Uncertainties

When Frances stepped out of her room, her hair freshly done and dripping wet, she marked a pause. It had been many weeks since she had worn a dress, and it restricted her movements a tad too much for her comfort. Voices drifted into the corridor, one of them she knew well. Gandalf and Théoden King were probably sharing news, and planning how to save Rohan from Saruman's control.

It was all very well, but she was famished, and she guessed from the delicious smell that floated in the air that a proper lunch was being served. Gathering her skirts, Frances hurried to the golden hall, passing a few maids on the way that stared at her warily. Granted, she was still a 21st-century girl into a medieval attire, but did she seem that odd in her dresses that people would look at her so?

Dismissing the weird looks, Frances eventually reached the golden hall. Theoden and Gandalf were discussing over a table, voices rising and falling as the wizard tried to explain how dire the situation had become during the past months. Unconsciously shaking her head, Frances drew away. She did not want to get into such a conversation, even for a bag of gold. Better not to interfere between a proud king and the greatest wizard of middle earth. Fortunately, her eyes wandered to a table that had been set nearby where her friends were partaking of a light lunch. From the looks of Gimli's beard, the food was good enough. A pair of blue eyes spotted her immediately.

No matter where he was, Legolas always kept his surroundings under his gaze. His blue orbs lingered on the feminine form. Reddish hair over dark blue. He had to admit that the colours complimented the lady despite the very simple design of the dress. For an instant, the prince of Greenwood wondered what she would look like in one of the finest garments of his beloved forest. Surely Frances would seem regal, her gracious posture and lovely features enhanced by the beauty of the elven craft. And green… green would do well on a redhead. For a second born, she certainly did look noble in any attire.

As she reached the table, Aragorn greeted her, and shifted a little to make some room by his side.

— "Aye Lassie, you almost look like one of them dressed like that", Gimli rumbled.

— "How should I take this?", Frances responded. "The ladies have been looking at me with so much insistence since I stepped out of my room that I do not feel very welcome."

A frown marred her features, and Legolas sensed her unease. Aragorn's attention had shifted once more to Théoden's pleas, so he took upon himself to answer before Gimli vexed her again.

— "Do not fret so my lady, I am sure that many maids are curious about you because you have arrived in the company of a king, a dwarf, an elf and a wizard."

Frances gave him a queer look. She seemed unconvinced. Hence, he pushed his luck in an attempt to remove this expression from her eyes.

— "The colour of this dress does become you greatly my lady, whoever has chosen this garment for you has done well."

This time, Frances seemed taken aback by his frankness. Never before had he commented on how she looked. A sweet blush coloured her cheeks, and she averted her eyes while munching on a piece of cheese. Without lifting her face, she murmured something he would not have heard had he not been of the firstborn.

— "Blue is my favourite colour."

Legolas swallowed nervously. Was he meant to answer? And why, O Valar why, was he feeling antsy ? For days, they had travelled together, bantered, fought alongside each other. Now was not the time to become shy. But still, with this dress upon her form, she looked like a maiden and not the companion he knew. A quick glance at Gimli indicated that he too was entranced by the king's conversation. He would be of no help. Eventually, Legolas bent over the lady, and declared.

— "If my heart is settled upon green, I can understand this choice. A clear blue sky from a winter's morning always affects my mood pleasantly."

Frances' eyes settled upon his face, assessing the truth in his words. Her features came alight, recalling memories of her travels in the south of Italy. There only had she seen such a vibrant colour.

— "This blue reminds me of the deep sea. When the silence takes over everything and only remains the washing of the waves on the shore, and yet your eyes linger at the bottom of the endless ocean, plunging into darkness and beyond."

Legolas froze, his eyes unreadable. And if Frances instantly regretted her little outburst of poetry, she did not realise how stricken the prince of Greenwood was. The message of Galadriel, relayed by Gandalf as they met in Fangorn's forest, rang clear in his head.

Frances fidgeted in her seat as silence echoed achingly between them. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she dared asking.

— "I beg you to tell me my lord prince, have I said something so offensive that you would keep silent?"

The sudden formality caught Legolas off guard, and he came back to his senses.

