances squeezed Aragorn's hands. Her trembling voice would probably betray her, so she kept silent. Was there any way for her to survive this war? To not be tortured, raped or killed by Orcs and servants of Sauron just as well? Her hands trembled slightly, causing Aragorn's grip to tighten. Beside her, much closer than she thought, Legolas' eyes were strained on the deck. His mind was reeling with the numerous possibilities, and none of them were satisfactory.
"What if you were to get into a safe boat and tie it to one of our ships?" suggested Elladan.
Frances left Aragorn's embrace, frowning in thought.
"I'd be in plain sight. Probably hidden from the battle field, but not to any Haradrim or Orc that chooses to flee. An arrow is all it could take, and bye bye Frances. I'd be a sitting duck if you pardon my expression."
Gimli stomped his axe on the deck in frustration.
"Aye. This cannot work either."
Frances' features set into a resolved expression.
"No. I think the first idea was the best. I can hide up there below the cloak from Lothlorién until the battle is at its end."
Several heads nodded in appreciation. It was the best they could do. Elrohir offered his arm as he said:
"Now let us go, sweet lady. The battle is upon us. I will help you up."
And he was right, for the noises of horses and battle cries could be heard. But as he climbed the first few steps of the rigging, Legolas' voice stopped him.
"Nay Elrohir. I will help Frances up, and join you at once."
"You will do no such…"
The twin was not ready to back down, but a firm hand on his shoulder told him otherwise. Aragorn stood there, his gaze impervious in his command, begging him to listen. Legolas' gaze was as much determined, his royal blood now taking full control as he stared at the twin. Nothing would prevent him from escorting her up the rigging, and he didn't care if Elrond's sons were older than him by centuries.
Gaping at his expression, Frances could not contain a shudder. The Prince was so impressive in his anger; his whole being radiating power and sheer determination. There was no other choice but to obey. Grasping his hand, she let him guide her on the rigging. Taking one last look behind her, she waved at her friends. Aragorn, Gimli, and the twins nodded back to her, their expressions grim, ready to wage war on the forces of Mordor. And then they left, each of them preparing for the grandest fight they had ever beheld.
Frances' eyes misted over, and she silently followed the elf beside her. Even his sweet scent could not reassure her this time such was her distress. Would she see them again? All of them? Who would be lost ? Legolas' hand landed on her arm, squeezing gently as he helped her ascend. She hoped the darkened sky would hide her tears, ashamed of being so weak. Before them, the field of Pelennor were in all sorts of disarrays. It was chaos, pure chaos unleashed on the fair city of Minas Tirith.
From the height, she could make out its high walls. Once more, she could only wish for the sun to shine upon its beauty. But what once was an impressive artwork was now set ablaze, mistreated by catapults and siege towers. In the fields ran Oliphaunts and horses, men tearing themselves apart, orcs slaughtering without mercy. She could hear the cries; battle roars and whining of beasts and men alike. Their agony was deafening.
"Let us make haste."
His smooth voice, filled with worry, shook her out of her trance. Frances climbed up the last pieces of rigging with as much difficulty as a stiff leg would allow on balancing ropes. And suddenly she felt him close, so much closer than he ever had been. His arm laced around her waist, hauling herself flush against him for a second before he laid her in the lookout structure. Frances landed surprisingly gently, impressed by the sheer strength of his arms as he positioned himself between her and the view over the fields of Pelennor.
"Be careful not to be seen, …"
There was a word at the tip of his tongue, something he had longed to call her, but he dared not utter it. Before him, Frances nodded, terror filling her eyes. Her hand seized his arm, fingers firmly grasping at his tunic. She did not break, did not cry nor beg. But her face said it all. Through unshed tears, her hazel gaze bore into his.
"I will hide properly, I promise. Now, you must promise to come back as well."
"Frances. Should I die in the process, I will return to you."
His eyes burned intensely, his face set in determination. The young lady straightened, calling to the last bits of courage she could muster. And he admired her for it.
"Don't get killed, please. Not for me. If this battle is lost, I'd rather jump than let those beasts have me. I will die an honourable death."
She didn't state the rest of it, too afraid to voice her concerns. But through their dawning bond Legolas had felt it, and his own heart was shuddering at the thought. She was too beautiful, too pure to let any of those foul creatures lay a hand on her. His hand came up on its own accord, caressing her cheek as she got lost into his enthralling gaze.
Her skin was smooth, so soft under his fingers. Eventually, Legolas pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for an instant of eternity. Frances' breath hitched, caressing his face, so faint that it was barely discernable. His golden hair enveloped them, dancing with the breeze to surround her face and keep her in his embrace.
"Stay safe, Greenleaf," she whispered.
"I will, meleth."
The elf stayed for a few more seconds, a few precious seconds stolen before whatever end awaited him. But soon enough, reason called him back to reality. He shifted, his hand leaving her cheek. Frances braced herself for his absence, her heart beating so loud that her chest hurt. She was not ready for him to go, and her hand tightened against the sleeve of his tunic.
And then, his lips connected to hers in a lingering kiss, the contact so soft, so light that she might have dreamt it. One moment later, he was launching himself down the rigging with the agility of a cat. A familiar sound rung in the air; the unsheathing of his twin blades.
Legolas turned one last time to her. The last sight Frances was granted before she hid under the cloak was one of his dazzling smile.
So, happy ?