Aragorn – the return

Soon, the high walls of the fortress appeared. A vast plain lay before them, giving Arod a much easier terrain to progress. Frances didn't see much, shadowed from the view by her companion's tall frame. But the closer they came, the better she distinguished the tremendous walls of Helm's deep.

The Hornburg was an incredible piece of defensive work. Never before had she seen such a wall in her entire life, not even through her queer travels. The more they approached, the higher it seemed to get. All grey rocks, so weathered by rain and wind that it seemed of the same piece from base to top. An insurmountable barrier to defend them. Impressed by its sheer bulk, Frances wondered if the tremendous wall would be sufficient to hold off an army of ten thousand.

Shout preceded them, and they climbed an incredibly long ramp before presenting themselves at the gates. Aragorn passed them without a second thought, dismounting when progress became too hazardous. Kids, men and women alike were rushing past them in a blur, all of them actively engaged in preparing for a siege. They could not be more mislead. There would be no siege, no prisoners. And may the Valar help those who would not die on the spot!

Despite the hiss of pain that escaped Aragorn's lips when tumbling down Arod, his gestures were less stiff, much to Frances' relief. With a little luck, the man would be fit to fight tonight. Not that she would compel him to do so, but she couldn't imagine him staying behind. When the ranger held his hand to help her dismount, Frances gave him a pointed look. For the split of a second, Aragorn actually looked sheepish. His manners had got the better of him. Too bad he was the best healer of their group! Unfortunately for the ranger, Gimli bolted out of nowhere with the firm intend to crash into him.

— "Gimli, noooo" shouted Frances as she jumped down the horse.

Her warning came too late, for the dwarf was already engulfing his friend in a death grip. Aragorn paled, but held fast. And then, he pushed Gimli aside, and started climbing the numerous stairs that led to the command room. Frances was about to follow when her path was obstructed by a very determined dwarf. Gimli seized her arm and walked her away from the stallion.

— "You lass, have quite the character. If we owe you the life of Aragorn, you are a blessed lady indeed. Still, I'll have you know that you have left me to tend a very brooding elf…"

Frances felt a pang of remorse at hearing those news. The idea of harming Legolas in any way was painful to her. Fortunately, it was always easy to lead the dwarf away from her feelings with a bit of humour.

— "Well, we didn't see eye to eye on this topic. So to speak. His eyesight is better than mine, but my intuition said otherwise."

Gimli grumbled something, then he laughed. The girl definitely had a way to say things that he couldn't get used to. And in his joy of finding his companions again, he didn't want to let go. Blissfully ignorant that an army was coming upon them fast, the dwarf was perfectly content with the lady's conversation.

As Frances tried to extricate herself from his grip, the ranger was struggling to climb the last stairs of the fortress. Dizzy from the effort, he acknowledged his body's suffering from the bad treatment inflicted upon it today. So enthralled was he at putting one foot before the other without falling that he missed the blur of blond hair that ran to cross his path.

— "You look terrible," said Legolas with a concerned frown.

Aragorn watched him closely, his lips turned into a drunken smile and he laughed at the elf's understatement. This one would never know how exhaustion felt, but he still appreciated the concern. Before releasing his arm, however, he saw something else passing into his friend's eyes, some deep worry that seemed off place.

— "Did you see Frances? She left to find you …," he asked anxiously.

— "And find me she did," answered solemnly the heir of Gondor. "She brought me back.'

Legolas eyes suddenly twinkled, and he smiled. As he gave Aragorn the necklace of Evenstar, returning back the loving present, the young prince started to wonder why it now felt so natural that Arwen had bestowed her love to a human. He badly wanted to protect Frances from harm. Sometimes, her reckless ways infuriated him, a mighty feat indeed…

Now that her mission was completed, a new kind of respect flowed through him. As stupid as the idea seemed at the beginning, Frances had followed her intuition. What Gimli and himself had interpreted as human weakness – her refusal to accept Aragorn's death - was a lesson of faith that went beyond his ageless wisdom.

What her stubborness taught him today was precious; she was ready to risk anything in hopes that the future might be enlightened. Elves had been recluses, forgoing this way of thinking for thousands of years, and this mentality could well be the reason why forces of good had a chance to win after all. In the end, if himself, Prince of Greenwood, was part of this quest against his father's will and deserted his own people, it was because he still believed in the human race.

While Aragorn pushed the heavy gates of the fortress with all his strength, Legolas got ready to follow, but delayed a few instants to sweep the crowd with his elven sight. His prayers were answered when his keen eyes noticed the bloodied lady making her way up the stairs. She seemed tired, watching her steps to avoid stumbling.

As the redhead eventually reached the summit, she was stopped short by a familiar plastron blocking her path. Huffing, Frances had to lift her face to the elf, not expecting his closeness. Her eyes met his, and she watched, mesmerised, how relied caused his blue eyes to gleam. His features relaxed, flawless as ever and she got caught in the imposing figure. Damn, he really towered over her.

— "Er…", she started, unsure of what to say

— "I owe you an apology, I cannot express how sorry I am for not trusting you."

His whispering words were crawling under Frances' skin. His head bend down to keep the conversation private, actively enclosing her in his personal space. Strangely enough, the young lady didn't feel claustrophobic. Despite his tall frame, despite the close distance between them, she felt at peace. Safe.

Legolas instinctively reached for Frances's arm in order to show his most sincere contrition. The elf prince was unsure about how familiar he could be, elves were not used to direct contact. He and Frances had kept their distances. When she did not flinch nor move back, he knew that she had accepted the silent apology.

— "I should not have doubted you, you have proved more than once that you were trustworthy…"

— "Don't be sorry Legolas," Frances cut in. "It was reasonable to believe what you did and I know that you only had my safety in mind. It does not mean that I agree with you but I do not bear you ill will for doing so"

Legolas' face lightened at the soft words, and Frances heart responded to his expression. She did not like being in bad terms with the elf; his opinion was far too important to her. But she needed to prove a point.

— "However," she teased, "now you know which of us is right when we disagree."

Legolas' expression turned to a half-hearted smile at Frances's mirth, and the young woman chuckled. His lips twitched upright imperceptibly. Then, the elf did something absolutely unprecedented. It was, somehow, quite out of his control. He pulled swiftly at the young lady's arm and engulfed her in a tight hug. It lasted just a second, but its force emptied Frances' lungs. She gasped at the sudden move, her face crushing briefly against his chest.

Realising what he had done, Legolas didn't let the moment last. Would she be angry at his impulsivity? He hoped not, for the contact of her frame against his had been so sweet. As short as the hug had been, the young woman felt like she had been graced with a load of new energy. The imminent battle called itself back to her mind. Unaware of the elf's uneasiness, she just caught his hand into hers and led him to the doors.

— "Come.'

As his fingers found themselves encased in her delicate ones, Legolas relished in the foreign contact on his palm. It was, against all odds totally natural. The throne room was bustling with heavy planning; nobody turned to them when they joined the main table and hovered over the map. The contact was broken as fast as it had been initiated when Frances dropped his hand. However, before considering war plans, Legolas couldn't prevent from thinking that his palm felt suddenly cold without Frances' own in his. How odd a feeling for him who did not suffer from the cold! But it was soon put in perspective by war strategies. Yet, it would never be forgotten.