Melenwë

Scalding water surrounded her as she sank, burning the sensitive skin of her face. Frances fought the urge to stand and held her breath, listening to the gentle sounds of the stream as it lapped past her and dove into the pools below. The sensation of being sheltered, like a baby in its mother's womb, engulfed her totally, washing out the tension of the previous days.

Her body surrendered to the water's will, floating for a few moments of eternity, ears cradled by the muffled sounds of the place. As she sank deeper in the pool, Frances was so blissful, so calm that her mind shut down. All thoughts left her, her lungs emptied their content, and she felt, for the first time, the golden spark that pulsated in the very depth of her soul.

The young lady called to it, wishing for the spark to grow, and its radiance became bolder, stronger in her core. And then, as she relished in its light, she suddenly connected to the earth beneath her. Her mind roamed the damaged ground, hearing its plea to be restored to health.

The trees awaited, the grass ready to spring forth, all manners of animals expectant. It was heart-wrenching, this agonised call of nature, after suffering so much, that demanded their help. And she answered that they would heed its plea. Her face was warm, no more burning. Had her lungs not demanded some precious air, she would have stayed there forever, floating about in the pool of heated water.

When her body broke through the surface, emerging from the hot spring, Legolas' jaw went slack. His worries melted away as he contemplated his wife, her white tunic dripping wet, her fiery hair moulding her curves and modesty hiding her full breasts. She was a water spirit to the core, emerging from the hot spring like a guardian of the earth, a faint glow emanating from her, so subtle that he nearly missed it.

Nearly.

The elf couldn't take his eyes from her, admiring every single part of her body, of her beautiful features, and marvelling at the power behind them. All those who would deem her unworthy of a Prince be damned! In this very moment, he felt that he was unworthy of her, no matter what she was. For he was sure now that Frances was not only human. The soft glow, dimming as the moment passed, was its testimony.

Beside him, Aragorn shook his head once, as if recovering his bearings. He extended his hands before him, and uttered in a strong voice:

"Rise, Melenwë, beloved daughter of the Valar. In this day hence, I bestow upon you this name. May you be worthy of it… I trust you to be worthy of it."

Frances smiled then, and bowed to the King. Aragorn laid his hand upon her shoulder, his deep gaze dancing with barely contained pride. How she had grown, how she had changed, and she was now a true child of Arda !

Legolas greeted her with a crooked smile, and engulfed her in a linen towel, his gestures so full of love that Aragorn couldn't help but grin. It was such a relief, that his good friend could be as happy as he was, especially after so much hardship. He only wished that Frances – no, Melenwë – , had found her way back at once. How he regretted that she had not been present for his coronation; he'd have asked her to put the crown on his brow, for she had always been his support when doubt crept in. Especially in Gandalf's absence. A gentle touch on his arm told him of Arwen's presence, and he turned to her loving gaze as she slipped her hand into his.

"Something weights on your mind, my beloved."

Aragorn gave a quick glance to the newlywed couple. They had wandered a little further, and there was no escaping Arwen's prodding; she was as unsettling as her father when in a mood. He could, though, always try to sidetrack her.

"It is a lovely name you chose for Frances."

"Melenwë", came the Queen's chastising reply.

Aragorn gave her a sheepish smile.

"Yes. I might require a little time to get used to it. But is she not bound to run into trouble with a Quenya name?"

Arwen's cute nose crunched slightly. The subject of the Kinslaying, leading to the banishment of the Quenya language in Doriath, was a tender one, especially in Elrond's family. No one could deny that it was the tongue of Valinor, the tongue of the origins and the very first eldar who had awoken under the stars. The people of Greenwood, though, might be the most affected by this choice given that most of them had never even sailed to Aman. Yet, it did not seem to deter Legolas, whose complete love and trust were bestowed without limits upon his spouse.

Arwen's grey eyes grew distant.

"I did not choose for her, my love. I only told her of my vision, and she said the name spoke to her, that it made her soul sing."

Aragorn frowned, trying to wrap his mind around it, and failing miserably. His suspicions grew tenfold at the secretive expression of the Evenstar's features.

"If I didn't know you so well, I'd be fooled into thinking there are things you are not telling me."

His stern gaze only elicited a smile from the elleth; being under Elrond's scrutiny as an elfling had rendered her impervious to any kind of intimidation. Well, except from King Thranduil's icy eyes.

"There is much hidden from my sight, but somehow, I cannot help but feel that Melenwë was there long before us, and will be long before we pass away."

"It fits her, this name," came Elrohir's voice beside them, startling the king.

