Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

The bond

Frances bit back a hiss, choosing to glare at Elrohir who had the gall to laugh at her expression. Elladan, nonplussed by the heated – and silent – exchange between his twin brother and the lady, went on with his task. Slowly, methodically, he pulled the stitches from her leg until only remained a few dots of blood.

"That's a mighty scar you'll have here, sweet lady," Elrohir commented with a grimace.

Frances shrugged.

"Don't care. It will disappear when I travel back."

If I travel back home. Something heavy settled upon her chest. Would she? Should she? What about Legolas? If they survived, there would be time to decide.

"Will it?" Elladan asked, pulling her from the sombre thoughts.

"Yes. This, and the damage to the muscle."

The elf cocked his head aside, long dark hair flowing over his shoulder in a waterfall of silky strands. They were so beautiful, both brothers born of starlight. They would surely break many hearts, especially if they hung around Minas Tirith when Aragorn became King. If they survived this chaos.

Funnily enough, though, she only saw those ethereal, perfect, dangerous beings like a pair of brothers. Hers. It was lucky that this army was only comprised of men – save her. Women would have gone wild to see her cuddled by the sons of Elrond AND the elven prince of Greenwood the Great. There was only so much indulgence other women could have when a lady monopolized the attention of not one, but three insanely amazing looking males. Ever since their reunion, the twins always made sure she was guarded by one of them.

Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn had gathered men to take a peek at the road that led to Minas Morgul. Even though Prince Imrahil insisted during their trek past Osgiliath – the sight of its ruins had been ghastly – Gandalf had vetoed the idea to attack Minas Morgul as a way into Mordor.

Neither the Prince nor Eomer were too happy about the decision; Frances could understand their doubts easily. None, outside the fellowship and the sons of Elrond, were privy to Frodo's whereabouts. But Aragorn knew not to attract attention to the path of Cirith Ungol lest Sauron sent his forces to meet them. If Frodo had managed to forge his path through, his only chance was for the fellowship to turn the forces of Mordor in another direction.

"But...", Elrohir started.

Elladan stood swiftly, interrupting his brother with what she surmised, was a scathing look.

"Those are good news. In the meantime, you need to learn how to fight with the hindrance."

And thus started a merry round of physical therapy. At first, simple exercises to regain balance and flexibility. Pulling the muscle to its very limits. Pain had been a constant companion ever since Helm's deep, and the twin's drilling involved as much discomfort. Sweat tickled down her brow as she worked under Elladan's unwavering guidance. Elrohir, sick of seeing her bite her lower lip, eventually left.

He always was the sweeter one.

So Frances worked relentlessly, awaiting for the Prince, the King and his many noble friends to return. And while she bent, twisted and squatted to the best of her abilities, she allowed her mind to return to Minas Tirith. To the peaks of the white mountains, still visible in the clear blue sky of budding spring. To the wild chase Estel had led them after the path of the dead. To the disgruntled face of Merry who had seen them off from the houses of healing, Faramir and Eowyn by his sides. To the heralds, trumpeting at every crossroad that the Lords of Gondor had returned.

To Boromir, and Faramir that should have been there to hear it. To that statue of a King they found on the road, its severed head set again upon its body, a crown of white flowers sitting regally upon it. To that vision of Aragorn, standing beside the white tree of Numenor, a crown upon his brow.