— "Nay Lady Frances. The fault is not yours but mine entirely. Pray forgive my wandering mind for letting you believe that you were the cause of any grievance. But in truth, have you ever seen the ocean?"

The young lady frowned, taken aback by the angst in the elf's features.

— "Sea and Ocean, yes. Countless times."

The elf seemed to choose his words, and she waited anxiously for him to explain the turmoil that had taken hold of his mind. At this stage, she expected anything. Were there any unnamed monsters in the ocean of middle earth? Any legend linked to the sea that she was unaware of? Was it forbidden to stay on the shores? To plunge into the sea? At last, Legolas's eyes focused on her face again, and he whispered.

— "The lady Galadriel left a message for me when Gandalf passed through Lothlorien. She said to beware of the sea…"

— "How so?'

— 'Here are her words, for I shall quote them to you as she said them:

"Legolas Greenleaf long under tree

In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the sea!

If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,

thy heart shall rest in the forest no more."

Frances frowned once more, her nose crunching in the movement. Little did she know that at this instant, the elf found her expression adorable. Yet the gears in her mind were running fast, taking in the strange form of speech she still had issues understanding, and eventually making sense of it.

— "In other words, the lady Galadriel warns you that once you have approached the sea, you will long for it always?"

— "Aye. The longing for the sea has affected many elves, but we Greenwood elves tend to be impervious to it. We prefer our trees to the ocean. Or so my father says."

At this moment, Frances understood that no matter how much she had studied in Elrond's library, she had missed the whole point about the elves. Despite their extended lives and knowledge, and seemingly level head, they felt passionately, instinctively. Casting aside reason, elves could, as well as humans, follow their hearts willingly. The only difference being that they could patiently wait for their purpose to be completed, five hundred years or more if need be. And Legolas seemed to vibrate before her, his light more erratic than usual.

— "I fear I do not understand the full meaning of this."

— "My mother's inheritance runs in my blood. Our people are Sylvain, but my parents are Sindar, and thus, she longed for the sea like any other of her kind. Crossing the great sea to reach the undying land should have been her fate…"

Legolas' eyes veiled, and his mouth shut in a firm line. He did not have the heart to explain how his mother stayed for the love of his father, nor how she was killed by orcs so many years before. The sorrow was so obvious on his face, written all over his flawless features that Frances ached for him. Shyly, she extended her hand to touch his arm. He accepted it, lost in his memories, while her little fingers curved around the sleeve of his tunic.

Frances had much to ponder. The undying land, the longing for the sea. All those concepts were next to new to her. But the circumstances did not let her leisure to think about it so much. Already, voices were rising in the golden hall. Aragorn's own was heard, and his concerns answered sharply. King Théoden wanted to leave for Helm's deep, an action that neither Aragorn nor Gandalf approved, or so she gathered from the tone of their voices. The wizard left the hall in haste, his face sombre and mood even worse. The fellowship followed without question, their allegiance clear.

As they hurried down the steps to the stables, Frances listened intently as Gandalf and Aragorn traded angry sentences. For an immortal, the wizard certainly had quite a temper. His plea for Théoden to meet Saruman's armies was unheeded. Worse even, the King wanted to retreat behind the protective walls of Helm's deep. Frances did not understand why it would be such a bad idea after all, but Gandalf's voice raised strongly against it. And Aragorn seemed of the same mind. Frances shrugged; she definitely had much to learn when it came to strategy.

It was fortunate though that he Istar was not human, for he was ready to spring unto Shadowfax mere hours after their arrival in Edoras. Frances, for sure, knew she needed as much rest as sustenance lest she fell dead. But the wizard was ready to go in the blink of an eye. As she entered the stables behind the company, Gandalf's steed was fidgeting under him, anxious to spring forth.

— "Aragorn. The defences must hold," he said gravely.

— "They will hold," answered their leader with confidence.

The "what if' went unmentioned. What if they didn't? But the look on Aragorn's face was determined. Gandalf's return had given him the confidence he lacked after Boromir's death. Did the path seem clearer to him now that he could share the burden? It sure didn't seem too bright from Frances' point of view. But she trusted Aragorn to lead them on the safest path, if such a path existed.

