Minas Tirith

Minas Tirith

Night was strengthening its grip on the white city, darkness descending upon it like there would be no tomorrow. And somehow, it was not so far from the truth. How many would not survive to see the first blossoms ?

Legolas sighed, his heart unsettled. Somewhere in the citadel rested his lady love, probably yearning for his presence, sitting on a couch meant for two people. But did she, really?

In his wildest dreams, Frances waited for him, arms outstretched to welcome his embrace, whispering her undying love at his ear. In the darkest, she rejected his presence quietly, explaining their closeness was only friendship, and that her heart still belonged to her betrothed in her strange world. How queer, that his mood would be so sombre when he should have been elated from their blossoming relationship. Could Frances be out of sorts as well, her sadness leaking through their bond?

The heavy stud of Aragon's feet elicited a deeper frown from the elf. Usually, the ranger was much lighter-footed. When he stomped into the tent, his features tense, Legolas came to him.

"Aragorn. What has angered you so ?"

The ranger sent him a weary look, sitting heavily on his bedroll as if the exhaustion of the later days had finally crashed on him.

"It is true I was angered at first, but now I only feel desolate for the argument. I had known the subject would be so sore, I might have avoided it altogether. Or found a better way to convey my feelings."

The wood elf raised a blond eyebrow, awaiting for more information, but somehow Aragorn seemed reluctant to share. Was it shame that passed upon his tired features?

"I am ready to listen if you wish to unburden your mind, but I will not pry."

The ranger sighed, sending a grateful gaze to his lifelong friend. How many years he had spent by his side, sharing long days in the wild, survival tricks and being instructed by the elf? He knew he could trust him, even if, in this case, he doubted his impartiality. Or rather, he knew where Legolas's allegiance would go.

"I might have had a row with Frances."

Legolas's glare was like a bucket of icy water being discharged upon his head.

"You what ? What happened ?"

A quick glance at the elf's clenched fist told him he was trying very hard to control himself. And so, he set to explain how he had learnt that Frances had spoken to Faramir against his instructions, hence the argument that had broken afterwards in her private quarters. He had not meant to be so patronising, neither paternalistic, nor any of what she had accused him of. And truth be told, a very levelled delivered chastisement had turned into a heated argument in very little time.

"Actually, I have to admit that I said very little. I only wished to convey my disappointment, but she was very angered"

Legolas seemed at loss just as much as he was. It was so unlike Frances to yell at people, and he had issues imagining that she would lash at Aragorn. They had such a close bond!

"Now I regret the way we parted, but I did not know what more to do at the time than let her gather her spirits again."

"How long since you left the citadel?" suddenly asked the elf.

"It was but a few hours before dusk."

Legolas's blue eyes seemed lost in thoughts. And then, his face lightened.

"Of course!" he said as he sprang to his feet. "Thank you, my friend."

And then he disappeared through the opening of their tent. Bewildered, Aragorn stood up, and pushed the flap aside. Watching the tall silhouette of his friend retreating, he whispered:

"Apologise on my behalf, dear friend."

The bitter wind was blowing down from the mountain, its sharpness reminding of those who had forgotten of the early season. Spring was coming close, but winter would not surrender its claim on Minas Tirith, as if it was waiting for middle earth to fall into slumber or triumph before deciding whether it should fade away.

Frances wandered aimlessly in the dark streets of the broken city. The silvery light of the moon cloaked the ruins in weird shades, and the silence suited her as she walked down the fourth gate. The brilliant capital was slowly recovering from its wounds, but at night rest was needed for each and every soul that had been working hard to undertake huge repairs to secure the stumbling buildings.

Guards had mostly watched her pass, some of them coming closer before bowing and letting her go. Walking beside their legendary returned King had its advantages, and her reddish hair was already known all over town.

Said future King against whom she had yelled but a few hours prior. Frances sighed, tears welling up in her eyes as she thought about Aragorn. His shocked face had her shaken, now her anger had quelled. How stupid she had been! Of course, the ranger had berated her about telling the truth to Faramir, and to an extent, he might have been right.

But instead of apologising, her temper had flared; she had lashed out at the ranger. 'Patronising, arrogant and paternalistic' she had called him, taking on him the frustration of a lifetime dealing with doctors who wanted to keep the information for themselves.

Who did they think they were, those damned healers, to conceal the truth? Did they judge their patients too dumb to accept and understand their fate? Could they not consider the resources of their wards, in this case the Lord Faramir? Did Aragorn not understand that his patient already knew that something was askew, and that the wondering could drive him mad? How could he take the decision in Faramir's stead, how was that better than what his late father would have done to manipulate him?

Frances' defence might have made sense had she not spoken so harshly. Would Aragorn ever forgive this outburst? He had withdrawn silently, leaving her to her thoughts. The young lady had brooded for hours in her room, her gaze lost as the sun settled, feeling keenly the absence of her friends. And then, she had gathered her cloak and sprang outside. Fresh air was needed!

