Feä Bond (Legolas x OC)

And down we go...

Hey, I hope you will enjoy the little interaction between Frances and Legolas here.

Soaked to the core, the company was slowly descending the rocky slopes of the mountain that had defeated them. After nearly loosing their lives to a snow storm, the company now marched down to join the halls of Khazad-Dûm. The storm had piled up tons and tons of snow on their path, hindering their progress greatly. Despite her deep love for it, Frances swore she never wanted to see a flake again. A renewal of her thoughts, earlier the previous night, when Estel had gently coaxed her to his side to share body warmth. Huddled in a cave like structure, they had eventually relented and built a fire in the dark. Despite Gandalf's warning that it would sell them away to any of Saruman's spies, the men had insisted. They were right, of course. Being a higher being, Gandalf didn't suffer from the cold; he had issues understanding that they would be nothing more than an elf and a wizard to find the next day without the fire. Men and hobbits alike would have died on the mountain side, stranded by the storm that had nearly buried them.

So when the decision was made to go through the Mines of Moria, Frances could do nothing more than share a defeated glance with Estel, who in turn, had turned to Legolas. The silent exchange didn't go unnoticed; both Gandalf and Boromir chose not to comment, offering, instead, their own body warmth to the remaining hobbits. A miserable night had ensued, until an equally miserable, white dawn has greeted them. There was no other way than to retreat. And so the fellowship went. Down, and down again, all the way back from yesterday's trek.

The chilly wind had worsened and all them started to feel exhaustion gaining over their frozen bodies. The hobbits looked like they would sink down at every step, but curiously enough, they kept going. Frances, however, was depleted. It was a strange sensation; her stamina rarely reached the bottom. The nickname her grandfather had bestowed upon her – gazelle – was meant to illustrate her never ending supply of energy. She that bounced all day long, even after days of hiking or hours of swimming she felt close to collapsing.

The young woman had been gritting her teeth for hours now, trying to keep a sure footing over the slippery rocks. The weakness that was overtaking her body only had an equal in the numbness that slowly crawled along her frozen limbs. It worried her; she felt colder and colder as time went on, until all she could think about was to close her eyes and... Her body was spent, yet she couldn't afford to slow down. Great shivers ran up her spine, failing at keeping her warm – their initial purpose lost. The horrible night, cuddled into a ball, had provided little rest. Her body didn't have enough energy to fend off the cold anymore, and she dreamt of a beach in the scorching heat, of the benevolent rays of sunshine that would burn her skin. Southern Italy, with volcanoes on the horizon and the intense dry heat typical of Calabria. And a good book, Alexandre Dumas... Yes, it would be neat. Yet, all she could feel was the numbness spreading.

Strider and Gandalf walked in front, the steep incline placing them way below her feet. This last leg of the journey followed a vertiginous rocky path where a dizzying fall would greet any misstep. It didn't prevent the elf from running back and forth, opening the path for them with his ageless grace. Estel had told her that elves did not feel the cold, and Frances would have given anything to be an eldar, or a vampire. If only the pain could end... As she trailed a bit behind the group of ever cheerful hobbits, Frances didn't even register their slumped shoulders and miserable gait. Her world had turned white and icy; her steps automatic. Feet landing with very little sensation, too frozen to feel the ground properly. Once or twice she slipped over the path, nearly losing her footing, but her reflexes kept her from crashing onto the sharp rocks. The near miss sent adrenalin through her veins, bringing back some alertness.

- "Careful, lady Frances"

The young woman nodded, too exhausted to respond properly to Boromir's plea who closed the little procession, his great shield flung above his shoulder. In other circumstances, she might have retorted that she was doing her best, and that asking her to be careful wouldn't make it better. But the steward's son was as exhausted as she was, and still took time to worry about her. It earned him a few brownie points – when in the middle of a crisis, the man of Gondor was strangely tolerable - that lasted until they stopped for a quick bite. Frances had trouble eating anything, her stomach too tight to be hungry. Sam's admonishment, though, had her nibbling on a piece of cheese. There was such sweetness in this hobbit that a little warmth returned to her heart. Her limbs, thought, refused to heat up.