Hot pools

"Join me?"

Air rushed out of his lungs. Frances' wide eyes, golden and hazel mingled, were pleading. Then, she seemed to realise what she'd asked as she ducked her head

"I didn't mean… I just want to spend some time in your arms," she sheepishly added.

So much for not pushing his luck … but could he deny such a hopeful face? The elf swallowed thickly, then nodded his assent.

"I shall keep my breeches."

Methodically, the elf laid his vambraces, jerkin and boots beside her clothes, marvelling at the domestic image. The soft sloshing of Frances' legs wading through the water reached his pointy ears; Legolas he shed his tunic, mindful to preserve it for her to wear afterwards. When he allowed himself to look upon the spring once more, Frances had sunk into the waters, a satisfied smile upon her face as she dipped her head backwards. Her mass of unruly ringlets disappeared under the surface, a sigh escaping her rosebud lips.

There was nothing untoward to be seen; the volutes coated the whole scenery in an eerie light, covering the whole surface of the stream. The image struck him speechless; his intended truly was a water creature. Lithe hands lifted about the fog, her elegant fingers smoothing soaked hair backwards.

Legolas' lips parted in delight; he had never met a second born so graceful in her every gesture. Mesmerised, the elf took a few tentative steps; the hot water lapped at his feet, coaxing him to sink into its depth.

Legolas barely refrained a moan. How long had it been since he had the luxury to relax in the embrace of warm, soothing waters? To think he would have passed the opportunity to respect her privacy … bless her soul for thinking of him in this moment. Sometimes, her otherworldly habits were a blessing. The elf joined his lady, hiding his bare chest under the dark waters of the stream, thankful that the night hid both their nakedness.

He might not have controlled himself so readily had her curves been exposed, droplets teasing satiny skin. Tonight was about sharing a moment of peace. Frances welcomed him with a secretive smile, an expression she kept only for him. And when the mischievous water fairy crawled over to him, he did not move an inch.

Her hand reached for his leg, tugging to set it aside and create a cocoon. Legolas blushed as she settled against him, her tunic brushing the naked skin of his chest. Despite the warmth that engulfed him, the elf barely repressed a shiver. One of her naked calves brushed his ankle, her arms enclosed his around her middle. Nestled in his embrace, Frances sighed contentedly.

"Thank you, beloved," she whispered.

Momentarily stunned, the elf didn't dare moving such was the intimacy of this position. Long, elegant fingers squeezed his hands, and her head eventually came to rest upon his collarbone. Then, she sunk into a state of eerie contentment. Only then did the elf allow himself to relax. Soon, he was dozing off into elven rest, his heart content now that the lady of his dreams rested against him.

Both bodies hummed in unison, minds at peace. Thus they remained for a long time, half floating in a stream born of Mordor's foothills, silver and reddish hair mingling in the current. Happiness, it seemed, didn't need fancy contraptions.

Legolas though of the elleths that chased him at court, hoping for power and wealth. Admiring his form, and the position he might bring them with an advantageous match. Never before had he felt the need to tie himself down. Frances was nothing like the ladies of the court. Less graceful than elleths, perhaps. With a different beauty, one that came from within. Her heart was pure, her determination unwavering, and her courage that of a warrior. And she loved him, for him.

If, tomorrow, he relinquished his rights towards Greenwood kingdom, he knew Frances wouldn't rebuke him. She respected his choices, as he respected hers. Now that he knew what true love was, Legolas wouldn't settle for less. Even though she couldn't offer the reassurance to always be by his side – she would either leave or die – he was learning to cherish those moments.

Who knew if he would still be alive next week.

"Meleth?"

A soft, contented hum was her only response as she settled further into his chest.

"Will you accompagny with me once the war is over? To visit the Greenwood and my people?"

This was a loaded question, one he couldn't ignore anymore. Feeling her, pliant and happy, in the circle of his arms only fuelled the need to keep her. He wanted to be her husband. Wanted her to become the centre of his world; his duty to give her everything she asked for. Affection, happiness, children.

Frances slowly unfurled from his arms, turning to face him. The water sloshed at her collarbone, the swell of her chest suggested by the soaked tunic that clung to her skin. Fumbling about to find a comfortable position, she knelt between his legs and searched his inquisitive gaze.

"Legolas."

There it was, the moment his hopes shattered. For the tentative bond between them pulsed with shared sadness and regret, digging a hollow under his ribs.

Her hand reached for his, and he grabbed her fingers like a lifeline, dreading the words that were about to scar him for life.

"Yes. I will travel with you, to the Greenwood or anywhere else you want to show me. I have decided…"

His eyes widened, heart beating erratically in his chest. Was he dreaming? Could it be true? Then why did she hurt so much? A tear slid from her eye, and he reached for her cheek to wipe it way. Agony and joy mingled; he felt it as keenly as if they were his own.

"Frances…", he whispered, circling her little frame to pull her into his chest. She stalled his movement, plunging her gaze into his. The elf froze, breath short, watching her take a shuddering breath.

