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2003, middle earth.Fear. Unconditional and hopeless fear. The feeling struck her like a fist in the chest and she staggered backwards, breathing heavily. As her mind struggled to make sense of the horrible feeling, Frances realised that no sensible though could make its way to the surface of her mind. Cold shivers started to seize her body, and the panic threatened to overwhelm her. Frances searched frantically for an anchor, something that would prevent her from drowning in the dark thoughts that crushed her mind. In the void space that engulfed her in a hopeless state, there was nothing to observe, nothing to understand, nothing to put her brain back online and pull her out of it. Her eyes were wide open with the intensity of the seizure, and try as she might she could not shake herself out of this catatonic state.An intense screeching resonated in the void; Frances felt her knees buckle and she stumbled down, her hands flying to her hears in an attempt to protect her eardrums from the dreadful shrill. The cry was worse than a set of nails on a blackboard and its high-pitched resonance cut through the bones like an ultrasound detonation. Pinned to the ground, Frances struggled dearly to resurface, but she could not manage to shake the panic out of her failing body.Suddenly a cry resonated in the emptiness, its anguished tones dug into the waves of agony to reach Frances’ survival instinct. Humanity tried to dig their way into the fuzzy fog that had claimed her spirit. As her consciousness started to resurface, Frances realised that the voice had shattered the glass bubble with its frantic prayer, triggering her inner instincts of protecting people. After her experience in the FBI service, following her two companions into situations that had nothing to envy to this one, the young woman had made a habit to rush without thinking too much of the consequences. It was a part of who she was, and she was ready, once more, to satisfy that impulse. Like this very first time when she had saved those people by hiding them in her wooden talan. This reckless move had been the point of origin of the whole story, her internship with FBI foreign agents and the finding of the blue necklace; her destiny. Now was not the time to crouch back; if she had been called here, then fight she must!In the darkness, the mount seemed so huge, and more sombre even. As she attacked the flank with the ease of her climbing years and light weight, the young red head could still feel the dread trying to dissuade her from going on. Dark waves of despair and hopelessness were tingling her senses and trying to claim her back to the dark side. No matter how attractive the idea of turning catatonic again, Frances managed to shake herself, and she smiled. In the past, monsters and supernatural forces had crossed her way and she had naturally freaked like a girl, but today there was no way in hell she would give up. This was a challenge, and Frances had never lost a bet, stubborn as she was. She climbed swiftly, burying her survival instinct for a while. The dread was feeding on it, sending her images of horrible death in unknown dark hands, pushing her to reconsider her options. Too bad for the darkness that Frances had an iron will, and an arm’s length experience in the domain of fright from her previous encounters. None, though, had been this talented. Pushing the darkness away from her mind, Frances wondered what she would find.From the muffled cries that arose in the night some people seemed in a very hazardous situation; help might be welcome. Pulling her senses out like she had learnt in her meditation classes with the FBI, the young woman caught the smell or dying fire and salty food. What came next crushed her with fear? Frances stopped, her legs giving out, hands covering her face. Up there, death awaited her. The coldness enveloped her, and the young woman shuddered, biting her tongue to refrain from wailing in fear. The abominable presence of those beings was too strong to bear, but another cry shook her out of her trance. Frances’ head snapped. People were in danger, they needed her! Repeating this like a mantra, she shakily climbed on her feet, and took off again. The cries intensified, fuelling her ire, and the young woman accelerated. Screeches responded to the desperate yells, and Frances nearly lost her footing on the small promontory. What kind of creature could produce such a sound? Coming to an edge that seemed to surround the summit, Frances hid behind a boulder to assess the situation. Her breath was short, from the effort as much as from her own dread.From where she was kneeling the view was less than encouraging. Even in the gloom her eyes could make out five cloaked forms, their silhouettes even darker than the rest of the thick shadows. The macabre group was closing in on what seemed a gathering of children, but she could not exactly see how many of them. The distinctive ring of steel filled the air with its high-pitched vibrations and Frances watched with astonished eyes the disembodied cloaked leader brandish a sword that was bigger than a mast. Holding her breath, Frances steeled her mind to repel the panic effect that poured out of the monsters. Then she grabbed one of her hidden knives and picked up a heavy rock fitting her palm size. One of the kids uttered a desperate plea, it rang her cue to act.She needed to disorganise them and dig a hole in the tight formation; then she would fight them one by one. Or die trying. Probably die. She took a second to shut down the little voice in her head that warned her of the probable outcome and the shortage of escape options. Then she silently stood, balancing on the balls of her feet, and threw the rock in a perfect trajectory. The projectile hit the second spectrum on the left right over its head. There was no squirk, no sound, no scream, no sound issued when the rock found its mark, but the slow movement initiated by the group showed that the distraction had worked. The yelling kids were brandishing daggers to their opponent with an obvious lack of skill, their courage was impressive. It seemed almost like the dreadful ambiance had little effect on them when it nearly crippled her will. But Frances was stubborn; she would not relent. The brief pause in the cloaked forms seemed like a consultation with no words, and then suddenly the two lateral ghosts detached themselves from the rest and turned around to face her.“Damn,” she thought, there were two spectra ready to crush her but three remained on the children. She was out of options unless… The young woman pulled her dagger’s free and brandished them in front of her in a defensive position, her eyes frantically studying the terrain. A low, frightening chuckle filled the air, chilling her to the bone. The voice was definitely not human, its tones empty and too low to be natural.“Please intimidate me more,” said the young woman sarcastically.The witty remark helped her release the incredible pressure of darkness threatening to swallow her. And it distracted the others, for ghosts stopped advancing for a few instants. Their surprise did not linger as they soon resumed their slow walk to circle her.“No answer ? That’s so rude!” she uttered, diverting the attention for half a second.Several cries from the little camping group saluted her arrival, raising some enthusiasm that did not last long since the three other spectra closed on them. There was little time left, and Frances challenged the two other cloaked forms with a witty remark. As swiftly as eagles falling onto their prey, the enemies rushed to her, probably hoping to cast her away without breaking a sweat. However, Frances had other plans. As soon as the two forms came close enough, she jumped on a boulder, then another, and landed on the top of an outcrop that towered over the battle field. Screeching in frustration, the two forms collided slightly before attacking her from below. The young lady ducked and dodged the long sword, concentrating on the movement of the weapons instead of her rising panic. From her standing spot, the stars seemed to shine brighter, and she breathed easier somehow. It was the prefect spot. From here, she could join the other groups, and the two spectra could not reach her both, the first one involuntarily protecting her from the second one. As the sword clung again against the rock, missing her by a few inches, Frances slammed her heel hard against the blade and stuck it between her foot and the rock. Hissing, the creature attempted to pull it away, and Frances imprinted a rotation movement on the blade while throwing one of her knives right into her enemy’s hood. The trick worked, and the cloak staggered backwards, screeching, losing its grip on the handle and freeing the sword that rotated inwards. Frances gripped the sword and lifted its tremendous weight, gritting her teeth at the strain it caused to her forearm muscles. Damn them for fighting with a trunk!The second spectrum was coming for her at full speed, and the young woman darted off, hoping to circle the scene from the edge and protect the kids from the rest of the ghosts. However, her now pissed off opponents was quick on her tail, and she had to turn around in order to exchange a few blows. Its strikes were powerful, and the weight of the stolen weapon dangerous enough to send her off balance. Bless her self-defence training in Interpol, and her childhood dancing on tree branches for keeping her on the ridge! However, the wraith was much stronger and faster than she was, and were it not for her higher spot, she’d be dead by now.Frances knew she was firefighting, and it was only a question of time before the sharp blade got her, so she untangled herself from the wall, retreating into the ruins before leaping upwards again and running away from the creature. “Damn it, I’m weak.' Now lost in the maze of rocks, the young woman panted heavily, wondering how long before that thing got to her, and how she could come up behind the group without falling to her death. Terrified, she could not help but stare at every boulder, fearing that the frightful creature might pop up. It was her worst nightmare taking form. The things she feared as a kid were now really lurking in the dark, waiting for the right opportunity to get to her, their form nearly immune to her attacks while she felt freezing from the inside at their approach. The waiting, though, was worse. She felt her sanity vacillate, terror seeping through the cracks of her well-trained mind. ‘Enough!’, she thought. Frances braced herself. As a rush of air cold as death tangled her messy hair, something unexpected happened.First of all, one of the kids cried in agony, and his voice did not ring totally like the one of a kid. It felt more mature, but the loud screeching than filled up the void prevented Frances from analysing the cry further. A particular smell rose, and weird light started to dance around the corner of a pillar, sending shadows all around her. Lifting up the heavy blade, the young woman gathered what was left of her courage and sprang forward to the battle field, the noises indicating what a mess it had become. As she darted into the open area, only a hidden reflex saved her from the tip of the blade that should have pierced her heart had she not rolled on the ground. Her stalker had been waiting in silence, and her movement caused him to lose balance. Pissed to death, Frances her chest swell with anger, and she furiously took advantage of the chaos to stab her sword into his back, sending the cloaked form over the edge of the cliff.‘Yay!’ she screamed in triumph, the cheerful tone of her voice totally out of place.Behind her, hell had broken loose, and the object of this chaos twirled a burning torch around with enraged movements as his other hand wielded a single-handed sword. In the ambient darkness it was difficult to get a good view of the man who had just jumped into the mess, but his fighting skills were amazing. Setting into fire one of the ghosts, he skilfully attacked the others with the flames. Most of them fell back. There was, however, still one of them bending over the group of kids, and Frances rushed forward, lifting her heavy sword. The ghost merged with the shadows and disappeared without even trading a blow. Loud screeching rang again as other cloaks took fire, and suddenly the anguish was gone, the dread curtain tearing apart while the torch came closer. It seemed like her heart could finally beat again, letting the blood pump into her veins without clenching helplessly in her chest. Frances breathed in and out, letting the anger pour out of her in low waves.The dark-haired man eyed her suspiciously as he caught his breath. The sword was getting heavy, and the young woman let the blade fall, showing her surrender to the man who had saved them all. His grey eyes studied her stance, and followed the steel weapon as it clanged to the ground. He was tall, and strongly built. His outfit and his posture screamed wildness, but there was wisdom in his glance. The man rushed past her before throwing his torch away and joining to the little group. Moaning could be heard from one of the little beings, and the three others were pressed together, panicking from the injury their friend had sustained. It was weird to contemplate adults” face over such small bodies, Frances had never seen such creatures before. All of them had mid long curly hair that hid most of their faces. As she came closer, two of them watched her approach as if in awe, their staring interrupted by another cry from their black-haired companion lying on the ground.The man held a dagger in his hands, trying to assess the situation. And then, the little man cried out, and the weapon disintegrated. Throwing the hilt away, the stranger said in a low voice:“He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade.”“Do Something!” Exclaimed the Little Rusty Guy“He is beyond my skill to heal,” claimed the strange man calmly. “He needs elvish medicine.”Lifting up the little guy in one swift movement, the traveller’s eyes fell on the young woman and for once he was totally at loss about what to do. His gaze was judging her from head to toe, and if the previous demonstration had not been enough the way she held herself indicated that she was a fighter, if a little bit unsure of her skills. She seemed very young, but the courage she had shown for facing the wraith pushed him to trust her. However, much was at stake, and it was no light decision. Time was coming short for Frodo, and the wraith would not give up until they had the ring. There was no obviously no time for interrogation. Maybe he could just go and she would join some companions on her way?“Do you travel alone?”“Yes,” stated Frances, unsure about what to say.The ranger grimaced. Leaving her behind would have been safer for the group, but he could not do that in good conscience and leave her to die. His grey eyes were boring holes into her; he could not fathom why a woman would travel alone in these troubled times.Frances knew she needed to stay with the group if she wanted to have a chance to complete her mission, but the violence of the attack and the emergency of the situation did not help her cause. How could she convince them that she only wanted to help? Her opponent in this staring contest was obviously wondering who she was and what was her purpose.“Can you keep up with a quick pace?” he asked,Frances nodded, startled by the implicit offer.“I will”“Then come, we must make haste.”The confrontation had ended so swiftly that Frances stood motionless for a split of a second. This meant she had a chance, and it would be time soon enough to prove trustworthy. Grabbing her bag at the bottom of the hill, the young woman hurried after the little company who was already disappearing into the darkness.The pace had indeed been quite intense, and for the first few hours in the dark, Frances struggled to keep up. The hobbits, names Sam, Merry and Pippin, were carrying torches for their own protection while Strider carried Frodo. The nickname would have made her laugh if she had not been rationing her air intakes. Obviously, the ranger, as they called him, had dismissed the interrogation until quieter times, and the young lady tried to be as invisible as possible while gathering information from the chattering of the two rusty haired hobbits. Asking questions might have raised suspicion, and she needed as much intake on geography and history of the place before trying to build an identity of her own. She had no idea of the shape of this continent, but it seemed obvious that it wasn’t her reality from the sheer existence of different races.After several hours of night-hiking the young woman knew everything about a place called the Shire where the little ones had been living their whole life, but it was about all she would know about these lands before the ranger started interrogating her. Needless to say, that she had no idea what kind of story she would be able to pull up, especially since he seemed to be quite acquainted with the history and geography of the place. Apart from being totally intimidating, the economy of his gestures showed that he was used to travelling, and there was no way she could manage to cheat on somebody as aware of this world as a traveller would be. “Well, shove it,' she thought, she was a terrible liar anyway and would have to find something that came very close to the truth.The little company was making the first real halt after walking all day long. The little ones were too worried for their companion to talk with her, and the breaks too short to engage in a real conversation. Nicely enough, the company shared with her some dried meat and a few nuts since she did not have much to sustain herself. The strict diet was getting fast on her nerve, she who had the habit to always travel with chocolate or in case her blood levels dropped, had nothing but an apple for the day. Soon enough her short supplies of chocolate would be depleted, and her sugar tooth already felt totally hopeless in this endless walk. However, more than the pace and lack of sweet food, she dreaded the moment when Strider would start questioning her. Even the perspective of sleeping could not compensate for the stress of the future confrontation.Well, OK, sleeping seemed good right now. If she had not been in full alert because of the possibility to be ambushed again by the freaky ghosts, Frances would have collapsed to the ground and slept twenty-four hours in a row. The young woman was dead on her feet, her body not used to skipping a whole night and walking ten hours with close to no sustenance. She made a mental note to keep in better shape in the future, or upgrade her training with the FBI to keep up with the requirements of time travel and medieval roads. If she had not been hiking around in the mountains so much as a kid, and always walking in cities rather than using a car, the young woman would have collapsed halfway. Remembering how people made fun of her, telling her that she should have been born in another century with her stupid refusal of using too many machines, Frances realised that her little habits might have saved her for once.As Strider set Frodo down directly into Sam’s hands, he gave her a funny look.‘We need a fire for I have some herbs to crush into steamy water. Stealth is our ally. Can you get some material?’Frances, exhausted but happy to be given such a task, nodded. Not a minute later, she was gathering twigs and thorns from pine trees to build up a little fire that wouldn’t be too obviously spotted. The threat of the black riders still held, and nobody would sleep well this night. As she took care to remain stealthy, she heard hushed voices seemingly arguing in the campsite. Turning her head to peek between the lowest tree branches, Frances listened intently. Sam, holding Frodo closely, was trying to convince their guide to do something. His stance uneasy, Strider answered in tones that did not tolerate any argument. Then he left silently, letting the hobbits crouched around a little hearth he had dug in haste. As Frances came back, the hobbits gave her a queer look. It felt natural, after the fiasco of Weathertop, that they would be wary of her. She responded by a wink, which achieved to loosen the cousin’s Merry and Pippin’s nerves. Samwise, however, was hunched over Frodo’s body and would not let go his defiance.Carefully, the young lady proceeded to pile up herbs and twigs in the little pit. Smoke should be kept minimal, and therefore she had chosen only very dry material. When the pyramid was ready, Frances realised that she had no idea how to light up a fire without a match. An uneasy smile frozen on her face, she turned her back to the hobbits and searched the path for Strider, in case he would be there. There wasn’t anybody in her line of sight, so she extracted a lighter from her bag and lit up a little flame at the very bottom of the pile. Carefully, slowly, she corrected the structure of the fire to get more and more embers by adding some sticks and blowing over it. When Strider finally got back, he found a nice layer of logs producing enough heat to boil a bowl of water.The man opened a leather pouch that hung around his belt and proceeded to work a mixture of dried leave into an unidentified recipient. Frances longed to ask what he was doing, but she’d rather remain unnoticed. Asking questions was too dangerous for now and would risk breaking her nonexistent cover. There was no way of knowing what a woman from this world should be able to do or not. Therefore, she stayed silent as the man treated the hobbit’s wound.Out of exhaustion, the little ones fell asleep very soon after eating the meager rabbit that their guide had caught. Frances, travelling without any kind of bedroll, was starting to freeze up. ‘Note for self,’ she thought, ‘next time pack a survival blanket'. Not wanting to draw any kind of attention, the young woman was ready to curl up around the hearth when Strider suddenly fixed his intense gaze on her. There was no challenge in his eyes, just a prying interest, and something so much older than his age.“My lady,” he said, using a title nobody had ever called her. “Our company stands in great danger, and for the sake of the hobbits I need to know who you are, and what is your aim in this land.”There it was, the interrogation that she feared. There was no way to lie to those intelligent eyes. However, the tone he had used on her wasn’t nearly as suspicious as she would have thought.’ My lord,” she answered, instinctively responding to his nobility. “I do ignore a lot about this world, and I am not accustomed to travelling alone in those parts.”Strider nearly jumped out of his skin as she used this title, but he said nothing. Could the girl know who he was exactly, or was it just a lucky guess?“I do not wish any harm to come to your friends, and will therefore be parted from you if need be. However, I fear that I am lost.”“Where were you heading to?’ he asked. It is not safe for ladies to be travelling alone in those troubled times.‘I…’There it was, the perfect moment to invent a fantastic story of dragons and princesses. Unfortunately, lying wasn’t one of her many talents and she relinquished. Her face opened for any prying, Frances looked into his eyes with sincerity.‘I have no idea why I am here, I was just wandering and am absolutely lost.’Surprised, Strider observed her face intently to detect any kind of deception, but he could only find a strange type of blunt honesty.‘You surely have some friends, a family, somebody that lives around here.’‘I very doubt that’His eyes gave nothing away, his face a careful mask of neutrality. Yet, she would feel the danger lurking around him. The man was deadly, and would not hesitate to kill her if she proved dangerous.‘Then where do you hail from?’‘Strider … this is what they call you, right?’The man nodded slowly, trying to assess where she wanted to lead this conversation that went frustratingly nowhere. He had learnt nothing and yet his questions had been very direct. He smiled inwardly as he thought how the twins would think him rude.‘How come you do not use your own name?’The ranger tensed and Frances bit her lip. She had obviously struck a sensitive chord and wondered if it would help her or seal the man’s indulgent spirit towards her. Aragorn, for this was his name, protected his identity and heirloom in the wilds because of his legacy. Even if the strange woman had shown tremendous courage fighting the Nazgûl, he wondered if she could not become a liability. With Frodo carrying the ring, she could well be a spy. However, his intuition told him that she would be true to the group. Never before had his guts betrayed him, and so he took a risk.‘I protect myself and those whom I love,’ he answered cryptically.‘Strider. I am being perfectly honest with you by telling you that I will never put this group at risk. There are also things in my past that I do not wish to relate because they are part of my history. I come from a place that lies far away from your borders, from a distant land where life is so very different from here. I have no idea what were the beasts I have fought in your company, but they nearly drove me mad from terror. Were I to wander alone, I’d probably be dead by now. I will not beg you to keep me close, for I realise that you are responsible for many lives. But if you allow me to accompany you, I will obey any order. Maybe in time I will be able to understand the reasons of my presence here. For the moment I am at loss. If you wish me to leave, please say so and I will go…’The last bits of the fire were fading out, casting a red light over the ranger’s features as his mind raced under his skull. Her sincerity has touched him, and he wasn’t one to be cheated easily. However, there was much she did not tell, and the importance of his mission made the decision much more difficult. The responsibility that laid on his shoulders was so heavy that it made him hard to breathe, and Frodo was getting worse. It came to him to protect the halfling and the ring no matter what. If he had been travelling alone, the answer would have been too obvious. Yet, his heart could not accept to leave her behind, and he had to admit she had some guts. In a fight she might very well be useful. If she proved treacherous, he could cut her down easily.You will travel with us to Rivendell, but behold the dangers that lay ahead. You cannot be safe amongst us.”’I thank you, my lord, for your generosity. Pardon me for asking but, would I be safer if I travel alone?’ she asked, bluntly.“I honestly do not know. The things that chase us are the nightmares of many, even among the wisest of our people.”“What are they?”“To this question I will differ the answer,” he murmured slowly, hoping she would catch the meaning.“Fair enough”As the young lady shifted from her seat to curl in a bowl under her jacket, she smiled at her new guide.“Thank you giving me a chance.”“This is what it is,” he answered, his eyes burning with the light of the fire, “A chance. I will keep my eyes open in case you should deceive us,”Frances nodded, she did not expect less from the ranger. His threat would have freaked her were it not for the good nature of the ranger. This meant, however, that she would not take watch this night. Curiously, even if the cold weather cut through her bones, the young woman fell asleep very quickly. Exhaustion eventually won the day.
