59 Introspection

The panicked look on Pippin's face caused Frances' heart to wring, and she tried to give him a reassuring smile. However, the young hobbits only had eyes for his accomplice, Merry, who was trying his best to keep his spirits up. The parting was indeed bitter for the two hobbits who had never been separated even during their difficult quest. For the first since they were born both of them would not be able to keep the other at arm's reach. Worst; war was raging outside.

Frances felt bad for them, and even more for Pippin's whose guilt might trouble him for some time. There was no worse moment to be apart, no worst odds regarding individuals' survival than those times. The same applied to her. However, deep inside, the young warrior remembered that her friends were staying at her side, and especially one Elvish prince who had become dear to her heart.

Shadowfax sprang forward, ending the touching reunion and the doors burst open and banged violently. Frances hobbled on the path to reach the outer walls. Merry was first – of course - and she followed him on the wooden stairs that led to the rampart. There they stayed, two ghosts more silent than the invisible breeze, their eyes set on the horse that carried wizard and hobbit away from them. Would they meet again?

After a while, a shadow came behind them, warm hands resting upon upon their frail shoulders. Frances relished in the warmth of his comfort, drawing strength from this small bond. Eventually, her legs started to protest from the cold wind, and the young lady shuddered; she had hurried out of her room upon hearing the catastrophic news of the Palantir and neglected to slip her cloak on. Now it was dearly missed. Aragorn's hand dropped from her shoulder.

"May I suggest that you find some place shielded of the cold wind? Healing is a taxing process."

Frances sighed. She hated being reminded of her weakness. Yet the ranger was right, especially since he also was his healer.

"I fear that you are right, Aragorn. I have forgotten to take my cloak and feel is absence dearly."

"Go and rest. I will come later in the day to tend to your wound."

Frances smiled at the authority in his voice. Little by little, the ranger unveiled his abilities to lead. And she was more than happy to oblige.

"Yes, please."

As she started to climb down the stairs, the ranger's hand came into view, offering some help. Frances' head rotated from left to right.

"I will hold on to the railing. It should suffice."

Step after step, the young lady made her way down the stairs. It was a difficult affair, but one that she was resolute to master on her own. She could not afford to rely on friends, not when war was coming so fast. She had to work on her shortcomings, and prod the limits of her body to make the most of it.

Failing to do so could prove fatal to herself, or worse, to her companions. So she progressed prudently, teeth gritted, careful to balance her weight to keep the stitches from ripping. And curiously, it worked. She was climbing down the last steps when a familiar figure came into view. Concentrated on her descent, she had failed to notice the elven prince and its light-footed approach.

Frances' eyes left the railing, curious as to the elf's disposition towards her. Had he been able to process the revelations from the night before? Legolas' gaze met hers, and she inhaled sharply. They were so deep in thought that the world seemed to have settled in his eyes. Her body unconsciously took a step backwards and her injured limb got tangled in the hem of her dress. Startled, Frances let out a yelp. Her hands flew to the railing, to no avail.

Her balance thrown off, she was already falling. Strong hands seized her arms to pull her backwards. Waiting for the inevitable impact, the young woman was surprised to land without a shock into something much softer than expected. The masculine odour of pine trees and fresh wood enveloped her, and Frances leaned into the elf to get her footing back.

Legolas did not know what to do now that she was safely locked into his embrace. Her reddish hair brushed his face and he breathed in her sweet scent, so naturally feminine and yet using no artifice. His reflexes had probably saved her from a bad fall; he could not be contrite for this. However, now that he felt her body warmth spreading to his body, the prince had to fight his heart to let her go.

It felt so good to hold her, like if it was meant to be. Her back was secured against his hip, and her head rested against his shoulder, her little form fitting his like if she had been made for him. Regaining a bit of composure, Frances tried to stand. The young woman's body trembled against his as she struggled to turn around with her stiff leg. Fearing that she would fall, the elf seized her arms to keep her balanced.

Once she was steady, he reluctantly let go of her arms and gave her a concerned look.

"Are you alright my lady?" he asked softly.

"I think so, thank you" she whispered, inspecting her body before lifting her head and finding his eyes.

As she connected with Legolas' blue gaze, Frances's heart nearly missed a beat. The elf was so close to her that she could feel his soft breath over her face; he looked magnificent as always. His manners were regal, and so was his posture. His whole being spoke of elvish nobility and there was none that could match his grandeur. However, even in his kingly manners he did not make her feel of lower birth. On the contrary, she felt honoured each time he would grant her some attention. Lost in the blue of his eyes, she stuttered:

"I …, uh…"

"Yes?' he asked.

Legolas' hand came back to brush her fingers, and she knew that this gesture was unconscious because he was staring at her like he had seen an angel. But she was only a lesser human, and she had a lover at home that was not even aware that she had disappeared for so long. Charlie loved her, and she loved him, didn't she? Flirting with the Prince of Greenwood was shameful, and she would not allow this closeness to develop further since he deserved so much better. A defeated sigh escaped her lips; Frances' head lowered and she uttered another "thank you" before breaking free from his warmth.

As the young woman rushed away, limping back painfully to the castle, the elf stood, unmoving. His face was unreadable, but the wheels in his head were running full speed as he tried to fathom what had gone wrong. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder; the young prince did not flinch for he knew that it belonged to his long-time friend. Had it been insulting for him to come so close? He only wanted to make sure that she was unharmed, and had her best interest at heart. Watching the flowing robe as they disappeared in the village, he asked what was tormenting his mind.

"Pray tell my friend, have I behaved rudely to have her run away from me in such a manner?"

"Nay Legolas, I think not."

His friend's words, instead of appeasing him, called forth a sentiment of anger very unfamiliar. Turning back to the Ranger, the elf looked at the future king, his eyebrows furrowing from the thinking.

"Then why did she run so? I did not want to frighten her, and I am no stranger."

"No stranger indeed my friend", answered Aragorn wisely.

He had seen the look in their eyes, to both of them. And he knew what it meant. As unexpected as it was, they were falling in love.

"A cryptic answer if I may say," uttered the elf, a smile making its way over his smooth lips, "did a wizard take you as an apprentice?"

"Legolas. I think the lady is facing issues that she is not ready to share. Give her some time to find peace…"

With this last comment, Aragorn shared an encouraging look with the elf, and left. In need of some time for himself, Legolas rushed to the walls of the city and watched the tiny cloud of smoke cross the lands of Rohan until he could see it no more…