Aragorn glared at the twin, spooked that after so much time he still managed to surprise him. The dark-haired elf addressed him a toothy grin; no matter Estel's tracking skills and feats as a ranger, he remained the boy he instructed as a child, something that the people of Gondor could never wrap their heads around. Their King caught in a maze of bushes, his clothes torn and bloody, pupil of two mischievous immortal beings! Bah. Aragorn rolled his eyes but refrained from commenting as Arwen whispered.

"Yes. I did not find a name for her, but merely gave it back."

Elrohir's brow lifted in a perfect arc, an expression so reminiscent of their father's that Arwen's heart ached.

"Are you sure?"

"No, but it certainly feels that way."

Elladan's voice joined them, his expression filled with awe.

"Does it mean that she will live forever, like the eldar?"

Arwen's face fell, a lingering sadness marring her features.

"No. she is a human. Yet she bears a spark of the firstborn, and I have no idea how long she will live, my visions are so unclear! How I wish Grandma was here, and Ada also."

Arwen's face crumbled upon the weight of her sorrow, and she was suddenly engulfed in two pairs of arms.

"We are no lady of the light or mighty lords, but we will be here, Sister."

Aragorn nodded to the twins. He would never thank them enough, to accept to stay and accompany their sister in death when the time would come, like Legolas had vowed to remain until his passing. It was such a miracle that they still granted him some affection given that he would be Arwen's demise. Such was the difficult choice of the Peredhil. For now though, it was time to retire to the city, and allow the newlyweds discover Ithilien.

Three days passed before Arod regained the safety and comfort of Minas Tirith's stables. Three days during which the newly called Melenwë and Legolas roamed the hills of Ithilien, making plans for the future, ecstatic, at the new prospect. They had decided to settle close to the sources where Melenwë was baptised, thinking about houses that would be halfway between the wooden talans of Lothlorien and a more conventional human house. There were no words to describe how joyful they both felt, their bliss enhanced through the tight bond they now shared. The perspective of this future together, of a new settlement to heal the earth under the gentle guidance of wood elves, was a wonderful adventure for Melenwë.

For now, they were regrouping before setting off to Greenwood, spending a few days in Minas Tirith to enjoy their friend's company. Their chamber, the one they had shared during the war of the ring, was a welcome and familiar haven in the ever-changing perspectives of the newlyweds.

The moon was shining brightly, and Melenwë grabbed a glass of wine and dashed on the balcony, admiring the view of the white city rising back from its ashes. In the dark mountains of Mordor, there was no glow, no great eye, not even a reddish light from the Orodruin. With Sauron gone, the volcano was dormant again. It was such a peaceful sight, with the anduin sparkling under the moon, bringing forth all sorts of memories.

But life had changed, SHE had changed from that fateful day when they had pledged their troth. She was Melenwë now, and no longer Frances, and weird as it seemed, it felt right. Frances was the Keeper of time, her twin sister in a very crooked way. She, Melenwë, would be Legolas' devoted wife and aid to restore the land of Ithilien.

Her beloved sword rested on a bench, carefully oiled and sharpened by her husband. It had been a great surprise to wield it anew, even if no dire circumstances had needed her to unsheathe it. Ithilien was now a peaceful land. Yet, she had sparred with Legolas, and happily realised that she had not lost her edge. Her technique had shifted a little, surprising Legolas, thank the Aikido classes for that! The blade, though, felt a tad foreign in her hand. It took her a while to understand why, but now she knew the reason behind the strange sensation.

The sword had been Glorfindel's present to Frances, a blade attuned to her needs, to her personality, a blade fit to save her life and answer her soul's call, a blade created by the grace of the Valar to their champion through the channel of the Vanya. But she was no longer the Keeper of Time, and didn't need the weapon as much as her counterpart, especially with her new elven husband bodyguard. There was only one thing to do; find a way to give the sword back to Frances. Melenwë could learn twin blades instead. Surely they would find a swordsmith in Greenwood to forge some for her little stature.

As she contemplated the view, Legolas' hands circled her waist, and his tall form came flush behind her. His warmth surrounded her, his fresh scent of earth and pine trees soothing her soul, the soft humming of his body attuned to hers. A few strands of his silky hair fell upon her shoulder, and her hand rose to caress it. If paradise existed, then she had found it.

"Are you ready, meleth, to be a princess of Greenwood?"

His soft voice echoed from his chest, vibrating through her whole body. Melenwë sighed, and set her glass down on the railing.

"I do not think I can ever be ready to be a princess, I simply wasn't raised to be. But I will help you, and make you proud."