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The stunning magnificence of the elven city stole her breath away, the landscape showing through the openings as she followed her host around the stone corridors. Lifting up the skirts of her embroidered gown to climb a flight of stairs, Frances marvelled at the sensation on her skin. The smooth aerial silk was the most incredible piece of cloth she had ever worn. After she had slept, bathed and eaten fruits and dry seeds, the young woman had been presented the rich embroidered dress that she was supposed to wear for her encounter with the Lord of the city. Her mouth agape, Frances had protested that she could keep her usual clothes, and was unworthy of such a privilege, being a complete stranger. The blond elf that attended to her had countered that it was suitable garment for a guest of the last homely house, and that she could not possibly be wandering around dressed as a man. Frances had relented.Her maid did not speak the common tongue so well, but when Frances asked her if the city was safe, she immediately understood her concerns. Frances would not put up a dress if there was the slightest chance they would have to fight or flee. The rather peaceful sounds coming from outside indicated that there was no danger, yet appearances could be deceiving. The maid chattered about a Lord Glorfindel being in charge of the safety of Imladris; if Frances did not get half of it, she understood the message.Now that the magnificence of the city stood in front of her, Frances held no doubt that the bastion had never been attacked, whether it be because of the power of the elves or luck she did not know. Incredible waterfalls created an enchanting atmosphere as they passed here and there, gliding between buildings and filling the air with moist. The slight breeze played with the volutes of steam, opening curtains of light as sunshine rays descended upon the city. Crossovers and catwalks linked the silvery buildings hanging over the valley, their sides merging with the edges of the mountains as boulders were turned into architectural masterpieces.Frances walked, her eyes wide open, she realised that the elves’ steps were absolutely silent while hers produced an echoing pit pat. The concern quickly faded as the stunning view of a great waterfall graced her eyes, overwhelming her mind with beauty. The young woman had to refrain from running away like a kid to explore every part of the city. The pull of the river was so tempting. Water made her feel safe, it always had and probably always would be this way. Sadly though, they were crossing a long corridor leading to a pair of huge wooden doors. Immediately, anguish came back to claim her. What was she going to tell him? If that guy was really as powerful as Strider said, then lying to him was in no way possible.Before she knew it both women stood in front of the entrance, and the door squeaked slightly. It was darker inside, and the opening did not make enough room for her to peek in, so when the blond elf showed her the way, Frances did not hesitate and stepped around the massive panel. As she entered in the study, the young woman let her hand rest on the old wood for an instant. The carvings were exquisite, and the feel of wood beneath her palm soother her. Those doors had probably been there for hundreds of years. The gesture did not go unnoticed by the two pairs of eyes that detailed her for the first time.Frances squinted a little, adjusting to the difference in luminosity. Not that the study was dark, but the light outside had been very bright for late autumn. Two people awaited her to come forth. Standing a few feet from her was a surprising dark-haired elf, his face neither old nor young. His eyes though, a stunning grey, held such wisdom that she felt like kneeling at his feet. The contrast of the raven colour of his hair on his grave figure gave him an air of severity rarely seen amongst his people. That elf radiated power in stunning proportions, and she knew that there was nothing she could keep from him. Lying was simply not an option in the face of those ageless pupils.Aside from the kingly elf, an apparent old man was casually sitting in a corner of the room, but his bearing did not fool her for a second. His battered face showed great exhaustion, but there was also a silent determination pouring out of him. Grey hair and beard were covering most of his face, and his clothes did not show anything regarding rank of belonging to any kind of royalty. The plain robes only spoke of hardship and simplicity, there was no information provided in them except that he probably was a traveller, and thus likely to be still in good shape. However, even hidden under his grey mane, there was something that stunned Frances. His eyes were a blue as the ocean, their colour failing at disappearing under the thick eyebrows, and the light buried in their depths was incredibly out of place.“Please be welcome in Rivendell” came the elf’s commanding voice. “I am Lord Elrond, and this is Gandalf in the common tongue. You have helped people that were precious to us and for this we thank you. There is much to discuss. Would you take a seat?"He gestured to a dark wooden chair next to her. "Thank you, my lord”Frances bowed tentatively. How does someone greet the master of the most beautiful city she had ever seen? In a quick instant, Elrond had her measured, checking her posture as she gracefully took her seat. Her gestures were assured, her brown gaze sincere but also as determined as was possible on a member of the second born. The woman could be dangerous, and it was mandatory that they knew if she could threaten or help them before nightfall. Gandalf was totally motionless on his chair ; he was also checking up on the girl's abilities in more subtle ways that he could. Prophecies were unclear, the knowledge of the origins of the song long forgotten in the great suffering of the Noldor while crossing through ice and starvation. However, few of them still had some hints about who she was, and who she could be. There were no information about what could be her part in the coming war, but the only thing he knew was that she would have a determinant role. The ignorance of it all was making him crazy, but now was the time to swallow one's fears and work for the greater good."As you already know, our world in on the brink of war. You have found the ring bearer and helped him already, what are your intentions for the future?"The use of the word “world” surprised the young woman quite as much as the question that followed. It was almost as if Lord Elrond knew that she was from another planet. "I have to admit that I'm not so sure about what you mean by my intentions in this war?" Frances’ face was too serious for it to be a prank, yet Elrond's eyebrows both shot up to the sky."You are the keeper of time, you surely must know…”Frances stood suddenly, her chair scraping the wooden floor with a screech."What did you call me?”"The keeper of time,’ he answered calmly, wondering for the first time if it was possible she could be ignorant of her destiny in middle earth.For an instant Frances stood speechless, slowly integrating the information she had just been given. Those people knew her title, they knew the reason of her presence and they had knowledge about the blue rock. It was the second time somebody called her keeper of time, and she couldn’t get anything from the guy who gave it to her in the first place*. Today was maybe the day she would get her answers, and the only thought made her heart race."And what would that be?" she asked slowly, her eyes searching his as if she could extract the information by sucking it up from his brain."I am afraid I cannot tell you, for even the oldest of us do not know."Silence stretched in the room, and Frances let out a desperate sigh. The disappointment was bitter, and it stroke her like a spear in the chest, taking away blind hope that had risen not a minute ago. As the young woman regained her composure, her features quickly changing from distress to a secured blank mask, her eyes met Gandalf's. A sudden intuition stroke her light a bolt of lightning, some knowledge that she shouldn’t have but seemed crystal clear."You may not know, Lord Elrond," she stated coolly without moving an inch, "but HE does…"At those words, the elf lord turned his head sharply, and his intense gaze silently questioned his friend. This movement told her that there was a hierarchy between the two of them, even if it seemed that they worked together. Clearly no chain of command existed, but the inquisitive look Elrond sent the old man showed an obvious sense of betrayal, as well as a demand for answers. Both beings were powerful, one as a leader, and the other as a pilgrim from what she could fathom. It confirmed that Gandalf was more than a man, because the reverence he got from Elrond was not the one you gave to an equal, especially when one was being a respected elf lord running an entire city immune to the spectrum attack. As Frances turned to the old man in wonder, she saw his eyes twinkle in mischief before he spoke.Forgoing all attempt at diplomacy, Frances asked."What are you?"The look he gave her was quite amused, but there was such depth in his gaze that she knew the question had touched home. This man was not ordinary, and the fact that she had felt it so soon obviously surprised him, as well as the elf Lord who now stood dumbfounded in front of her."You can feel people, can't you?"She nodded, unsure about how to answer when she did not know herself.“His eyes told me so.”Gandalf straightened on his chair, and Frances suddenly realised how tall the man was. His voice was deep and rich, full of compassion as he explained his nature."I am of the Istari, a wizard that was sent from overseas to track Sauron and help eliminate the threat.""How long ago was that?"The information could have been trivial, but it would designate him as man or surnatural being."We came to middle earth by crossing the great sea in the year 1050 of this age,’ he stated, deciding it was not worth withdrawing his nature from her. "Ever since two of us were lost, but three remain: Saruman the white who heads our council, Radagast the brown and myself, Gandalf the grey,"Frances said nothing, trying to process the information. She had no idea what the year was, but couldn’t possibly tell them so. It would sell her as an outlander for sure. She did not have to ask the question that was burning her lips as Gandalf pursued:"I am bound to a human body, but do not age and have looked the same for two thousand years now.""Do you read minds?" she asked sharply, making him laugh as Elrond nearly smiled."No, child. I am only very perceptive oh human flaws…"Frances nodded again. She had to think, to learn about this place and its mythology. Without this knowledge there was nothing that could be done. As elf and wizard stayed silent, she decided to sit down again and push her luck a bit further by asking about the keeper of time."There is not much that is known to others than the Valar, except that the stone you are wearing around your neck allows travels between words, and that the bearer of this channel is called the keeper of time. My souvenirs from before are scarce, so I am afraid there is nothing more I can tell you on the subject except from what is known in middle earth.""So you know that I'm not from this world?""Indeed, but it would be better if that remained unsaid."“Of course,’ she said, sighing in relief that she would not have to hide this.“There exist some very old songs and prophecies about the keeper of time,’ resumed Elrond, his eyes far away in an attempt to recall them, "but they even predate the age of the trees, and thus have mostly been forgotten, only the words remaining in the oldest of our communities.""And what would those songs say?""Mostly that the keeper of time would be incarnated as a woman, and that she has a crucial role in the upcoming battle against evil…""Great,’ grumbled Frances. "Are there any texts remaining?""I will grant you at will the access to the library, and surely my foster son or my daughter will be willing to help you learn our language and translate it … she has been dying to meet you since you came here.""That would be really helpful my lord."Frances bowed, realising that for now she did not have any more questions."I think best,’ started Gandalf, his grumbling voice startling her, "that you should learn as much as you can while staying with us. Are there any skills you do not master that seem relevant for you?""Uh … apart from languages, history, sword fighting and riding, no…" came her cynical response."You cannot ride?!", was Elrond’ startled cry."Nope… Horses don't like me … so much… But I don’t like them either, so we’re even."The irony was clear, but Elrond wisely chose to discard it. Sharing a glance with Gandalf, the elf lord sighed:"Very well. We will discuss this further and arrange some lessons for you. Regarding your origins, however, you will unfortunately have to follow up with the story you told my son. People in here are mindful and should not be questioning you further…"Those reassuring words were met by quick commotion in the hallway. The heavy door was suddenly pushed further, interrupting the elf lord. Two dark-haired young elves made their way through, their manner absolutely nonchalant giving the fact that they had just burst in a private meeting with probably two of the most powerful people on middle earth. Lord Elrond's eyebrow lifted up once more as a greeting, and his severe features darkened. Oblivious of the sour mood, both elves smiled at their father; their features were so alike that it was impossible they would not be family."Ada,” one of them said, “you asked for us!""So I did, but not before this meeting had ended.""I told you he was busy" snipped the second one."Oh come on! You were as impatient as I was to check on that lady Estel talked about…""Estel?" questioned Frances. "And the lady, that would be me… And you are?""My sons. And they should have been waiting outside and thus they will return there and take you to the library. Get your brother or sister as well and see that the lady Frances gets helps in her research. I must speak with Gandalf. Once I am done, I will come to you."Both twins bowed to the old wizard and their father before turning back to the door and showing her out. As soon as the wooden door was closed, Frances blinked a few times to get used to the luminosity and observed the elves. They did not give her a second before they started asking questions."So where are you from?""What's your father's name?"Impatient to get moving, the young lady ignored their queries and asked:"So where's that library?"Frowning, the twins did not let it go, insisting that they got an answer. Before she could be rude and interrupt their banter, a yell resonated behind the door with a very angry voice."Go!" shouted Elrond, the sound partially covered by a deep laugh that could only be the wizard's.Jumping in fright, both elves turned around and started walking swiftly, Frances following them with much effort."This way,’ they said at the same time, making her chuckle"So what are your names, sons of Elrond?" she smiled.The youngest one, Elrohir, closed the heavy wooden door behind him. In spite of their status, the two brothers had a mischievous air that spoke of youth and eagerness. The twins led her to the library, and from that day, Frances spend countless hours buried in dusty books. When she was not occupied with the legends of middle earth, her mind went back to the twins. Deciphering their character was not so easy. During the short interval of time they shared, Elladan had acted like the leader in terms of practical arrangements, but it was Elrohir that had tried desperately to have her talk. The youngest of the twins, even by mere minutes,really was a typical second child, while Elladan took the part of the wise one. However, both of them had cheerful manners and seemed eager to speak with her and pierce the mystery of her venue.Sighing, the young woman realised how difficult elves were to read, even for her. She knew that there probably was a full history behind those two. Their bearing spoke of experience, and they even might be warriors. Fighting seemed inevitable in the insecurity of this world, and she wondered which ill fates they had witnessed. However, whichever had been the experiences in their life, their dark eyes did not betray any of them. The only thing she was sure of was that most of it must have been common for it seemed that both twins were forming only one entity. Rarely had she seen such acquaintance between two siblings, and if the fact that one was finishing the sentence of the other was a clue, there was so much more that was unsaid that it blew the mid away. Centuries passed together could probably do that, she thought, leaving the mystery of the twins aside for the moment.Turning the page of a dusty book while waiting for someone to join her, Frances marvelled once more at the size of the library. The huge rounded room was filled up with continuous shelves stretching to the top. The white stone vault reflected the few rays of sunlight penetrating through the high windows, creating a cosy atmosphere. Granite. Pure, white, and imperishable granite. This is why she felt so well protected inside the vaults of the last homely house, the rocks themselves were as permanent as anything can be.Most of the books seemed old enough to be priceless, and they literally held history within their pages. Even in her wildest dreams she would not have imagined being allowed to wander freely inside such a magnificent building, but there she was, caressing a book written in common language with unlimited access to knowledge. Well, almost unlimited, the only little issue being that she could not speak elvish and all the old books predated the common tongue. Hell, some even predated Sindarin! Two languages to learn, and there probably wasn’t many elves who still spoke Quenya. Needless to say that she needed to start with Sindarin first. Yay!Her first elvish word was Estel, it was the name of Elrond foster son from what the twins had told her. She had a few doubts about who this might be, and a good part of her really wanted Strider to be the one. Perhaps she was mistaken, but for sure there was something more than a man in the ranger, the depth of is grey eyes told her so. AND, he was the only human in Rivendell. A good candidate then. For the moment, she had realised that if elves did not bear their age through skin or posture, their eyes betrayed it all. Frances was slowly coming to terms with the idea of living a thousand years old, but still she got issues with that thought. However, in Strider's eyes there was some wisdom rarely seen on other men his age, and that intrigued her. Even Maximus, who had suffered a great deal, or the Jedi had not given her this weird impression.When the heavy door was pushed slowly, the young woman stood up, watching a familiar figure as it entered the room without a single noise. The surprise was quite total for both of them, and a little gasp escaped the young woman's lips while he kept his reaction hidden but for a smile. Strider was dressed in elvish robes and breeches, an embroidered bluish shirt covering up his torso below the rich fabric of his jerkin. His clean hair gently framed his face, the colour a deep brown that would have been quite impossible to spot without the cleaning process. Now dressed like a noble man and the hardships of their wanderings erased, he looked quite regal.She, standing like a statue, was altogether very different from how he had known her during their hastened march to Rivendell. After days of walking and fighting, the young lady had turned more like him in his rangers days rather than any lady's usual state of being. The strange clothing she had worn by then revealed quite a lot for a woman, for they were men like. Her hair, usually bound tight and worn out by the drizzle, were now falling into wavy cascades down to her waist. Needless to say that their unusual colouring was even the more intriguing on an already mysterious lady. The light blue colour of the silk enhanced her tanned figure, and the caramel skin underneath seemed a little out of place in Rivendell, but it gave her a very exotic look. The young lady standing now in front of him was a subtle mix of strangeness and nobility, and Aragorn discovered in her somebody totally different that what he was used to.That woman had multiple facets, and for the moment they were none that seemed out of place in middle earth. However, something told him that she was not from there, something totally independent from the secret and mystery that hung on her like water was bound to the leaves after a storm. Aside from all those clues and unanswered questions, there was a manner in her that said that she was a stranger to this part of the world, maybe even a stranger beyond any measure. Strider had not drawn conclusions yet, there were too many implications for him to understand and much more observation to do before he could reach any enlightenment, but he knew for sure that surprises were far from being over. There was something off with her, something he had sensed in the first instant he had met her, blindly going after ringwraith that could have exterminated her in the blink of an eye had he not flung himself on the battlefield. Yet, she had been more than faithful on the difficult journey to Rivendell, but deep down strider knew that there was more to it than met the eye."Estel?" she asked innocently, waiting for his reaction to reveal if this was indeed his real nameAragorn’s eyes betrayed his shock, but his face gave nothing away."My lady”"What does it mean?""It means hope,’ he murmured, walking briskly to her."Why? Why would Lord Elrond name you Hope?" she slowly said, half to herself.Her companion's gaze focused on something she could not see, suspended for Frances to contemplate a story she knew nothing about. Finally, the ranger turned to her, and she realised that his grey eyes looked exactly like Elrond's. Was it common in middle earth or as scarce as in her home planet? How could there be a parental link between an elf lord and a human? It made no sense at all, but the answer did not lie far ahead."Because he wanted me to embrace a destiny that I have refused for many years…""Er … destiny … it is never easy to be ordered great deeds in the name of destiny,” she whispered, half to herself.Frances kad some qualms about destiny, especially when, being thrown into a desert in the Roman empire time without warning, she had learnt what it meant to be the keeper of time. She had, for sure, quite some issues with destiny. Sensing that the subject was getting touchy, the young lady decided to let it rest for a while and so her next question was meant for idle conversation."Surely you have many names. You seem to have travelled a lot. In the hills you go as Strider, but what of your given name?"Stiffening further at the inquiry, the ranger turned to her in low motion, and his eyes pierced her to the core. As Frances sustained his hard gaze, realising that maybe her innocent question implicated much deeper secrets. Aragorn bore holes into her, but there was not an ounce of lies and treachery in her eyes. If his foster father, that knew much, was trusting her in his walls, then so should he."I am called Aragorn, but not many know of my name for I am the son of Arathorn.""Ok…," she said softly.Arathorn, had she read anything about it? No, it didn’t ring a bell. The ranger seemed flabbergasted at her lack of reaction, especially since he didn’t know what ‘Okè’ might stand for. Albeit he had all her attention, Aragorn eyed her with obvious surprise."You know nothing of the line of Isildur…""Obviously not, and I hope it is not an offence but I have never heard of him. As I told you before, I am not so used to the place…"Aragorn considered her words for a few moments, her manners of speech threw him off balance sometimes. If she had been aware of the dying line of the Dunedain, mentioning his father would have at least created a little reaction, but there was none. This told him that she was truly ignorant about all the things of middle earth, or being an extremely good spy. However, Elrond had always been very careful and far-sighted; he would not have allowed them to bound if she was representing a danger."I am in no way familiar with your history, and would be grateful to you if you would share it with me but, before that, pray tell me how an elven lord like Lord Elrond could ever be related to a human family like yours?"As soon as the words got out Aragorn gasped. There was nothing that could link him to the elf Lord, except for the grey eyes. For sure they were not common, and the first sign of the descendants of the Dunedain, but still that was a bit far-fetched from somebody who had just seen his foster father in the darkness of his study and never heard of the Dunedain."How?" he questioned a bit sharply, not even bothering to form a sentence"It was just a guess, but there are a few clues here and there. First of all, there is your elvish name, and then the fact that you were adopted by a powerful elf lord, and finally there is not so much in common between you two, but your eyes are a dead giveaway…""Yes, I had thought so…" he sighed. "You are quite observant for a young woman of your age…""Well… Better safe than sorry…"She had said that as much for herself than for his sake, but the weird way of speech struck him once more. She had some expressions that he had never heard before, especially on a woman's tongue."There are many tales to share to a woman that does not remember anything about the earth she walks,’ he started, giving her a look that showed that he was not convinced at all by her story.As she did not answer this little hint, Estel started talking about the beginning of his line and the birth of the twins Elrond and Elros. Fascinated by his tale, Frances drank his words for hours while she was taught the history of middle earth. Strider did not provide an extensive teaching over the Eldar and the second born, since that would have taken ages, but he gave her the main lines. He told her about the choice both brothers had faced, about the line of the Dunedain and Númenor, and about those few elven and human couples that had existed over the years. Hours passed at a fast pace, and soon both companions were digging into maps and dusty books, Frances learning her first few words of Elvish in the meantime. When they got called for dinner this day, the young woman at least knew that Elladan stood for elf-man and Elrohir for elf-knight. She wondered if those names reflected the strong desire of their parents that they choose immortality.Honestly speaking, the young woman could not fathom why one could choose to forsake the privilege of the eldar. It prevented ugly things like sickness and aging, keeping the elves in full physical and mental capacity over the years, protecting them from human weaknesses. However, she wouldn't want to be immortal for the world. Estel had explained that, apart from the many flaws of being a mortal, some elves considered that the little time men were granted was lived more fully, with more passion than what elves were capable of after so many years. They called death the edain's gift. Men were prompt to lay down their lives if needed, despite the fact that their passage on earth was so short and therefore so meaningful. Elves had grown detached and distant when men kept fighting with the fury that characterized their passionate will. Where the first born were eternal, dwelling in middle earth like fireflies, the second born brought sparks wherever they passed, and never were they forgotten.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The night was settling in, little clouds of smoke slowly ascending the evening sky from Aragorn's pipe. His grey eyes were strained on a particular spot in the gardens, his brain frying dead from all the information he had had to process this few last days. A crystalline voice made his heart leap with joy; Arwen's laugh had always been so refreshing to him. Another hearty chuckle climbed to his ears, this one belonged to a human. The timbre was lower and much less elegant, but its expression was filled with colors and emotions he couldn't grasp.Thinking hard for the hundredth time about the woman who recklessly attacked five Ringwraith without backing down, Estel could find nothing but emptiness. Who she was and where she came from was a total mystery and her straight forwardness had changed nothing to the puzzle. Elrond, all mighty and visionary, had said he could be of no help. His foster son knew there probably was some knowledge in his father's visions, but for an unknown reason he was not eager to share. At loss, Etel was once again in the dark, left to forge an opinion by himself on the unusual woman that had landed in his lap a few days ago.Another form appeared at his side and started puffing smoke. As Gandalf settled himself alongside, he just had to get a glimpse of his eyes to know what he was thinking. Aragorn would not ask for information, he knew that anything he was willing to share would come to him unasked, and that the rest would be buried with him. However, Gandalf had no idea about who the woman was, other that she came from another world, and he felt at loss regarding the future. Of course, he had probably known before taking this form, but his once of humanity had hidden many things from him. Knowledge would flow whenever needed, but as for now it was best to accept to stay in the dark. Despite this evident lack of guidelines, the wizard knew that she was going to play a part in middle earth's war, and if it was the best he could fathom for now, it was still better than his smoking mate. The Valar's will was never shared lightly."Some things are just not made to be heard", said Gandalf slowly."Arwen has always been a good judge of characters"Deep blue eyes met grey, and they understood each other without any more words. The night closed. The ladies walked slowly past the trees after their evening stroll in the marvelous gardens of Imladris. Up there on the balconies were watching two imposing figures smoking quietly.Glorfindel was a puzzle to her. His long flowing hair had nothing different from most of the elves, but somehow it had been his doom against a Balrog of the first order, and still he refused to tie it up when fighting. The twins had fed her up with this horrific story of course, and from the day she heard the tale Frances had decided that tying her hair was the key to safety. The stoic elf that towered in front of her was nonetheless impressive, and the young woman tried to curb the lump in her throat as he greeted her formally. She knew he wasn't pleased with Elrond's decision to have him forge a sword for her; his secrets were sacred and so was his art. Creating an elvish weapon for a member of the second born was not honorable, and she had had echoes of the row that had opposed the two powers of nature on her behalf. Feeling guilty, the young woman had insisted that she did not need a sword done by the Balrog slayer himself, but the master of Imladris would have nothing of it. Yet, his decision didn't look like it was driven by a stubborn desire, and Glorfindel had eventually relented. He trusted Elrond's judgment above all, and would overcome his dislike; those were troubled times.After being instructed that the sword smith would be waiting for her in the morning, Frances had denied her guilt any seat in her brain, and decided to feel honored by the present that would be given to her. She had no idea where her steps would lead her in the future, and knowing that Elrond might have a clue about it did not make her feel better. So there she was, standing in front of the renowned sword smith lair, being greeted by one of the most famous icon of the history of middle earth. She was intimidated to the core, but she refused to let the Balrog Slayer see it. He wasn't the first charismatic being she had met, even if his glow was so intense that it stole her breath away.Glorfindel has felt her the moment her feet had touched the stairs of his den, high above the hill. At first, he had not been pleased to be ordered around like a child by the master of Imladris. Not that Elrond could demand anything from him of course, but his plea had left him in an awkward position. As a legend, Glorfindel was used to being stared at oddly, even by the people of his own race. As a result, the warrior was quite solitary, only hanging out with people of great influence. Even so, he missed his friends and companions from the first age, realizing that no elf could wield such power as the elfs of old. The passing of his own people had filled him with melancholy, and the sword smith did not offer his services lightly.When he had caught up with Estel's company many days ago, Frances had shied away and stayed with the hobbits, not catching his attention. Like any human, her wide eyes had informed him that it was her first encounter with elves. Her clothes, covered with grime, had been hiding her feminine forms and Glorfindel had not even realised she was a woman. It did not matter, for to him she would be a child forever. However, learning that this particular being, so insignificant at first, could be the subject of such an old prophecy, was somehow unnerving. Now he was watching her, his piercing eyes trying to come to terms with such a fact. The girl was trying her best not to fidget under his assessing gaze, and he felt such a struggle to keep control that it made him smile.For sure, she her mind was strong, for a human, but her demeanor showed that sword fighting wasn't part of her skills. As Glorfindel's intense gaze studied her, Frances held her head high. She was no hero, but she still had some pride. Little by little, she regained her composure. The little she had to offer was worth being respected.The waves of feelings she was sending were easily picked up by her protagonist, and Glorfindel finally talked, fearing that the girl might explode."Have you ever fought with a sword?"His voice, so musical and beautiful, started her. A lesson she had yet to learn about the firstborn, is that their etheral beauty could hide fierceness and unrestrained power."I have", she answered, trying to suppress the tremors of her voice. "Not much though, and the gladius was very different than your elven swords.""Really?, how so?"Frances blinked, trying to get free of his hypnotic gaze. Last time she had touched a sword was in antic Rome, with Maximus, and the weight had totally killed her arms."I used a weapon with a short flattened blade, this wide"Opening her fingers to show him, Glordfindel's eyes went darker."This is in no way suited for your morphology, young one" he stated cooly. "It probably wasn't so much of a success."Insulted by his rebuke, Frances could not help but note that he was right. It had been very difficult for her to learn this fighting style, and the weight and dynamics of the gladius had not been adapted to her. However, the choice had been very simple: fight or die.Well, I'm alive. Sometimes, my Lord, one does not have a choice."It was the wittiest retort she could dare, but the tone of her voice struck the swordsmith. If the answer was polite, there was a clear edge in her tone and posture. Arching one eyebrow in a kingly manner, Glorfindel wondered what the girl had been through at such a young age when he heard some rustling leaves. Of course, the young human had not remarked anything, but she was kind enough to stay quiet while he swept the surroundings. At least, she could read people's demeanor. As his eyes scanned the hill, Glorfindel hear a muffled whisper."Sons of Elrond", he shouted suddenly, "be gone, or I shall have to make sure you learn your lesson"Frances stated, impressed by the commanding tone of his voice. Yet, it seemed laced with some kind of humor, something she noted for future reference. Her eyes roamed the hills, vexed for she had not heard nor seen anything. Far away, on the top of the hill, she caught a glimpse of a dark woolen cape. It was the only clue she would ever have of their stalkers being the twins. The intrusion though, made her smile. After three thousand years, those two never stopped annoying people. They probably tried to counterbalance their father's stiffness. At least, and it was reassuring, it showed that psychology worked on elves.When Glorfindel came back to her, the tension was gone. She made a mental note to thank Elladan and Elrohir for this."You shall have some training", stated Glorfindel. "No elven sword can be wielded by someone that does not know how to properly use it. Tomorrow, the swordsmaster will find you, and when he deems you ready I will forge your weapon."And then he was gone, leaving her on the doorstep without any more explanations. The next morning, another elf came to fetch her. He presented himself as his new mentor. Lips tight, head high and stiff posture, her new teacher was so intimidating that she considered throwing herself down the waterfall. Trembling, the young lady followed him to the training ground. Day after day, Frances learned to master her reflexes with a blade. Elven swords were so much different, so light and flexible at the same time. As she nearly started from scratch, her swords master went a bit desperate. Always polite, he forestalled every tentative of humor or wariness. He was the typical elf, perfect, smart, elegant, graceful, and deadly. Frances felt every bit of her humanity as she trained with him, his eyebrows shooting to the sky every time she fell or made a stupid mistake. The human race definitely was an inferior breed. After a few days, the young lady couldn't take it anymore, and found her refuge in books. There, she sometimes met Bilbo. He told her about middle earth stories while they drank tea, and showed her many maps. One day, Estel joined them, in need of some distractions from his duties. Hobbit, girl and ranger settled around a table to recall the songs of old. Frances was totally enthralled by the legends of Númenor, and those of the first age. She asked so many questions that even Estel could not respond. With time, she was starting to fathom how heavy the ranger's destiny weighted over his shoulders, and she was getting to know the man under the cloak of appearances. As for the hobbit, his jovial self hid something much darker, some kind of melancholy which origin she could not pin point. When Bilbo stated something about eating cakes and went away, Frances dared asking to the ranger about it. Estel's eyes darkened."I believe it is the presence of the ring, and its loss at the same time that affects Bilbo" he said, his eyes lost into nothingness.After all, Frances had seen the ring before Glorfindel came to collect Frodo. It was only fitting that she knew of its origins. This is how Frances heard about the full story, and needless to say that it darkened her mood. The imminent war motivated her, and it was in a brand new state of mind that she came back to her sword fighting lessons.On afternoons, Arwen had decided to teach her how to ride. The young girl's dislike of horses had probably shown a tad too much, because the mare she was to mount seemed very nervous at first. Little by little though, she became accustomed to being carried around by the white beast. It didn't mean she liked it though, much preferring long strolls to any kind of horse riding. However, when Frances didn't struggle so much with her mare, the promenade with Arwen could be interesting. Standing alongside legendary beings was unreal, and Frances felt that her life had become a daydream as time flew by. A routine started to set up. A friendship developed with all siblings of Elrond, and little by little her fighting and riding skills improved. When she had time though, Frances spent it in the library, or wandering alone in the mountains around Rivendell.Winter came, and with it some ice and snow. This is how she found out a frozen lake at the top of the mountains, a few hours from the magnificent city of Imladris. With a little help from the twins, the young lady managed to build a pair of ice skates. This is how her free time was spent while winter's clutches finally settled in the valley.One day, the prince of Greenwood arrived in the city with a delegation. The next day, a company of dwarven pilgrims came to visit Lord Elrond's last homely house, a rarely feat indeed ! Something was building up, but Frances was oblivious to this, caught into her routine. She would, however, not escape the political dinner that the master of Imladris had organized for the evening. Therefore, as snow covered the ground and it wasn't fit for riding, the young lady escaped towards the lake to release the pressure of such formal dinner.The prince Legolas, accosted by the sons of Elrond, agreed to an afternoon stroll as his legs ached from the long ride from his homely kingdom. This is how he came to see the young human whose prophecy had been chanted over generations, albeit he was oblivious to it.Gracefully gliding over the ice was an unusual feminine silhouette, her movements fluently creating a strange choregraphy. It was too harsh and energetic to be of elvish influence, and so was she. Turning infinitely around an invisible axis, her long reddish hair was flowing around her as if inhabited by a spirit of its own. Her moves denounced her as a descendant of men, but there was such a mystical dimension escaping from her skidding form that he could not relate to any of the people he had met. His bright eyes narrowing to get a closer look, he eventually managed to get a glimpse at her face. Appearing and disappearing from his sight were her delightful hazel eyes, her expression most of the time hidden by tangled red hair covering her face while she danced. It was difficult to get a precise idea of her height, but she didn't seem very tall. However, her thin body screamed of muscular and equilibrium control. After all those years fighting evil, the prince knew at first sight how to recognize a potential warrior, and she definitely was. This information sunk into his brain as a shock. There was only one place were women could be allowed to fight, and those women were shieldmaidens of the Eorlingas. Her deep red hair denounced her from another place; she could not hail from Rohan.The dance turned a bit cooler, and she leant forward, lifting one of her legs to perform a graceful arabesque while gliding backwards. As she extended one of her hands in front of her as to offer the world to an invisible public, a bright smile made its way to her stalker's face. She was in no way comparable to elvish beauty and glowing features, but there was something in her face that spoke to his very being. Emotions were poured out of her like water out of the sky, and her ice dancing allowed him and the twins to taste a sparkly shower. There was so much in those eyes that he wondered if he could ever face them. Elves had lived so long that emotions did not crawl on their faces like it did with children of men. Showing feelings was not the way of the Eldar, even if they deeply felt. It just remained private, and the firstborn sometimes feared the powerful grip that emotions had on the second born. He had met many men and women while defending his forest and middle earth, but most of those emotions were linked to fright and misery. Her face, however, expressed love and understanding, bliss and pleasure in such a delightful way that the prince decided to carve her features in his mind forever. He did not know how much of her he would be seeing soon…The elves were crouched behind a line of rocks a good distance away from the lake; from here she could not see nor hear them. After the twins had shown her this path leading to the frozen lake high in the mountain, she had been going up there every morning to dance, and the twins had accompanied her to discover what she intended to do with those blade boots. Ice dancing was a foreign concept to them as elves usually did not crave for ice and snow, but her first steps on the ice had dumbfounded them. It was a rough dance for elvish eyes, but so captivating for their kind that they could not take eyes of her turning and spinning around for hours. Then Greenleaf had showed up, and it was only fair to show him this little secret of theirs to share with their elvish friend. It had been just an intuition from Elrohir, but somehow it seemed important that this should happen, so the twins had taken the elf lord up the path and there they were, contemplating the surprised struck face of a five hundred years old prince.Legolas had always been a bit rough himself, dismissing elvish elleths from his path because of the war, and dedicating his life to the protection of his kingdom. Sometimes his father would yell at him for being friends with men, and in particular Aragorn with whom a strong link had existed for years. The twins had known him since he was born, and truth be told they agreed that Greenleaf was a bit different from his pairs. As a matter of fact, he had accompanied them and the rangers of the north countless times, and they had fought together against evil. Those links were unbreakable. Legolas was an elf in every way you could imagine from a man's point of view, but he was so curious about other races that he loved exchanging with the twins."Wasn't it worth a little hiking Greenleaf?", whispered Elladan from behind him, making him jump in surprise, which usually never happened."Who is she?""I fear we cannot tell you", answered Elrohir for his brother, a quite usual deed in Elrond's houseLegolas raised an eyebrow at this answer. Did Elrond emit orders about that visitor of his? Was he not trustworthy of information about the lady?"Why couldn't you if I may ask?""Because nobody knows, except maybe for the lady of the woods, and all that we know is that she came with Estel a few days ago and that he met her on Weather top…""That is highly unusual for the Lord of Imladris to receive guests he has no clue about", answered Legolas, intrigued"Unusual indeed… Especially since she was fighting off five Nâzgul when Estel joined her!"Elladan's cry stopped his brother from saying more, but it was too late."THE spectra?" asked Legolas, nearly loosing the sense of discretion such was his surprise."Hush", said Elladan, "We're not even supposed to know that"Legolas' feature closed off."The ringwraith are out again then, it cannot mean anything good then…""What do you mean?" asked Elladan, one eyebrow lifted in a perfect imitation of his father's features."I bring ill tidings for Lord Elrond and everything will be spoken tomorrow at the council"The twins faces fell, and the young Prince enjoyed the five seconds of superiority before they started arguing that they wanted to know now. Legolas was well aware that they might bug him to death, he turned around and cut them before they started complaining."I'll relate the whole story while walking back to Imladris, but you must tell me more. I thought that humans were so affected by the Nazgûls that they could not fight them. Is she of elven blood?""No it seems not", answered Elrohir, "and neither is she of Numenorean blood since she mentioned a life expectancy of ninety years at the very best""Ninety year ... so little time"There was a quick silence during which the three Eldar contemplated when their life would have ended if they had lived ninety years. It seemed so ridiculously small compared to their eternal wisdom, but they had to admit that the passion that lied within men during a few decades allowed deeds that seemed incredible compared to their short lives. There was a great force in the short life of the second born, and yet so much weakness linked to greed and vanity."So did the spectra attack her? How did she manage to answer back?", asked Legolas."They did not. From what she said she was hiking around weather top and hoping to stop for the night when she heard the little company Aragorn was leading being ambushed. She climbed to the top and threw them rocks and daggers before she managed to steal one of their blades.""She had obviously no knowledge of what they were but she related she had never touched such icy blade in her life""She fought with a Morgul blade? Against five of them? What of the dread cloak?"Legolas had heard that no human could resist the despair cast by the Nazgûl, and it was in his eyes because of Aragorn's blood and numerous encounters that the heir could resist their call. Thinking that a young lady could overcome the feeling and stand up to fight was unbelievable."Well you'll meet her sometime this evening anyway, and you can ask her yourself. She told us that the fear and panic was great indeed, and that she nearly sunk down into a helpless state, stated Elrohir.""Do not speak for the lady my brother, what she said was intended to us and not to anybody else""You're right Elladan, I hope she is not displeased for I am too talkative, but I am merely counting the tale of her heroics deeds.""Oh pray tell some more my dear twins, do not have me waiting!", exclaimed Legolas, always eager for a good story."I am sorry, you will have to ask the lady herself, but she might be busy answering many questions""Elrond's receptions are not a place to discuss about war, and I do not wish to seem rude to the lady. What will she think about Greenwood manners if I so treat her?"A slight smile appeared on Elrohir's lips, soon followed by his brother's."I wouldn't worry about manners, that particular lady does not acknowledges etiquette as we do and does not fear being asked questions, although she barely answers them in the expected manner. I am even sure that if you come to bother her too much she might punch you until you leave…"Legolas's brows shot up upon his forehead and he got silent. What kind of lady would react this way to an offense ? A lady that attacked five death spectra with nothing more than a few rocks and daggers perhaps… Even lady Arwen, who was a strong character, did not punch men anymore except for her brothers. Of course, she was far too sneaky to need any violence to come to her means…Arwen contemplated her charge before she led her to the great arch of the dining room. It was a tradition for elleths to show up after their counterparts, and the hall was crowded from visitors from all lands. The Evenstar, ever graceful and stunningly beautiful, gave an unusual wink to the timid young lady following her. With the help of maidens they had adjusted a dress of clear blue color to the tiny body of her visitor. The lacing covered all the way down her back and blue embroideries adorned the skirt with intricate patterns, enlightening the fabric. Long transparent sleeves covered her arms to the middle of her hands, enhancing the long fingers she would flex once in a while as a reflex. The hem showed a slight cleavage, the deep V cut adjusting perfectly to her size while the drapery showed her slim waist. Arwen was really happy with the color and cut of the dress, but she could tell that the young lady was not accustomed to such luxury. Her stance was graceful enough, but her stiff posture showed she was on edge.The young woman had refused that anybody touched her shining red hair, and she had arranged it in loose curls falling to her waist. The arrangement, she had said, showed her humanity and her human characters, the crazy curls deciding for themselves whichever way they would hang out. This was a way for Frances to stand out of the crowd and claim her belonging to the human community. Arwen had agreed nicely to this eccentricity, dying to work herself on the rusty hair that was so unusual for elvish people, but liking the idea nonetheless. The young woman had to promise that someday she would have her way over her hair, and the pair had set off to dinner.Frances nearly lost her breath when she took in the length of the huge table. Several other ones were scattered among the hall but the main one was already crowded with elves, hobbits and dwarves. The race of men was clearly underrepresented, but she got no time to acknowledge everybody since Elrond had no intention to reveal who she was just yet. Entering into the room, the young lady her eyes down in shyness and went right to the seat she had been attributed, aside to Pippin and facing Frodo. As she sat, her eyes met Gandalf's ones who was sitting a few spaces away, and his friendly smile gave her a bit of confidence. After those years fighting evil forces, Frances had never been in position to be a part of a mundane reception, and being in a dress and making small talk to nobles and well educated people scared her much more than facing a crazy mind manipulator or anything else."Wow, you are beautiful!", exclaimed Pippin while she took her seat."Thanks", she smiled, relieved to be seated next to the international gaffer of the week."I agree, elven clothes suit you well Frances', added Frodo, ever polite."Yes yes yes" cried Bilbo while clapping in his hands, "I do not recall seeing fairer lady in my years of travels.""Ok guys", she interrupted while turning red like a tomato, "No more compliments now, I don't think I can handle it."The five hobbits sunk rapidly in their beer, casting glances and wondering what they had done wrong while Bilbo munched on his lower lips absently. The old hobbit was probably thinking about another story to write down, and Frances felt stupid about telling all of them off because she couldn't take a compliment right."I'm sorry little ones, don't get me wrong. It's nice of you to tell me what you think, but I hate the attention, I'm not used to have people complimenting me like that…"The hobbit beside her seemed contrite."Oh, people don't tell you that you're beautiful? What are they thinking?""Pippin…", came Frodo's voice as a warning."What? Ouch!" he said as Merry's elbow connected with his right ribs. "Oh, I did it again…""Where I come from there are a lot of ladies that look so much better that I do, and I'm just usual, and I don't wear dresses""Well what do you wear then?" asked Sam, ever curious."The same kind of clothes that the ones I had when I met you""But those are men's clothes made for travel, you surely do not wear this all the time do you?""Yes I do, but enough of me, tell me more about the Shire"As soon as she had launched the subject Frances knew the dinner would pass without any more questions. Soon the cousins were lost in an endless explanation about their home land, and Frodo let the subject go because he thought about asking his questions in private. Gandalf's eyes were laughing, and the young woman sent him a wink when their eyes connected. Getting Merry and Pippin to talk about genealogy was cunning.The wizard was assessing the new addition to their group, and the least he could conclude is that she knew how to manipulate people, apart from being totally reckless. He could still not fathom how the eighteen-year-old piece of a woman had dared attacking the five ringwraith without any companions, but it seemed that she was crazier than she seemed. Frances was for the moment a big mystery to him, but she showed an odd duality. From the few weeks she had passed amongst the people of Imladris he had concluded that she could be as shy as a deer or rageous like a lion given the circumstances. He had also seen in her a very careful and reasonable mind. She was quite of the unusual kind, and he had no intention of letting her out of sight before he figured her out.On the other side of the table another person was observing the young woman. The elves of Greenwood sat together, away from the dwarves that held conversation with the hobbits. However, the Prince's keen eyes had not missed the young woman's apparition, and her blushing at the blunt compliments she had been granted. Her skillful topic change had not escaped him either, and his eyes and ears were trying to assess the human with all his might. However, her character seemed to be sliding in his hands like a trout in the river, and after a while Legolas decided to give up and enjoy the company of his peers. There was just no easy way to assess human characters so easily, and the prince knew not enough of the second born to forge an opinion by himself.He would just ask his friend Estel and get some information from the inside. However, his eyes kept wandering to her during the evening meal, and he realised after some time that it was her hair that intrigued him so much. The rusty color shone like a jewel against the broad fires that lightened the house, and the tangled curls seemed to have a life on their own. In elven people, hair was of even color and more disciplined, but in her case it seemed alive. Its fire was dancing around her head and crowning it like a queen's diadem. This was indeed quite unusual, even for men, to bring such colors, and the elves were intrigued. Eventually conversation drifted away from the new human and went back to their home, and Legolas joined back his group with a sigh. How he missed home !