— "Look to the east at dawn on the fifth day," said Gandalf.

Aragorn nodded swiftly. And then, without warning, Shadowfax sprang from the stables, taking off at such speed that hay flew from below his hooves. In his path stood Frances, dumbstruck, and far too close to jump aside from the great horse's way. Time slowed as she came to realise that, even if she was swift enough, she would never make it before the steed hit her. How ironic to survive so many dangers just to be struck down by one of her own !

Two strong arms grabbed her, pulling her away before Shadowfax crushed her to death. Her skirts flew in front of her, tripping her as her legs gave way. For a short while, Frances just relished in the feeling of being alive. Very much alive, for she felt warmth spread all over her back. Trapped into a set of solid arms, surrounded by the sweet scent of trees, she felt so safe that her feet did not even want to find the ground again. She felt at peace. It was an incredible sensation, so full and yet so soft. If she had closed her eyes, she would without a doubt have slept for hours in blissful abandon.

A concerned voice shook her out of her reverie.

— "Are you well my lady?"

'Please don't go,' her body screamed in her head while the arms that held her shifted aside. Unfortunately, her captor turned her around, and very soon she faced a very troubled elf. The warmth of his presence one, she felt suddenly very chilly. Frances shivered, her throat constricted.

— "Lady Frances, are you hurt?"

Locked into hers, his blue orbs were so deep that she gasped for air. She was drowning in his ageless gaze. Testing her legs on the ground, the young woman managed to shake her head from left to right. No damage to account for. Or so it seemed. Her body was responding so erratically; numb in places, vibrant in others where his hands and chest had been but a moment before. She just couldn't make sense of what had just passed, other than the elf had saved her life. She would have to thank the Valar, again, for the quick thinking of the elves and their unhindered attention.

Aragorn's tall form came out of the stables, wondering at their strange behaviour. Still, Legolas wouldn't let go. He feared that, would his hands leave the young lady's frame, she would shatter entirely. His breath was suddenly short, more so that in any battle he had faced before. It was an unsettling and exhilarating, feeling at the same time that she responded seemingly. His fingers, gently wrapped around her wrist, felt the wild beating of her heart. Seeing the elf's hold on the young lady, Aragorn frowned.

— "Has your wound opened again?"

Frances' absent gaze met his.

— "What?" she asked.

— "The wound on your wrist, the one I treated in Lorien."

— "Oh. No thank you, it is healing properly."

Strider's eyebrows shot to the sky. Something was amiss surely, but he couldn't fathom what had passed, too entranced in Gandalf's instructions and departure to be aware of the rest. Elf and lady alike stepped back.

— "I was nearly crushed by Shadowfax's hooves," she eventually said. "Legolas saved me from this fate."

She turned her gaze to the elf again, and bowed.

— "For this, I thank you heartily."

— "Think none of it my lady, we are meant to look after each other after all… If this fellowship must prevail."

Frances' breath caught. Suddenly, exhaustion was upon her, and she decided to retire to her rooms until the morrow. Surely the road ahead would be dangerous. She needed to rest. Taking her leave of the three companions, she made her way uphill again.

Legolas followed her slow movements, his heart uneasy. As Aragorn's hand came to rest upon his shoulder, the elf sighed. Strider watched him and he tore his eyes from the retreating blue dress.

— "The road has taken its toll, much more so than before."

Before Moria, before Gandalf's fall, before Boromir's death. All of this left unsaid.

— "Aye," answered the elf. "I do not know how much further…"

There was uncertainty in his words. Uncertainty about the leading of their quest, its purpose now that all hobbits were gone, and hidden beneath it, uncertainty about his own feelings. He would have asked the young lady to stay in Edoras had the King not decided to gather his people into Helm's deep. Yet, he knew there was no safe place in middle earth at the moment. But still, Edoras wasn't in the direct path of Sauron and Saruman's wrath. The Hornburg was a trap, with nowhere else to go. The people of Rohan would wait for their fate in caves, wait for death to come, and pray that it fell upon them swiftly.

Now Gandalf was their only hope.