Legolas was happy. Incredibly, numbly and incommensurably happy. Even more so that the last time his father had praised him, more than he had ever felt in his entire long life, more than he felt he deserved. Yet, his heart basked in the feeling, for it danced in his soaring chest, radiating with joy.
The elf was slouched over the hard-wooden headboard, a few cushions haphazardly thrown under his body to prevent the awkward position from causing stiff muscles. But he didn't mind. Every single part of him was tingling happily, for in his arms lay the lady of his dreams. A lady, mind you, not an elleth. No doubt his father might have a few coloured words about it.
If he ever saw him again, which was doubtful. Not that he cared at the present moment. No. Nothing else mattered than the sleeping form spread over him.
The first sunrays had woken him from his slumber, the deepest and most incredibly deep meditation he had ever experienced. For a while, the elf wondered if he had not fallen asleep; a strange feat for one of the firstborn. That would certainly explain the awkward position in which he lay, and the weight slouched over him. Then the light graced his skin with its welcome warmth, and he had opened his eyes slowly.
The most beautiful sight greeted him, taking his breath away. Some fiery strands of smooth silk had caught fire in the morning glow, scattered over his left arm like a shiny waterfall. Behind them, he could scarcely distinguish Frances' peaceful features as she slept, her face buried into his tunic. Eyes closed, long eyelashes brushing her cheek like a caress, lips as red as a rosebud, she looked as lovely as ever. Her features, so peaceful, had never been so perfect.
Legolas blinked, unsure, for a moment, about being awake. But the soft breeze coming from the window told him so. If his heart soared in happiness, remembering – at last! – the night before. Stunned speechless by the sight of Frances resting peacefully in his arms, he could only stare and relish in his luck. He had kissed her, and pledged his troth, and convinced her of his undying love, a love he would keep alive for eternity!
The reminder of her lips upon his own, soft and pleading, was enough to call a smile upon his face. Yes, there were uncertain times ahead. But she loved him, as much as he loved her. Of this, he was sure. Her concern for his welfare alone, her distress at the idea of him fading, should have been enough. But he had felt it as she settled to sleep against him in the night, her body slackened as he rode Arod back to Minas Tirith. Their bound had called to him with renewed vigour, fuelled by their mutual consent.
Gone was the feeling of impending doom, its harshness forgotten for a moment of happiness. Legolas was no fool. He knew that Sauron would stop at nothing to wipe every other life from the surface of middle earth. But in this blessed moment, he could not hoist his spirit to care.
Granted, the dark Lord would probably have a good laugh at him when he would appear at his door with a spring in his step, the happiness of newfound love on his lips. What would the Maiar know of love, of the pure joy to look upon another's face and just be happy that he exists in the world?
Legolas sighed of contentment. If he died before the black gate, he would at least die a happy ellon. Fulfilled. For the first time since he was born, he felt complete. And from the soft sigh that escaped Frances' mouth as she started to rouse, the sentiment was shared.
The young lady stirred slowly, reluctant to leave his arms as much as he was reluctant to let go. Perhaps she would need a little space? After all, she had barely moved an inch when he had set her in bed beside him, keeping her close. When her eyes fluttered open, she squinted a bit, looking every bit a tiny little animal in the sea of her hair. Then, a look of awe passed over her features, soon followed by a spark of uncertainty.
"Oh. Legolas… You could have… I'm sorry, I have kept you from your rest?"
The elf frowned, unsure about what she meant. He, for one, had marvelled at finding her in his arms. But she was a human woman, him sharing her bed, although they had both been clothed, might be an issue.
"I am well rested, meleth. How was your sleep?"
A strange glow suddenly seemed to seize her as she settled her weight on her elbow.
"Incredible. I cannot remember any of my dreams, though I am sure I was coated in the brightest and softest light ever,"
Legolas smiled fondly.
"I am glad to hear it."
Frances' eyes shyly roamed over his glowing form. With the morning sun, she was quite unsure about the origin of the light in the room. Yet, the young lady could have sworn that he shone more brightly than ever. As a perfect blond eyebrow lifted on his face, she sat up beside him, and claimed his hand. Then her brows furrowed.