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The CouncilA single clear bell rang as Frances walked briskly over the polished floor. The maid that had escorted her through the numerous glistening halls of Imladris suddenly stopped and turned around to face her:“There is held the council. Lord Elrond is waiting for you now.”Then she gracefully bowed, and was gone, her cold beauty disappearing from sight rather sooner than later. Petrified, Frances knew exactly what she had to do but could not resolve herself to go forward. She had never been surrounded by such ageless wisdom, and saying that she was intimidated to participate to the council was a euphemism.What could she, mere mortal woman of eighteen years old, change to the fate of this world? It wasn’t the first time she ended influencing some events that were I much bigger than her abilities, but this time it felt different. This time she did not feel insignificant compared to the people she gravitated around. This time she felt like a scum of dirt embedded on a rock of the magnificent city. Her experience and capabilities were so small and ridiculous compared to elven skills. Try as she might she could not fathom why they had summoned her. The blue rock may have known, but it unfortunately had never given any advice on his own.So there she was, hidden behind a few bushes with her light blue flowing gown, hesitating to make the first step and reveal her dullness to the highest beings of this world. However, knowing that elven senses might have detected her by now Frances took a deep breath and kicked herself to go on. Crossing silently the little distance that separated her from the council site, the young lady finally emerged in the open air stone room.Many eyes fell on her as she advanced in the veiled sunlight. It had been only a few weeks since she had come to meet the elves, and a lot of information had been given for her to swallow from different sources. It was still very unclear to her how the big pictures included this council and the finding of the one ring, and all those new races intimidated her. Knowing that ageless beings were now judging her and her presence in a war meeting was not reassuring either. As her eyes timidly swept over the assistance, she saw many elves whose faces were familiar. Elladan and Elrohir sat between their father and Estel, faces grim, clad in a clean attire that spoke of their status. They certainly could look intimidating when clad in their full regalia; the wink Elrohir sent her way, though, broke his image rather quickly. Frances addressed him a fond look before her eyes noticed the elf Lord Glorfindel beside Estal. Aside from Elrond, he was known to be one of the rare beings that had survived the first age and stayed in middle earth. His age alone could have been enough to crouch at his feet for guidance.However, it was not the Elf Lord himself that challenged her coming, since he trusted Lord Elrond on many matters; his kind behaving alike. The dwarves, welcomed in the home of elves, did not seem more than surprised to see her appearance, and as she got a few curious glances from them she just smiled back. Familiar grey eyes gazed at her, and Estel nodded in welcome, saluting her last move that would appease tensions between elves and dwarves by a hidden smile. From Frodo and Bilbo only warmth was given to her, and the only hostility that was thrown to her curiously came from a man. The clear look of disdain that he shot the young lady said much on his opinion of women in matters of war, but before he could voice his concerns Lord Elrond saluted her, cutting short the probable banter that he sensed coming between the two representatives of the same race.“Be welcomed Frances', he stated without moving.“Thank you my lord”, she bowed before gracefully taking her place beside Frodo who shot her a look of hope.It was no secret that he also felt out of place, and finding somebody he knew aside him, albeit not so much, reassured him greatly. The young lady smiled warmly at him, and reported her attention back to the assembly. Already, most of the participants were eyeing Lord Elrond, waiting for him to open the discussions. However, one man was still rudely staring at her, and Frances could not help but stare back at him, trying to discern if the hostility he poured was due to the circumstances of the meeting or really her presence.“Here” said Elrond, “is Boromir, a man from the south. He arrived in the morning and seeks for counsel. I have bidden him to be present, for there his questions will be answered.”This was how the council started, but of Boromir, Elrond said no more, the presentation feeding Frances’ curiosity about this strange rusty-haired man. However, the turn of the events distracted her soon enough as Gandalf, Strider and Lord Elrond started discussing the status of many lands she was not familiar with. Her ears wide open, the young lady could not help but drink in everything they said, fascinated by the history of middle earth, and wondering here and there about the past of those people who seemed to be lost to them.Finally, the oldest dwarf started a long tale about the people of the lonely mountain, and Bilbo stopped squirming in his chair as he listened. Glóin spoke about the unsettling feeling that pushed his nephew, Balin, to get back in the south and conquer again the mines of Moria. He counted how Moria had been deserted because the dwarves’ greed has awoken the nameless fear, but of this great foe he did not tell more so that Frances could not understand what monster stood in the darkness, or even if it was a physical being. Truth be told, it took all her might not to screech when she heard that Balin’s company had returned there regardless of it, and that the dwarves had lost contact with them. Who was crazy enough to do such a thing? Brave enough ?The following tale was even more interesting, and Frances learnt more about the seven rings of the dwarves as Glóin told about the dark messenger that came to the lonely moutain. Dain’s refusal seemed extremely loyal to Bilbo, and the little hobbit had shiny eyes as he contemplated the friends; they had gone such a long way to warn him about the enemy ! However, the most important thing she learnt in that story was that Sauron considered himself the master of Moria since he had offered to make Glóin master of the mines. Unfortunately, this also meant that Balin had very few chances to be alive still. Once more, however, it seemed that all that interested the dark lord was another ring, and once more the young lady wondered about the sacred jewels, as did the dwarves.“The ring! What shall we do with the ring, the least of rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies?” finally said the dwarf, using the same words the messenger had stated to lure them. “That is the doom that we must deem.”They did not have to wait long for an answer since Elrond woke up again and said:“That is the purpose for which you are called hither. Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, stranger from distant lands. You have come here and here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so…”Her head nodding absently, Frances could not agree more to what Elrond said. If he had not summoned any of those, it could not be a coincidence that a representative of each race could gather here, in a place where most of them never came, in this time of great need. Herself did not believe in coincidence either, especially since she always appeared with a perfect timing. The blue rock had summoned her just as well.As Lord Elrond begun the tale of the ring, Frances found herself transported to the times of their forging in the Second Age long ago. The Lord of Imladris told them of Eregion and of the good relationships between Moria and the elves, and of the elven rings of power. As he told them of the second alliance of men and elves, his eyes turned distant, and it seemed like he described in detail a scene that passed in front of his very eyes. It was a very lively tale, and the young lady shuddered as she imagined the wasted lands and the last battle of Elendil and Gil-Galad against Sauron. It was after Elrond had counted their deaths that Boromir stood and said:“So that is what became of the ring! If ever such a tale was told in the south, it has long been forgotten… That is tidings indeed…”“Alas, yes!” said Elrond, his face distressed. “Isildur took it, as should not have been. It should have been cast into Orodruin’s fire night at hand where it was made…”So the ring could be destroyed by plunging in a volcano. Doing the math quickly, Frances realised that the jewel had probably been forged at an unusually high temperature that scored around twelve thousand degrees or more. None of it was sure deed, but she guessed that it was not worth forging a ring in a volcano if you could do it in a traditional forge, so it probably was a weird metal alloy that needed extremely high temperatures. Getting back to the story, the young woman realised that it was probably no point trying to rationalise this world. She sighed slightly at the thought that maybe there were no scientific explanations to elves and dwarves existence, and her eye caught Glorfindel’s gaze for a second. The sword Smith slightly bowed to her, which surprised her, and turned his attention back to Lord Elrond’s story. Then, once the tale wall fully told and nobody had any comments to add, the Lord of the city called Frodo forth. Frances reached for his arm, squeezing once before the hobbit stood on shaking legs. Stunned by her own gall – she usually didn’t go touching strangers – Frances was rewarded by a grateful look. Frodo’s blue gaze then passed to Bilbo and, upon a nod of the hobbit, walked slowly to the stone pedestal. His hand reached into his pocket, and with a reluctant move he let the ring fall on the grey surface. Frances expected the jewel to roll over, but instead it just landed flat, like it weighed a thousand tons. Nobody noticed when the hobbit got back to his seat, for everyone’s eyes were glued to the ring.The perfect golden colour reflected the timid sunrays that glided over the eclectic gathering. Amidst from his unusual size, there was something unnatural in the flawless shape of the jewel. After being instructed about the great wars it had caused, Frances was contemplating for the first time the most powerful weapon of evil. The mere thought that such a tiny thing could ruin the life of thousands and corrupt the kindest hearts was ridiculous, but a quick observation around the stone stage convinced her that everything was possible. Frodo’s face was tense, his expression twisted in a painful grimace. As she swept her eyes across the participants, she realised that the hobbit wasn’t the only one affected by the ring. From angst to envy, all the nuances could be read on the faces of the different races, even on the usual flawless features of the elves. Elladan and Elrohir were fully engrossed in the jewel, oblivious to the world. Lifting an eyebrow in disbelief, the young woman concentrated her thoughts on the ring and closed her eyes for good measure, but still she could feel nothing more than the fresh air from the mountains and the weak sunrays warming up the back of her head.Several comments were ushered but the young lady did not falter from her meditation, her eyes wide open again in an attempt to look interested in the events. After a while of nothingness, she finally heard it amongst the voices of others. It was a faint hissing, nearly unnoticeable especially since the words were in an unknown language. However, surprisingly enough, the inner meaning of this whispering was crystal clear. With this ring at her finger, Frances would become powerful beyond understanding and protect her friends, fighting evil like no one would, and be revered like a true hero. Never again would she have to look into the face of a dying friend, see the blood pooling from their wounds. Helpless… never again ! The pull was intense, and for an instant her feet nearly took off on their own, crushing her resolve on the way. There was nothing she wanted more than helping people while keeping her loved ones safe; the ring had struck a sensitive chord.However, none of those proposals broke the strength of her resolve. Warning bells echoed loudly in her head. Was this power worth dooming a world so beautiful for such uncontrollable power ? Her very love for the incredible city of Imladris was pouring out of her soul. As she would understand much later, the elves’ beauty and kindness that had surrounded her since her arrival were the reasons she was first saved from the ring’s influence. Her capacity to impregnate and merge into emotional ambiance had created deep love that would not be dislodged by a promise of power. The simple gift of empathy showed once more its strengh.Deep down, the young woman also realised that taking this ring would be against all her principles. After her years in the service of her country, Frances held in high praise the results of hard work and she knew that time was sometimes needed to gain control. She remembered the path she had followed before being allowed to carry a weapon, and the wisdom she had gained by waiting. Today, she knew for sure that she would not misuse her hand gun, but three years ago that was less than sure. Learning from the frustration, the young woman had realised that it took time to get ready for more power, no matter how insignificant the difference was. For those reasons, thinking about the ring was nearly frightening, and she realised that only beings older than earth might confer the capacity to wield it. She did not want to be one of the owners; she did not possess the wisdom required for this.Her decision made, the hissing started to fade and she felt like a fool for pushing away this opportunity. A little voice in the back of her mind tempted to reason with the frustration, but her temper started to rise. However, the anger did not have the expected effect since Frances scowled herself down from being so weak, and managed to shut down any thought about using the ring by keeping the envy at bay. She was who she was, no more and no less, and her intuition and courage had always been her strongest allies. It was no use wishing she was better unless she was willing to train for that. The countless hours in her sword master’s company came back to her and she smiled. It had been worth it, and would have had no value were it given to her without effort. Trusting in her judgement seemed the only way to shut the radiating power off her thoughts. Dismissing the signal as irrelevant, like when choosing to ignore pain or hunger, Frances turned off the envy receptors and came back to reality. The discussion at hand could well decide of the fate of this world, and on the same occasion reveal the very reasons why she had been transported to middle-earth. As she lifted her eyes to the little community, Frances realised that nearly no time had passed, and most of the guests were still staring at the ring in awe or horror. The central blond elf, however, was not gazing at the jewel, but his deep blue eyes were fixed on her instead. During a few seconds his features stayed motionless as he bore holes into her, probably deciphering her thoughts. It seems like he could see right through her, and although that made her uncomfortable Frances refused to lower her own gaze. There was nothing for her to hide, and her deep chocolate eyes sent him back such sincerity that Legolas would have staggered back where he not seated. It was like she offered her soul for inspection, opening the very core of her spirit for him to judge, and the elf felt like he was prying. However, what he saw in her eyes was so pure that he could not help but smile. Seeing the imperceptible movement of his perfect face, the young woman gave him a timid smile, but the exchange was soon interrupted by the steward’s son.As Boromir’s face finally lightened up, he spoke those words:“It is a gift ... a gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay ... by the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy ... let us use it against him!”As the man stood up to emphasis his point, a deep soft voice tried to bring him, back to reality:“You cannot wield it. None of us can. The one ring answers to Sauron alone ... it has no other master.”Those words found their mark in Frances’ mind, confirming what she had previously concluded. Such an amount of power un-mastered could bring catastrophic results, but the son of Gondor refused to see it that way. As his face contorted in disdain, the young woman realised that the ring must be pulling at his strings to taunt him. Which were they ? Pride, or sorrow for his own people ? The steward’s son turned his arrogant face to Strider and said:“And what would a ranger know of this matter?”The silence that followed was short. Nonetheless the man did not react to this insult, merely reflecting his pity for Boromir in his ageless grey eyes. However, one of the council members did not accept this rebuke so easily, and Frances watched with wide eyes the angry statement of the central wood elf, the one who has smiled at her, as he stood up sharply:“This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance”Gasping in surprise, Frances turned a questioning look to the ranger. As everything clicked into place, a small smile spread on her lips. He had told her of his family, the Dunedain and the line of Elros, but her knowledge of middle earth was not extended enough yet, and she had not made the connection between Isildur and the current situation at hand. The implications for Gondor were huge. Frodo looked stunned, but somewhere in his eyes reflected the same relief as Frances. It all made sense to him, because he too had seen something more in the ranger’s ways.This revelation, however, was not to Boromir’s liking, and she could understand his reasons. The steward’s house had probably been working hard to maintain Gondor’s integrity, and the appearance of a dead line king was not good news to their house.“Aragorn? This is Isildur’s heir?”“And heir to the throne of Gondor”, added the elf, shaking with anger.Before the confrontation turned bitter, the new called Aragorn – another name to add to his long list turned to his elvish friend in an attempt to pacify the exchange.“Havo dad, Legolas', said his soothing voice.His face reflecting a bit of confusion, the elf eyed the heir of Gondor for a second and finally nodded while sitting down. Frances had heard enough of elvish to know what the order meant, but it surprised her that the wood elf had relented. Furious as he seemed, there was a deeper understanding between the two warriors than met the eye. Cut down in her reflexion by an angry line from the steward stated that Gondor needed no King; she gazed at the man as he regained his seating. It was not the first time that she saw him this morning, but the pride that had tainted his bearing when she had crossed his path had now turned to arrogance and hostility. It was amazing how his face had transfigured, and Frances wondered if this was linked to his loyalty to the land of Gondor, or rather to the influence of the ring. Perhaps it was a combination of both, but whatever the reason she felt a pang of uneasiness to share the council with someone enslaved by his feelings. It was so weakly human to react by anger and bitterness that it seemed very out of place in this enchanting city.“Aragorn is right”, finally stated Gandalf, using the heir’s name fully now that it had been disclosed. “We cannot use it”.“You have only one choice”, added Lord Elrond, focusing everybody’s attention. The ring must be destroyedThe revelation made sense, at least to most of the people sitting across the stone room. The dwarf named Gimli even stood up, and his roaring surprised Frances who jumped in surprise:“Then ... what are we waiting for?”, he cried, rushing forward.Swinging his axe in a mighty blow, the dwarf crushed his oversized weapon over the ring in an attempt to reduce it to powder. Astonished by this rash decision, Frances watched with wide eyes the axe shatter with a deafening crack. As the dwarf was projected backwards, she could not help but marvel at how little power the jewels held over that stout being. None of them had dared approaching it, even less touching it so the bold move from the dwarf demonstrated an incredible self-control, and a little bit of stupidity.After the shock had passed, Glorfindel suggested that maybe the elvish rings of power could protect the one, but as Lord Elrond refused, the name of Saruman the wise was spoken. The tension in the wizard’s shoulders increased suddenly, and the next hour or so was spent hearing the tale of Saruman’s treason. Horrified, elves, dwarves and hobbits learnt how one of their most powerful allies had turned his back to reason, and embraced the dark lord’s cause.Frances sighed, catching Elrohir’s gaze on the other side of the open circle. If even the wise ones started swaying, the battle would be dire. She noted to ask more of this Saruman figure to the twins later one. Those two would know how to paint a quick strategic picture to her; they were used to her cultural shortcomings.As the conversation went by, the bell rang noon, but nobody noticed it, except for Bilbo who never missed lunch time. Frodo, however, his deep blue eyes wide open, drank everyone’s word like his life depended on it.As Gandalf gave the council every detail of his adventures, many other stories joined in the tale, creating a complicated pattern even for those who knew much. This is how Frances started to realise how deep the affair of the ring was. It affected every living creature on middle earth, would they accept it or not? A hobbit, Gollum, was mentioned as the former owner of the ring. Gandalf had sent Aragorn to fetch him, and it was only by a miracle that he managed to capture the poor creature. His description of the creature was a bit weird, and the young lady felt a wave of uneasiness coming from both ranger and wood elf. It was then that the envoy from Greenwood stood up. Legolas, if Frances had heard right. His fair features were covered with shame, and it nearly hurt to hear the strain of his beautiful voice.“Alas, alas”, exclaimed Legolas, “the tidings that I was sent to bring must now be told…”This is how the company learnt that Gollum had escaped, probably helped by a band of Orcs. The wood elves, in their great kindness, had not had the heart to keep him into chains, and the foul little creature had played them by appealing to their good heart. One dwarf though, rose and spoke up in a harsh manner about the concern of elves, only to be told off by Gandalf. There was some underlying story there that Frances did not know about. The tension eased up as the dwarf bowed and sat down, but still some glances were exchanged between the group and Bilbo. Raising her eyebrows to the older hobbit, the young lady was rewarded by a semi smile, like a promise to tell her more whenever all the discussions of the fair folk would be finished. In matters of darwishness, always refer to Bilbo !The talk went on, exploring any solution that could be offered, and one by one they were dismissed. Nobody had the strength to protect the ring, not even the elven lords, and there was no place to hide it that could ensure its safety. Many possibilities were suggested, and many more names quoted that Frances ignored. The dark lord had minions everywhere, and if not all foul creatures obeyed him, it wasn’t worth taking a risk that any of them find the ring. Finally, as moments of silences started to slip through the discussion, she realised that all these people reunited had not found any solution. The giants of this era were powerless, and the young woman shivered. If elf lords, wizards, kings and dwarves could not find a way, then who would?Surprisingly, it was Frodo who did. His legs shaking, he came up to the pedestal where the ring stood. Silence fell over the place as he said:“I will take the ring, though I do not know the way.”All eyes fell upon the hobbit in awe. Of all the people present there, he certainly seemed the weakest, and yet his courage would be sung for the rest of times. Shame filled everybody’s heart as realisation sunk in, for all of them had been in battle before, even Frances. Before anybody could object though, Sam jumped into the circle, crying that his master could surely not go alone. This is how the council ended; hope resting on two hobbits’ shoulders as more companions had yet to be designated to protect them on their quest. The unlikelihood of the event itself kept all mouths shut, even those of Elrond’s sons who weren’t usually the last to open.