"...I have decided not to heed the necklace's call," she revealed, choking on her words. "I shall not return home."

His heart swelled with joy and shattered in the same breath. This time, she didn't resist when he drew her into an embrace, allowing her tears to fall in the soaked skin of his neck. She was forsaking her family, her world, her comfort for the love of him. A harrowing, magnificent sacrifice.

In this very moment, Legolas swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe and happy. Humbled, the elf could only hold her until her tears were spent, and a smile returned to her face.

"Will you bind yourself to me once the war is over?" she eventually asked.

His lips quirked. Well, there goes the tradition, he thought. But this was Frances, the Keeper of Time from another world. Traditions be damned, he would marry her and ensure her happiness until…

"A thousand times over, meleth."

Slowly, she relaxed in his arms, lulled by the gentle gurgle of the stream that bypassed them as if they were another rock on the way to the Anduin.

"Do we have to wait for our visit to your lands?" she shyly asked.

Legolas bit his tongue. Surely his father expected a ceremony, and a year-long engagement as should be fitting for a Prince. His father be damned…

"No."

Frances straightened in his arms, curiosity etched upon her soft features.

"No?"

How could he explain without laying at her feet more difficulties? She was abandoning everything for him, her whole past. Would she change her mind if she knew how difficult his father could be? How he might even scheme to keep his son from bonding to a human?

"Legolas ?"

Her stern voice caused his heart to clench. He couldn't lie to her, this wouldn't be fair. If she choose to stay, let it be on her own terms, with the full knowledge of what her decision entailed. Her eyes begged him to tell her the truth; he feared it would turn her away.

"The choice of our marriage should be of no concerns to others. I would rather grovel in my father's halls and ask for a more elaborate ceremony afterwards than have him throw a tantrum to prevent us from being married."

She stiffened, kneeling upon the flat stones of the bottom of the stream to take a better look at him.

"You think he would?"

This was it, the moment of truth, presented before him on a silver platter. And for the first time in the past centuries, Legolas felt like cowering – deflecting – instead of rising to the challenge. So much was at stake, his heart had never felt so exposed, so raw.

"Yes," he murmured. "He might."

To preserve me from grief.

The elf was afraid to look at the woman that held his affections; he wouldn't be able to handle the disappointment, the fear in her eyes. For a moment, all was still, suspended, except for the rushing waters. Earth and plants didn't care for broken hearts. Eventually, though, a wet finger landed upon his cheekbone, and the elf gathered his courage to find Frances' face.

She wasn't happy, for sure. But the fire that blazed in her eyes gave him heart. Instead of defeat, he found resolve. Rather than grief, courage. Frances couldn't possibly ignore the reasons why his father would disapprove the match. Despite his haughty airs, King Thrandhuil cared for his son; he had gone through his wife's death. He would be livid to know that Legolas would ultimately have to face the loss of his intended, so soon after binding their souls.

Her gaze told him she had not made peace with it either. But she had extracted a promise from him – to sail rather than fade after her death - and he intended to keep it. Her resolve fuelled his own, tendrils of hope circling his heart anew.

"Well, he'll have to do with me. As long as you're not King, I bet it doesn't matter as much that I am not noble born, right?"

There was truth in her words, but at the same time, the situation was much more complicated than this. What would happen is he returned to the Greenwood with a second born as his wife? He wasn't looking forward to the commotion, but those were issues for another time. There was no use dwelling upon them before they were sure to survive the ordeal.

Tension had not left Frances' shoulders, and the elf chose to defuse them with a jab.

"The ladies of the court will probably be jealous, meleth."

A smile slowly crept up her lips, and she squeaked when he gathered her back into his arms, and rested his chin upon the top of her head.

"Ah, I can understand jealousy. You, my lord Prince, are as handsome as you are honourable."

"And very much in love with you," he whispered in her ear.

Frances shuddered slightly; he smirked. It was nice to know he had some effect on her.

"Should l be wary of past lovers?" she asked, grabbing his hands to set it upon one of her naked knees.

"No. I am fairly young for our kind, and we love our friends fiercely. We do not need exclusivity until we find the one."

It took the better part of a half hour for him to explain how elves felt love, filling their hearts with affection from friends, nature, animals and plants alike. They never felt lonely – except in those blasted underground structures – as long as life surrounded them, diminishing the need for exclusive companionship.

Until they found the one…

Her fingers were now playing with his, gently sliding in between his knuckles, wet from the stream. The movement was distracting and, dare he say, slightly arousing. He'd never felt desire so keenly before; intimacy, for elves, was an act reserved to the spouse. Five hundred years he had lived, scorning humans for their needs, only to find his body awakening to the potent yearning of binding.

"Do you mean you never been intimate with anyone?" Frances asked shyly.

Her question called him back to reality.

"I never felt the need to."

Then, a doubt crept up his spine.

"Have you?" he breathed.