"I was afraid that you had stayed only for my sake and broken your back resting like this."
Legolas's thumb caressed her palm slowly, his smooth skin leaving a warm sensation on her hand. Then, he kissed her temple. So sweetly, so softly, his breath only brushing her skin as his lips deposited this token of love. Frances turned to him, her whole body asking for more, begging for his touch. Her shoulder nudged close to him, and her eyes met his. The ocean stared back at her in its infinite depth, the corner of his eyes cringing a bit in a soft smile.
"It is of little consequence," he breathed. "I had the privilege to guard your sleep, and it warmed me enough to spend the best of nights. Besides, it is the second one I spend in a similar position."
The soft smiled had turned to a cheeky grin, and Frances frowned before realising what he had admitted. The night before, the same light had watched over her and saved her from that horrible nightmare. She had thought it all a frenzy at the time, the soft nudge on her arm and the low voice that had commanded her back to sleep. But now she understood. Laying her head on his shoulder, Frances squeezed his hand in gratitude.
"It is because of you, you know. This light than engulfed me in my sleep, it is yours. I remember it quite well, from the days we spent in Moria as I followed you. And the path of the dead as well. It is your light that kept me going."
The elf's breath hitched, but he kept silent. How long had she been admiring him without his knowledge? Had this been such a long time?
"Last night. You saved me from a terrible nightmare…"
"Is that so? Would you like to tell me about it?"
Frances shuddered, and Legolas circled her shoulders in a gesture of comfort.
"No, I'd rather not. I have you today, it is more than I could ever ask for. Let us enjoy life when it is still time."
"A wise choice, meleth. To which I adhere wholeheartedly"
His voice, low and sensual, created goosebumps on her arm. Adamant not to think about it for the time being, Frances turned to him with a twinkle in her eyes.
"It is the second time that you rest in a terrible position. But next time maybe, we can try sleeping in the bed, with the covers and all?"
Legolas started as a blush crept slowly over Frances' skin, his blue eyes staring at her.
"Ah, this is not… Oh God! Not what I meant," she stuttered.
The elf repressed a grin for a while, his expression so boyish that his long years disappeared in a blink. She bit her lip and he couldn't help but laugh at her crimson face. She was way too adorable when embarrassed!
"Do not fret, meleth. I have understood your meaning quite well. I was afraid that you might find me too bold to stay with you. If you so wish, I can flee through the window as I have done yesterday morning."
Frances frowned deeply, unsettled by the proposal. Legolas's heart leapt into his throat, beating like a drum.
"Why would you do that ?"
"To preserve your dignity"
"Ah … uh…"
She was at loss for words, not a small feat considering her sharp wit.
"You only have to ask, Frances. I will not put you in a difficult position"
Had she been less nervous, the young lady would have laughed at the double meaning behind those words. But Legolas was earnest.
"I can't think of anything more honourable than to be yours. But I understand that the rules of middle earth could be different from my home world. And I also gather that as a Prince, you might have to hide this relationship to others."
Legolas's heart thumped wildly at this; she had misunderstood his meaning so badly! Abashed, he seized both of her hands in his.
"Do not, for one instant, think that I would hide my love for you. It takes all my strength of will not to yell at the top of my lungs on the summit of Echtelion's tower such is my happiness. This bond we have … it is a present from the Valar."
Frances' answering smile should have been radiant, but he could detect some hidden concern in her wavering gaze.
"Are you sure, Legolas? Are you sure about all this?"
"Aye, Meleth. I have doubted long enough."
And shame washed over him as he recalled those days where he had shunned her for the sake of protecting his heart. He should have known that it was a battle long lost, that his soul was already bound to her even there! The shift of his mood called her to him, and she gently stroked his cheek, marvelling in the softness of his skin, silently asking that he unburdens his worries.
And Legolas did, explaining all that had transpired in his mind from Dunharrow to the fields of Pelennor. Somehow, lost in his own worries, he had overlooked that his distance would have hurt Frances. But as he spoke, voice unsure and hands slightly trembling, he saw the depth of her suffering in her hazel eyes. What an elfling he had been!