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The twins“Birds flying high… you know how I feel… Sun in the sky… You know how I fell. Reeds drifting on by you know I feel. It’s a new dawn it’s a new day it’s a new life ! For me… and I’m feeling good…”Frances could nearly hear the drums starting as she sang this last verse with the drama it deserved. In the chill air of late autumn, a few wild birds hung around and the wind carried dead leaves along the rocky path. Walking down the lake after a skating session, the young woman knew the path by heart. Days after days she would walk up the mountain, or run sometimes when she felt like sweating a bit, even if she could not compete with elvish stamina. The twins had accompanied her a few times in plain sight, and many more in secret. At first she had not been able to spot them since they knew the terrain so much better than she did, and were blending with nature like no human could.However, as time passed, she had finally learnt to recognize some signs, like the sweet smell they would leave in their trail. None of them knew how she could tell them apart, a deed that was rare enough in Imladris to be celebrated. Elves felt different than humans. They had this incredible glowing energy radiating from their very souls, like a bright light in the dark. It had taken a lot of time and concentration for her to be able to detect their presence but after hours of sitting alone in her room tuning her senses she had finally managed. An elf felt like… it felt a tingling sensation of warmth pouring like a fountain of life into the surrounding nature.So now she was singing down the path as every day, and she could feel the twins lurking behind her at a good distance. Aware that she had no chance of surprising them even by hiding skillfully she went on with her song until the end.And I’m feeling good…Waiting for a few seconds, standing in the middle of the path, Frances observed the close range of mountains spreading before her and closing the valley. As they would not show, the young woman lost patience ad said out loud without turning back:“Come on sneaky twins, get out of hiding before I get pissed”.Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then two surprised heads popped up behind heavy boulders. Keeping her gaze hard, Frances had the pleasure to see a sheepish expression pass across their fair features. Did they even know how beautiful they were, those mischievous twins, to the human eye ?“That was Elladan’s idea”, started Elrohir, recognizable by the thinner line of his jaw and the twinkle sparkling in his eyes.“That is untrue” started his mischief companion, ready for an argument.“Honestly, I don’t give a damn” Frances interrupted.Elrohir’s dark eyebrows lifted on his fair face.“So you do not mind if we follow you?”His tone was so alike his father’s, the mighty lord Elrond, that Frances couldn’t contain a smile.“Nope”“Oh then… We could keep you company…”“Yep”The twins were slightly taken aback by her weird and limited sense of speech, but it seemed that she did not mind them tagging along, so they started walking with her while bickering among themselves, as was their habit. At first very excited about her visit, the twins had started to wonder if the young lady would beat their foster brother at brooding. She did not talk much, and acted very reserved and ill at ease in their father’s house, even if the elves had made great effort to make her days comfortable. After hours of guessing, the twins had just come to the conclusion that Frances was a very solitary woman, like their brother, which made sense because she had travelled alone from far away and into the wilds.Her reaction had them reconsidering their point of view, and in Elladan’s mind an idea formed. Maybe that she acted solitary because she was forced to, having no companion to talk to, and this was the reason why she welcomed their presence so well. It was not every day you fell from another world after all, and even more scarce to be a prophetic figure known for a few millenia. What the elf did not realize was that the young woman actually felt very intimidated by her immediate surroundings. Be it Elrond, Arwen, Gandalf, Glorfindel or Estel, all those beings seemed to possess great skills and incommensurable wisdom. She feared to speak in their presence because she did not want to make a fool of herself, this was just self preservation. The twins however felt different. Sure enough, their aura gave her dangerous vibes, and they were not to be taken lightly, but still they had this nonchalance about them and childish behavior that made them accessible. The never-ending pranks and jokes that seemed to follow their lead diminished this unreachable character that was inherent to the elves.“So what would you want us…”“…to converse about?’ they asked, one starting the sentence and the other one finishing it.“Mmm, I have heard a lot about the first and second age heroes, but not so much about you... Would you care to enlighten me?”She was paying a lot of attention to her speech, as was needed. The people around here were sometimes difficult to understand, and she had come to realize that aside from being rude because of her frankness, so was she when using her own home-made expressions. Adapting had not taken so long since everything she heard around her was turned in this weird way of speaking. However, most elves did use Sindarin as they spoke, and she spoke very scarcely. Now the council was over and preparations being made, she needed to learn more thoroughly.Her return to Imladris seemed much shorter than usual with the twins’ presence. They were bickering again at each other because they did not remember exactly the same details of a childhood history that had happened thousands of years ago. The twins had never separated, and therefore all their stories were shared. This duality of points of view was the source of the gentle banter between the two elves, but far from annoying Frances, this display of mocked affection made her laugh. After all, they had helped her built some ices skates so she owed them big time.An easy friendship developed between them albeit she knew that she was just a distraction in their everlasting life. Contrary to the greenwood elves who mostly kept to themselves, the twins sought her out quite often, counting tales of their mischievousness as elflings. Poor Arwen… what she had been through !Sometimes, they dared asking about her own world, when they saw that she was in good spirits. It would, inevitably, make her nostalgic so they did not linger much on the subject. In the time they spend together, a great part of it was spend in the surroundings, at first by foot and afterwards on horseback as the twins soon substituted themselves to Estel and Arwen to take her around the city. Without realizing, she actually learnt a lot from their hunting techniques, and even more from their complementary fighting ones albeit this was really unwanted.One day that ventured beyond the borders of the river to get Frances to master steep and muddy terrains with her horse. Estel had joined them, taking advantage of their presence to give some scouting tips to Frances. They encountered tracks that she was unfamiliar with. The muddy holes were very large and deep enough for the beast to weight at least two hundred pounds. As she got ready to dismount, the ranger’s hand on her shoulder dissuaded her from doing so. Ahead of her, the twins’ posture had changed radically. Even if they were always warier once they passed the boundaries, their stiffness was beyond anything she had known. Frowning, Frances managed to get her mare to take a few quiet steps, which was already an exploit for her riding skills.The slight noise produced by the hooves was nearly inaudible, but it however alerted Elladan, whose elvish ears were much more sensitive than hers. He turned around. The sharp intake of breath she took was the only indication of the shock that struck her as she met his gaze. His whole face, usually so quiet and thoughtful, had turned into a mask of anger and hatred. The color of his eyes now seemed black, and the sight of not only one, but two furious elves nearly knocked her out of the saddle. If the danger she had sensed first in their aura had never made it to their cheerful surface, it was now the only component left. Darkness seemed to have reached for them, end enveloped the twins in a veil of anger. This was the dark side of them, and Frances released a breath she had not realized she was holding when her lungs started screaming in pain.“Yrch!!!”, spat Elrohir, his voice betraying the disgust he felt towards the creatures“We must fall back”, came Estel’s soothing voice, trying to seed some sense into his brother’s mind.“Never!” exclaimed Elladan.All his wisdom fled as he unleashed his elven sword in a swift movement.“You get back. We’ll meet you at home”, Elrohir said, launching his steed at full speed.“Wait!”Estel extended an arm to grasp Elladan’s arm but elf was too quick for him and soon both twins were just a cloud of mud disappearing between the trees. Frances, stunned by the change of mood, turned a questioning gaze to the youngest of her three guides for explanations. His face was concerned; he was thinking fast. His instinct screamed at him not to abandon his foster brothers to their fate, but they surely could take better care of themselves that him with the young lady to protect. Furthermore, the tracks had not been very numerous. Deciding that he could for once follow their orders, the ranger turned his mount around and gesture his charge to do the same.“We need to get back to the city swiftly.”“What’s up?”, she asked, her voice containing a slight note of panic as she didn’t know what had happened to her ever funny twins.“There are orcs around here, let’s go !”, he answered.Frances knew better than to question Estel’s orders, and so she followed. Luck was however not on their side on this gloomy day, and as they started ascending a steep hill, her mount gave a sharp whining noise and stumbled, one of her legs stung by a blackened spike. Fortunately for the young lady, the horse collapsed instead of throwing her away, and she could roll out and get back on her feet quite easily. The gentle grey mare was struggling to get back on her fours, but before Frances could react the ranger grabbed her arm roughly and started dragging her away from the mare.“Get on my horse, quick!”, he shoutedThe young woman did not object, knowing fully that Estel was much more proficient at the art of staying alive than she was. However, she did not get time to mount the stallion before a whistling noise forced her to fall back, another blackened spear hitting the flank of the brown beast where her head had been not a second before. The horse sent a distressed cry before kicking high and collapsing to the ground a few yards ahead.“Climb that tree!”, ordered a voice behind him as she was once more being pulled in another direction.Her heart ached for the poor stallion and her mare, but nothing could be done before they knew what they were dealing with. Dusk was not so far away now, but the blackened edges of the forest did not come from the natural shadows of the trees. Somewhere were foul creatures whose champion had killed their mounts; Estel was already assessing their numbers. Whereas he did not want to endanger her or rather not have her stumbling around while he fought, Frances obeyed swiftly. She was not ready yet for heavy sword battle against supernatural forces, she still needed her training, and the shadow of the trees could offer a shelter, provided they did not have bow. Luckily enough, no arrows were in view, except from the very skilled spear fighter.Estel suddenly seized her waist as if she weighted nothing and she braced herself for a clear jump. His impulsion sent her flying to a branch that she caught easily, and in a flick of her wrist she was balancing herself to get her legs to a higher one. Climbing into trees was her entire childhood occupation, and the reason why she had embarked on her first adventures in the first place. If there was something she was proficient at, it was dancing around trunks and branches, hanging over one or two hands, sometimes even none as she balanced herself with the crook of her neck. The bow on her back was getting her into troubles, and she soon had to reassess her abilities with this extra length. However, she was quickly high enough to be hidden by bigger branches.Giving a look behind her confirmed that the ranger had wanted her out of the way, but intended to stand its ground. Detaching her bow and reaching for a quiver, Frances intended to even the odds and make up for her uselessness in this fight. What came next however made her regret that she had obeyed and shied away like a coward. The ring of steel filled the air as Aragorn freed his two-handed sword from the scabbard in a swift movement. They were surrounded, and more than a dozen blackened creatures were now making their way to the lonely ranger. Most of them did not seem very impressive, Aragorn towering over the creatures that she guessed were orcs from at least one head. However, one bulky form slowly approached the grouping, and his proud demeanor showed that he probably was the head of the little party.“Give up ranger”, said a deformed voice, “you are no match for us”.“I won’t”His voice, calm and determined, had such a soothing lilt that Frances wondered how confident the ranger was. He had probably faced worst odds.“We will hack you to tiny pieces and get your companion down from this tree. A lovely piece of meat she will be once we will be fed up playing with her…”Frances’s blood ran cold in her veins as she took up their sheer number. There was at least a dozen, but more were hidden to her unclear sight from between the leaves. There was no way Estel could handle this alone, and no freaking way they would manage even by being the two of them. There was not a damn thing she could do to prevent him from being killed, and herself to be used like a plastic doll. No… he though, she would die first before she would let them do this. Their smell was utterly disgusting; the relent of their foulness reaching her nose even from her higher spot.“So what do you say ranger?”Estel lifted his broadsword and the orc growled.“I will have fun seeing you die…”Frantically searching her mind, the young woman observed as Aragorn detached himself from the trunk to get more space. The leader stepped back, apparently keen on watching the game that was about to be played. Suddenly a light clicked in her head. They had nor bows nor arrows, which meant that they could not take her down. Well, that was a bit different then, she though with a smile. As a yell resonated in the same husky voice as before, Frances refused to watch in horror as the inner circles of the group started moving on Aragorn. Instead pulling on the cord and knocking an arrow, she left the string fly and missed. Cursing under her breath and reloading as soon as possible, the corner of her eyes caught a scene she had not expected to witness.For sure Aragorn was greatly outnumbered, but for now his dancing form was digging holes in to the first lines of orcs that had dared approaching him. He was everywhere, moving aside here and kicking there while beheading an enemy or disemboweling another. The energy and anger he poured in this battle was enough to make them flinch, and when his blade struck there was no hope left. His lethal blows were literally raining, the death dance putting him everywhere at the same time. Any moment of hesitation or slowness was punished. Severed members followed his long blade anytime it swung. The orcs, at first over confident and sluggish had become a bit more concentrated now that the heads of their companions were lying at their feet. Targeting the leader that had his eyes lifted to the tree, Frances finally managed and the shaft of the arrow soon protruded from the orc’s chest as he fell to the ground. Yay ! Frances gained a bit of confidence and started pummeling into her enemies. Releasing arrow after arrow, she started clearing the closest ranks, giving Aragorn some space. However, despite her keen work and the ranger’s furious blows, they kept closing on him. The fight was becoming more difficult with such a long sword, and Aragorn abandoned it into an opponent while producing another shorter one in the same instant. The change had been incredibly swift, but still an assailant managed to take advantage of it, and while he got ready to stab the ranger in the flank, Frances released one of her last arrows. For an instant she though that it would miss, but fortunately she had anticipated well the movement of the orc. It didn’t, piercing his left shoulder as he lifted the blade.Then it was over. Her depleted stock of arrows protruding from the broken forms of bleeding orcs could do nothing more for her, and still more were coming. Aragorn’s blows were getting weary, and the young lady decided once more against common sense. Launching herself into the branches, she finally ended up a few yards from the ground, behind the group, and she let herself hang with one hand as she produced her sword with the other one. The elvish blade rang into the mess of the battle, and she started shouting.“Want me guys? Come around and get me!!!”, she screamed, her voice not as assured as it should have been.She was only a few yards from the ground, but still easily reachable from one that could climb the closest branches. The diversion however, worked quite well as several orcs were cut down swiftly by an angered ranger. His shock was immense, but he did not allow himself some time to think about it as he took advantage of the breaking ranks to cut them from behind. This was insanely stupid and clever at the same time because the lure of fresh woman meat took precedence on numerous orcs. They rushed to the young lady and started climbing the tree now; their leader was dead and his orders forgotten.This would not end well, but now that they had taken the bait it was time to get back to gymnastics and play the squirrel. As she made her way up, faster than a little tree mouse, two identical yells echoed through the woods, petrifying the orcs for an instant. The voices were elvish for sure, and the very slight distinctive tone between the two of them indicated that the twins had returned.“The tree!”, Estel cried out. Neither twins asked for details as one of them rushed up the branches, and the second came to fortify Aragorn’s position. In half a minute, Frances realized that the tree was still again. All the orcs that had followed her were now laying on the ground. An instant after, one of the dark-haired elf landed on the ground without a noise, jumping into the fray immediately.Her eyes bigger than flying saucers, Frances contemplated the orc’s doom as they were mercilessly hacked into pieces. If Aragorn’s fighting skills had reminded her of a dancer, the twins’ were more akin to God’s wrath. Destruction oozed from them like a wave of darkness, bodies dropping at an amazing rate as their swords literally flew around them faster than the eyes could see. It was unnerving and distressing to watch them fight, the anger they radiated burning their opponents like holy fire as they slashed, diced and reduced to pieces anything that stood in their way. A few orcs tried to escape, but an arrow stopped them before they had gone more than a few dozen feet. The last one at last fell from Elrohir’s sword, while another got pierced through the back at least four hundred yards from her tree.Silence came back, unchallenged by any living creature after the sheer massacre that the forest had witnessed. Breathing heavily, Aragorn wiped his blade clean on an orc’s piece of clothing before sliding it back into its scabbard. There was an uneasy feeling in the air, a lurking anger and reproachful looks passed between the three sons of Elrond, but nothing was spoken. Instead, the ranger tiptoed between the bodies to get close to the tree.“Are you alright my lady?”The formal speech tried to hide his concern, but Frances knew better; Estel was livid.“Yeah, she answered shakily, “er…coming right down”.“Do you wish for one of us to help you?”Frances took a deep breath, willing for her voice not to shake.“No, I’ll be ok”“Ok?”The dark haired elf, Elladan or Elrohir, seemed puzzled. As he turned to his brother in questioning, this one shrugged and got back to the survey of the dead and wounded. Estel inwardly smiled, glad that, for once, the twins were at loss while he knew how to translate Frances’ words. His anger towards their reckless actions could not be voiced nor appeased for now, so focusing on the young lady seemed like a good start before they had the unavoidable discussion… argument. Elrond would be furious that they had left their need for revenge dictate their actions and thus nearly gotten their guest and his foster son killed in the meantime.As Frances made her way down, carefully stepping because of sore muscles from the rough climbing, she noticed the stench emerging from the blackened ground and already rotting bodies. Yuck ! How could creatures smell so bad ? Needless to say that she would remember her first brush with Yrch – orcs – without fondness.Below her, heavy silence had settled. No need to be a genius to figure out what was going on, but still she could not understand how such hatred could animate elven faces. There was an underlying story to this, and she intended to ask Estel once they would be alone again. For the moment though, they had to make their way back. She hoped that her mare had survived … without much conviction.Estel’s hand shot up, and she grabbed it as he seized her waist to cushion her landing. The ranger was covered in scratches and darkened blood from the battle. Frances frowned, trying to assess whether he was hurt or not. Finding that he seemed to move properly, she reached for his arm.“Thank you”, she told him, her face totally sincere.“You’re welcome”, he shrugged.The young woman almost rolled her eyes. ‘Of course, dear lady. I’ll pass you the salt, have tea and biscuits… and save you from certain death, torture and defiling anytime. My pleasure.’ Men ! Obviously, the ranger had not fathomed the depth of her gratitude.“No I mean, thank you for protecting me…”There was a softness in his grey eyes when he turned to face her fully. Relief, and worry as well.“Well… Had you not come down I would be dead”Frances snorted and he lifted a hand to silence her, reverting, once more, to the stern ranger she had known on the road. The leader. Given what she knew of him now – heir to the throne of Gondor – she had no trouble reconciling the part with his character.“That was a very reckless thing to do, Frances. I wish to never have you in this situation again”“I was short of arrows”, she shrugged casually, “I was useless up there”“No you were not”Elrohir almost startled her as he handed back a bundle of arrows. She had been so engrossed in her analysis of Estel – well, Aragorn – that she had failed to hear his footsteps. Sneaky twin ! Nodding her thanks to the elf, she was surprised when he told her: “All those arrows are yours, and you have killed at least eight of them. Next time take some more…”Frances’ cheeks reddened, a part of it from the compliment and the other part because she had not taken enough arrows and had ended up in a very dangerous situation.“I will”, she answered. “I am sorry I didn’t take more…”“You would not have needed more had we possessed the twins”Estel strode away after his angry retort. The sudden outburst did not go unnoticed, but none of the elves reacted. Feeing rather uneasy, Frances frowned. Around her, the smell was unbearable, and the young woman felt lucky that adrenaline was still flowing through her veins because if not she would have thrown up right then and there. Blocking the smell away from her mind, she suddenly turned around in search of her white mare. Dusk was there, and her white form was easily noticeable in the gloomy atmosphere.“Alca!”, she cried out.Reaching the horse, she fell to her knees. The mare had probably stopped breathing a long time ago. A blackened blade was dug deeply into the horse’s chest, and the scarlet blood pooling around the wound. Her eyes filling with tears, Frances hardy saw Elrohir’s hand removing the orc’s foul steel through her blurry vision. Her hands absently stroked the white horse’s mane as her mind blacked out from shock. Death. A few instants later, Elrohir lifted her off the ground and made her mount his stallion. He then placed himself in front of her, and the little company departed in silence.The ride went smoothly, the horses responding much better to the elven twins than to her clumsy riding skills. Frances tried to adapt to the speed by keeping one hand over Elrohir’s waist and another over his hip, modeling her moves to his. Other than this effort to keep stable and not slow down the little company, she stayed silent. To the elves, it seemed like she had gone non responsive to external stimuli, but Estel knew better. What went on in the little head of hers was usually inaccessible, but there was no doubt that she kept altert at any time.Overall, Frances was just trying to process whatever had happened earlier, and there was much to think about. First of all, she needed to deal with the violence and death she had witnessed, included her soon to be friend the white mare. Then there was the orcs’ behavior, the tale of their origin coming back to her mind, and the actual absence of resemblance with elves. There was also the realization of the risk she had taken, but the success of her diversion. This meant a lot and could be used later as a desperate strategy. When their leader was down, orcs got back to their inner essence and were more vulnerable to temptation. Then, and most importantly, she was trying to remember every move of Estel’s fight, and the crazy dancing with which the twins had annihilated every living creature around them. There was much to learn. Frowning, the young lady was wondering about the fury that had taken control of the twins. The ranger’s reaction had been different. She doubted that it was an experience born difference, given the age of her elven friends, and she swore to find the truth about it.Finally, they were home. After crossing the river and following the steep path in the gloom, the little company crossed the arches of the fortified gate. Their arrival sent the household in turmoil, probably because of their shaggy look and horrid smell. As Elrohir helped her dismount, his whole posture was tense. The lord’s arrival followed a few seconds afterwards, his face wearing a deep frown and his grey eyes burning. ‘Daddy is angry’, she thought, understanding that the twins were about to get a beating. How could he possibly know what had happened ?“Get cleaned and join me in the study”, he said, his voice harsh.The glare he wore had Frances’ knees tremble, but as his gaze crossed hers his face sweetened a bit.“Get some rest and a decent dinner, lady Frances, this does not concern you”Cowardly accepting the peace offer, the young lady bowed and was taken away by one of the maids. It was never the same one, and she did not bother because she anyway could not remember names. As the elf maiden prepared a bath in silence Frances welcomed this display of courtesy, and did not utter a sound. Once soaked into the warm water, she finally realized what had nearly happened. Rape, torture and death by foul creatures. The sobs came without warning, and soon she was loudly shaking her fear and distress out of her mind. It was oddly frightening to lose control of her own body like this, her convulsions reflecting much deeper fears and insecurities than she would have admitted, but soon enough she was exhausted and the tears stopped from themselves.A tray was brought to her room, but the maid told her that if she so wished she would be welcomed in the dining hall. Being in an awkward mood, the young lady ate a lonely dinner before deciding to retire and get some sleep. However, she had not counted on it to be so elusive, and after about an hour watching the beautiful ceiling, Frances grabbed a simple set of robes that she could lace by herself, and she threw a cape over it before heading out.
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The lights filtered from the dining hall, but not much noise was coming from it. A soft singing voice permeated in the air, indicating that all guest had now migrated to the hall of fire for tale sharing. The clear intonations of the elf were soothing, and Frances slowly made her way down to the bridge hung over the tumultuous flow of the Bruinen. In her hand laid a little piece of leather coming from the saddle gear.The young woman glided silently across dead leaves and mossy patches on slippery rocks. The heavy cloak enveloped her from head to toe, protecting her head from the cold night. Finally reaching the bridge, Frances walked up to the middle, where the vault was flat and the roadway the thinnest. The waterfall vaporised so much water that she could feel the droplets on her face, and the surrounding vegetation hid well the little stone bridge from view. It could have been a very romantic location had she come there with Charlie.She didn’t wish he was by her side, though. Charlie would totally freak out, and put more pressure than necessary on her already frail shoulders. She loved him, but he already had trouble handling his job; he was way too anxious for police enforcement. Roaming the wilds of middle earth, being ambushed with orcs would hardly be his cup of tea. He’d stick like a sore thumb here, her technology boyfriend. The remembrance of his twinkling blue eyes, though, send a pang of longing through her heart. Would she ever see him again, her little, stressed out man that lived over the Atlantic Ocean ?Standing still, Frances murmured a few words for her mare, and threw the piece of leather into the bubbling waters of the stream. She mourned their connection; the animal had quickly accommodated her lack of experience. Hell, for a horse she had been incredibly comprehensive, and Frances was grateful for this, she that was mostly afraid of horses. Watching the waters, she let her memories fall back to her first days with the mare, and gave her a silent tribute. All kind of sounds surrounded her, the bubbling of the water covered mainly all of it but still she could make out the slow ruffling of the leaves under the gentle wind, and the little scrunching noise mice and birds produced as they went by.A musical voice rose up from the woods, saying something in a language she did not understand. Frances jumped in fright, startled that she had not heard the owner in her contemplation. Switching naturally into a fighting stance under her heavy cloak, the young woman relaxed as she recognized the tall elf that was now standing at the other side of the bridge. The moonlight illumined his blond braided hair as he stayed motionless in fear of frightening her. Even if his posture was relaxed and non-offensive, his stance was this of a king, and the silver rays of the moon enhanced his fair features as he observed her.The nicely chiseled lines of his face were so beautiful that he seemed like a faërie, ethereal and unreal. Overwhelmed by his presence, Frances realized that her mind had gone blank and was unable to form any sensible thought. One minute she was thinking about her sweet little Charlie, now nothing more existed that the prince of Greenwood glowing softly into the moonlight. What a striking contrast !Frances stood motionless in the middle of the bridge, but even with the cloak covering her hair Legolas knew who she was. Apart from the fact that he could sense she was no elf, her size and posture informed him that she was the lady from the council. Despite a formal presentation in the dining hall, the lady Frances was mostly seen in the company of Arwen or the hobbits. Quite often though he had seen her training with her swordsmaster, or riding, yet often alone.Far from making her more accessible, the rare times her had crossed her gaze had dissuaded him from tempting an approach. Every time his people had left him some little space to do as he pleased, she had shied away from him. Sure enough, he had caught glimpses here and there at dinners. The twins talked a lot about her.Her present awareness and the stiffness of her posture caused him to wonder what ailed her mind; Rivendell was one of the scarce places in this world that stood safe.“I am sorry I startled you, my lady.”The young woman’s lips quirked.“That obvious, am I ?”The sarcastic remark seemed so out of place, a stark contrast to the quietness of the night. Her weird vocabulary and expressions did not help either; Legolas was used to be addressed differently. Before he could figure out a proper answer, the brooding mood seemed to sink into her spirit again and she turned her haunted gaze to the waterfall. The move in itself could have meant rejection, but it also was a significant sign that she considered him as a non-potential threat. The closest thing to trust, after all.“This is a beautiful place”, she started.As if to mock her, the clouds covered the moon once more…“Er… It also is beautiful in the dark, even though I can’t see…”Frances was going to complete the expression when she realized that she was in presence of an elf prince and that swearing would end up tarnishing her reputation. Sometimes she wondered what all this fair folk thought about her, they that were not sensitive to the torments of humanity. Anytime an elf maiden would pass, Frances felt dirty, no matter how many showers she had taken before. The eldar seemed impervious to any human problem, be it hunger, fatigue, illness or anything else such as bad hair style or sweating. Of course, their inherent glowing beauty did not help either; the young woman had never felt so ugly in her whole life.The elf was watching her now, and took a few slow steps towards her. His beauty was so overwhelming that she could not utter a word. She felt like telling him not to come closer, that she was unworthy of an elven prince company, but still his soft glow and warming features were reassuring.“I can probably help with this inconvenience”, he stated lowly, his voice containing a hint of amusement.Not understanding what he meant at first, the young lady realized that his glowing figure lightened up her surroundings with this faint light, creating a surreal atmosphere. Darkness receded beyond his area of influence. ‘Wow’, she thought, speechless. Stunned by the discovery that elves casually glowed like fireflies – it was the first time she stood in the dark with one of them she gave him an incredulous smile, then bowed to the prince.“Thank you master for being the light of my evening.”“You are very welcome, my lady”, said he, a broad smile brightening his features at seeing her out of her mournful mood.Legolas had been in Elrond’s study when Estel, who had requested his presence, had discussed the event. He well knew what thought were plaguing the lady’s mind, and even if he had not thought to seek her, her presence in his favorite thinking place meant something. So there he was, hoping that his quiet support would help her cope with the first encounter with those foul and ruthless creatures that denatured Arda.Yrch.For the first time in ages, Legolas had seen Estel as angry as his foster father at the twins, face pale as he related the misfortunate turn of things. Even if the lady had already fought by his side, putting her in danger of being tortured by the orcs had shaken his principles to the core. Her potential participation to the fellowship was, however, not discussed again, as Elrond and Gandalf held fast against the three sons.The twins fought to keep their composure, truthfully ashamed that their anger had led Frances in such danger. If the orcs had gotten her… they never would have forgiven themselves, even for the sake of revenge, even in the name of their mother. Both stood vehemently against her participation in the fellowship, but nothing could sway Lord Elrond. What he had forseen, no one knew.Both sons had bowed and left, soon to be departed to the borders to ensure the fellowship’s safe passage. They were due to leave soon, and Legolas knew that this would probably grieve the lady, unless she resented them too much to mourn their departure. As the slight cloaked from beside him sighed, he felt for the first time at loss. He struggled, for bit, to find words of comfort.“My lady, it feels natural to mourn the loss of a close friend, may it be a horse…”As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew he had been wrong to say anything at all. Frances stiffened, angered that the prince of Greenwood would see right through her again. Not so sure about what to answer, she pursed her lips. It had been a blissful moment; watching the waters while thriving in the light of a higher being, all sorts of scents swirling in the air. But the charm was broken now.“I am sorry”, he whispered, making her shiver. “I did not mean to pry… Are you cold my lady?”She should have answered no. No, she was not cold, but the deep tones of his voice and the fact that he was now standing so close were making her crazy; he had such a bright presence, so different from the twins.So she did not lie; Frances had always been unable to do so, but instead she stated neutrally that she should probably get inside and rest. Her dead voice caused the elf to frown; she disappeared before he could bid her goodnight. This night, Frances stayed in her bed for a long time, regretting her harsh words, and a lonely elf stayed a long time on the bridge, watching the water fall, wondering if the lady would ever forgive him for being so inquisitive.
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The day after, Frances woke early at the sound of chirping birds bundling at the window because of the cold wind. Dark nightmares had plagued her mind, and she felt sickened. Dressing up in a woolen dress and fur boots after refreshing her face with icy water, she passed quickly through the kitchen to grab a bit of elven bread and took off for the mountains. Her thick elven cloak was welcome in the icy wind, and the sky was grayish, smelling of snow.Her thoughts were wandering again to the terrible nightmares, and she shuddered in the cold morning. It smelt like snow and, soon enough, icy petals started to scatter around her. Frances watched them fall in awe; she definitely needed a break to process all this knowledge that had suddenly turned from theoretical to very practical. Was she ready for middle earth and its foulness? As doubts plagued her mind, the frozen lake came into view through dancing snowflakes.Soon enough she was circling again on the ice, her hair securely fastened in a tight braid; all nasty thoughts left behind. Circling and twirling around, Frances enjoyed every moment of her shameless escapade until two familiar elven figures appeared behind the treeline. As the twins stepped on the ice and safely made their way to her, their balance unhindered, she darted off in their direction.Both twins had debated about the sense of coming up to seek out the young lady, but her quick escape from the morning had hinted them to do so. It was not unusual for her to run away and disappear like this, but still they felt like they needed to bid her farewell. The reception they would get however… remained to be determined. Estel was still angry.
Would she be ?
