The bond

Frances bit back a hiss, choosing to glare at Elrohir who had the gall to laugh at her expression. Elladan, nonplussed by the heated – and silent – exchange between his twin brother and the lady, went on with his task. Slowly, methodically, he pulled the stitches from her leg until only remained a few dots of blood.

"That's a mighty scar you'll have here, sweet lady," Elrohir commented with a grimace.

Frances shrugged.

"Don't care. It will disappear when I travel back."

If I travel back home. Something heavy settled upon her chest. Would she? Should she? What about Legolas? If they survived, there would be time to decide.

"Will it?" Elladan asked, pulling her from the sombre thoughts.

"Yes. This, and the damage to the muscle."

The elf cocked his head aside, long dark hair flowing over his shoulder in a waterfall of silky strands. They were so beautiful, both brothers born of starlight. They would surely break many hearts, especially if they hung around Minas Tirith when Aragorn became King. If they survived this chaos.

Funnily enough, though, she only saw those ethereal, perfect, dangerous beings like a pair of brothers. Hers. It was lucky that this army was only comprised of men – save her. Women would have gone wild to see her cuddled by the sons of Elrond AND the elven prince of Greenwood the Great. There was only so much indulgence other women could have when a lady monopolized the attention of not one, but three insanely amazing looking males. Ever since their reunion, the twins always made sure she was guarded by one of them.

Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn had gathered men to take a peek at the road that led to Minas Morgul. Even though Prince Imrahil insisted during their trek past Osgiliath – the sight of its ruins had been ghastly – Gandalf had vetoed the idea to attack Minas Morgul as a way into Mordor.

Neither the Prince nor Eomer were too happy about the decision; Frances could understand their doubts easily. None, outside the fellowship and the sons of Elrond, were privy to Frodo's whereabouts. But Aragorn knew not to attract attention to the path of Cirith Ungol lest Sauron sent his forces to meet them. If Frodo had managed to forge his path through, his only chance was for the fellowship to turn the forces of Mordor in another direction.

"But…", Elrohir started.

Elladan stood swiftly, interrupting his brother with what she surmised, was a scathing look.

"Those are good news. In the meantime, you need to learn how to fight with the hindrance."

And thus started a merry round of physical therapy. At first, simple exercises to regain balance and flexibility. Pulling the muscle to its very limits. Pain had been a constant companion ever since Helm's deep, and the twin's drilling involved as much discomfort. Sweat tickled down her brow as she worked under Elladan's unwavering guidance. Elrohir, sick of seeing her bite her lower lip, eventually left.

He always was the sweeter one.

So Frances worked relentlessly, awaiting for the Prince, the King and his many noble friends to return. And while she bent, twisted and squatted to the best of her abilities, she allowed her mind to return to Minas Tirith. To the peaks of the white mountains, still visible in the clear blue sky of budding spring. To the wild chase Estel had led them after the path of the dead. To the disgruntled face of Merry who had seen them off from the houses of healing, Faramir and Eowyn by his sides. To the heralds, trumpeting at every crossroad that the Lords of Gondor had returned.

To Boromir, and Faramir that should have been there to hear it. To that statue of a King they found on the road, its severed head set again upon its body, a crown of white flowers sitting regally upon it. To that vision of Aragorn, standing beside the white tree of Numenor, a crown upon his brow.

Estel. Hope.

To anything, actually, rather than dwell on the nagging question that threatened to pierce her insides. If, as she had seen, Aragorn would prevail and save Minas Tirith, if this war was won, would she allow the necklace to take her home? Could she leave her heart behind, and threatened to break Legolas'?

"That's enough," a voice rose behind her.

Frances jumped in fright, finding Elladan with a smirk quirking his beautiful lips.

"You scared the shit out of me…"

"Language, sweet lady."

And there was Elrohir, standing in the branches of a nearby tree as he watched, awaiting his brother's return.

Fuck you, she thought with a snigger.

"Estel is in sight. I think they burnt the bridge," he announced from up there before jumping down like a squirrel. Frances sighed.