"I am sorry, meleth nin, for hurting you so! I had not realised until I felt your distress through our bond, how my behaviour had affected you."
And he marvelled at her willingness to forgive as she kissed him, for she had every reason to get revenge and hurt him back with sharp words and anger. But she did not, wrapping instead her arms around him and holding fast. He returned the gesture, his soul free of torment, his heart content to have told her the truth. Eventually, she sat again, close enough so that her side touched the length of his body.
"So this bond we share, how does it work?"
"I can feel how you fare. It has started like a spark of strangeness within my own body at first, only calling for my attention when you were particularly distressed. But now it gets stronger, and will be complete when we … if we…"
"Complete? It is not yet complete?"
"The link is sealed through physical bonding."
"Oh."
There she was, once again crimson and trying to hide in the folds of his tunic. But the time was not to jest. It was pretty uncomfortable for him, to be the one to deliver such news to his intended. In any other case, the elleth would have been aware of this. Her embarrassment, though, was as real as his. Did she think him impatient to complete the bond? To bed her? Not that he would refuse, should she wish it. But those were elvish customs, and he knew human's traditions to be very different on that account.
"Hush Meleth, there is no rush."
"But will you want to? I mean, if we seal this relationship, you will have no chance to have another once I'm gone."
His expression darkened for a bit, and his blue eyes lost themselves far away. He had thought she would clear this possibility from her mind after their conversation the night before, but here she was, trying once more to escape this finality.
"There is only one bond for us. Sealed or not, you are the only one for me, and will ever be. There can be no other"
Frances nodded, deep in thoughts. She was searching, deep within, a sensation that was not hers. And she found it; this little exasperation that pointed through the undying love. Her eyes widened, and she smiled reassuringly at the elf beside her.
"I have felt weird things, sometimes, like thoughts that did not belong to me entirely. But I had no idea this could be a Feä bond. I had no idea it could be done, with me being human and all!"
Suddenly his face brightened, like the sun in a blue sky. She was dazzled by his sight.
"I am glad. In time, you will be able to share as much of me as I share of you. It was my bound to you that called me by your side yesterday eve."
Frances' face fell, and she dipped her head in shame. In her joy, she had quite forgotten about the fight with Aragorn.
"Oh. About that, I fear I must apologize."
Legolas's heart clenched as fear and regrets passed over his beloved face, angst seeping through their bond.
"I have known Aragorn most of his life. Can I be of help ?"
"Maybe I can recall the events to you, you might be able to advise be on the best way to fix this mess."
Legolas nodded, unfazed by her weird wording. He was now quite accustomed to her unusual images. As Frances spoke, his hand shyly stroked her hair, long fingers going through the maze of reddish strands. She did not object to his ministrations, and the elf turned the young lady around to brush it. Her words, anguished, flew out of her mouth as he marvelled at the softness sliding through his fingers. Relishing in the touch, Legolas created two waterfall braids to frame her beautiful face, leaving the rest unbound.
Many times, she seemed at loss of words, her eyes closing as he worked his way through her locks. Freshly washed, they were strangely disciplined, tumbling in waves yet rolling around in ringlets that seemed artificial such was their perfection. Legolas took his time, his eyes serious, his voice smooth and soothing, as his crafted hands worked through Frances' hair. Little by little, the young lady relaxed against his touch, her fears lessening.
Once the elf deemed Frances ready, he stood up. Straightening his tunic, he put on his jerkin discarded in haste the day before. His bracers he left in the room. Today, there would be no fighting of foul creatures. Today was dedicated to love, and the amazing young woman who had accepted his suit. Offering his arm, the woodland prince felt a shiver run up his spine as she set her hand at the crook of his elbow. The gesture, so familiar, claimed her as his, and it brought him such joy that he could not refrain from grinning like a lovesick fool.
His dazzling smile threatened to turn Frances' knees to jelly. She had to lift her head to contemplate his handsome features, and it felt like gazing at the sun. Her joy was so unexpected, so complete that her heart seemed ready to burst. And then, they stepped outside of her room, and even knowing that she was on her way to apologise to Aragorn, nothing could dampen her mood.