From Frances, they knew next to nothing. She seemed to have been deeply affected by the orc’s savagery and the death of her mount. The girl was sometimes so oversensitive that they wondered how she had managed to travel up to Weathertop and attacked the Nazgûls. Her ignorance of their very nature, perhaps.The twins braced for impact, ready to take her anger. Yet, the young woman’s progress in their direction seemed far from wary.She stopped in a twirling motion in front of them and both elves raised an eyebrow.“Hello mischievous twins, how fare you on this freaking cold day?”Her tone was lighter, nightmares forgotten. Elladan slightly bowed.“We fare well, thank you my lady…”“… What about you?”, Elrohir finished.The young woman took a few moments before answering this question, her eyes switching to the rocky mountains before getting back to their worried features.“Well, alive I am so I guess that this will have to do”A thick silence followed during which Frances wondered if she could pry about the meeting with their father, but from their grim faces, she bit her tongue instead. Still, she couldn’t shake the sight of their beautiful features, deformed by fury. How she wanted to ask, but she felt in no position to make such enquiries. Tentative friends they were… not enough to delve into past hurts.Elves were used to silence, their numerous years of existence slowly replacing the need to talk. Frances’ expression did not indicate any forwardness, but surprisingly enough there was no anger directed towards them either. About to bid her goodbye and break the news of their departure, Elladan was interrupted by his brother.“Are you not angry at us?”Gritting his teeth in displeasure, the older elf nonetheless waited for the answer. Frances seemed to seek an appropriate answer to this very sensitive question, but even the truth seemed to elude her. Eventually, she found a way to express her feelings honestly.“I didn’t get time to be angry. I hid, baited and climbed into that tree and you were back. Had I been tortured raped and killed like those foul creatures wanted to…”The twins’ faced contorted in pain, one reflecting the other with perfect symmetry“… I would probably be angry to death, no pun intended. I think I am… stunned, for the moment. I haven’t processed it all.”As the elves fidgeted uneasily over the icy ground, the young lady extended both of her hands in their direction. Lifting a skeptical eyebrow, Elladan hesitated for a second before realizing that his brother had already seized the young lady’s gloved tiny hand and pulled her a bit closer. Shaking his head in disbelief, the older brother imitated his twin, deploring that he would not behave with more decorum. Even covered in mittens, her fingers were so small in his palm, but her grip was firm, and when he leveled his gaze to hers he could only find determination and curiosity. She was stronger that she looked.“Now, she said, I am not angry at both of you, but I am curious, and …”Frances paused then, as if unsure whether she could voice her thoughts.“And?...”“Honestly I’m also a bit frightened.”This revelation struck them speechless, but quite surely, Elladan after Elrohir, both started to remember how ruthless they had been on this day. Surely it would have been folly to think that she had missed the expression of their faces and the hatred that had burnt in their eyes before setting off for an orc massacre. She was, for a human, quite perceptive of elven moods. It was so strange that she would admit her fear while still holding their hands tight. This demonstration of faith melted Elladan’s heart to the core, and a quick peek at his twin indicated the same reaction by his side.“How afraid are you?”, he asked in a low voice.Frances suddenly shuddered, and the eldest twin pulled her to his side, wrapping his arm above her shoulder to share his body warmth. With her skates, she was tall enough to fit in the crook of his arm. A brotherly embrace that surprised his twin just as much as himself.“When I saw the look on your face, I was frightened enough to turn my mare and gallop back to Imladris.”Elrohir suddenly escaped her grasp.“You would run away from us?”He deserved whichever wrath she could launch at him, but it didn’t diminish the hurt of betrayal. Leaving Elladan’s side, she shook her head slowly and started to fidget on her skates. She couldn’t help it, gliding helped her focus.“I would not run away from you, even if you freaked me out this day. I will not turn my back on you, even if this rage, this fury upon your face was most unsettling. Believe me, you were far from being yourself. However, trust is always earned, and all I wish is to understand, even if I reckon this is a lot to ask…”“We are not often asked such explanations”, started Elladan.“Since everybody of Rivendell knows of our hate of orcs, few newcomers have ever witnessed our hunting parties”, finished Elrohir.Frances watched them, a sparkle shining in her eyes. They did not seem offended, just very awkward with the subject.“Then will you talk to me?”“Aye”, both voices stated at the same time.And thus, they recounted the sad tale of their mother’s abduction by the orcs, a thousand years ago. They did not elaborate the tortures she had to endure – Frances’ face blanched considerably - before they found her and rescued her from her kidnappers. But they did not hide Celebrian’s sorrow and spiritual wounds, and of her passing to the west such a long time ago.The hard, leveled tone in which Elladan spoke was a testimony of the many years that had passed since the event came to darken their lives, but still, even if their faces were now perfectly controlled, the fury remained.As they walked down the path under the now heavy snowing, the twins also informed her that they were to depart in the evening. France was saddened, but still she could not find the strength to oppose lord Elrond. He probably had more intelligence in this, and even if this quick decision seemed close enough to a punishment, there probably was a greater reason to it.The trio shared one last meal together, sharing childhood stories to ease the pain of the separation, and then Frances accompanied them under the cold wind to the gates of the city. There she found Lord Elrond, who seemed less than surprised to see her, as well as Arwen and Estel. Lord Glorfindel also stood by the gates, his face serious. Many elven words were whispered which Frances didn’t understand. And when the twins bid her goodbye with a deep bow, the young lady could not help but rush forward and embrace both twins within her arms.Glorfindel, the Balrog Slayer, watched the proceedings with amusement. The little woman was dwarfed, her arms barely reaching up behind their neck to hold them close. However, their responding gesture formed a gentle but powerful hug. Frances sighed in their arms.“Be safe”, she commanded.None of them responded to the injunction, knowing full well what dangers lurked ahead.“Please”, she begged.“We will do our best”, Elladan responded, tightening his hold.They had barely known each other for a few weeks, but the bound they were sharing went beyond measure for such little time. Somehow, the young lady had managed to penetrate their wary hearts, and this deed alone had Lord Elrond smiling beyond the fear and angst to send his sons on such perilous mission.Arwen, usually so leveled and correct, surprised them all by joining in the collective hug. For an instant, lord Elrond saw the carefree faces of all his children laughing again like in old times, but soon enough the twins had detangled themselves from the ladies, and mounted their horses. One last wave to their father and foster brother, and they were gone.The lady Arwen exchanged a meaningful look with Estel, but then she grabbed Frances’ hand and led her to her own room. Both women spent the evening together, talking about the twins and what fate might lie ahead, and for the first time they laid their hearts bare.Arwen revealed the love that had blossomed between herself and Estel, her foster brother, and Frances told her about Charlie. She was dumbfounded to realize how trustful the elf maiden was to her, especially since they were not close. Frances never sought Arwen’s company, being far too intimidated by the Evenstar. How wrong she had been to shun such friendship ! Arwen was the evening star of her people, but her heart was as beautiful as her soul. This evening taught Frances how sweet and open the daughter of Elrond could be, and very soon she realized how lonely she felt amongst her people. Being the youngest of her siblings, and revered like Elbereth, Arwen did not really have many occasions to talk about her love for a forsaken human ranger. When her brothers were absent, she longed for Lothlórien where some of her friends dwelt. The life of the Eldar was considered sacred amongst the first born, and renouncing to one’s immortality was only granted to those of the line of Elrond – the Peredhil. No one alive could understand what Arwen was going through with this choice.Talking to Frances eased the pain; it was unexpected to find more understanding in the young human’s words than in any speeches she had had before. Frances’ natural empathy allowed her to step in the elf’s shoes, and even if she could not feel the angst by herself, the distress that radiated from Arwen found an echo in the depth of her heart.Now that the elleth had shared her thoughts, Frances started to understand why she considered forsaking her immortality. Poor Elrond. Poor twins… Arwen and Aragorn’s love was a bittersweet one, as beautiful and sad as Romeo and Juliet. So Frances crossed her fingers, hoping that, despite the war, despite it all, they would enjoy many years of happiness together to counterbalance the grief of losing one’s family.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
From this day forth, Frances went back to her studies. Arwen offered to fill Estel’s place when while he was away with the twins, instructing her on the world and the legends of her folk. Her infinite patience allowed Frances to learn much more than she would have on her own, stumbling upon elvish words without shame as Arwen laughed lightly. Her new friend did not seem to have any objection about getting her ready for battle.Frances wondered many times if the gift of foresight that she was told to possess could explain her behavior. Despite their tentative friendship or because of it ? Estel did not want Frances to be part of the fellowship. Anyway, it was no use making conjectures, and in this domain Frances did not want to pry. Sometimes, there were things that had to remain hidden so that destiny could be fulfilled. If Arwen did not feel the need to share her thoughts on the matter, better to stay silent.Estel was roaming the borders in search of more parties of Orcs, and did not have any more time to spare for her. His uneasiness whenever he was in Rivendell reminded her of the role she had to play. One day, Frances gathered her courage, and went to master Elrond’s office. She stayed a long time in front of the magnificent wooden doors. As her racing heart would not find rest until she got her deed done, she lifted her shaking hand into a fist. Surprisingly, the characteristic creaking resonated before she could touch the panel. A voice rose.“Please make your way in, lady Frances. There is much to talk about.”Her eyebrows shooting up, the young woman penetrated in the sanctuary, feeling like she was swallowed by some ancient beast as the light receded. Gandalf, for he was there, closed the door behind her. Trapped ! Standing in the middle of the office, a part of her really wanted to disappear. She, the nineteen-year-old girl, was in presence of two of the main powers of this world. "Intimidating much”, she though. If Glorfindel had been there, the effect would have been total. Fortunately, lord Elrond’s level of humor was as low as usual, and therefore he did not linger on socialities.“I have heard that your fighting skills have improved greatly”, he said, his dark eyes boring holes into her.“Have you really?”.Her surprised outburst caused Gandalf to chuckle.“Frankness is very refreshing”“Well, that’s my name”, Frances mumbled.A few wrinkles appeared at the edge of the wizard’s twinkling eyes. Lord Elrond, a bit surprised by this statement, regained his composure. Elves did not depreciate themselves this way, and no conversation held this much spontaneity. Of course, the young lady’s skills were still far below average in those matters, but she had only been training for a couple of months. There was not much hope than for her to learn en route. The hobbits, who had volunteered shortly after the council, had no training whatsoever. Furthermore, she had shown quite some courage and strength of mind, and this quest would need much of it. There was no way ten walkers would defy Sauron’s armies with the strength of arms. Therefore, the matter was settled.“Yes, your swordsmaster said as much”“How nice of him”, came the witty reply, “to tell you so when he never uttered a compliment to me…”This time, Gandalf laughed out loud, and Elrond’s grim face shut her mouth for good. Frances cringed, fearing she might have gone too far. However, a close observation of the lord’s eyes sowed a doubt in her mind. Did he actually look sheepish?“You have much to learn about the elves,” young lady, finally said Gandalf with a pointed look. “Idle shatter is not their main ability.”Frances nodded. If the twins had been refreshing, she had seen how their manners exasperated their own kind. True to himself, lord Elrond cut the conversation short. There was far too much mirth in the room for his taste, and the aim of her visit seemed to sail away.“The fellowship is soon to depart. Do you hold true to your word?”"So then, back to business", she though. Her eyes meet the elflord’s grey eyes, and she put as much might as she could in her stare.“I do.”“Then it is settled. The fellowship leaves in a dozen of days, on 25th of December.”At hearing the date, Frances chuckled, but the joke didn’t seem to hit home. The two startled stares that she won told her there was none intended. She tried to pry a little, feeling uneasy by the unresponsive looks.“Come on, Christmas?”“I am sorry young lady but I do not see any matter of mirth in this.”Elonrd’s reply was sharp, and forced her bubbling mind finally to focus. Frances sighed, defeated. How ridiculous she must seem. Of course, Christmas had no signification in middle earth; there was no catholic religion nor Christ in sight.“Would you mind explaining what Krissmas is?”, tempted Gandalf, sensing the girl’s uneasiness.“Well, in my… world. Christmas is a yearly feast that happens on 25th of December. We celebrate the birth of, er, an historical figure. Our God's son. Anyway, people gather and have a meal, and then some presents are offered. It is one of the biggest traditions amongst my people. It’s the most important day of the year, I think.”“How fitting, then”.For the lord of Imladris, the discussion was now closed. However, Frances still had some very important questions to ask, and felt cheeky enough to stay.“If I may… You mentioned a prophecy when I first came. Is that the reason why you consider my participation?”Silence welcomed her question, and it lasted for quite some time. Finally, it was Gandalf who answered.“There are many signs in this matter. This prophecy does predate the elves’ installation on those shores, and not much remains. Lady Galadriel, whose dwellings are settled on the other side of those mountains, might be of help to you. We however take every indication very seriously; there clearly is a role for you to play in this war.”Frances opened her mouth, then closed it anew with a frown.“Yes, that is the reason why you are granted a seat in the fellowship without us knowing much more of you than we should. The Keeper of Time must be there”This was the longest speech that had ever been addressed to her in this office. Therefore, the young lady bowed, ready to take her leave. She had found nothing about the prophecy in the ancient books. Here and there, a few hints had been written about a lady fighting in the third age war, but no details. Frustrated, she had given up looking. Before she left Lord Elrond’s office, the elf Lord mentioned that a sword would soon be ready for her. The young lady could not help but smile at the prospect; at least she gained a weapon adapted to her size. Two days later, the haughty swordsmaster picked her up for what should be the last lesson. Frances, reinvigorated by the compliments she had heard, felt in a cheeky mood.“So”, she told him as they made their way to the sparring field, “I have heard by some very trusted sources that my fighting skills have GREATLY improved.”“It is indeed so,” said the grim elf, sending her a queer look.“Ah! You could have said so, at least once!”The swordsmaster stopped in his tracks. Her outbursts were so human, and he was quite eager to be rid of her. Young elflings were much easier to teach that this stubborn second born.“Since you started from a catastrophic level of mastership, there was much room for improvement.”The tirade stung her very deeply, and Frances accepted the rebuke without replying. There was so much truth in his words, and yet she could not help but feel miserable. The twins had managed to befriend her, dismissing her inferior skills and grace for her witty spirit, but the swordsmaster focused only on her flaws. Would it be up to him, no human should ever be fighting with a blade. Frances fought this session with the energy of despair. She so badly wanted to gain a compliment that never came, but try as she might she could never be up to it.In the background, Glorfindel observed. His anger had gone a long time ago, replaced by curiosity. For the incarnation of a prophecy, the lady Frances felt very human. However, after spending hours in sight of the sparring field, he started to understand the bigger picture. Given her absence of fighting skills, it was this very humanity that made her worth. Even Estel, with his elven ancestry, did not use his emotions so strongly. Glorfindel had seen her exhausted and discouraged by the constant nagging of the swordsmaster, and every time she seemed at his mercy it was her will that kept her fighting. Now he understood the role of the Keeper of Time. She was no warrior, even if she could now hold her own. She was a conscience. Frances would bring hope, joy, and ask the very questions that nobody would dare. Glorfindel spared a look for the blade he had forged. The sword would suit her well.The sparring session finally over, the sword master consented to share a few words of encouragement to a sweating Frances.“You have done well, considering your inferior strength and speed.”“Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment”, she answered.The insult did not really touch home. Yes, she was a second born. Her speed, grace, strength and life were forfeited. There was no need to go against one’s nature, no gain in wishing she was different. Frances embraced her mortality with relief.“You may.”Then he was gone, and Frances relished in the thought that, at last, she would not face him again. The young lady could endure much, but being the target of such dislike always left her numb. She could not fathom what she had done wrong, why she could inspire such despise. Leaving those sad thoughts behind, she sat on a bench, observing the surroundings. Even in the heart of winter, Rivendell expressed its tremendous beauty. The waterfall’s echoes sounded through the valley, and the bright light covered every single tree in a silvery shade. Here and there, some ice crystals glistened in the sunshine, some remains of the biting frost that fell upon the city at night. Frances’ eyes closed, and she breathed in the dry cold air. If she concentrated deep enough, she could feel every element of the forest. The young woman relented her inner feeling to the harmony of the woods. At this time of day, the smells started to rise, replacing the icy mantel of winter dawns.The slight noise of rustling leaves caught her of guard and she started. Glorfindel stood in the middle of the sparring field. His blond hair shone like a jewel in the silvery light, and his natural glow, stronger that the other’s, blinded her for a moment. After facing Gandalf and Elrond in the office, Frances though that she could never be intimidated again. Well, she was wrong. The presence of the elf hero from the first age left a feeling of nothingness. She, who had been living for nineteen little years, could not even begin to fathom how the elf could be, think, and live. A pang of annoyance passed through her heart. Would she not be granted a little rest from legendary beings? Her energy levels were on the way to depletion, especially after this ultimate fight with the swordsmaster.Surprisingly, Glorfindel’s former hostility didn’t radiate. In his outstretched hands laid a beautiful leather scabbard. He held it like a fragile relic, a most priced item for people to behold. The elf lord had not moved an inch since Frances’ eyes opened, and his respect of her privacy showed a great deal of consideration. The young lady rose, and greeted him very formally in the speech of his kind:“Mae g'ovannen, Hîr vuin!” (Well met, my lord)Glorfindel, if surprised, did not show it. Instead, he repeated the words of welcome with a slight bow of his head.“I have come to gift you this elvish blade.”His hands came up as he presented to sword to its rightful owner for inspection. Frances, her knees trembling, approached silently. Her eyes were riveted on the present. There was nothing on earth worth the value of this gesture. Her hand came over the scabbard, but she did not dare touching it. Her hesitation greatly pleased Glorfindel, for this blade had been challenging to create. For nights and days, he had considered the young woman that would be its wielder, reflecting on how she would use it. The observation of her fighting skills taught him on the balance and width of the blade, but he dug even deeper. Her stance reflected much of her character, and the sword had to accommodate for this. A defender. At best, the blade would enhance her every moves, making them easier. This would bring speed and strength to the wielder, enhancing the power that dwelled inside. Glorfindel put much effort in this blade, and employed all his craftsmanship into making it as powerful as possible given her human ancestry. The result was up to his hopes. Seeing her reaction to his work confirmed his suspicions. The woman was much more subtle than he though first, and she appreciated the greatness of the present. The elf lord had never crafted swords for a mere mortal, hence his reaction to Elrond’s request, but she might well prove not to be.Eventually, Frances met his heavenly eyes. His gaze was unnerving. It was like plunging in an ageless kingdom, where time was so relative that end and beginning meant nothing. Unable to sustain it for long, the young woman got back to the sword. She had found the authorization she was looking for, and seized the weapon with both hands. The scabbard, a leather tube which end was reinforced by a plate of shining metal, bore some engraved inscriptions. The young woman made a mental note to ask for its signification later, but at the time being her mind was transfixed by the weapon itself. The blade, still uncovered, seemed to be calling to her.Was it really? Frances repressed a shudder. After so much time spent in this magical place, was her mind clouded with elven magic? Still, she would have sworn that the sword longed to be uncovered. In a swift movement the young lady unsheathed the blade. The handle fit perfectly in her palm, as if it had been moulded directly inside her hand. The same inscriptions decorated the blade, the intricate elvish patterns running on the metal like a liquid dance. Its size, about an arm’s length, was extended by the large handle that allowed the weapon to be wielded with both hands. Looking very much like Arwen’s own, that Frances had studied closely, the sword curved elegantly; it would enhance any cutting move.The young woman backed up a few steps, and tried a few kata. The blade responded wonderfully, enhancing every blow as if she could read her intentions. Never before had she felt so alive with a sword in hand. The young lady turned back to her benefactor, her eyes shining with childish joy.“I will never thank you enough, my lord. It is a kingly present.”Glorfindel lifted an eyebrow at hearing this title, wondering how much the young woman knew about what future could bring upon her. But beyond those interrogations, her inner pleasure infected him, and his lips slightly twisted upwards in an attempt to smile.“It is, and I trust it will serve you well. Never forget that this blade is but a weapon. You are the one who commands it.”The lady’s smile disappeared so fast that he feared he had insulted her. Wondering how she could have tacked from joy to sadness in so little time, he waited the upcoming explanation.“This I cannot forget, for my fighting skills are still insufficient.”Breathing in, the elf lord answered something as cryptically as ever.“You have much to learn in terms of warfare. And surprisingly, much you already have for such a young age. Do not fret so on your fighting skills. Considering your age and abilities, they are as honorable as they could be. There will probably be far too many occasions for you to improve on the way to… your destination.”The last word hung in the air for a while, and the young lady turned as red as a tomato from the disguised compliment. Not knowing how to handle a swooned teenager, the elf lord took his leave. Feeling the need to domesticate her new weapon, Frances stayed a long time in the sparring field. Both sword and master learnt how to respond to each other, and when the young lady came back to her quarters her smile would not fade. It was for the last dinner before the fellowship’s departure that Frances had to bow to Arwen’s wishes, and she spent more than two hours in the elf maiden’s care who carefully brushed and braided her hair in elven fashion. Wincing whenever one of her strands refused to cooperate, the young woman could not help but wish that she would stop keeping promises. Arwen apologized profusely each time she pulled on a loose strand, but her good manners prevented her from swearing. It however was not for lack of envy. She had dismissed Frances’ warning and was now struggling with her hair. The texture was smooth enough – not like elven hair but she was a second born but still, every strand seemed to have a will of its own. Needless to say that the ever patient Evenstar was getting frustrated at disciplining them.“I told you my hair tends to grip, Arwen. You really don’t have to… ouch !”Arwen smirked. There, it should keep Frances from speaking out of turn again. Obstinate and focused, the elf maiden did not accept defeat, and after a few hours’ work she sat contentedly, swearing that she would never touch human’s hair again even if her life depended on it. Apart from Estel, that isAs Frances shook her stiff neck and turned to Arwen, the elf’s mouth twisted in a satisfied shining smile. The effect of her crowned French braid was perfect on the young lady’s oval face, and the few strands she had let free in front framed her features and broke the severity of the hairstyle. She took one of Frances’ hand in hers and led her to the mirror where she could contemplate the work. Her gasp was the best of compliments.The Keeper of Time stood, unmoving, trying to recognize herself in the polished silver surface. The top of her hair had been braided around on the first third of her head, and the braid turned around in itself like a tiara and was snatched to her skull with silver hair pins that glittered like the moonlight. A single white flower had been added for the effect, its stem buried into the twisted strands that ran loosely around the braid. The rest of the mass was left flowing, the natural wavy form contrasting with the strict arrangement at the top, but some silver ribbons ran along the length, creating a contrast with the deep reddish color.“So what do you think?”, asked Arwen, impatient like an elfling.“This is… it looks incredible”, said Frances, dumbfounded by the skill of the maidenAs a brilliant smile illuminated the elf’s face, making her glow even more than usual, Frances pulled her close and hugged her.“Thank you, Arwen, I was never taken care of this way…”“Really?, that is indeed a pity for it suits you well.”The slight twinkle in the Evenstar’s grey eyes taught her that it had been a tough struggle. Once the hairstyle completed, Arwen sent her back to her room to get dressed by a maid.Dinner was magnificent, as always in the Last Homely House. People feasted like never, knowing that this gathering would probably never be seen again. Some melancholy hung in the air, called by the parting of wounded souls. Frances, seated next to Arwen this time, received her share of compliments. With her hair done like a princess, and the light blue dress that had been adjusted to her frame, she nearly felt at home. The absence of the twins, though, put a damper on her mood.Estel, seated in front of them, participated in the festivities with a wrinkled brow. He knew that Frances would accompany them on this fearful quest, and could not overcome his reluctance in the matter. The young lady had called something very deep inside of his chest, the lack of siblings maybe.At least, Arwen had chosen to stay in Rivendell for his sake. It was not from lack of courage though, but her wisdom far exceeded anyone’s sight in the matter. His beloved knew better than anyone that she would be a distraction, and that Aragorn needed to know her safe if he was to fulfill his destiny. The choice wasn’t easy, but she embraced it nonetheless. How wise the daughter of Elrond!Songs and music kept them awake for many hours in the hall of Fire, and Frances drank their beauty with rapture. A few elvish words rang a bell in her mind, and she recognized the tale of Lúthien Tinúviel. Her Sindarin was improving. Beside the great fire, the people of Imladris showed their true heart, and enchanted the minds of many. Gone were the stern nature and serious looks as they sang. Nowhere on earth would Frances ever find such beauty, but it would be kept alive in her heart.And when eventually, another song started, the young woman couldn’t help but stare at the fire with a furrowed brow. The voices, deep and sorrowful, were so very different from usual. They only hummed, and Frances could already pick at least two different tunes. Puzzled, she turned to Bilbo. The old hobbit’s face was split by a large smile, both of his wrinkled hands resting upon his cane.“tis the song of Durin. Hush now, listen”And listen she did, started to realise that she could indeed understand the lyrics. Bilbo would explain, later, that Khuzdul was a secret language and never spoken outside the community, hence the common tongue. The whole company of dwarves now sang the first days of Durin, one lead following the melody as the others produced a background. There was no music needed, for the strength of those voices created a harmony so strong that it turned Frances’ heart." The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone »Another dwarf picked up the singing, one with such accent that it reminded her of scottish highlanders." He named the nameless hills and dells
He drank from yet untasted wells »Beside her, Frodo sat his wide blue eyes mesmerised by the shadows that danced in the Hall of Fire." He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear”And two more here, starting where his fellow dwarf had finished, with a voice so deep that Frances shuddered on her seat." As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadows of his head »More voices joined the first as the rhythm picked up, and the melody washed through her like the roll of a gentle sea, deep, huge waves who moved her from head to toe. They spoke of Nargothrond and Gondolin, of western seas and the elves’ paradise far in the west. Carried away by the song, Frances failed at noticing how Glorfindel, Lord of the golden flower, shuddered at the mention of his former home. Neither did she understand why tears suddenly prickled at the corner of her eyes, dismissing the emotion to the beauty of the song. Elves had joined the singing now, adding their voices to the Dwarven choir in such a polyphonic and spontaneous harmony that Frances swore she could never hear something so beautiful again. A few women, then topped it with their soprano voices so effortlessly that she was nearly jealous.They seem to respond to each other, speaking of hammer and blazes, carvings and stones in Khazad Dum. When the back and forth of couplets eventually quietened, the dwarves’ voices were the only one that remained to conclude the song." The world is grey, the mountains old,The forge's fire is ashen-cold;No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;The shadow lies upon his tombIn Moria, in Khazad-dûm.But still the sunken stars appearIn dark and windless Mirrormere; » The last two sentences were uttered by voices so profound, so deep that Frances could only close her eyes in sorrow. When had Khazad Dum become Moria ? There was so much she didn’t know about Middle-Earth yet." There lies his crown in water deep,Till Durin wakes again from sleep. »Waking from sleep ? Did the dwarves think that During would wake again ? Did they believe in reincarnation ? Why did this song shake her so much ? Unwilling to cross’ anyone’s gaze, Frances kept her eyes closed, mulling about the significance of such a song. How she wished she could record it and play it back a thousand time. It was so complex, so intricated, so beautiful. Perhaps Bilbo would consent singing it again.Seated beside the hobbits with her eyes closed, Frances failed at noticing that an observant blond elf was detailing her features. The mystery of her origin wasn’t fading, especially tonight since she looked very much like an elven maid. An elven maid, with a very human energy, a human woman moved to tears by a dwarven song…The next morning, envoys left to reach their respective homes. Of the Greenwood delegation, only the prince Legolas remained at the last Homely house. Of the dwarves, Gimli, son of Glóin greeted his kin goodbye, much to Bilbo’s chargin. From that day, the little hobbit became distant and gloomy. And despite her best efforts, Frances had trouble cheering him up, even when she talked about her antics with the twins sons of Elrond. Where were Elrohir and Elladan now ? She had no clue, for Estel had not spoken of it. He had not tried to persuade her to stay in Rivendell either, and she was glad that even if he disapproved, her respected her decision.The fellowship left one week later, on 25th of December as was planned. Many words of encouragement were shared, but much more was left unsaid. With one last look to Arwen, Estel turned away. With one last look to Rivendell Frances followed him without knowing if she would ever see the city again.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
