62 Glorious sunshine

The white mountains were magnificent in the morning light. Their peaks glimmered, their cliffs sharp enough to compete with the mighty Caradhras himself. Like a heavy blanket, snow covered the mountain tops until mid-height, its white cover reluctant to relinquish its hold over the highest relief. If spring was underway, the air was still crisp and dry, stiffening joints and muscles. It felt the same as a breeze in a mountain resort before a good day of skiing. Frances sighed. Would she ever put on ski shoes again? Descend the slopes chasing after her brothers while they taunted her? Enjoy a proper raclette before crashing into bed at 9 pm, exhausted from the day?

She didn't know. Hell, she didn't even know if she really wanted to get back home. Sometimes, the perspective of staying in middle earth called to her. If they survived, she would probably have a place to stay whether with the elves, whether at Aragorn's side. Most of all, she didn't know how she could get back to earth, to her stupid classes and horrible student life.

The thought of it made her shudder in fright and she closed the cloak around her slender frame. Better to face an Uruk Hai's army than to return to her private little hell. Still, she couldn't help but enjoy the view. The summits hovered upon the few human settlements with their unforgiving presence. She loved watching them from afar. Their power, untamed and unattainable, soothed her for an unknown reason.

Beside Frances rose a thin plume of smoke from Aragorn's pipe. Deep in thoughts, the ranger had lost his gaze on the white mountains. There laid the border between Gondor and Rohan. Behind them stood his long-lost heirloom, probably under attack, if it wasn't subdued already. Three days since Gandalf had left with Pippin hooked onto his saddle. He hoped they had reached the white city safely. The respite, if laced with tension, was welcome.

The young lady was improving, benefiting from the rest. And he would be a fool to deny that he had needed it as much as she did. His fall from the cliff, followed by the battle and a tough ride to Isengard has spent him. The multiple injuries had finally taken their toll, and for two days, Aragorn had used his sleeping pallet more than he cared to admit. But now, he was growing restless. And so was Frances.

Suddenly, the young lady tensed beside him, her eyes squinted in the morning light.

"Is that a fire?" she asked, her head cocked to the side.

Aragorn lowered his pipe to clear off the smoke, and followed the direction of her pointed arm. Far away, on top of a ridge, rose a little thread of darkness. And right below, a fire had been set ablaze. Instantly, he jumped on his feet.

"Bless your eyesight my friend, it is as acute as an elf's'"

His grey eyes shining from the excitement, the ranger grabbed Frances' head and deposited a quick kiss in her hair. The young lady smiled, surprised by his antics. A mere second later, the future King of Gondor was running like a child to the golden hall, leaving her on the steps of their quarters. Somewhere behind her, a gruff voice was heard shouting, followed by heavy steps and the clinking sound of weapons upon a belt. Gimli, no doubt, was hurrying after the ranger to hear about the news.

Frances smiled, but didn't turn around. The glorious white peaks had her attention still. The morning light was reaching her feet now, its warmth very welcome. She had some trouble motivating herself to stand up and follow her companion, content with her current position. Yet, she knew the time she feared had come. Would they allow her to join them, wherever they went, or would she be left behind? The young lady sighed, and shuffled to place her leg in the correct position. Pain jolted through her thigh: the stitches were still sore, and so was the muscle. How long before she could run and climb again? How long before she could fight?

A hand sprang before her eyes, its palm upwards, patiently waiting for her to rely on it to stand up. Frances didn't need to lift her eyes to know who its owner was. She did it nonetheless, greeting Legolas with a grateful smile. She could only hold his gaze for so long, stunned by his ethereal beauty. He was glorious, cut out by the morning rays that illuminated his blond head.

Would she ever stop swooning like a fangirl? Soon enough, Frances' gaze dropped to the ground, her mind reeling at the idea to grasp his bare skin once more. Little did she know that the elf was struggling to keep his hand from trembling, the young lady at his feet stealing his breath away.

The orange glow has set her reddish strands on fire, gracing her with a luminous halo. It brought life to her face, enlightening her lovely features and soft eyes. Legolas relished in this view, realising how he had missed her liveliness. The deep gash that marred her thigh had brought much sorrow upon her, and much fear upon him. Legolas couldn't wait to hear her laugh again.

But the carefree woman had given way to a much broodier Frances. Her gaze met his for a brief moment, eyes full of interrogation and doubt before she broke the contact. Never before had she backed down from his scrutiny. The elf frowned imperceptibly. There was much he wanted to discuss, but feared to spook her once more.

Frustrated, the elf prince reined his thoughts. When had they taken so many steps backwards? Frances seemed to flee him, not unlike she used to do at the beginning of their acquaintance. Maybe then he would have to rely on his diplomatic skills to approach the lady again. Did it have anything to do with her confession about another world? About the fact that her betrothed, whoever he was, was waiting for her to come back from her travels to marry her? It didn't make much sense that she would avoid him though. Perhaps she feared that he would be angry with her at hiding such knowledge.

She seemed so frail that he couldn't prevent from making sure she was safe. Perhaps had he been too overbearing in his rescue. In this case, better to remove his hand altogether rather than offering his help once again.

But before he could act upon his idea, Frances' fingers seized his. Legolas' kept his arm steady while she staggered to her feet. What a struggle, to refrain from pulling her to his side and rest his other hand at the small of her back! If he had had his way, she would be scooped up in his arms right now! But the elf was careful not to invade her personal space. He didn't want to trigger the same reaction as two days prior. Her friendship meant too much to him to throw it away so stupidly.

"Hannon le, Legolas. Once more, I rely on you for support."

The elf inclined his head slowly, and was surprised when the young lady linked her arm around his.

"The pleasure is mine, Lady Frances"

The young lady stopped dead in her tracks, her brown eyes staring at him.

"How come, my lord prince, have I become once more a 'lady'? Am I not the same Frances, the companion, warrior-apprentice and annoying friend that keeps you from resting properly around the campfire?"

Legolas blinked. Her eyes held some mirth. But behind them still lingered a flash of uncertainty. He searched her face for falsehood, used to the games of the elleths of his father's court. Yet he found none. A smile then bloomed on his lips as he resumed walking at a slow pace.

"You know to be all of them, Frances. Friend, warrior and companion, if not annoying. But a lady you will always be."

Frances lifted an eyebrow.

"Am I then to be forever vanquished by your superior elvish mind?"

"Nay, my lady, I am merely better rested than you are."

Frances groaned in a most unladylike fashion, but she didn't yield. The easy banter went on for a few minutes. Soon enough, elf and lady alike had significantly relaxed, making their way slowly up the steps of Meduseld. Legolas couldn't help but marvel at the normalcy of it all. Frances, walking on his arm as they talked. It felt right. Like it had always been so. A heavy discussion seemed to be happening inside. A discussion that would decide of their future. Before Legolas pushed the huge doors of the Golden hall, he turned to Frances, facing her squarely.

"Will you tell me of your home when time allows? I am greatly curious about it."

Frances smiled, her expression so bright that he couldn't help but stare.

"You will only have to ask."

Then, the young lady relinquished his arm and hobbled into the hall. His question, so innocent, had relieved her from much dread. Legolas wasn't angry with her for her lies. No matter what laid ahead of them, she could take it now.