Step after step, Frances and Legolas roamed the streets in a haze of happiness. The air seemed fresher, the colours more vivid, the sensations of her body sharper. Never before had she felt such life fuelling her every cell. It was an exhilarating feeling, to be close to him, to belong to him. She had no eyes for anything else but him, no ears for the street but the sound of his voice, for every little thing brought her back to him. There, attached to her arm, tall and solid like a small tree, lithe and supple like a reed, indestructible. And he was hers! She had trouble believing her luck; she would not have thought it possible but for his solid presence and discrete scent.
"I have meant to ask, but did not dare before."
His voice, low and smooth, called for her attention. And she gave it wholeheartedly, knowing that he would navigate through the cobbled streets her while she searched his face.
"The jewels at your ears, are they traditional in your culture?"
Frances nodded, understanding the unasked question.
"I was six years old when my ears were pierced. My mother told me I was the one who asked. I honestly cannot remember any of it… Maybe I was compelled to ask for my ears to be pierced to fit the mould."
"I have trouble understanding how one can consciously accept to harm one's own body."
Frances squeezed his arm slightly, eyebrows frowned in thought. She had never reflexioned on this tradition since it was part of her culture. In Mexico, many babies had their ears pierced at birth. Still, it made sense to question it. Where was the line between scarification, piercings and earrings? And how to explain it to a being who respected his needs and his body like the formidable tool it was?
The frown on her face had not eased, and Legolas replaced a lock of her hair behind her ear in a tender gesture.
"I'm sorry Frances, I did not mean to criticise."
"I know you didn't. And honestly, I do not know what to answer this. We human have a lot of weird habits, all of them to make us feel more … suitable. Some would go to lengths you cannot imagine for the sake of appearances. Painting one's face, plucking hairs, perfuming skin or wearing boned garments would be a few of those…"
Frances kept quiet about aesthetic surgery and other stratagems that the 21st-century ladies used, thinking that it might get a little difficult for the elf that already seemed deep in thoughts by her side.
"I have yet to be a witness of such extravagances," he stated smoothly.
"The noble ladies of Gondor will probably sate your curiosity. You have to understand that, unlike you first born, we are far from perfect. This knowledge, and the constant judgement from our peers tend to make us uneasy. Hence the make-up, and piercings, and anything that might make us look to our advantage."
A handsome eyebrow was lifted in mirth.
"Perfect? Is that what you think of elves?"
Frances did not dare looking at him, self-conscious of her own shortcomings compared to his dashing looks.
"Mmmm. And you will find that this sentiment is much shared among humans, especially to those who have lived the longest in their company. We sometimes suffer from the comparison."
He knew what she meant. Estel, his oldest human friends had complained more than once about his abilities. Even so, after a week's ride, the smell that emanated from him was nowhere as foul as the one coming from the ranger. He knew that, and so did Aragorn, subjected to the jokes of his foster brothers. And regarding all those horrendous things that Frances was talking about, he had to admit that he was curious to witness it. The slight twitch of her companion's fingers on his arm called his eyes to her face.
"I had never thought of it that way. But it does not matter, meleth. Know that you are perfect for me, without you having to perform such ointments and disguises. Surely you know of my admiration for you?"
The young lady stopped in her tracks, and Legolas turned fully to her. Eyes wide open, their depth catching the sunrays so brightly that they bordered on golden, Frances was gaping. Then, a slight flush crept on her cheeks, but it didn't prevent the elf from caressing her soft skin, accentuating the crimson tide. He leant over, breathing in her faint scent, and deposited a light kiss on her temple. Instead of pulling away though, he let his mouth linger at the top of her head, and surrounded her in his embrace.
"Haven't I ever told you?"
A nod from left to right answered him feebly.
"Then I shall endeavour to do so, since I have contemplated your features so very often and committed them to mind. Your eyes are so finely outlined, delicately shaped and lively. When they shine with mirth, they sparkle like the stars, their depth far beyond my reach with wisdom uncalled for in one so young. Your smile causes your mouth to curve slightly, never too ostentatious, but in such a way that a dimple is revealed. As for your lips, meleth…"
The elf sighed, pausing for a blessed moment, the reminder of her kisses so lively in his mind.