On the roadSparks gently emerged from the crackling fire, the orange glow illuminating the two restless walkers who shared legends of another time while the rest of the company slept. Legolas was keeping watch, his glow merging with those of the woods as he silently circled the area, leaving the two companions in relative peace. Strider’s voice was lulling, bringing peace where her mind was full of doubts. So Frances drank his words.“ … and once their lives were all spend and all their tasks fully completed, the Lords of Númenor would finally lie down and close their eyes for eternity.”The young woman’s eyebrows shot to the sky as she contemplated the meaning of Estel’s words.“You mean that Númenoreans could decide to die once it suited them to leave the world?” she asked, dumbfounded by the implications of the news.“That was indeed the way it worked for millennia.”The notion had trouble registering in her brain.“This is incredible…”“Why would it be? The Kings of old were blessed with a long life.”“How long are we talking about?”“Elros lived five hundred years, and the lifespan slowly diminished to two hundred. Long enough to settle a kingdom and enjoy one’s relatives before downfall.”Thinking hard, the young woman stared into Estel’s grey eyes. She saw him, beard and hair grey, the line of his face more pronounced, carved in stone with Arwen weeping by his side. Startled by the unexpected vision, Frances shook her head. Weird. Still, it was so incredible that men could gather enough strength and wisdom to realise when time was up, and not desperately cling to it like survivors to a safe boat. She had met people willing to kill to stay alive, no matter the conditions. Such wisdom seemed better suited coming from elves than men.“Were the Kings of Numenor close to the eldar?”Aragorn nodded.“At first, they all were elf friends. Elros and Elrond were twin brothers. Then…”A strange sadness washed over the ranger’s features.“What happened?”“Sauron corrupted their hearts, and they banished the first born and their teachings.”Frances shivered by the fire; she didn’t want the mood to crash, especially with the power of the ring attacking them at every turn. For she felt it still, trying to gnaw at her resolve, crushing her spirits. A small voice in her head sometimes; she banished it with merry tunes. How did Frodo manage to sustain it? He was so strong. So now wasn’t the time to grant Sauron more power, and she steered clear from sad tales.“Are you not a descendant of the Kings of old?” she asked instead.“I am the last one of the line,” answered Aragorn, curious to hear what were her conclusions after this moment of silence.“Therein in your blood lies great strength.”Estel winced at hearing this, and his eyes grew darker by the second as he mumbled:“In my blood lies great weakness too… I am Isildur’s heir, who got tempted by the ring and did not destroy it when he could. I also am of the line of those corrupted kings who refused their condition of mortal and defied the Valar, resulting in the destruction of Numenor…”Frances bit her lip; she didn’t know if Aragorn was always si burdened by his line, but it could also be the weight of the ring speaking. And she didn’t believe in predestined greatness or evil.“In my … place, we try not to judge people by the mistakes of their forefathers. The way you are raised, the principles by which you abide are more important than blood.”Aragorn seemed to mull over this, considering the way Elrond and his mother had raised him. Remembering, as well, the few memories of his father that lingered in his mind.“Is that so?”“Who cares what evil your ancestors have done, you cannot be held responsible for their deeds. Especially thousands of years ago. What you decide to do with your inheritance is for you to choose and you alone. You have spent years in the wisdom of Imladris, and defending those lands and their people. Do you really think that what flows in your veins can make you weak?”Gasping, the ranger looked at his companion in shock. The passionate tirade had left her breathless, but the fire that burnt in her eyes told him that she had meant every word of it. Could it be true? Could he be a saviour when Isilduer might have caused the downfall of middle earth? Arwen had already lectured him on this topic, as well as many others. However, most of them were fond of cryptic answers while Frances’ words were plain and nearly brutal in their clarity. What she said seemed right, but again she was not the one facing his pending doom and destiny. Shaking his head slowly, Aragorn gazed at the flames.“You don’t understand,” he said in a murmur.“Explain then”Her eyes shone golden with the campfire, daring him to spill it out. Aragorn sighed; she was pushing him with her constant nagging. Not remembering how this warm moment of confidences had turned into a will contest, he decided that it was worth trying. The young woman was most of the time very respectful of privacy, but sometimes she would bug you until you gave up. It was as if the girl could see straight through him, and the ranger considered her dangerous for this ability. However, her will to help and inner character had won his trust, so there he was, confiding things he would never have voiced otherwise.“The ring is calling me,” he hissed. “And it takes all of my willpower to prevent from falling into its sweet promises…”“Ah. It calls to me too, that rascal. All this hissing makes my head hurt, it is sooo annoying that I have to keep pushing it away.”Aragorn nearly choked at her words.“You hear it?”“Of course, all of us hear it I think.”“What does it say?” he whispered.“Rubbish about the power to save my loved ones, and yada and yada. It shows me the past, tells me I could have saved … the people I lost. Anyway. The more powerful you are, the more that thing calls you. Lord Elrond told me humans are the most sensitive to it.”Sarcasm eventually laced into her voice as she finished:“You are the most powerful of us all, if you had not heard it, I would be worried for your senses.”The laid-back manner with which she treated the ring caused Aragorn to pause. Was it lack of respect for Sauron, or a clever way to dismiss its lure?“I feel weak for I sometimes listen.”“You should feel strong since you haven’t given in,” she retorted, annoyed by the self-beating circle Aragorn had fallen into. “I know that this destiny thing must weigh a lot on your shoulders, but you chose your path and fought alongside the people of middle earth long enough not to doubt your strength any longer. What will occur later is another problem that you cannot solve for now, so let it rest for your own sake. It will come soon enough… You are strong Aragorn; do not let any golden whispers tell you otherwise…”“She is right, my friend,” came a silky voice from behind them, startling Frances to death.As Aragorn seemed to sink in all she had said, and especially his friend’s approval, the young woman turn around to glare at the intruder. She seemed to be in a daring mood this evening.“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she grumbled.“It is hardly fault of mine if you were not paying attention to your surroundings,” Legolas teased.His cheerful tone brightened the mood, and Aragorn wondered if Frances was right. Perhaps humans were more vulnerable to the ring, after all, for the elf’s presence had already shifted the dynamics.“I was not paying attention because somebody much more agile and sensitive than me was on watch, but said guard is not supposed to scare me to death…”The elf blue eyes twinkled for a moment, glad to be part of the fun for once, and then he lifted one of his hands in a peaceful gesture before he turned serious again. As he glided effortlessly towards the opposite side of the fire, Frances stared at his eyes. Even in the darkness and with the reflections of the fire, his irises still shone in this captivating blueish light, which should have been impossible. The elf sat down without displacing even one twig on the ground, then turned his gaze to the flames.Frances studied Legolas from the corner of her eye; trying to understand how his mind worked. Elves seemed in a pensive mood at least ninety percent of their time, probably an alter effect of the huge amount of memories they carried. Fascinated by the eldar, Frances felt like an intellectual dwarf compared to their immense knowledge and wisdom. No matter how hard she tried, she could not fathom what it could feel like to see the earth change slowly but surely and still be there, contemplating your home being built, prosper and fade away as centuries went by. The young woman had always claimed that she would hate being immortal, and she bore as an anchor her attachment to people in such a way that every goodbye tore her heart. In a certain way, her sheer reluctance to become all-powerful and immortal made her the right choice to be the Keeper of Time.Lost in her thoughts, Frances eventually pulled her blanket to her shoulders. As she slowly drifted to sleep, she unconsciously locked eyes with the elf sitting on the other side of the fire. His deep blue pools watched her small frame as fatigue washed over her and led her into a dreamless slumber. Nor Aragorn nor Legolas talked during the end of his watch, but it was very clear that the two of them were thinking deeply about their sleeping companion’s opinions. As the Ranger chewed up her blunt words, trying to decide if it was worth extracting something from her ideas, the elf contemplated the human woman in her sleep.She was a mystery to him, and each time he laid his eyes upon her she reminded him of the first day he had seen her dancing over the ice. Sadly, she mostly shied away from him but her connection with the hobbits and their animated conversations always called a smile to his lips. How he missed the merry people of the Greenwood forest; she reminded him of some elves he had grown up with, for beside her cheerful manners lay some wisdom. If Frances’ defence was to be underestimated then she played her game well. Her friendship with Aragorn, though, sold her out. Especially after what he just heard. A bit motherly, the young woman took care of the group, but she often drifted away in her thoughts, walking only on instincts. As if she belonged in the forests and mountains. As for the reasons of her presence, he had learnt nothing. Aragorn was tight-lipped; he only knew she had participated in the deliberation with Lord Elrond, Gandalf and the ranger himself. Why had such high beings decided to include a young woman in such a dangerous mission? Legolas couldn’t fathom their reasons, yet he didn’t resent it like Boromir did. He trusted both Elrond and Gandalf to take the right decision.Despite the fact that a Maiar trusted her enough to handle the ring, he couldn’t fathom why Frances avoided him. Surely she held no grudge against the first born, for she was welcomed in Imladris. Yet, there was an unbreakable barrier between them; even when he tried to be friendly, it took two weeks before she warmed up to him and stopped answering monosyllabic words. Perhaps she considered elves as a different kind of hers, and therefore did not wish to speak with them. Shaking his head in disbelief, the elf frowned; from what he had gathered, Frances was a very curious woman, and did not seem the type to be stopped by differences and races. After all, she did enjoy Gimli’s company quite a lot, trading jokes and pranks with the dwarf.The memory of her laugh caused his lips to quirk: it wasn’t musical like the sweet melody of his kind, but in contained such freshness. Of all the companions, she was the one which he knew nothing about. If Aragorn could trust her then he would also do it without conditions. Sometimes she stared at him, especially when he was singing a ballad from home. But each time she crossed his gaze she pushed her head down and slow her steps to give him some space.“What ails you Legolas?”Aragorn’s sudden question startled him from his thoughts.“Nothing important my friend, you should rest while you still can.”“Yet, there’s a crease between your eyebrows.”Startled by the ranger’s insistence, the elf decided to ask nonetheless:“I was wondering if the young lady had some reluctance with the first born.”“Nay Legolas, I am pretty confident that she does not hold anything against your people … or yourself. She has been nothing but friendly with Imladris dwellers if a little withdrawn. Why would you come to this conclusion?”“Forgive me if I am wrong, but it seems like she is shying away from me whenever I attempt to speak to her.”Aragorn’s lips formed an ‘oh’ as he realised that, indeed, Frances had been less than forthcoming with the prince of Greenwood.“Oh… She is probably intimidated.”“By me? Because I am an elf? She seemed friendly enough with your foster brothers.”“Well, they are a handful. And a little less…”“Guarded?”The ranger chuckled softly.“No, less noble than you are. And there’s the title as well.”The elf frowned this time; his status caused many elves to react differently. Whether they became too friendly, or more distant depended on each character.“You know my title means nothing among friends,” he scolded.“But she doesn’t. She is still learning the rules of etiquette. And you have to admit that your people tend to treat the second born differently…”The slight accusation in the ranger’s tone did not go unnoticed, but the prince of Greenwood let it go for it was nothing but the truth. In Imladris, Elrond’s house had been supporting Frances’s presence, therefore allowing her to participate to the deliberations. Yet, his peers had mostly ignored her. Apart from Rivendell’s haven, elves were withdrawing from the world; no longer did men and the eldar got along like they did in the old days of the Beleriand. Thinking that someone so young and yet powerful enough to be accepted in the fellowship might be intimidated by him felt awkward, but if Estel said so, then it was most likely true. As his watch was over, the elvish prince woke Boromir up and laid down to stare at the sky in search for a bit of rest.Days passed, and the fellowship slowly made her way through wild and inhabited lands. Frances, who had never travelled for so long before, had a hard time adjusting. Fortunately, the hobbits were very straightforward in their habits, and she copied them to find a routine. After a few days, the weariness of her muscles gave way to renewed energy; a second wind. The clothes gifted by Lord Elrond were miraculously warm, and with the soft leather boots one could go a hundred miles without a scratch. After a while, setting up camp, lighting a fire, hunting some food, everything was getting easier. Frances took advantage of every moment to train. She would practise her bow and sword skills with Estel since Boromir treated her with hostility. However, with time, the proud warrior realised that she not slow them down. It still wasn’t enough to befriend her, but at least he wasn’t complaining anymore.They had stopped early for the night, glad to escape the pouring rain under pine trees. At last, after supper, the clouds condescended to leave. Frances’s hands were slowly brushing the crazy strands in an attempt to discipline them to braid it. Sliding the mass of hair to the side of her neck, she worked absently while gazing into the fire. Little animation was heard as most of the group had sunk into their bedrolls. Exhausted by the march and frozen by the icy wind, none of the hobbits had wished to linger longer than necessary. Estel had offered to take first watch and the elf was settled on a rock nearby camp. His keen sight gave him a clear overview of the campsite.Awestruck by the light dancing in the young woman’s hair, Legolas could not help but stare. Fortunately, he was too far away for her to catch him staring. The reflections from the flames danced over her in red and orange, and it enhanced the natural colour of her strands which seemed aflame. Her face was shadowed by unrest and fatigue, but somehow the young lady had not settled yet. The road was taking its toll on every member of the fellowship, and now that she thought to be alone, the elf realised how tired she seemed to be.Silent as a squirrel, Legolas made his way to the hearth, mindful not to scare her. Despite his silent approach, she turned to him much sooner than expected. Good, she stood on her guard. Satisfied with her awareness, Legolas sat neatly on the other side of the fire.“You should rest my lady, I am afraid that tomorrow will be no easier than today and Estel is watching the company. I assure you that there exists no more skilled guard than he…”“I am no lady master elf,” she replied without animosity, making this shocking sentence an unquestionable statement. “As for Estel I am aware that we are as safe as possible under the circumstances, and I fear not … well not so much anyway…”Legolas cocked his head aside, considering her response.“Then may I ask what plagues your mind so?”“You may…”But Frances wasn’t so eager to share her thoughts with a prince, but her responses bordered on rudeness. Yet, Legolas didn’t break the silence for a while, giving her a chance to reach out.“There are but mere mortal thoughts my lord,” whispered Frances shyly, “they would not be of great interest to an elf.”“There are reasons for every twist of the mind. The eldar are not above them.”As silence settled again, both companions staring at the dancing flames, concentrating on the low crackling of the drying branches in the brazier. For one of the first times in his long life, the elf was at loss about what the necessary course of action. Amongst his people his royal status provided him with lots of company. The attention that was given to him as the Prince of Greenwood eased the relations, and sometimes he even wished to be left in peace when present at his father’s court. Elleths were hunting his presence, and the little solitude a treat. Feeling unwanted was a first. It wasn’t his pride which accommodated the refusal, yet his feelings were bruised. Legolas had always been curious, and his friendship with the ranger sometimes made his father. Learning from others was embedded in his character like the salt was in the ocean, and so Legolas hoped to share moments of connivance with the members of the fellowship.As Frances’s gaze shifted from the flames to the elf’s face, she felt a pang of sadness at seeing his fair features so thoughtful. She knew the reasons of his turmoil, and could not help feeling guilty about it. Soon he would leave, and believe that she despised him or hated it, or God knew what. This was unacceptable, and so Frances decided to master her feelings and talk to her companion as if he was her equal. However the words would not come, and she frowned. Seeing her eyebrows furrowing, Legolas decided that it was time to take his leave. He unfolded his legs. The graceful movement sent Frances in a panic and the words blurted out:“Please don’t leave. I just… I’m trying to find the right words. Gosh, I’m so clumsy. I was thinking about my euh, fiancé, or whatever he used to be”Stopping abruptly, the elf lifted his eyes to her. She seemed rather distressed.“You do not have any obligations to me my lady, if you wish for solitude I will grant it gladly. I know the price of such things…”His voice danced about the flames, his face so fair, blue eyes staring into hers. Frances’ breath caught in her throat. Her companion was sitting anew, but his stance indicated that he was ready to jump to his feet and leave at any word from her. It felt wrong for her to have such power over an elf.“I … do no long for solitude, my lord,” she stuttered uneasily. “I just do not wish to bother someone like yourself with my personal issues; it would be too improper…”“If I wished not to know, I would not have asked. Do not fear, my lady, I would feel honoured to be the recipient of your thoughts”Struck speechless by the sincerity of his voice, Frances lowered her eyes to the ground, unable to hold his enchanting gaze much longer. That was her cue, and the elf had given her the opening she needed. Scowling herself for being such a coward, the young woman lifted her eyes again to his face and contemplated his perfection.“My concerns are about my doom, and whether or not I will have the pleasure to see again my fiancé, family and friends.”“I understand how distressful this perspective can be for I myself wonder, but it would be offence to lie to you. I do not know if either of us will come back, but for nothing I would turn around even if fate does not grant me to see my father again.”“Is he the one that imports the most?” asked Frances with curiosity. “Your father, King of Greenwood?”His blue eyes filled with sorrow.“Yes, he is, for he is the only family I have left. But pray tell you spoke of a fiancé. You are then betrothed?”The term was new to Frances, and she took a moment before answering.“Well, sort of. There was no ceremony yet.”Discarding the two little words that did not mean a lot to him, Legolas’ curiosity won the best of him.“Has he not accompanied you to Imladris then? I do not recall seeing any man by your side before we left.”“He has, fortunately or not, no idea of where I am today. Charlie probably thinks that I am safe and sound and so do my family and friends.”“How can this be? Are all of them ignoring where you are and not wondering for your sake?” asked the prince, his voice still ushered but rising with concern.“This is a long story, but the short answer is yes, and this is for the best and a choice of my own. No one must know I am there, and it will be so if I return, and pointless if I do not.”Her tone had slightly risen, and Legolas refrained the hundred questions he wanted to ask. Now that she had agreed to talk, even for a few instants, it would have been foolish to spoil the moment. Searching to soothe her temper, the elf changed his strategy.“So what is your fiancé like? May I ask?”A tiny smile spread over Frances’ lips, and the elf saw great affection in her eyes as she recalled the man she had left behind. Freed from her shyness, she slowly related her encounter with Charlie and how their love blossomed, editing the story along the lines so as to fit his possible existence into the medieval age of middle earth, and playing with her souvenirs to adapt Charlie’s character to the knight age she was presently living in. The exercise proved extremely difficult, but as she danced around banned notions such as his profession and past actions, she realised that speaking of him felt good. It was like giving a tribute to her world, and by doing so honouring the strong ties she had with her birth planet. Lost in the fate of middle earth, it was so easy to forget about one’s character and history, and Frances realised she had been much more silent and melancholic than before in fear of displeasing people met. This behaviour was an insult to her inner being, and it did not correspond to the merry and exuberant woman she was. One part of her character had taken precedence, nearly erasing the other one, and slowly she realised it had been a mistake. When she eventually, Frances felt whole again, and she brightly smiled at the elf.“I thank you my lord for listening to me. You have given me much to ponder about.”Startled by the change of attitude, Legolas bowed slightly.“I am glad my company pleased you my lady, it was an honour to learn from you.”“I, however, have to insist that the next conversation hovers around you since you have learnt so much of me and I so little of you.”The elf chuckled gently, then stood up with such grace that Frances blinked twice at this sight.“That would be only fair. For now I will bid you a good night and wish that you rest well.”“I wish you a fair night,” she ushered.Standing still, the elf gave her a warm smile, his eyes contemplating again the shadows of the flames playing along her braided hair. Then he bowed and left. As he made his way back to the lonely boulder, the prince of Greenwood listened to the swift shuffling of the bedroll as the young woman slid into its warmth, and his eyebrow furrowed in wonder. What kind of man voluntarily let his beloved run errands in this dangerous world? There was something behind this he could not understand, one enigma that stood in front of him that he could not resolve. The mere thought of some Elleth leaving his father’s court for a month’s length without her family knowing was unbelievable. There were some things she did not reveal, some things that hid amongst the numerous unspoken lines of her story. The mystery that surrounded her coming and origins was thicker than the trunk of a Mallorn tree. Sighing in delight at the thought of Lothlórien, Legolas let his dreams take over and surrendered his body to the sweetness of elvish rest.
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“There, make yourself useful, my lady.”Legolas frowned, miffed by the condescension of Boromir’s tone as he threw his tunic in Frances’ lap. Sometimes, the Steward’s son was just too pig-headed to understand when an explosion was coming his way. Retaliation was swift.“Are you implying that I am being useless?”The lack of title raised Boromir’s hackles instantly; it was written all over his face. Despite his courage, the Steward’s son wasn’t used to shed the mantle. His men called him Captain General, the nobles of Gondor called him “my lord”. And this girl, this tiny slip of a woman, dared shunning him! Needless to say, that her friendship with the Ranger who would be King was suspicious. Did she intend to marry Aragorn someday, and usurp the place of Queen? How else would she allow herself to speak him so sharply if she didn’t intend to overrank him?Silence had descended amongst the fellowship’s members. The sun was rising, hence calling for a halt. After being rooted out by spies and birds, servants of Saruman, they had decided to travel at night and sleep at day. The dark circles under everyone’s eyes said much about the difficulties to adjust to such a schedule. Surprisingly, the hobbits, creatures of habits, had shifted their patterns easily enough. Not a week through, and all meals now had another official time of night rather than day. Aragorn and Gandalf, being used to erratic patterns, just went with the flow. Legolas, being an elf, found his rest whenever he could. Under the trees rather than under the stars. Which left Gimli, Boromir and Frances to struggle with a pattern unnatural to men and dwarves alike. Tempers rose more easily…“When truth needs saying, I am not one to shy away from them.”There was a double meaning there, the devious tones of diplomacy not lost on the young woman who narrowed her eyes. Legolas wondered if she was going to explode altogether and fling back the garment to its owner. Instead, she chose to ignore the jab.“Then you know how to ask politely when YOU need some HELP.”Bluntness and avoidance, without nailing her point to give the Steward’s son a little leeway. And once more she had the upper hand. Legolas’ lips twitched; he had to admit that the lady’s mind worked fast. Borormir’s grey eyes widened, then, truly chastised. It was fortunate that the rest of the fellowship hid their smiles, for he knew the proud man would have reacted very badly to mockery. The elf shrugged, Boromir had dug himself into that hole. He should be able to find his way out. And so, Legolas stood and climbed a tree to keep the first watch and ensure the fellowship’s safety.Shuffles, grumbles, and the aroma of stew greeted his nose sometime later and the agile creature descended in camp without a noise, landing a few feet away from Estel. The ranger didn’t even twitch; of course he knew he was there all along. The dwarf, though, jumped in the air with a muffled yell. Satisfied, the elf received a little stew from Samwise – bless the hobbit for his cooking skills! – and settled beside the ranger. His eyes landed upon a grumbling Frances who, needle in hand, was sewing a little triangle at the bottom of Boromir’s tunic for reinforcement. Compared to elvish craft, the stitches were a little rough. But given the conditions, he found it sound enough, especially the idea to reinforce the flap. So she had done it, despite the insufferable manners of the steward’s son.Good. It meant the group was more important than her pride. He had no doubts, either, that if danger came about, the steward’s son would put duty before the rest. If he read the signs properly, it probably was the reason of his animosity in the first place; that such a young and helpless woman be put in danger. Men were clueless, sometimes, to the true nature of their feelings.Legolas watched from the corner of his eye as Frances exchanged the mended tunic for a bowl of stew from Boromir’s hands, their gaze still hard, but an understanding passing through. Perhaps all hope wasn’t lost after all. The elf decided to concentrate on the taste of the stew – wheat corn and lardo – his eyes lingering upon the fiery braid of the young woman seated a few feet away. It really was a peculiar colour, darker than the redhead he had seen in Greenwood, as if blood had melted into the brownish hues. She was different, that woman, from the Dunedain’s wives.Frances polished her stew without flourish, dipping brown bread in the bowl to suck at the remaining juices. Sam was an incredible cook, especially given the poor hand he was dealt with when it came to supplies. Give him a rabbit, and he would make the best stew ever! She needed to ask him about his technique, and learn more. Already, she observed him when he cooked; she wasn’t a good one at home, having no time nor kitchen whatsoever. But the next time she was stranded, alone, she would channel Sam for sure!Frances offered to clean the dishes by the river and Gimli stood at once. The young woman dipped her head gratefully; help was appreciated, and they never left her alone anyway. So, dwarf and lady gathered the bowls and made for the stream than ran nearby.Gimli was a stout person, with an even nature and a fierce love for his kin. Hence the flood of information that came out of his mouth at the slight inkling of curiosity. Frances didn’t mind; she wanted to know everything about this world, and the story of the retaking of the lonely mountain and Gimli’s ancestry filled many blanks in her mind. So she stored the information, hoping to link it afterwards with the history she had read from Lord Elrond’s library, and the ones told by Arwen in Rivendell.When they returned to camp, they were surprised that the hobbits had not settled to sleep yet. They seemed … restless. And in the middle of an argument just as well. So when Pippin caught sight of her, he immediately called out.“Frances! We need a song. Can’t get to sleep without a proper song.”The young woman’s lips quirked up. Children… She had to admit, though, that the tradition sat well with her. Every new song was another point of entry in middle earth’s lores, and the routine soothed her, somehow. Estel, sometimes, took the mantle, singing in elvish, or the songs of the Dunedain in the common tongue. Boromir, for his part, only had drinking and soldiers’ songs to share and he tended to perform them off-key. Of Legolas they had heard only one, a merry tune of the sylvan folk. Enchanting. Most of the time, though, it was the hobbits that filled the air with merry singing. Altogether, or only Merry and Pippin depending on Frodo’s mood.“So what have you decided upon this evening?” she asked.“Nothing! We just can’t agree, and Frodo doesn’t want to sing.”Frances’ eyes caught the hobbit’s large blue ones, wondering how he was holding up. Conversation was scarce with the ring bearer. First of all, because that annoying nagging always echoed at the back of her mind whenever she came too close to the ring. Secondly, because every time she tried to engage him, one of his cousins would pop up and start rambling. So far, she had only managed to corner him twice, and he had talked about his ancestry – as hobbit tended to do when conversing with strangers – and his time with Bilbo.Today, deep blue pools pleaded at her to find a solution. Frodo was tired. So her gaze roamed the makeshift camp until it landed upon Gimli. After their exchange about Durin’s line at the stream, she was rather looking forward to hear dwarven lore again.“Could you sing the song of Durin again, master Gimli?” she asked.A grunt escaped his lips before his head shook from left to right.“It can’t be done with one voice.”Frances nibbled on her lower lip; she had asked Bilbo to write the words for her, and remembered some part of the songs from the hall of fire. But she couldn’t possibly sing it all; it was far too long and too complicated, even with her ear memory. Sensing the mood, Aragorn settled beside Gimli around the fire.“I can accompany you.”Nary a look passed between ranger and dwarf before the latter nodded.“Aye. That will do, but don’t expect it to be too fair. I’m a warrior, not a singer.”Frances rushed to reassure him; she was so happy to be able to hear Durin’s song again.“Thank you. I found this song incredibly beautiful.”With dawn rising, she wasn’t too sure if the reddish hue spreading upon Gimli’s cheeks was from the compliment or from the light. But here, concealed around a fire under a large pine tree, the mood certainly changed to one of storytelling. Aragorn, his voice low, started humming. Then Gimli’s voice rose, and once more Frances was entranced by the depth of his tones. As if she had been pulled into the caves of Erebor, then walked the mountain’s side, alone, in search of fellow souls. Durin’s song had such a strong effect on her, transporting her to times past when the world was different. Merrier, just rising from the ground, oblivious to the darkness. Before even the first age, and Morgoth’s wrath.Aragorn took the next verse while Gimli sang a baseline. Surprisingly, Frodo started to hum under his breath, his voice intertwining with his comrades. Frances smiled discreetly; she wasn’t the only one inspired by dwarven lore. And then, something rather extraordinary happened. The next verse spoke of Nargothrond kings, of Gondolin and western seas. Elf lore. And to acknowledge the fact that elvish people had not been forgotten by their dwarven counterparts, Legolas joined in the singing. And the words “The word was fair in Durin’s days” sank into Frances’ chest like a great light; the certitude that, once more, elves and dwarfs would come together. Her body started to hum, reacting to the now four voices of four different races singing at unison. A dwarf, a hobbit, a man and an elf, linked through the beauty of a song that spoke of distant days.And while she didn’t know the words, Frances’ voice joined them, one octave higher just like the elves had done in the hall of fire. The last element to complete the circle: a feminine streak, quite like the fifth element. The outcome of their joined voices was so beautiful that tears sprang from her eyes, her whole body vibrating in the inner light that spread from her heart to her toes. Invisible, perhaps, to the outer world, but running through her veins like a blessing. And she failed at noticing the very peculiar look Legolas levelled her with as she sang, for her attention was entirely engulfed in the song.The moment passed, elf and woman fell silent as Gimli and Aragorn led the rest of the song, responding to each other like a set of old friends. The rhythm quietened, a sombre mood settling upon the fellowship as the last verses. “The world is grey, the mountains old…” The silence and darkness of Khazad-dum pressed on her like heralds of doom, the sadness that those days of glory had become mere memories. That the halls would be empty once more, and their kin estranged with the world. Frodo had stopped singing as well, but Aragorn refused to relent, sharing in the grief of his comrade. Until he, too, stopped along the way for the last verses were meant to be sung by one single dwarf. And Frances … she felt like the sadness would crush her, and in a mighty show of will, decided that there should still be light in this world.Hence, her voice rose again, crystalline, and pure, one octave higher. A companion to Gimli’s who shot her a surprised, but relieved look as it gave the end of Durin’s song another colour. Hope. And when the last verses came, stretching her voice to its highest – she had forgotten it would rise so – Frances didn’t falter. Her voice remained true, the vibrato more pronounced in the silence, and barely audible. Just a ring of violin to echo the beautiful bass that was Gimli the dwarf.A long silence stretched after this impromptu show, and the hobbits shuddered in their seat. Blinking, Frances realised dawn had passed, and the sun would remain behind the cloudy cover today. It was just as well; she had trouble sleeping in full sunlight. As the fellowship’s member stretched and started unpacking their bedrolls, Frances asked:“So. Why is the song of Durin not written in dwarvish? Or maybe it is just a translation?”The rumble of Gimli’s voice, still thick with emotion, make her think of rocks and caves.“Khuzdûl is a secret language, Lady Frances. Mahal taught us and it is only spoken amongst dwarven folk.”The young woman frowned; the name didn’t ring a bell.“Mahal ?”“Our creator. You may find the name Aulë, for he is the Valar who moulded the seven dwarven families and put them to sleep before Durin awakened to the world.”Too much information, too many links, and not enough brain power to handle it all. So Frances made a note to write all this down. And while she unpacked her bedroll, the shiny presence of the Prince of Mirkwood made itself known. Would she dare …? Or not. The elf locked eyes with her, sensing her hesitation. Wide blue pools sucking her into their depth. Frances inhaled sharply, then forced herself to relax.“Can I ask you a question?”She didn’t miss the gleam of disappointment in his gaze – she had not asked Gimli if she could pester him. The young woman just couldn’t guess what mixed feelings inhabited the elf. Hence his response.“Always”Frances froze; the earnestness flooring her for a moment before she recalled her line of questioning.“Elves sing in Sindarin, right? They do not feel the need for secrecy like dwarven folk?”“No. The common tongue is a secondary language that few of us master. We do not mingle with the world as much as dwarves do. Our literature and lores are sung and written in elvish.”