Legolas tugged on her arm, and turned her around to face him. His blue eyes sparkled with so much love that her knees threatened to give way. His grasp, strong and vibrant, was the only thing keeping her upright.

"You will never need to make me proud, meleth, nor change anything to who you are. If I am proud, it is that you granted me the immense joy to be your husband. And I know that you will be the guide my people need if they so wish."

A blush rose to the young lady's cheeks, colouring her skin in the most adorable way. Legolas could not resist, and he stole a tender kiss, rendering Melenwë speechless. A musical laugh escaped the elf's lips as he witnessed his wife's stunned expression; he would never get enough of it, his effect on her was as flattering as it was reassuring. She loved him as much as he loved her, body, heart and soul. Eventually, she seemed to regain her bearings.

"I will need you to teach me as much as you can on Arda, and on the history of the elves. I need to know the customs of your people, and your language properly."

Legolas nodded, his expression serious.

"I may not be the best one to teach you history, but I know people who can instruct you at home. But Sindarin I can do, we can learn on the way."

He seemed ready to say more, but the words would not pass his lips. His heart thumping in his chest, Legolas contemplated his beloved's feature in the moonlight. She said nothing, waiting for him to gather his courage, and he loved her even more for it. Gulping once, the prince's voice dropped so low that she nearly didn't hear him.

"And once we are in Greenwood, I wish to marry you, with an elvish ceremony."

Melenwë's features lightened, her cheeks reddening once more, her hazel eyes filled with the reflection of the stars. After all this time, after getting married in the most hurried of ways in the cabin of the white ship, he was still unsure as a school boy as he formally proposed. His eyes settled on their entwined hands for a while, and she tugged on his sleeve to meet his gaze.

"Aye, mon amour. I will marry you in the customs of your people, and will be made yours."

Melenwë's feet suddenly left the ground, and she laughed as Legolas twirled her around, dragging her inside. Very soon, the contact of skin over skin made her lose her bearings completely, and she could only relish in the sweet, gentle embrace of the elf as he filled her once more with his love. It was a mind-blowing experience, the renewal of their Feä bond through physical joining, something so ethereal and so earthly at the same time. It always left her in a daze, unable to stand for a while as she rested her cheek on Legolas's chest, listening to the soft beating of his heart and caressing his smooth skin.

Though he would never admit it, the elf did not fare much better and he lay on the covers, his beloved's soft hands tracing pattern on his skin, her touch so gentle that he nearly purred with joy. Her fiery strands framed her face, some falling on the creamy expense of his chest in a caressing curtain, some mingling with his own. Red and gold joined together, not unlike their bodies a mere moment ago.

Legolas sighed in contentment, his hand travelling through her soft hair, and the silky skin on her back. Lovemaking with one's soulmate was, in itself, a sacred moment for the eldar. Their intertwined Feä pulsed with joy around them, her inner glow a little brighter than before, their souls connected as intimately as their bodies had been the instant before. He doubted she could see it, the tendrils of light vibrating, melting into one another as a mystical dance. But he could feel them, creating, out of them, something new. A couple, and tandem, neither working without the other. And it filled him with such a sense of belonging, such joy, that he never had felt so complete, so worthy, so ultimately happy to be himself.

Not a prince, nor an heir, neither the fighter not the commander, nor even the son of Thranduil. Only him, Legolas. And it felt fantastic. Beside him, Melenwë seemed so content, and he was proud to bring her such joy. Melenwë, beloved person, what a fitting name for she was loved fiercely by so many, elves, men, hobbits and dwarves alike. All races of Arda without distinction. She truly was an incredible lady. A demanding one as well.

"So", he eventually teased, "You want instruction on Arda, geography, history of the eldar, a set of twin blades and to learn Sindarin. You want a Talan with proper wooden walls, to gain a little intimacy but still feel the trees around you. And you want the hot springs to be near. And you want to visit Dol Amroth once a year at least. Is that all, meleth?"

A quiet shuffle, and she lifted her head.

"No. This is not all I want."

Her deep brown eyes connected to his. The intensity of her gaze was such that his breath caught. A smile graced her face, a smile that she only addressed to him. This gentle quirk of her lips, the enlightenment of her features. It held such a promise that Legolas's breath caught in anticipation. Melenwë's hand settled on his chest once more, and she laid graciously her cheek upon it, her eyes twinkling with something akin to joyful longing.

"Once we are settled in Ithilien, and the earth starts to heal, in a few years from now… I want…"

A pause. Legolas' lips parted, his voice but a whisper.

"Yes …?"

"I want a child"

A child! His heart jumped in his chest.

And thus started a new life for Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Greenwood, and Melenwë, his beloved princess.