"The colour of your lips contrasts with your fair skin, their carmine alike to a fresh rosebud. There is much light in your expressions and beauty in your features as much as in the shape of your body."
She was hiding now, her face buried in the crook of his shoulder.
"Please, do not tease me so. I couldn't handle those compliments if you whispered them in the dead of the night, let alone in the middle of the street in broad daylight!"
The elf started, dumbfounded by her refusal to receive his praise. He lifted her chin to lock eyes with her, trying to ascertain if she was being modest – he didn't believe it at all – or if she was oblivious of her beauty.
"But why, Meleth, would you shy away? For I only state what is true! You are graceful, of mind and of features, and I surely am not the first one to tell you so. You walk like a noble woman, you talk with love and care, and move like a fairy. Have you not seen the looks you gather around you? They are many, those who eye you even now, walking at my arm."
Exasperated, Frances threw her arms in the air, gathering quite some attention from the passers by.
"That's because I am with you! It is you they contemplate, the fair face of the first born at last seen again within their walls!"
The elf rolled his eyes, something he had caught from Frances, and she tried to stifle a laugh.
"It is true that some of them are curious about my kin. But many of the men are instead watching you. They do not know who you are, I can see it in their eyes. Still, they are drawn to your form, for you are an enchanting creature. And should you not be mine, I might even be jealous."
"Surely you are jesting, Legolas? This curiosity probably revolves around the unusual colour of my hair, don't you think?"
"Nay, meleth. I would never joke at your expense, for I love you too much. This is not curiosity, but admiration. Have you not realised it in Rohan, how the men look at you?"
Frances nodded vigorously. No, she had not. And if her friends in high school at hinted at it, that she was, most of the time, the recipient of such looks, she had dismissed it with a laugh. There had always been too many things on her mind to remark on futile things such as this. In France, and in the 21st century, she was in no danger from the looks of men. Therefore, she ignored it vigorously.
A little sadness washed over Legolas's feature, very soon replaced with mischief as he bent and captured her lips in his. Frances' breath came short, her mouth more than happy to lock once more with the Prince of her dreams. His arms surrounded her fully, and he kept her close to him, moulded along the length of his body, sharing his warmth and sweet scent of pinewood. When he released her, his feature held such a dreamy expression that she lifted her eyebrow inquisitively.
"Satisfied, my lord?"
"Very much, my lady. For now, all those men watching you have decided to contemplate their feet instead. A jewel you may be to the people of Gondor, but they cannot have you. You are my princess to spoil and cherish."
Had she not been crimson already, Frances would have blushed furiously. Princess, he had called her. And it all dawned on her. The title, the position, the expectations. But also the lifelong engagement he had taken when declaring his undying love. As terrifying as it was exciting. Stunned, Frances floated down the latest levels of Minas Tirith by her fiancé's side.
The confrontation with Aragorn went much smoother than expected. Overjoyed by their blossoming relationship, the ranger accepted Frances' apology, and hugged her fiercely as she stumbled over her words. The lines of his face were more relaxed than the previous day, probably smoothed by a good night's sleep.
"I am glad that you have made your choice. Both of you," he said while holding their hands in of his. "As for now, let us see how the Steward fares."
And up they went to the sixth level, to the houses of healing. Their joy made Aragorn's heart thump with anticipation. Not once since he laid eyes on the couple had Legolas released Frances' hand. As the climb took its toll on the lady's leg, he even carried her for a short while, ignoring her protests dissolved into laughter.
If the Prince of Greenwood the Great could find happiness with Frances, it might bode well for his own relationship with Arwen. It was but a fool's hope, but one nonetheless. The hope that they might all survive, and live to be husbands to their beloved. Their bliss was infectious, and it brought him some solace to, at last, witness something cheerful in those difficult times.
Before they reached the houses of Healing, a set of familiar voices caught the ranger's attention. Two cheerful hobbits were sitting in the garden, eating cakes, a silent steward sitting on a bench nearby. His shoulders were still hunched, testimony of the weight that had settled over his father's death. Still, he kept a little conversation with his friends.
"There is nothing like a good cake to lift up one's spirit," whispered Aragorn to the lovebirds.