“Don’t I know it… I had so much trouble finding books in westron in the library. But I remember Arwen saying that Sindarin is not the primary language of the elves”The lithe elf exchanged a meaningful look with the ranger before answering.“There is a language that is only used in poems and writings. Quenya is spoken In Valinor, but had been banished from middle earth after the Kinslaying,”Frances frowned, sensing that there was much more to it than the elf was willing to share. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to dwell on such things, or perhaps it was a difficult notion to him. Had he lived through that Kinslaying? Or was he was fresh as a daisy, only a few decades old like his youthful face seemed to tell?“You seem to disapprove,” his smooth voice questioned.Frances nibbled on her lip, wondering how German people would have felt if their language had been banished after the Second World War. How highlanders had felt when Gaelic was forbidden. But again, she wasn’t an elf. They were so … different, and seemed to have two languages that belonged to them in the first place. How could she possibly answer this question without looking like a 5 years old trying to understand a PhD?“Well. It is harsh. But I have a hard time relating this to our own wars. Your kin are so different. And hell, the edain are hardly known for their great wisdom so… Who am I to judge?”Legolas bore holes into her, cocking his head aside as if he was observing a peculiar animal. Yet, he remained silent, expecting her to continue.“I just find it … very sad, that a language would be lost. Language embeds history of one kind. Loose the language, and you lose a part of yourself.”Legolas’ lips quirked sadly; an expression that did not pass upon his features so often. She’d seen him gloomy, or merry, or blank faced mostly, and wondered what it meant. His next words didn’t exactly shed light upon her musings.“You speak of little wisdom, but I find that the Edain can sometimes surprise the Eldar.”Then his gaze returned to Estel who gave him a questioning glance. “Repeatedly,” he added.Then he disappeared in a tree, leaving Frances to mull over his words. They were arguing again. Very subtly, of course, but Frances had a keen hearing, and was supposedly fetching her arrows from the tree trunk she’d been practising on. The elf wasn’t far away either; Strider had asked him to keep an eye on the young woman … to be able to argue about the road with Gandalf. Words like “Caradhras”, “Redhorn pass”, “Gap of Rohan” and “Moria” were flying in the wind, coming her way as she gathered her projectiles. Had she not studied those maps in detail, the young woman wouldn’t even be able to identify them. Frances shuddered, remembering how “Moria” was the second name of Khazad-dûm. Darkness, in Sindarin, the empty and pitch black caves of the song of Durin.Strider and Gandalf seemed to avoid each other when dinner was served; not out of spite, for both men – if the old wizard could ever be considered such – were too wise to indulge in petty behaviour. No. It just seemed that the argument had waned, and no more needed to be said. Frances awaited for the others to settle, pretending to sleep while the hobbit’s snores started to grace the fellowship’s campsite. Despite the exertion of long walking days, she still found difficulty in slumbering during the daytime. Still, more often than not, exhaustion won the struggle and pulled her into oblivion. Sometimes, Aragorn’s voice graced her ears as he hummed under his breath. The lay of Lúthien – his favourite – or any other lore of the Eldar mingled with Dunedain’s poetry. She had lost count, as weeks advanced and her muscles became accustomed to the long walking days, of the times she had been lulled to sleep by his voice. Did he do it on purpose? She wondered … perhaps it was only for himself, and perhaps he sook to bring reassurance over his companions. Either way, Strider was a born leader that managed to soothe her in the most undetermined situation.She admired him; his strength, his drive, and the heavy weight upon his shoulders when he was, in truth, just a man. Not any man, but a second born still. If Gandalf was their natural leader; he decided on the path and most actions, he was too far away from a human mind for any of them to relate. Two thousand years he had roamed middle earth … and countless before that in Aman. Or so Lord Elrond had told her. This even beat the ageless elves. Gandalf may look like an old man, but devoid of the trials of the human psyche; he was a Maiar, a servant of the Gods. Doubts, fears, subconscious feelings held no sway over him. A wizard he was, powerful and helpless to strike Sauron, yet no human. He offered little comfort, and even less conversation, always speaking in riddles and careful not to share things that couldn’t be grasped by the human mind.Frances lifted her sore neck from the bedroll; the wizard was nowhere in sight. Neither the elf, who often paired up with Strider when it came to watches. There was a long-lasting friendship there; she would have to ask how long they had known each other. Seeing that the coast was clear, Frances dragged her woollen cape – courtesy or the house of Elrond – around her shoulders and stood. At once, Strider’s eyes met hers – nothing went past him – and she gave him a tired smile, tip toeing around the hobbits to reach the boulder he had settled upon. For an awkward moment, she wondered if he would scold her like a misbehaving child; his face gave nothing away as she sat beside him. Bright grey eyes loomed over the camp, taking a sweep at the sleeping forms and way beyond. The sky was gloomy, the day one of those annoying neither raining nor sunny, the light giving very little contrast and mingling everything into shades of grey.“Can you not sleep?” he asked.Frances was glad he was shedding the “my lady” part more often than not now. It was bad enough that Boromir and the prince of Greenwood still couldn’t call her by her given name.“There is something weighing heavily on my mind. I was hoping you could help.”She kept her voice low, words separated by silences to allow him to keep watch at the same time. Strider’s long, dirty strands swayed when he cocked his head aside before nodding his assent. He was a man of few words even not on watch, so she was becoming rather adept at reading his expressions.“Did you … did you decide which road we will take?”Estel’s eyebrows rose slightly, concern flooding his grey eyes. As once, Frances felt self-conscious about overhearing that previous argument.“I’m sorry… I remember you arguing about it in Lord Elrond’s office so…”“You are quite the little spy,” he said, amusement dancing in his grey eyes, but tone stern.The seriousness of his accusation flustered her so much that shame flooded her.“I didn’t mean to be sneaky,” she stuttered. “I just like to know the road. I do hate surprises”A warm hand landed upon her arm, grounding her instantly. She realised then that being a “little spy” might not be a chastisement.“You would be right. Fetch your map, I will show you,” he responded, his low baritone soothing her stress away.The young woman silently hopped to her bedroll, oblivious of the pair of blue eyes that followed her as she gathered the oiled map she had copied in Elrond’s library. There was no supposed itinerary written upon it, every part detailed evenly so that the enemy wouldn’t be able to understand their aim should they lay hands upon the item. Just a regular map of middle earth. Retreating to Strider’s side, she opened it to show where she thought they were.“Is that where we are?” she asked.The ranger moved her finger half an inch to the north.“So, where next? Gimli told me the high pass is a no-no.”Estel’s eyebrows rose again at the expression, but he said nothing, worry line deeply creased upon his face. In this moment, he looked much older than his usual thirty-five … yet still much younger than the eighty-seven he was supposed to be. She still had trouble wrapping her head around the notion of the descendants of Numenor; had the twin sons of Elrond not let the can out of the bag, she never would have guessed Aragorn’s age.For the moment, though, she hoped that the ranger’s long years roaming middle earth could bring a solution to their predicament. And most of all, she wondered why in the world Gandalf did not agree with his assessment.“So? Where to?” she whispered.“The gap of Rohan should have been our road, but the white wizard controls the region.”Frances bit her lip; Gandalf had warned them to never utter Saruman’s name while out in the open. Neither to speak about the ring. His spies dwelt in forests and hills, animals that could pass unnoticed and would perk as the wizard’s name. The betrayal of the white wizard, other than being totally unbelievable, certainly put a damper to their plans. How could a being only second to the Valar be so easily corrupted? A wizard that had led the white council for hundreds of years, turned around by Sauron the deceiver? Questions that might never find an answer.“What’s left?” she asked, frowning upon the map.There just wasn’t any other option from her point of view, and the young woman kicked herself for not checking it out sooner. What if, by a twist of fate, the fellowship was separated? She couldn’t rely on Strider and Gandalf alone … and Boromir seemed set on going through the Gap of Rohan. Didn’t he get that he’d been lucky enough to escape Saruman’s clutches because of his insignificance? But now, with the ring hanging from Frodo’s neck, they could not count on it.“The Redhorn pass, at the feet of Mount Caradhras.”Frances’ frown intensified; it was there that Celebrian, the twin’s mother, had been taken upon her return from Lothlorien. But she wouldn’t mention this, for what made the house of Elrond suffer was bound to bring sadness to the ranger. No, there was no need to dwell on such heartache when the main obstacle was more obvious.“How high is it?” she whispered.The ranger mulled over her question and Frances mentally noted to take an altimeter next time she went on a mission. A precise map, with relief and all couldn’t hurt, right?“I … don’t know. But the mountain is the highest around.”The young woman nodded, watching as grey eyes roamed camp once more, his attention called by the rustling of leaves further away. In the meantime, Frances muttered to herself, trying to find a probable altitude for her mountain pass. If Caradhras was the equivalent of Mont-Blanc, her highest summit in the Alps, the pass probably was around 3000 metres high. Which meant 2600 metres, more or less, above their current level. Given a drop of 1 degree every 200 metres … 13 degrees less than in the high plains they were travelling.“Given today’s temperature, we can expect a solid -7 degrees if the weather is nice, less if not.”“Minus seven?” Estel whispered, his eyes still strained upon the same spot.Frances bit her tongue; all those absolute notions were foreign to him and the cartographers of middle earth.“Zero is the temperature water freezes, and a hundred where it boils. More or less, so minus seven means freezing our asses”The ranger lifted an eyebrow in a manner so reminiscent of his foster father that she couldn’t contain the smile quirking her lips. Probably reacting to the “more or less” comment, or the “ass” one. If it was the first one, she really didn’t want to go into the details of the solid/liquid curve as a function of pressure. Especially not while he kept watch. If it was her use of the “ass” word, well … he would get over it.“Long story,” she sighed. “Anyway, we can expect a drop of fifteen degrees, and lots of snow. Do you think…”At once, Strider was on his feet, his bow drawn. Frances froze, her breath itching, adrenalin rushing through her veins. Should she jump to her bedroll and grab her own bow? Or unsheathe her sword lying next to it? Sheepishly, she realised that she was caught a dozen meters from her weapons. Foolish, foolish woman! Weaponless, she could only wait and see, heart thundering against her ribcage. A sudden fluttering of leaves freed a set of birds who flew away, their grey coat unknown to her. But not to Strider whose shoulders sagged in relief. Yet his bow remained trained until a long tumble of blond hair appeared within the adjacent tree, signalling that all was well. Or so she thought, for Strider stowed his bow away and sat again.Cheeks ablaze, Frances watched as he resumed his watchful attitude, seemingly nonplussed by the false alarm. Had the man been more irksome, she would have found his calm annoying. But here she was, panting and shaking from the adrenalin, drawing strength and reassurance from him rather than sending her ire his way. Strider was a model; she would aim, each day, at learning skills and being more like him. And it bothered her all the more, given his blatant skill, that he would disagree with Gandalf.“I … what’s your choice? Of path, I mean”Grey eyes turned to her for a moment, doubt swirling in their midst.“The pass”Frances nodded; she doubted they would make it. Mountains could be treacherous, even in summer. Without equipment, how could they possibly survive such a hike in the heart of winter? They would have needed spiked boots, waterproof coats and Gore-Tex. And lots of cords. But Estel couldn’t possibly ignore that fact, yet he chose to venture there. Somehow, it seemed a better alternative than the wizard’s path in his eyes. Why? What could possibly more dangerous than treading upon a mountain path in the heart of winter with no more than boots or, for the hobbits, bare feet?“And Gandalf?”“Through the mines of Moria”A shudder ran through her spine, a great sense of foreboding falling upon her shoulders like a blanket of darkness. Moria. The name itself was fearsome enough to send her heart plummeting into her shoes.“Gimli’s kin?”Estel nodded, his face impassive.“We haven’t heard of Balin since they set off to retake Moria. And…”He couldn’t say it, not when the dwarf snored less than ten feet away from him. Still, he wasn’t one to sugar coat and live in hopeful dreams. The loss of his father at such a young age had taught him that reality didn’t care about wishes.“And?”“I fear they have fallen. It is but a feeling, I know. Nothing so rational … just a hunch”His voice, ordinary so steady, was now trailing. Frances butted in without subtility, a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.“Says the man whose family is laden with seers.”The irony wasn’t lost on him, neither the trust she placed in his gut feeling. Perhaps that his fears weren’t so foolish after all. But he wasn’t Lord Elrond, neither Arwen.“Instinct saved me countless times. Yours, perhaps, as well. And honestly, that name doesn’t bode well.”Did she feel it as well? The tightening of his chest whenever he considered walking through the mines of Moria?“Gandalf is adamant we can’t pass the Redhorn, I feel like I’m dragging him to his doom.”The young woman scrunched her nose as was her wont whenever she thought of something distasteful. Then, her warm chocolate eyes locked with his, serious, their depth sucking at his soul as realisation hit her.“Does he think he is walking to his doom?”Estel eyes widened; he’d been so busy fighting Gandalf to prevent him from setting foot into the mines of Khazad-Dum that he had not considered the wizard might know what awaited them inside. A huff shook his chest.“I have no idea. And if he did, he wouldn’t tell me.”“Fair game. There’s not much of a choice, then.”The ranger didn’t respond, baffled by the expression, but even more by her acceptance. He was starting to understand the reasons why she had been thrown into their world as such a critical time, bringing her outlandish point of view into this quest. She looked fragile, but was anything but. Still… would her inner strength suffice to keep her alive ? He watched the tiny slip of a woman retreat to her bedroll after thanking him profusely. For what? He had no clue.
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CaradhrasHis boots barely disturbed the fresh layer of powdery snow at his feet; the perks of being a firstborn. The sky was so deeply blue, a rich color only seconded by the purest of gems. Not a cloud in sight, barely a breeze to deter them from the ascension to the Redhorn pass and the brightest sunshine to caress his flawless skin.Yet, Legolas’ spirits were not as high as the sun for the rest of the fellowship has struggled on the steep pass of the mountain, even before snow covered the sharp rocks. Now, they followed in straight line behind Gandalf who carved a path for them, heads bowed in exertion, cheeks reddened by the reverberation of the light that burnt their skin as much as the chillness of the air.Free to roam without sinking in the snow, the elf ran ahead to ensure the coast was clear, then retreated behind the group. A never-ending task; one appointed by himself, just like a shepherd’s dog. But he didn’t mind; the weather could turn sour at any moment, mountains were treacherous; Caradhras most of all. With his stamina and ability to walk over snow, Legolas was the only one able to keep an eye on the fellowship in a timely manner.Still, even if they had struggled their way up, it seemed that Aragorn’s will had summoned a little miracle to accommodate their needs. Attempting the cross the redhorn pass in the heart of winter was a folly; one accepted because the alternative was too bleak to consider. Never an elf would willingly enter the mines of Moria. Not without a desperate need. Little did he know that such need would soon push him into the entrails of the very mountain he was now treading upon.As he overtook the little group of hobbits once more, Legolas found himself entertained by Pippin’s huff.“It is too unfair that an elf can walk across snow while being so tall, and we have to dig into it when it comes to our hips”Legolas chuckled, his spirits lifted by the innocence of Pippin who reminded him, so often, of a child.“And you seem unaffected by the cold”, retorted Merry.Grateful that neither cousins felt the need to use a title, the elf gave the hobbit a tight smile; he could see their reddened cheeks and the crispation of their hands carefully hidden inside their cloaks. As a first born, he did not suffer from the chilliness so keenly, even if he could feel it. His body adjusted by pumping more blood in his veins, something the second born and Hobbits had much more trouble doing.His eyes couldn’t help but linger above Pippin where the lady Frances matched them step for step. Her legs were longer than the hobbits, allowing her to adjust her pace more easily than Frodo and Sam who preceded her. Her nose, reddened by the frozen air, her body tense and wrapped in the cloak even though the little hairs at her temple were plastered from the exertion. Yet, she showed no unease in the exercise.He had to admit that for a young woman, she was sturdier than he might have thought at first. For a moment, the elf watched her graceful steps, space even between left and right, the economy of her movements as the long reddish braid danced in her back, the slight sway of hips and weariness that would never show had she been an elleth. And despite the relative easiness with which she progressed; the young woman seemed anxious. In a few steps, he was overtaking her.“What about you, lady Frances ?”It was a distinguished, and very roundabout way to ask her how she fared. Her warm chocolate eyes settled upon him for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe he was addressing her. The result of much time spent in silence as the climb had been too steep to talk. Now, the slope was more even, the pace easier to handle.“I can stand the cold for a short while. I am just weary of mountain weather since we have no equipment to face a storm, or icy ground”The elf’s features didn’t change an inch, refusing to acknowledge that her concerns matched his. He was spared from answering as Merry questioned her.“You fear the mountains, Frances ?”“As anyone should”, came her steady voice. “And I love them equally; there is much beauty in those landscapes. It brings many fond memories”Memories she did not detail, for her breath was short.“Why the fear, then ?”, Pippin prodded innocently.Legolas watched as the young woman nibbled her reddened lips, causing him to remark, for the first time, how red they were upon her pale skin. A colour so vibrant that they seemed coated with blood. The result of harsh winds and dry coldness, perhaps ? She gave him an inquisitive look before answering Pippin – she had caught him staring ! causing him to dip his head to avoid her gaze.“Caution, no fear. Snow is treacherous by itself and the weather can change fast. It is better to be prepared”The elf chose to remain silent, abiding by Frances’ half-truths; it was useless to detail the crevices that might swallow them whole, the avalanche or rocks and ice that could bury them alive or even the fate of poor men who had lost limbs to frostbite. But as his eyes met Frances’ own once more, he could nearly read those concerns in their depths. She knew, just as he did, the dangers of their trek. Both Merry and Pippin butted in then, their voices too hopeful to be natural.“Is that not why Boromir, Aragorn and Gimil are carrying wood in case we need a fire ?”“So we’ve got nothing to fear”“Right”, Frances muttered.Unfortunately, Meriadoc was more insightful than his every naïve cousin.“You seem skeptical”“You have to admit that I lack insulation”, Frances retorted with humor.An attempt to suffuse the situation, perhaps, as the hobbits let out a puzzled ‘what ?’ that made her laugh.“I am a little skinny, some additional fat would have kept me from the cold, but all this walking doesn’t really help a woman’s figure”As the hobbits rushed to reassure her about her ‘fine figure’, Legolas heard Boromir snort. Annoyed, once more, that the Steward’s son would find reproach in Frances’ comment, the elf stole a glance at the man. He was surprised to find a gentle smile upon his lips, devoid of mockery or contempt. What could possibly roam his thought, this great Captain of Gondor forced to undertake a mission he didn’t believe in ?For the moment, nothing but amusement at the mention of Frances’ figure. Was it because she was, purposefully, redirecting the conversation to more trivial matters, disparaging herself in the process ? Or had the man formed an opinion about said figure ? Perhaps he agreed with her, finding her too thin compared to Gondorian women. Perhaps it was the contrary.After all, Boromir might come to consider Frances a proper match for marriage, for despite her unknown lineage, she was considered highly by the family of Elrond and had strong ties with Rivendell. She was young, and healthy. Strong, brave and soft-spoken; the perfect bride for a man of power who wanted heirs. Gondor was not renowned for its even treatment of women; Aragorn’s stories of his time as Thorongil were appalling enough. How would Frances adjust to a court that abhorred strong characters ?Legolas found that his heart felt unsettled by this line of thoughts. The elf frowned; he needed to catch up with Gandalf at the front. So, with one last look to the woman that walked a few feet ahead of him, he decided to close the subject; she wasn’t too skinny. Lean, but feminine enough, not unlike an elleth. And now, he wouldn’t think upon her figure anymore, even if the trail of her fiery braid taunted him as it swayed over her hips. Soaked to the core, the company was slowly descending the rocky slopes of the mountain that had defeated them. After nearly loosing their lives to a snow storm, the company now marched down to join the halls of Khazad-Dûm. The storm had piled up tons and tons of snow on their path, hindering their progress greatly. Despite her deep love for it, Frances swore she never wanted to see a flake again. A renewal of her thoughts, earlier the previous night, when Estel had gently coaxed her to his side to share body warmth.Huddled in a cave like structure, they had eventually relented and built a fire in the dark. Despite Gandalf’s warning that it would sell them away to any of Saruman’s spies, the men had insisted. They were right, of course. Being a higher being, Gandalf didn’t suffer from the cold; he had issues understanding that they would be nothing more than an elf and a wizard to find the next day without the fire. Men and hobbits alike would have died on the mountain side, stranded by the storm that had nearly buried them.So when the decision was made to go through the Mines of Moria, Frances could do nothing more than share a defeated glance with Estel, who in turn, had turned to Legolas. The silent exchange didn’t go unnoticed; both Gandalf and Boromir chose not to comment, offering, instead, their own body warmth to the remaining hobbits. A miserable night had ensued, until an equally miserable, white dawn has greeted them. There was no other solution than retreat. And so the fellowship went. Down, and down again, all the way back from yesterday’s trek.The chilly wind had worsened and all them started to feel exhaustion gaining over their frozen bodies. The hobbits looked like they would topple over at every step, but curiously enough, they kept going. Frances, however, was depleted. It was a strange sensation; her stamina rarely reached its limits. The nickname her grandfather had bestowed upon her – gazelle – was meant to illustrate her never ending supply of energy. She that bounced all day long, even after days of hiking or hours of swimming.But now… she was on the verge of collapse. The young woman had been gritting her teeth for hours now, trying to keep a sure footing over the slippery rocks. The weakness that was overtaking her body only had an equal in the numbness that slowly crawled along her frozen limbs. It worried her; she felt colder and colder as time went on, until all she could think about was to close her eyes and…Her body was spent, yet she couldn’t afford to slow down. Great shivers ran up her spine, failing at keeping her warm – their initial purpose lost. The horrible night, cuddled into a ball, had provided little rest. Her body didn’t have enough energy to fend off the cold anymore, and she dreamt of a beach in the scorching heat, of the benevolent rays of sunshine that would burn her skin. Southern Italy, with volcanoes on the horizon and the intense dry heat typical of Calabria. And a good book, Alexandre Dumas… Yes, it would be neat. Yet, all she could feel was the numbness spreading.Strider and Gandalf walked in front, the steep incline placing them way below her feet. This last leg of the journey followed a vertiginous rocky path where a dizzying fall would greet any misstep. It didn’t prevent the elf from running back and forth, opening the path for them with his ageless grace. Estel had told her that elves did not feel the cold, and Frances would have given anything to be an eldar, or a vampire. If only the pain could end... As she trailed a bit behind the group of ever cheerful hobbits, Frances didn’t even register their slumped shoulders and miserable gait. Her world had turned white and icy; her steps automatic. Feet landing with very little sensation, too frozen to feel the ground properly. Once or twice she slipped over the path, nearly losing her footing, but her reflexes kept her from crashing onto the sharp rocks. The near miss sent adrenalin through her veins, bringing back some alertness.“Careful, lady Frances'The young woman nodded, too exhausted to respond properly to Boromir’s plea who closed the little procession, his great shield flung above his shoulder. In other circumstances, she might have retorted that she was doing her best, and that asking her to be careful wouldn’t make it better. But the steward’s son was as exhausted as she was, and still took time to worry about her. It earned him a few brownie points – when in the middle of a crisis, the man of Gondor was strangely tolerable that lasted until they stopped for a quick bite.Frances had trouble eating anything, her stomach too tight to be hungry. Sam’s admonishment, though, had her nibbling on a piece of cheese. There was such sweetness in this hobbit that a little warmth returned to her heart. Her limbs, thought, refused to heat up. When the fellowship started their long trek down, the slope eased a little. Gandalf’s pointed hat showed in front rather than below her feet; a meager consolation, for the little break had caused her muscles to seize from the cold. Frances clamped her jaw and pushed on, wondering how in the world the hobbits still managed to march.It was then, as her eyes lifted to check upon Frodo who walked directly behind Estel, that, her boot encountered a patch of mud that covered a wet piece of rock. The slippery surface sent her off balance. Time slowed as reflexes kicked in, adrenalin rushing through her veins. Her hands shot up.Too late; she was already barreling onwards. Realizing that she would not escape the fall, the young woman braced herself and waited for the unavoidable shock that would crack her bones. She should have kept her eyes open to avoid hitting Pippin. Should have twisted around, like a cat, to avoid breaking her neck. But her mind was too numb. Frances closed her eyes, accepting defeat, awaiting her fate.Nary an instant passed before an arm caught her across the collarbone harshly. Her feet touched the ground all wrong, her body twisting as another arm snaked at her waist, tightening around her frame. A gasp escaped her, heart thundering as her face landed upon a rough chest. The young woman felt warm hands steady her position while she clumsily regained her footing, and eventually she dared looking up. Two concerned blue pools were watching her. Only one being could have been fast enough to catch her before she cracked her skull on the ground, and the warmth that was radiating out of him was an indication that he wasn’t human.“Are you all right, my lady?”, asked Legolas.His enchanting voice caused her to shudder, hypnotizing her mind.“Uh…”Frowning, the elf realized how terrible the young woman looked now that her hood had fallen down; her lips purple, her hands barely able to grasp his jerkin. Steadying her against his frame, the elf felt her body shake uncontrollably. Instincts took over, and he would later think upon this moment with equal shame and awe, for never the Prince of Greenwood should have ripped a glove out of a lady’s hand to grasp her fingers. Yet, it was exactly what he did.His breath caught at once; her skin was so cold, fingers taking a very unearthly shade of blue. Unconsciously he tightened his grip around her shoulders, ignoring the sharp intake of breath that greeted his actions. Her eyes, slightly out of focus, gazed upon him as if he was an angel. How had he not realized how far gone she was beforehand ? He might have prevented her to fall to her death altogether. Ripping his gaze from hers, the elf was about to signal Estel to come over when he realized the ranger was already making his way up.Legolas towered over Frances’ frame by at least a foot and the warmth that spread from his body was a sweet torture. This was so embarrassing – an elven prince was touching her yet… she never wanted to let go. Struggling to keep her eyes open, the young woman concentrated on her nerve terminations. Legolas’ hand held hers tightly, and no matter how much she wished she could feel there were no sensations left in her fingers. As she watched his finely chiseled features frown in apprehension, Estel appeared in her line of sight. He gave a quick look at Frances’s face, then touched her hands before a deep sigh shook his frame.“Forsbite.”The young woman nodded; it wasn’t the first time her fingers turned white, or blueish for that matter. Once, caught in a snow storm on a skiing trip, her middle finger had even become all blackish. The only way to cure this was warmth, and she knew it. They had nothing of the sort at hand. And there still was a little margin between the blueish hue, and the totally black that would mean irreversible damage. Would the magic of the necklace recreate her fingers on her journey back to earth ? She highly doubted it. If all scars disappeared every time she was transported, she’d never had to replace a missing part of her. Better to keep all limbs attached for now.To her horror, Estel removed his own fur lined gloves and asked for her hands.“They are warm. Keep flexing your fingers as you walk, and we’ll sort this out when we stop at night.”Frances hid her unusable fingers under her cloak, shaking her head vehemently.“You can’t…. your hands !”The ranger gave her a very serious look.“Frances, I’m twice your weight. I will be all right, but we can’t afford you to lose any fingers.”To her greatest shame, Frances relented then, offering her frozen appendage to the dunedain’s care. His hands were rough but gentle as he slid his warm leather gloves on hers and the young woman sighed in relief.“Thank you”, she said, teeth chattering.“Can you keep walking?”Strider’s voice was surprisingly soft. Had she expected him to start yelling at her weakness? The concern in his eyes was so touching that she would have wept. The man doubted he would make a good king, but she didn’t. Frances knew she would have lost patience and urged people to go faster, but there was nothing more than gentleness about him. If she had not seen him fight, she would never have guessed him to be such a great warrior.His grey eyes were roaming her face, and Legolas still had not let go for fear she would fall. Now the hobbits had turned around, their faces betraying varying stages of disgruntlement. Shame overtook the young woman as she nodded. Estel’s grey eyes thanked her deeply for the effort; discouragement would quickly spread in the ranks if she gave up. As their leader turned away, the ranger gave the elf a knowing look and was rewarded with a nod. Slowly letting go of her, Legolas studied her balance while she shrunk out from his touch.Then he started putting down his pack and weapons; the cold wind suddenly seemed to blow harder as Legolas’ warm body left hers, and Frances did realize how good it had felt to be clad against him. The sensation of safety and warmth had been so surreal but she knew there was no time to linger. Her eyes got lost in the horizon as she gathered the little courage to start walking again when a piece of cloth darted in front of her face. Lifting her eyes to the elf in front of her, Frances realized that he was offering his jerkin for her to wear.“No!”, she exclaimed, coming back to her senses, “You cannot do that!”Surprised by her vehemence, the elf stared at her in disbelief. The soft fabric that laid underneath his coat was too thin against the wind, hence her refusal.“You will be too cold”, she stuttered.“Maybe a little, but not for long.”His smooth baritone washed over her like a benevolent wave, coaxing her mind to surrender to his will. An elvish trick ? Perhaps, but Frances wasn’t so easily deterred. So when the elf ordered her to put the jerkin on, she was ready to resist with the little pride she had left. Seeing he was getting nowhere, Legolas Greenleaf pulled a fresh tunic from his bag to overlay the one below. Then he started buckling his scabbard and belt again, knowing her eyes watched him until he swung the bow above his head. The jerkin lay on the ground, discarded. Lonely, even, its beautiful embroideries abandoned in the middle of nowhere on the Redhorn pass.Frances sighed. Sneaky elf; the whole company was watching the proceedings now, hoping to set off as soon as possible. She was only delaying the inevitable, so when Legolas’ hand expertly removed her frozen cloak from her back, she gave up any resistance. In an instant, she was clad in a warm piece of leather encasing her upper body loosely and falling past her knees. In another life, maybe, she would have wondered what she looked like, but for now it felt like paradise to feel Legolas’ warmth all around her. Even if the jerkin fit weirdly because of her tiny frame, Frances suddenly felt much better.His scent reached her nostrils, and the sweet smell of pine trees and exotic spices surrounded her in a world where the bitter wind had no say. As her cheeks flushed from the feelings that assailed her, the elf smiled. It felt as if the sun had emerged behind the clouds. For an instant nothing else existed than his warmth, his scent, his fair features and twinkling eyes. As the company started again, Frances contemplated the tall frame of the elf running along the path, his long silken shirt modeling his muscles as he moved gracefully. Shame washed through her, but at least she could keep going.