"What ails you?" the elf asked.

"I just wonder how long it's going to take before I can climb into trees once more."

Elladan's eyebrows lifted in a perfect arch.

"You love them that much? I thought you enjoyed ice and water better."

"I adore water, but trees always were my refuge as a child."

There was a swift and silent exchange between the siblings; thousands of years with a twin were an efficient way to learn one another from roots to tips, and the young woman marvelled that her budding bond with Legolas was granting her a similar connection.

A set of hands suddenly closed around her waist, and she yelped when her body was lifted in the air. Elrohir settled her on a lower branch, mindful of her leg, and jumped beside her with a grin.

"How's that?"

Frances grinned back.

"Perfect."

Silence settled for a moment while the west wind rustled the few leaves that attempted to break free of their winter prison. Too far away from the trunk to find her balance, Frances circled Elrohir's waist to settle comfortably. The elf, in return, squeezed her shoulder in a brotherly embrace.

"That one leg thing really is annoying," the young woman huffed.

"Physical therapy should bring many improvements."

Frances hummed. A hundred miles. This was the distance between the crossroads where the army currently camped and the fields of Moranon. A hundred miles to the black gate of Mordor, their last stand.

"Well, Estel said we had less than a week, so it'd better improve soon."

Elladan nodded grimly, holding a silent conversation with his twin brother while Frances worried her bottom lip. There was so much on her mind, quite enough to dampen the elation of hers and Legolas' new love. Apart from the almost certain death that awaited them at the end of the road, the choice laid at her feet also weighed heavily on her mind.

Should I stay or should I go? That stupid song ran at the back of her mind, taunting her into taking the most difficult decision of her young life. She knew so little of elven traditions, and soul bonds. What would happen to Legolas if she went back home? If she died?

Taking a deep breath, Frances decided that who, better than her new adopted brothers, would be blunt enough in their answers? And more knowledgable? After all, despite their propensity to cause mischief, Elladan and Elrohir were the sons of Elrond.

"Hey guys?"

Elrohir cocked his head aside, the diminishing light painting his dark locks with dancing hues.

"Yes, sweet lady?"

Fighting the blush that crept up her cheeks, Frances gathered her courage. "How does the bond work? The Feä-bond."

Another look was shared between the twins before Elladan started a lecture on how the eldar bonded – the equivalent of marriage – on a deeper spiritual level, and could share emotions.

"Distance is of no consequence once a couple is bonded."

"Are Estel and Arwen soul bond?"

A man would have shaken his head; only now did Frances remark on the eerie stillness of elves. Despite their agility, they only moved when necessary, allowing limbs to unfurl gracefully. Shrugs, blinks and nervous gestures never plagued their body language. Legolas, though, was more lively. He would cock his head aside, lift his eyebrows or talk with his hands sometimes. A young elf…

"It is slightly different because Estel is human," Elladan said, shaking her out of her observation. "I surmise his elven blood might allow them to share one."

Long fingers squeezed her waist.

"Is this about the Princeling, sweet lady?"

Frances scoffed at the nickname, offended on Legolas' behalf.

"Princeling? Come on, he's not so young anymore."

Elrohir actually grinned, perfect teeth on display.

"He's just half a millennium, Frances. We are more than twenty-five hundred years his elder."

The young woman smacked the elf's shoulder playfully.

"You certainly don't act like it, sometimes…"

A tinkling laugh rose to the deep blue sky, the sound a merry melody that drowned in the rustling leaves. The mood, though, soon settled as Elladan bore holes into Frances' eyes, causing her to squirm uncomfortably.

"Frances," he started, his beautiful face serious.

Her eyebrow rose, wondering why he had paused. The twins had probably played 'good cop, bad cop' a hundred times over; she was glad to be on their good side, else…

"Legolas is not of the Peredhil, he won't face our choice regarding our lifespan."

That she knew already.

"And you are entirely human," Elrohir added, suddenly serious. "You can get married, but there won't be any soul bond."