He hoped that the high spirits could permeate Faramir's mood as well. The steward, ever alert, saw them coming first. Before he could stand, Aragorn lifted his hand to stop the motion.
"Do not rise, Faramir. Those who dwell in the houses of healing should be relieved of tedious protocol."
The steward had no time to answer, for Pippin had sprung to his feet and exclaimed:
"Strider! Frances and Legolas! What joy it is to see you all. Come, there is cake enough for all of us."
His infectious mood caught up with the group. But even more than the joy of the reunion, the ear-splitting grin from Merry made Aragorn's eyes twinkle. It was a far cry from the state he had left him two days ago. The hobbit's gaze was glued on the new couple, his keen sense of observation at once intrigued by their joined hands. Several times, he elbowed his cousin. Pippin would not have it; he was in the middle of recounting a childhood tale. But at last, he launched an exasperated look to his fellow hobbit.
"What! Tell me what you must before you break all my ribs! Have you lost your tongue Merry?"
Then Faramir's lips lifted, his eyes still filled with sorrow, by finding the heart to share a little mirth. Frances smiled at him, thankful that he tried, at last, to get better. She knew how hard it would be to keep his promise. Yet, he had ventured outside with the hobbits. This was, she thought, a good effort.
A strangled cry broke the moment, and Frances was suddenly lifted on her feet for a merry dance by the little hobbit.
"Finally! You have told her! How wonderful!"
Merry stated to clap his hands, singing a hobbit's songs while laughing altogether, and Pippin joined him for the chorus. Frances, trying to follow Pippin's pattern, was having more and more trouble doing so. She wanted to slap him, for managing too nicely and being able to sing at the same time. But his joy was infectious. Then, to their surprise, Aragorn's voice joined them, almost indiscernible such was his low pitch.
"How wonderful, that you know this song! Come Strider, dance with us! Frances is having trouble following."
"Of course, this is a mad dance for God's sake!" exclaimed the young lady.
The ranger chuckled, amused at the hobbit's antics, while Legolas laughed openly. His musical voice filled the garden, bright and joyful. Beside him, Aragorn shook his head with dignity.
"Nay Pippin. I have heard this song before, and will help gladly. But dancing a hobbit's dance I never could."
After a few mad rounds, Pippin ended up dancing on his own as Frances reclaimed her seat beside Legolas. The hobbit's steps were impossible for her to follow with her injured leg and she understood Aragorn's reluctance to make a fool of himself, especially in front of his steward. Said Steward was quite abashed at the display happening before his very eyes.
Even more so by the familiarity between the hobbit and his King. There was such freshness in their relationship, hope and laughter that had long left the halls of Minas Tirith. He saw the elf slide his arm around the lady's waist, his touch light but reassuring.
Faramir offered some congratulations, as did Merry, lips smiling but brows a little feverish. For an agonising half hour, the only subject of conversation was the light teasing of the two hobbits, recounting the tale of the elf and the lady, two stubborn minds who could not accept their mutual love. Eventually, Aragorn chuckled and, seeing the high state of agitation on Frances' face, decided to escort the wounded back to their rooms. But not before adding his own tease into the fray.
"If you want my opinion, my lord Faramir, the elf has walked more steps turning around Frances than we have since we departed Rivendell."
"Estel!" came Frances' scandalised shriek.
The steward almost laughed, amused by her disguised display of affection. The King was well loved indeed. But then, the elf rose and bent over him, stone faced. His stature seemed to grow at he levelled a glare to Aragorn.
"This will be repaid, mellon nin. It might not be today, nor tomorrow, nor the day after tomorrow. But when you expect it the less, I will have my revenge. A princely revenge"
And then he offered his arm to the lady Frances, and left, his steps slow and noble. Faramir's eyebrows shot up, his pain forgotten for the time being as he turned to the King.
"I am starting to understand some rumours. The elf certainly knows how to issue a threat."
The amused features of the King greeted him.
"Should I be the recipient of his wrath, I might even sell myself short. But do not worry, I am quite safe until he decides to share his outrage with my foster brothers. Altogether, they are bound to do some mischief."
As they left the garden, Frances saw a smirk bloom on Legolas's face.