If she found him, she would apologise.

Making her way down to the third level, Frances spotted a piece of wall, shattered halfway through its height. As a reckless idea formed in her mind, the young woman smiled and limped up to the stairs with her cane. She needed a bit of adrenalin to overcome her self-deprecating mood. Once over the wall, she straightened up and contemplated the view of the sleeping city under the moonlight.

The sight was breathtaking, and she felt privileged to be able to witness its grandeur. There was nowhere on earth where she could have seen such an authentic display of art and power, and even if it had existed it would now be spoiled by tourists and companies trying to make money out of it. Here, everything was still raw and true, and the city carved into the mountain felt alive. She had seen Aragorn crowned, reigning over this realm. How she hoped that her intuition was right!

Unbeknownst to the young lady, a very fretful elf was climbing the levels at great speed. The turmoil of his thoughts prevented him from seeing Frances as he passed below the shattered wall, his tall legs carrying him faster than any human. Had his hears not picked up a hushed conversation from above, he would not have paused. Yet, something in the tone of the whispered words called to him.

"What is she doing?"

"Nothing you should have to concern yourself with," answered a gruff voice.

"Look, now she's dancing."

Legolas's head whipped around, searching the faces of the couple two stories above him, and following their gazes. Then, his heart leapt into his throat.

"Those elves are a bit crazy. Close the shutters and come to bed."

The squeaking of wood being manoeuvred against rusty attaches nearly tore Legolas ear off, and then the street was silent. But his heart was not, it beat so wildly that the elf wondered if it would surge from his chest. Right there, facing the outskirts of the city under the bright moonlight, Frances danced on the ruin of an outer wall. How she had got up there with her stiff muscles was quite a mystery, but he knew that for sure pain had been involved. Such stubbornness !

Shaking his silvery braids, Legolas fought the urge to land across her and drag her back to her rooms, but the sight of her standing in the moonlight stopped him. She seemed … appeased. And the dull ache of his heart was slowly receding. Surely, this strange dance helped her soothe her mind. A little voice teased him; what a coward you are to flee her wrath so, but the elf dismissed it. Now was not the time to fight.

None of them would probably live much longer after Aragorn's decision to march to the black gates, and if the companions would follow him heartily he knew that having the young woman cross with him was not the way he wanted to live his last days. Like his grandfather had so many centuries ago, Legolas was ready to die in front of the black gates of Mordor. Destiny was sometimes being so ironic, dooming his family and pushing him to follow the same steps two generations later.

This alliance with free people of middle earth was unusual for an elf, but he really believed in the strength of friendship and this is why he had volunteered to this quest. Now that impending doom was coming at him, Legolas understood the reluctance of his father. King Thranduil had seen the desolation of Mordor, and did not want his son to suffer the same fate. Too late now; the guilt of leaving his father and his people was gnawing at Legolas, but he owed it to Aragorn and the fellowship to be a part of this last battle.

The sound of wood clanking on the rocky wall shook him out of his musings, and the elf concentrated on the cloaked form. She was standing still now, deprived of the cane that had fallen from her grip. There was nothing that shook him more than seeing her ache; he knew that the pain was necessary for her to get better. So did Frances; she had to make those muscles work to regain her strength.

Respecting this woman warrior meant a lot of unpleasant things; it was definitely the hardest thing that Legolas had ever learnt in his whole life. Sometimes you had to let the people you love fight for themselves. The elvish constitution did not offer those hardships, but sharing one's existence with humans gave him different perspective.

Men were vulnerable; their time so limited that everything they did was tainted by this crazy hope. Frances was the perfect example of it, and yet Legolas realised that he had never felt so vibrant than by her side. During his time in court his father had told him countless times how being impatient was not the way of the Eldar, those down talks had only managed to fuel his friendship with the rangers.

Now he knew why he was so drawn to them. Humans made the most of their limited time, and Frances in particular lived so intensely that it was breathtaking to follow her state of spirit. She was dancing again now, or at least trying to, and despite the stiff leg her movements were graceful. It was a strange sight, this cloaked woman twirling around the wall like a cat on a roof, one leg unsteady.

Her moods shone through the choreography, once angry, then melancholic, and a moment later joyful. There were so many emotions in her weird dance that Legolas felt his blue eyes water. He was caught off balance, and that's exactly what she did to him. By an unknown magic Frances always managed to destabilise him of his even moods, and the worst part of this is that he craved for those moments.

Those questionings she created called back to life feelings he had not experienced for a long time, a time before he was molded into an heir, a Prince to his people by a demanding father. Frances was a drug to him, every smile, every posture or witty remark touched him with incredible easiness. Suddenly, the surge to join her became too strong and he leapt down from his hideout in silence.