61 Confession

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.