She sighed, reclining against him and squeezing his hand.

"Charlie was my first and only until then."

Legolas tensed, his chest unsettled by the notion. Of course, she had been betrothed before. In the midst of their travels, Charlie had become a memory; he always thought she held affection for the man, but was engaged in a future marriage of convenience. He'd never imagined she might have…

"My society is more lax with intimacy," she rushed to explain, sensing his discomfort. "He was the first man I loved and trusted enough to… I am sorry, it must be disappointing to you."

Legolas took a deep breath. Who was he to begrudge her the customs of her people? If he truly wanted to bind himself with a human woman, he'd better keep an open mind. It still hurt; the notion of not being the first person to ever touch her this way…

He was starting to understand what she meant, why she felt beneath him in the first place. She was no pure maiden. No elleth from the fairytales. Did he love her less for it?

"Is it customary to have many lovers in your world?"

"My friends' freedom with sex would appall you."

He nodded, remembering whore houses in the cities of men. Sex, to them, was just a way to relieve pressure. To dominate and find release. They were hypocrites for asking their brides to be virgins when they so indulged in pleasures of the flesh.

Frances went on, her voice small and unsure.

"People have lost the notion of our sacred intimacy is, how it binds a couple. I've been mocked by my unwillingness to sleep with other men. They think me a conservative prude."

Legolas snorted; considering she was stuck against him in nothing but a shift, nearly naked, he'd hardly call her a prude.

"What of Charlie?"

"I thought I loved him. I bet I did, with my limited knowledge of what love meant. I now know I was misled by my affection."

As painful as it was to clear the air, the conversation was necessary for him to understand the intricacies of a human's heart.

"Is this why you kept me at arm's length for so long?"

"Partially. It was unfair to you, given … you know."

"I overlooked your situation, and pledged my troth to you."

"You made me the happiest of women. There will never be a more cherished present than the one you bestowed upon me that day, Legolas. My soul loves you so deeply that I don't think I could live without you by my side."

A bittersweet confession, given he would have to do so for the rest of eternity.

"I understand, for I feel the same, meleth."

"I wish I could tell my family, my friends all of this. That I have fallen in love with the brightest of beings, and that even though we might never reunite, my heart is full. Those are my only regrets."

Pain seeped into their bond anew, more acute now that he knew what to look for. He yearned to replace the pain with happiness, the longing with joy. But nothing would ever remove the hole that had settled in her chest; time would soothe grief, new memories would fill it slowly, happy moments slowly tickling into the absence of her lost family.

Yet, it would never heal completely. That scar would become part of her; a new layer of sadness into her bright and naïve soul.

"I understand more than you know," he murmured.

Frances adjusted her hold, pressing against his chest as if to melt within.

"I shall relinquish my world. Is that how you felt when you left for the quest?"

"Partially. Like you, I hoped to return to set things right with my father. Like you, I wonder if I ever shall."

"Here's to hope," she quipped gently, bringing his fingers to her mouth and kissing them gently. After the innocent massage, the feel of her sweet lips upon his knuckles caused his insides to twist. He laid a kiss upon her neck, sliding soaked strands aside to access her milky skin. Then, his mouth descended on her jaw.

She twisted aside, wiggling in his lap without considering how her hips now dug into his lower belly as she captured his mouth. The sweet, innocent kiss was soon replaced with a different heat, her tongue taking a swipe at him while her hands explored his naked chest.

Legolas groaned, desire pooling in his belly when his tongue tangled with hers. Sprawled against him, she couldn't possibly ignore how she awakened his body. But his lips couldn't have enough; she tasted so delicious that the clothing that separated them was his only saving grace.

"You must cease your ministrations," he panted, breaking the kiss.

Frances blushed and hid her face against his shoulder; if she had not felt the physical reminder that he was, indeed, a male, the budding bond between them was probably tugging at her.

"That connection between us shall enhance every emotion. Anger can spiral quickly, and desire…"

" … get out of hand", she breathed out. The young woman relaxed against him, careful not to tease his exposed flesh. "That bond we have… Elladan said it shouldn't be possible because I'm human."

The elf frowned.

"Aye. I thought the same for five centuries. This is why I didn't recognise it at first."

She only nodded. She didn't seek reassurance that it was indeed there, didn't question the fact that they shared emotions. To say he was floored by her ability to recognise and identify it was an understatement, especially since he'd had a hard time understanding it at first. But she had successfully soothed his aches about the Ocean, not only identifying foreign emotions, but also pushing some of hers consciously in the midst of a merry stampede.

"Well. I'm happy it exists, I feel closer to you that way."

Legolas hummed, his hand sliding down the soaked shift to find her waist. His control was ebbing slowly, and he knew not to push.

"Better to return, then. Because this shift only covers so much, and I am of the mind to marry you right there and then."

Even though he could feel she wanted it just as much as he, and that this peaceful moment was probably they last before the battle, she didn't push him. One more proof of her wisdom.