Who wants to live forever?

Dinner was a quiet affair, yet merry among the kin of Dol Amroth. Now recovered, Frances had been attired in one of Lothiriel's dresses of clear blue and upon asking where Imrahil's daughter was, had learnt that she had left last year to marry Eomer, the new king of the Mark. The memory of the proud Marshall brought a smile to Frances' lips. Princess Lothiriel would certainly have a lot on her plate with that one!

There was much for Frances to learn; many tidings, ill or bad, awaited her after three years of absence. Legolas had tried his best to cover the main events; Aragorn's coronation and marriage, the burial of Theoden King, Eowyn's nuptials to Faramir, steward of Gondor, the skirmishes to repel the remaining orcs and the hobbits' adventures as they found their home overthrown by Saruman.

No amount of comfort could release the guilt that dwelt in the pit of her stomach. She was loath to admit how sad she felt to have missed all those events. In truth, she also knew, deep down, that her absence had been keenly felt by all parties of those events, and had cast a shadow over the fellowship's members.

Yet there she sat, enjoying a marvellous dish of white fish heavenly prepared, trying to catch up on Arda's news with Prince Imrahil, his children and his wife. Said wife looked quite older than Imrahil himself, and the contrast of their apparent age sent Frances into spiralling thoughts. What would she look like, fifty years from now, lingering at the arm of her ever-young Prince? But the woman was far from stupid and caught Frances's startled gaze.

"Do not let Imrahil deceive you, Lady Frances, for he is 65 years of age like I am."

Frances hid her surprise with a jest.

"Age does not seem to affect your fighting abilities, my lord,"

She had heard tales of Imrahil's swordsmanship from both Aragorn and Legolas on the fields of Pelennor. His wife smiled, her pride showing on her face, and let her hand rest on his fingers. Prince Imrahil caught it, bestowing a kiss upon her knuckles. His gaze was so full of love that it warmed Frances' heart. Love could endure. Still, the concept of age seemed quite messed up in middle earth, so she asked.

"I remember that Legolas said you had elven blood. Are you also blessed with a long life like the Dunedain?"

Imrahil laughed slightly.

"Nay, but our ancestors came from Númenor as well. You might be surprised to learn that our King is ten years my senior, and will outlast me by nary a century. But I might live to be a hundred in good health."

A hundred…

Something akin to longing passed across Legolas's features, and he smiled at Frances, his intend reassuring. Yet his eyes did not lie. The ocean of his gaze was tinted with sadness.

Five hundred years had Legolas walked the paths of Arda, neither being truly happy, nor unhappy. And now what would become of him when she died?

Needless to say, that Imrahil wasn't fooled.

"But if that interests you, let me tell you about Mithrellas, my ancestor, an elven maiden who fell in love with Imrazôr."

And so the sadness was washed away as Frances learnt about this silvan elf who, after getting lost in the woods of Belfalas a thousand years ago, had wed Imrazôr, borne him three children, and disappeared once more never to be found. Legolas added a few details, being familiar with the legends as Mithrellas was a sylvan elf from Lothlorien who accompanied Nimrodel to the bay of Belfalas to sail to the undying lands.

But for now, no more was said about Mithrellas and Imrahil's elven blood, for dessert was upon them. And what a dessert! Oranges and almond cakes baked with honey, all adorned with whipped cream and pistachio nuts. Frances' eyes widened, thanking profusely their hosts for this fantastic treat.

The lady of the house received her praise with grace, her smile widening at the sweet hum that came from Frances' left. This is how the young woman discovered that her husband – wow husband, they truly were married now! –  the infamous best archer of middle earth and Woodland prince, had a sweet tooth. His blue eyes sparkling, his sensual lips coated with honey, his glow radiating would have been enough, yet it was their humming bond that sold him out.

The smile he bore as the cakes disappeared from his plate was so cute that Frances melted all over again. In this blessed moment, Legolas was once more an elfling. She observed him as he tasted the pastries, sometimes giving him a new one to try, and this wonderful feeling brightened her heart, lighting her whole such was the cuteness of the display. His contentment was priceless, akin to the purring of a cat, and Frances realised that there was nothing in the world that would prevent them from being happy together. No matter the consequences. In this very moment, nothing else mattered.

Amused, Imrahil couldn't help but tease his friend.

"If the guard of the citadel had offered you a plate of sweets, I have no doubt your threats would have been cast aside!"

Legolas gave him a levelled stare, a playful smirk lifting the corner of his mouth, but his eyes deadly serious. The prince of Dol Amroth held his ground, unaware of the many frowns around the table. Frances gathered then that this was a private joke between the elf and the prince.

"It would have defeated the purpose," Legolas answered seriously as he peeled an orange.

Imrahil burst out laughing this time, his cheerful manner startling his sons across the table. Was it acceptable for their father to laugh openly at an elf lord? Elphir had, like his father, fought alongside the elf in the war of the ring, but still. Such familiarity.

Eventually, Frances had enough of the staring contest between the two princes.

"Care to share with the class?"

Legolas blinked, while the others only watched her curiously; they were not used to her mannerism and had therefore, not understood her meaning. But her husband knew, even when he didn't get the cultural reference, he always caught the idea.

"I will step down, and leave the recounting to our host. I am afraid I might not be the best story teller in this particular case."

Imrahil inclined his head graciously, a smirk firmly in place.