She frowned. "But…"

"I'm sorry, sweet lady."

Elrohir's voice was full of compassion. Yet, he was wrong. They both were.

"You misunderstand me," she stated. "We share some emotions already."

Elrohir gasped.

"How can it be? This is impossible!"

Frances' hackles rose this time, and she retorted hotly. "I assure you it is!"

Elladan frowned, looking so much like his father that she almost recoiled.

"Are you sure?"

The young woman exhaled slowly to keep her temper in check. Any human with the privilege of age and knowledge would have dismissed her claims as foolish love; they didn't. Another proof of their different nature.

"Positive. I even managed to convey some of mine willingly through the bond, when we came to Cair Andros. I felt his distress about the sea, and I realised it came from him because I adore the Ocean. I would never feel bad about it."

A heavy silence settled. Bereft, Frances tensed. Her stupid leg was aching, and she bristled on the branch.

"Is it not a good thing?" she asked, her voice insecure.

Elrohir sighed beside her, calling her attention back to his chiselled features. He looked almost pained.

"It would if we were not at war."

Realisation started to seep into her soul, like a trickle of water that fills a jar ever so slowly. Emotional ties, when danger lurked, were a liability. She'd found them a strength in the past, her compassion and ability to love others a motivation to break free of mind control and deepest despair. But it could also push people to recklessness and…

"If your souls are tied, the risk is great that either of you might be hurt through the other."

Ironic, right? Her words were bitter, but no less true.

"You mean, if I die…"

She allowed her words to trail, surprised when a passionate one shattered the silence.

"I'm not letting anything happen to you!"

Albeit his conviction brought warmth to her heart – his protectiveness was humbling – the slight edge of desperation worried her. Elrohir needed to face the fact she might not survive.

"We might all die there, Elrohir."

"Frances. Your death would wound us deeply," Elrohir stated.

The young woman froze; elves had such a natural way to express emotions. They didn't shy away from attachment, and she admired them for it. Instead of becoming detached through too many hardships, they kept their hearts open to anyone. To Estel, who would only be a candle in the wind to them, stealing away their sister. To her, who had been here less than a few months.

Elladan, though, was the one who put the hammer down and rocked her world.

" … but it could kill Legolas, even if he survives the battle."

Frances gasped, a terrible pressure settling upon her chest. She rubbed her fingers over her breastbone in hopes if dispelling the discomfort. To no avail.

"Have you completed the bond yet?", Elladan asked.

She blushed, unable to sustain his gaze.

"No."

"Then don't. Not before the outcome of this war has been decided."

Not before I know if I survive … or if I stay.

But those words were left unsaid. Once more, the twins had shown their greater wisdom by giving her the room to process their revelations… Biting her lip, she tried to expand her horizons. There was another couple currently affected by the future battle for middle earth, and she now understood Elrond's reluctance to give his daughter away.

"This is why your father didn't want Arwen married before Aragorn had reclaimed his heirloom."

"Aye," Elrohir confirmed. "Better for her to choose a Dunedain's lifespan rather than fade in despair."

"How do you not hate him?" she blurted, putting a horrified hand upon her mouth at once. The movement caused her to wobble, and Elrohir stabilised her before she could plummet down. Her eyes met those of Elladan who stood just a few feet below.

"Estel is not only hope, he is so much more to all our bloodline…"

There was awe in his voice.

"… Aragorn is an honourable man," Elrohir went on. "We loved him as a child, he is our brother, and Arwen chose her path. That fate ill-favoured us is no fault of his."

Once more, Frances could only bow to their wisdom. Childish Elrohir sometimes showed his greater age after all.

"We'll stay by our sister's side until she wishes to join the halls of Mandos."

The mention of the halls of Mandos stirred something deep within Frances' chest. A strange longing, when she should have recoiled at the idea of death.

And when a trumpet rang in the distance, and her heart swelled with joy. They had returned. Legolas had returned. Even though the sun was setting, she knew her own personal celestial body was back in her orbit.

And with him, a choice.