"Thank you, my lord Legolas, for your kind words. And thus the burden falls to me once more, to inform you of the day I have met the lady Frances and the King after the dreadful battle of the Pelennor, and how, as I climbed the latest level of the citadel with her unconscious form in my arms…"

This is how Frances learnt how she came to rest in a room, and it brought light about the bright presence that allowed her to escape Sauron in her nightmare. Legolas had been there! And threatened the guards of the citadel until they trembled under their livery. The story brought a radiant smile on her face, whereas Imrahil's family didn't know what to make of it.

Truth be told, Legolas's anger could be terrifying, and although he behaved most graciously, no one was foolish enough to ignore it. Elphir, in particular, knew how deadly the elf could be when provoked; he had witnessed the dance of his twin blades on the battlefield. And after all, were not all princelings prone to fits of anger? But Frances knew better, and her heart sang as they bid good night to their host, and decided to walk down to the beach as a midnight treat.

Steps had been carved off the cliff side to join the citadel to the sea. Under the moonlight, the scenery was bathed in silver. So peaceful, so beautiful as the shore dove into the sea, foam forming as the waves lapped at the rocks. Legolas kept her arm locked in his at all times, worried that she might slip and fall to her death. Frances had always been sure-footed, and he knew how she had climbed the cliffs of Helm's deep under the pouring rain, but her muscles were still sore, and the fever had just ceased.

Yet, his eyes lingered on the waves. His awe of the sea held no equivalent, and he acknowledged once more the words of the lady Galadriel. Yet, his heart didn't long for him to sail as it used to. With Frances by his side, he felt utterly complete. There was nowhere else he wanted to be, as if her presence quenched his need. Somehow, he even felt ready to retreat back to the Greenwood for a while, just to show her the majesty of his childhood home.

Eventually, once their feet had reached the sand, Frances paused, and turned to him, her mind still preoccupied by the previous conversation in dol Amroth's palace.

"I have felt you, that day. You were here as I slept, weren't you?"

Legolas' thought fled to Minas Tirith, recalling the aftermath of the battle. He nodded.

"You saved me from a horrible nightmare. I think Sauron had found me. But your presence, your light allowed me to escape it."

She was trembling now, probably from the memory, and the elf gathered her slender form in his arms. She fit perfectly against him, her head against his chest, her fingers spread on his back.

"I wanted to ensure you would be all right."

His musical voice vibrated in his chest, so calm, so full of love that it soothed her instantly.

"Then you did. Thank you, mon amour. I do not know how I knew you were here, but somehow you protected my mind even as I slept"

Legolas smiled at the nickname. My love, in her mother tongue, French as she called it. He had not studied a new language in thousands of years, this one would probably prove to be fun learning.

"Frances. There is something I must tell you, something about our bond."

The young lady lifted her head to meet his gaze. With the full moon, her hazel eyes caught the light like jewels. Her features were so finely carved, shadows and silver playing with the lines of her jaw as she awaited for him to speak. Yet, her face was anxious, always fearing rejection. He would have to put her at ease. After a few years of married bliss, she would probably get used to being loved like the princess she was.

"Do not worry meleth, you are carved in my heart now. Always my soul will yearn for yours. Still, I wonder how this bond we share is so strong."

Frances' eyes widened slightly.

"Is it not supposed to be so?"

"Nay. Arwen told me that she does not feel Aragorn's feelings as well as I did feel yours, even before we … completed the bond. I felt it, even a world apart! This is unheard of."

Frances frowned, the memory of a similar conversation with Elladan and Elrohir fuzzy.

"Have you found no explanation?"

His hand caressed her back slowly, and she shuddered at his touch.

"Frances. When we joined for the first time, our bond completed, and our Feä intertwined entirely. And in your Feä, I felt something akin to the light of my people. I am quite sure now that somewhere within you, the inheritance of the eldar shines."

"How is this even possible?"

Legolas noted how she did not even doubt him and it warmed his heart. She trusted his instincts and feelings, as he trusted her intuitions about the future.

"I have no idea, and do not know who could possibly enlighten us. Now that the lady of the light is gone…"

"Galadriel is gone?"

Her eyes were wide with shock; one more capital information that had not been discussed yet.

"Yes, she sailed with Lord Elrond, Gandalf and Frodo to the undying lands."

Each new name elicited a wince, and eventually, tears pooled into the young lady's eyes, unexpected guests that left Legolas speechless. He should have known better than to break the news so abruptly! Unlike himself, she had not had time to prepare for the loss of those prominent figures of their quest. She had always been so stoic during their time in the fellowship, so strong. But now that she could rely on him, her vulnerable side was set free.

Or perhaps that those three years had been as difficult on her as they had been for him, leaving a trail of grief and fear in their wake. Both of them would need time to heal. And even if it was unsettling, Legolas loved her more for letting her vulnerability show. It spoke volume of her trust. Gathering the young woman in his arms, he caressed her hair as she sobbed against his tunic.

"I never … thought I…. would …. never …. see them again"

"I understand meleth. It is a great sadness for me as well that you could not be here to enjoy the passage of the fourth age. That you could not be by my side, with me. It has been very cruel indeed."

And his heart broke once more at the memory of the shell he was when the crown was set upon Aragorn's brow, his dearest friend, and as he was incapable of rejoicing when he wed Arwen. He let a few tears escape his eyes as well, deciding that Frances would love him all the same, scars and weaknesses included.