Where is your gore-tex when you need it?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
If there was something sure about those mountains it was that their origins were crystalline. Hoping from one rock to another, Frances did not feel the uneasiness shared amongst all her companions about progressing in such barren land. From the moments they had started climbing the outskirts of the mountains, the young lady had assessed the nature of the terrain. It felt somehow reassuring that geology followed the same rules, it meant that mathematics and physics still had an influence over this very peculiar planet. For the hundredth time since she had landed in middle earth the young woman questioned the legends and origins of this world, the mere existence of those different races being totally not-understandable to her scientific brain. How could they be so human like and so different at the same time? How could the elves be immortals and unaffected by diseases? How could they weight nothing and being such warriors at the same time?Their fight with the wargs, two nights ago, had shown her an unexpected side of the prince. At the time she had barely noticed, her spirit too enclosed in her own concentration while shooting arrows at the giant wolves. But when the young lady had released her last projectile, she had seen him fight. It was like a dance, but a dance with death. It had been difficult to follow, his moves were just too quick for her eyesight. Dead wargs had littered the ground around him, and yet he had been so graceful. This world was a mystery to her. How could so many different races coexist without one taking total precedence over the others in terms of evolution?At a point she had nearly been eager to believe in the Valar and their legends, the thought of higher beings able to model life as it pleased them really unnerving. But why would they have chosen a human form as a starter? Was this world another version of earth in the future? Was it a different planet contemporaneous from earth? Was it an alternative reality? The very presence of geologic points of reference had cast doubt again in her confused mind. This planet was so similar to earth, and the incredible range of mountains that contained the unbreakable Caradhras was mostly made of granite and other magmatic rocks. Their composition was the reason why the edges were so sharp and the slopes unforgivable, but it was also why Frances marveled at the rocks lying at her feet while the others eyed warily the creepy lands they were crossing.Each time she gave a look at the surroundings it felt like a blanket had fallen over the landscape. Covered by thin clouds, the grey sky turned everything into a dull layer of nothingness. Apart from the distant cliffs that were barely visible, the land was a nightmarish path that crossed over miles and miles of barely flat rounded grey rocks, their tops not rising enough to create hills but not flat enough to be comfortably hikable. Here and there, a twisted tree would subside, its flanks covered in graying moss and the flattening area populated by spiny bushes. Along the way, uneven ponds of darkened water reflected the grey sky, their position sometimes treacherous. A few flat sites of greenish grass could be seen amongst the rocks, but Frances knew that walking over them could be the death of them; peatlands created by the configuration of the ground. The grass layer would probably give way under the weight of anybody and drag him to deeper water underneath.Shuddering from the sinister view, Frances came back to her beloved rocks for further studies. The closer they got to the mine, the bigger the crystals. It all made sense to her, she could probably have drawn the path to the mines while studying the changes in crystal size and rock composition, but this could have taken two weeks at least. However, if there was one place you could find any interesting mining metals, they were heading straight for it, straight to the top of the magmatic chamber, straight to the last crystallized water bearing veins of magmatic juice. One's education can never be erased, she thought. It didn't help that she had been sent into this world in the middle of her college year. The biology and geology courses had been fresh in her mind when she arrived in Rivendell. Now, some of it was already starting to get fuzzy. If she ever got back, it would be one hell of a time to catch up with her classmates. Working seventy hours a week for a nineteen year old girl was not really a dream life, but she wanted to live up to her parent's expectations. In the light of her current condition however, all of it seemed to have no sense. What was a biology interrogation next to the life of her companions? To the fate of middle earth ?While Frances lost herself in musings of another world, Boromir walked behind the company, securing its back while Aragorn opened the way with Gandalf. A regular pattern now that danger lurked everywhere. His observations of the young lady throughout the journey had come to one conclusion only: she was an unpredictable crazy woman. One moment she marveled over a tree, the other one over snow that was freezing her to death, and the instant later she would nearly burn herself to settle closer to the fire. For now, her eyes roamed the ground while she muttered to herself, seemingly pleased with what she found in this barren land. An instant later, she shuddered in fright at the sight of it. An untamable woman whose mind jumped from pillar to post too far for anyone sane to follow. Granted, they had started on the wrong foot. Despite her efforts he knew that she despised him for his words about the ring; her judgment hurt, for he despised his own lust for the jewel. In return, Boromir considered her a spoilt child, and his own bitterness had often been directed to her. Added to this that he had been raised as a knight, thinking that women were weak and volatile, and the clash was inevitable.Frances was confident but not arrogant, and she did not mind having to prove herself. But her being scorned because of her second chromosome was something she had never accepted. If earlier in her life she had wished to be born a boy, she now bore her feminity as an asset and not a curse. Recurrent fights would have exploded between them if Frances had not controlled herself, and Boromir not been such a gentleman. As days turned into weeks, when he managed to escape the ring's whispers, they had exchanged a few civil words. Frances discovered that there was more to the Steward's son that met the eye, more than his haughtiness and misogyny. It had shown a little along the road, but mostly in the mountains. If the situation became dire, the fellowship could count on his support. His own bravery while fighting the wargs had earned him major respect from the young woman.But they still didn't understand each other.Shaking his head at her weird attitude, Boromir knew that he would never want a woman like her as a wife. She was too unpredictable and stubborn for this to ever happen. And his father would throw her into the dungeons at the first misstep, which would for sure happen at the first occasion. Turning around, the steward's son caught the elf's gaze; he too, seemed puzzled.- "Isn't she the strangest creature you have ever met?"- "You travel with a dwarf, an elf, a hobbit and a wizard and you find her stranger than this ?"Boromir blinked, taken aback by the truth in the elf's words. He almost felt protective of the young woman, so the captain chose his next words wisely.- "I was speaking of behavior, not of race"This time, the tall ethereal being cocked his head aside to watch the lady as her hands trailed over another rock yet.- "I have to admit that her behavior is peculiar but I would never bestow judgment until I know more"Being absorbed by her inner thoughts did not prevent Frances from hearing those remarks and she realized soon enough that Boromir's heavy steps could not be heard anymore. Without lifting her head from the shiny vein she had been contemplating, the young woman suddenly said out loud:- "Didn't your mother teach you that it is highly impolite to speak of a lady behind her back?"Both companions blushed at the comment. When Frances lifted her gaze, they had the good grace to look sheepish. Legolas opened his mouth to present an apology, his royal upbringing taking over to wash the offence, but she lifted a finger and cut him sharply:- "Ahaa, I do not want to hear that. Odd things can make sense to somebody else"- "Wise words my lady", said the elf as he bowed.Little did he know that Frances had been raised in a society where differences were accepted and even magnified. On earth in the 21st century, it was easy to roam the internet and confront your own point of view to others. In middle earth, she was an open minded lass, but on earth, she just followed the anti-racist current and embraced it as her own. There was nothing extraordinary in that.- "Are you conversing with the rocks?", Boromir asked with a hint of sarcasm.Frances sighed; he was riling her up on purpose. Count on him to be as unsubtle as possible, but somehow she liked it. Even with his father being the steward, he definitely was surprisingly a poor politician. She had no trouble believing him when he stated that his younger brother was more suited to the court. This Faramir guy must be quite a saint ! So it was without remorse that she started her geology class 101 for dummies.- "This landscape, mister Boromir, indicates the nature of those rocks by the round from they take while battered by rain and wind, and by the type of vegetation that lingers over them. This acidic type of bush tells me of the type of rock we are walking on – granite - and these boulders can indicate the presence of metallic deposits if conditions are right. The size and color of the crystals tell me that we are on our way to a lighter colored rock, but also stronger. This means that when we find the cliffs, there will be more veins like the shiny one that is pointed by my finger, right here!"Puzzled, Boromir's eyes swept over the company who had finally stopped to witness the argument. The hobbits seemed puzzled by her argument with Boromir; Merry and Pippin were now rather friendly with the tall man of Gondor. But Gimli enjoyed beyond understanding when she managed to beat the arrogance out of him; if she did so by speaking of the beloved walls of Khazad-dûm, all the better. Gandalf's eyebrows were furrowed in a frown, and Frances nearly regretted her outburst before seeing the amused expression on Strider' face. The ranger winked at her, himself quite lost in the explanation but measuring its sense. Then he met Legolas' gaze, and his smile became totally frank at seeing the expression of pure chock upon his usually flawless features.- "Everything is related, from the amount and composition of the rain to the ground we are walking upon. Every landscape as its reasons for being so shaped. This is just a matter of seeing what we usually discard as mere chance."- "The lady is right", came the grave voice of Gandalf, "everything has origins and reasons to be, and this does not apply only to rocks and landscapes, but to living beings and history also. Unlike this place who was not been offered a choice, all of us have decided to challenge fate. Come, Fellowship of the Ring, we must make it to the gates before night falls upon us".Frances wanted to apologize for delaying, but the amused look that the wizard gave her dissuaded her from doing so. As the little company started again, Pippin slowed down a bit to walk alongside his female friend on the path. Bending on the side to share his secret, he whispered:- "I didn't understand a word of what you said"- "That does not matter", she chuckled heartily, amused by the confidence, "I'll explain again if you want me too, but none of this will change your life"- "Oh... Well it seemed interesting but I'm not so sure about it..."Frances' smile grew wider. Trust a Took to know his ancestry line by line to the fifth generation, but lecture him about rock composition and he would bail.- "Do not worry Pippin, I will not force any studies on you if you are not willing"- "Yes... I just want you to know that I find you very clever"As the hobbit blushed, feeling totally awkward about confiding such a thing, the young woman laughed again and gave him a large smile- "Thank you, this means a lot to me"- "You're welcome, my lady", he stuttered formally before escaping to catch up with Merry.The little appellation was flattering coming from Pippin. She knew he had a soft spot for her, and she found him totally adorable. He reminded her of Charlie, so cute and so shy. His character was very similar, and Pippin was as genuine as her American lover could be. Speaking of which, the young woman wondered if she could still call him her lover. After their last mission in France, their trio had gone back to Los Angeles. Calls and contacts, at the beginning quite insistent, were getting scarce. Frances kept hoping that the jet lag, and their current missions were responsible for this, but something in the back of her mind told her otherwise. Charlie called a great deal of tenderness to her heart, but would it be enough to keep the relationship going? Would she even survive this to find the answer ?Pippin only stirred awake her maternal instinct, contrary to the relation she had with her boyfriend. It was different, right ? When Legolas fell in step aside her, his footing assured and silent, Frances could not help but gasp at the contrast, the permanent and graceful control over his body striking her speechless. The elf was agile like a cat, but as dangerous as a panther. From his ever sweet and gentleman ways he could turn into a destructor, his blows falling like a murderous wind, dispatching unavoidable death with incredible swiftness. The warg attack had revealed a formidable warrior where before she had always seen a crowned prince. From this day, once the shock passed, the young lady admired the elf even more, longing for his skills and knowing that she could never be as efficient even if she trained night and day.- "I am curious to know more about those landscapes, lady Frances"The young woman's eyebrows rose, startled by his admittance. Geology, apparently, wasn't part of the elvish Prince's skills. Perhaps it was considered to dwarven to dwell upon? It felt nice, for once, to know something he didn't. So it was with pride that she bowed her head to him.- "I will be glad to share what I know when we are safe enough for this conversation"The company continued silently in the desolate countryside. Nothing bigger than a few inches could grow, and the grey sky did not really cheer the place up. They finally stopped beside a dark lake, the path they were following coming to an end before the cliffs where the doors or Moria should have been. Frances could not help but shudder. The long walk left her exhausted, and from the looks of her companions she wasn't the only one. The yells of the wargs clung to her memories like moist to her skin. It was the fear of them who chased them to the mines so swiftly, and now they were stuck in a dead end. The hobbits, like herself, were totally self-conscious of their surroundings and prayed that the doors would open soon to reveal the warm welcome that Gimli kept praising. The silence felt like a bad omen. Where were the dwarves and their crowded halls? Why had they closed the door to their magnificent kingdom?The night was clear, and very soon the moon rose upon the black lake, revealing in the process the doors of Moria.Gandalf then, translated the writings for them.- "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs"Mouth agape, Frances watched the magnificent display of art upon the cliff, volutes and elvish writing. The lines shone in the pure moonlight, sparkling, even, in the darkness. Two trees framed them, brilliant and vibrant as if alive. In the middle, a crown and seven stars stood out, and Frances recognized them from the song of During; the symbol of the seven families of dwarves. The bigger star, thought, left her puzzled as well as the names of the builders; she would have to ask Estel about it. Or Gimli, perhaps.As the wizard set his staff upon the rock, his voice rumbling in elvish, she expected the doors to open and reveal the greatness of the dwarven kingdom. But... nothing happened. Nothing happened for a great while, and only remained Frodo and Gandalf, grumbling and exchanging in elvish. Strangely, the elf did not feel inclined to search for the password that would open the gates of Moria. Perhaps he felt inadequate, or believed that dwarvish customs were too foreign for him to guess it. Perhaps his own prejudice kept him away... his long blondish hair shone in his back, his glow recognizable in the night. A beacon of light in those gloomy surroundings.Tearing her gaze from him, Frances stood. The air was heavy, the silence thick. Its only comfort; there were no howls echoing in the distance. The sense of emergency slowly disappeared as Gandalf tried password after password, and she eventually found the courage to approach to touch the Ithildin that caused the doors to shine. The patterns had been carved into the dark, thick stone. Then sparks of material had been added inside, like a powder that stuck to the cliff wall. The perfect craft of dwarves and elves reunited; in the second age, when both races were not estranged yet. Once more, a pang of sadness greeted her at seeing this deserted place. Those doors had seen millennia of dwarves and elves alike, men, maybe, coming to trade and feast in the halls. Now, they were but a carving in a deserted, barren land. What a shame, but such was the way of the world.Compared to earth, five thousand years went way beyond the fall of Roman civilizations. And yet, the doors still stood. Lost in her musings, Frances slowly walked to the hobbits. Pippin, always impatient, was throwing rocks in the pitch black waters. Unnerved by the plic ploc noise, the young woman frowned, walking ahead with the firm intention to berate him. But a shout of triumph from Frodo distracted them all; he had found the password ! Such an easy one, in fact, solving the riddle in a flourish. It should have been obvious; the doors awaited them to declare they were friends. The world 'Mellon', friend, in Sindarin, caused the rock to roll on its hinges, only to reveal... more darkness.Frances shivered, but Gimli bounced on his feet at once, his enthusiasm lifting her spirits as he rumbled about fires and roasts, and hospitality. His cousin Balin was supposed to be on the other side, in the great city of Dwarrowdelf. The young woman nodded, passing the gates with no little apprehension; it made sense. Durin's gates meant at connecting both sides of the mountain to the city, but there was some distance between the cliffside and the heart of the kingdom. Feeling slightly better, she dove into the pitch black corridor by Gimli's side. At least, the walls were high; it wouldn't trigger her claustrophobia too much. Yet... something was wrong with the smell. Frances paused, so did the others.Boromir's torch shed light to the ground, revealing bodies, Goblins and dwarves alike. Long dead, and rotting away in the darkness of the mines. The young woman backpedaled with a sharp intake of foul air, hitting the captain of Gondor who took a step back and unsheathed his sword. His muffled exclamation was lost in a chorus of cries coming from behind.It all went in a blurr; Frodo's yells as he was dragged away from the group, the monstrous tentacles that slithered by their side before the unthinkable happened. For there, fifty feet away from her, a giant squid creature loomed out of the water. Its huge mouth opened to swallow Frodo whole and Frances was too frozen to even faint as more tentacles shot forward. The disgusting appendices took hold of two more hobbits, and lifted them up in the air. High pitched screams echoed; Pippin !Frances' heart thundered, yet her limbs refused to obey. Danger, everywhere ! Her senses were in overdrive, hands shaking as she watched the hobbits being flung about. Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas reacted quickly, jumping to the little ones' rescue with furious hacks of their swords. While the men fought, water coming to their knees, the elf started releasing his arrows. Who knew what beast lay there deep in the water; Frances felt her heart clench at this prospect. They needed to step out of the lake. At last, Frodo fell into Boromir's arms and he yelled at her to fall back. Into the mines ! Into the tomb ! But there was no choice, for the great squid was following in a flurry of foul tentacles.Gandalf led the company inside, and she was quick to follow. As she passed the door, the young lady paused, ashamed of herself. Would she not help the warriors? Legolas was still behind, drawing his bow in an attempt to cripple the beast. She followed his example, drawing her own weapon to cover Strider's flight. She adjusted her aim, terrified by the monster, as the blonde elf bounced forward to get a cleaner shot. The beast lunged in a heap of tentacles as the ranger passed them.- "Fall back !" , he screamed, grabbing her arm in the process.Frances ran as fast as her legs would carry her, feeling the horror of that monstuosity behind them. A horrible noise rumbled in the depth of the walls, as if the mountain was folding under its own weight. The tremor of rocks being ground in a pepper mill. She screamed in terror, but her wail was covered by the tantrum.Then darkness fell upon them. Durin's doors were sealed, destroyed. Buried they were in Khazad-Dûm.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Silence was so present that it had nearly turned into deafening nothingness. Cloaked in darkness, the little company created shadows as it slowly progressed in the belly of the mountain. Most paths had been inserted in preexisting fractures, creating stone passages hanging over bottomless abyss. Fortunately for Frances, they left quite some space over their heads to breathe properly. Her claustrophobic feeling seemed to be shared by the hobbits, as well as the elf who moved as silently as a cat. His attachment to living things and sunrays created an unsettled feeling of emptiness in his heart, and Legolas Greenleaf was but a shadow of his cheerful self as he went through the mines.Chuckling at her own foolishness, the young woman turned to the elf to check up on his ever-glowing form. This property of the elves never ceased to amaze her, and even if Greenleaf was a little less bright than Arwen, there was no mistake so as to the secondary source of pale light within the ten walkers. How this deed had been made possible was a mystery to her, and Frances could not wrap her head around the concept of glowing people, no matter how hard she tried. From what she had learnt from the mythology, elves and men were not the same race, not even sharing the same roots. However, the similarities between men and elves compared to dwarves clearly showed a common evolution link. Apart from this, Frances felt like she was swimming between a fairy tale.There was so much she was missing; she craved for a scientific explanation to all of this. How much of the mythology could be considered as reliable information? Clearly, there was no way that evolution could have created immortal beings that glowed in the dark while being so similar to their mortal cousins. It was strictly impossible that this had occurred naturally, and she started to wonder whose beings could have influenced this unusual line of humanity. Throughout her time with the unclassified investigations, many weird things had happened, but nothing of this range. There was nothing either that could explain the existence of the blue rock she was using to travel between worlds, except if it had been created by some higher beings owning technologies beyond her imagination. However, the adrenaline of the recent attack by the giant watcher was starting to wear out, and the creepy atmosphere of the mines was getting to her. As her eyes crossed Legolas' blue gaze, she decided to attempt a contact; it would both cheer them up.The progress of the company was slow but steady, permitting the companions to gather and change configuration as time went by. Most of them tried to keep quiet, but some whispers added to the creepiness of the place when it resonated on the cliff like walls. The elf moved aside to give room for Frances and she smiled at him in the gloom. The elf nodded at her effort, but it wasn't a very hearty expression. The lady also seemed very affected by the ambient downside mood.Now that they had talked a few times, and fought side by side already twice, the elf was pleased to see that her apparent coldness was slowly melting away. He was by nature very curious, especially since he had seen her fighting and assessed that her skills, if perfectible, were quite acceptable for a lady of her age. The truth was that her technique needed to be perfected, but her bravery and strength of will were more than adequate. Apart from the rangers of the north he was not used to humans, and he had been told that they were much weaker that the Dunedain. Boromir's lust for the ring was proof that the second born could not be trusted completely, yet Frances had made no move towards it. Legolas had debated the question with Estel, carefully polite as usual but nonetheless interested. There were many blinds spots in the lady's origins, and her reason to be here. Unspoken things he wasn't meant to be aware of. Legolas respected it. The first born kept their secrets; privacy was of utmost importance.Yet he had not missed her unease at the council; her face, that day, had shown a tough struggle to resist the power of the golden jewel. He had not forgotten, either, the moment her eyes had caught his. Free from corruption and evil, her gaze only reflected deep honesty and a great deal of self-assessment. From this look, he had decided to trust Gandalf and Lord Elrond's judgment. And trust the lady.As she came in step with him, her feet producing the slightest of noises, she spoke softly:- "It must be very difficult for a wood elf to be trapped underground"She was beating around the bush, but she dreaded to ask directly how he was coping; it would have sounded insulting.- "Aye, indeed my lady", he sighed, "but this is for the good of all."She wanted to ask about his kingdom, for she had not heard much about Greenwood the great in Imladris. One look at the elf and her mouth fell shut, this was too invasive for her taste. As she tip toed on the side of a cliff on the degraded pathway, she wondered what subject could lighten the mood. But Legolas surprised her with a question one of his own.- "Would you allow me to be bold enough to ask you about your meeting with Strider?"- "Of course", she answered, not understanding why the subject seemed so touchy.Maybe she was imagining things, but even the elf lord did not usually put such wards before asking her a question, no matter how many detours he would sometimes take. And despite his politeness, the Prince always went to the point. It was an incredible mix between frankness and respect, one that she had trouble imitating. Maybe that you had to be born elvish to be able to do this. As Legolas still did not speak, probably considering how to ask that very sensitive question he wanted to, she tried to encourage him:- "What would you like to know?"His nearly shocked look got her to frown. There you go, too direct again. Fidgeting like an elfling, Legolas could not help but wonder if it was rude or not to ask for explanations. Her frown nearly dissuaded him, but somehow the tale of her fight with the spectra interested him greatly. This dreadful place that was home of the dwarves, with shadows closing on him like wargs on an easy prey, and he imagined that her first meeting with Aragorn might have risen similar feelings.- "My lord?"There she went again with the title.- "My lady..."He didn't miss the slight smirk at the corner of her mouth before she schooled her features.- "It is quite alright to be curious. If I find this inappropriate then I will let you know and will not bear ill will to you"- "You are most kind my lady", he said while giving her a timid smile- "Then... out with it !", she whispered cheekily.Breathing in a bit of this foul air as they evolved along a smaller tunnel, Legolas eventually asked:- "I was told that when Strider met you, you had attacked the ringwraiths"This was such a weird sentence, even for him. Attacking the wraights, who would dare do such a thing?- "This would be exact", she stated, wondering how many times the whole company had already heard the story from said hobbits.The elf nodded, and, carefully stepping over a hole in the ground, he tried to make sense of it.- "Not many have survived it. I heard of great anguish and despair. Most of the stories relate that people got paralyzed in fear"- "I can relate to that", she nodded, shivering at the memory of the dreadful feelings that had assailed her at first- "Then... you felt it?", he asked, kicking himself for his boldness- "Oh yes, I definitely did", she said in this humorous tone of hers, making it sound nearly cheerfulSarcasm was definitely a foreign concept for the elf. Strider and Gimli were slowly getting used to it, but Legolas really had a hard time to come to terms with this misuse of language. So when Frances realized that she had confused him again, she clarified.- "I had never felt such overwhelming despair in my whole life, and believe me that's a lot to say. When I approached this hill it seemed like the air grew darker, and colder. All my senses were freezing, like if I was seeing the world through a pool of dark water, and falling inches by inches deeper into it... It was frightening, I had never felt so desperate"As Frances whispered, word after word, her gaze drifted in the shadows. Loosing contact with the world of the living. Her words, so true and so frightening at the same time, described how the presence of the wraith had nearly turned her back from Weathertop. She told him of this deep despair, this sensation that nothing would ever be right again, that the world was doomed, that no matter what she did she would die right there on the spot and that nothing could be done about it. She pictured him how happiness had fled her thoughts, and not returned for days.Little by little, she was loosing the battle with the darkness. Legolas frowned; how wrong he had been to believe in her cheerful façade ! Naïve as he was, the young prince had believed that maybe she was from another race, and was impervious to the wraiths. Her stricken face and lost gaze told him it wasn't so, and that she bore the same weaknesses of all her kind.Soon enough, the elf extended his hand to brush against her arm to call her back to reality, and his faint glow seemed to reach for her. The shy movement shook her out of this trance, and Frances stopped walking. Slowly but surely, she crawled back to the surface until she was in full control again, watching the elf's glowing hand firmly grasped over her tunic.- "And yet...", he stated lowly, "you overcame those dreadful feelings and triumphed"Frances blinked in the darkness, her eyes meeting his for a moment.- "Well, I managed to get my wits and attack yes... but as for triumph, I would be real dead if Strider had not shown up"The fellowship was gaining ground ahead, but Legolas couldn't find the courage to urge her forward. She had plunged back into depths of despair by his fault... the least he could was to give her a few moment to regain her wits.- "You do not give yourself enough credit," he whispered. "Attacking those spectra was incredibly courageous, and Strider himself had conceded that you probably saved the hobbit's lives"- "He was the one who did it in the end", said Frances, her posture quite stiff, willing to give the credit back to the man who saved the day- "And still, had you not been there the wraith could have gotten to Frodo and now everything would be lost."Frances frowned, and the elf stirred her in the other direction so that they resumed their progress. Both were silent as they caught up with the group.- "May I... may I ask how you broke the spell?"Frances nearly laughed at this statement. Had it been as simple as this she would already be on her way home, having saved the world in five minutes and all, and returned safely. No, it was much more complex than this, but was she had been summoned here even if she could not fathom why.- "How I freed myself from their hold... ? I heard some cries I think, and it seemed like people were being attacked. I realized that if I was afraid myself those people seemed ever more so, and then I decided to push the despair away and do something worthy of myself"- "You decided to stop despairing?", said the elf in awe, not understanding the concept so clearly.The young woman, walking ahead of him, seemed deadly serious.- "Yes. I pushed away the bad thoughts and concentrated on action. There were people in need, and I struggled every instant to shake myself and continue."As Legolas fell silent, trying to process what he had been revealed, Frances realized that she did not wish him to linger on such thoughts in the darkness. For one, she was rather distressed that the elf would thing about her deeds so much, and secondly she could feel that Khazad-Dum was running on his nerves as much as on her mood, so she tried one of her nice smiles and breathed deeply:- "Would you enlighten with tales of your kingdom?"Much to her delight, his features relaxed and his glow seemed to turn a bit brighter. And despite the heavy silence, he managed to count her tales of Greenwood the Great.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A few hours later – it could have been days ! – the fellowship halted to munch on a few dried fruits and various other goods. Legolas was whisked away by Estel and Frances regretted the loss of his light, leaving her face to face with Boromir. She sent the steward's son a shy smile, seeing that Merry and Pippin flanked him. His jaw was tense; he was wary of the surroundings, as if he expected an attack at any moment. She had not forgotten how he had opposed the idea of treading the paths of Khazad Dum. Perhaps ... perhaps he had been right.For the moment however there had been no sign of the enemy, but the caves were endless. Many a time, Frances had spotted the levels lying below them, meaning that there were thousands of yards of galleries and rooms where the orcs could be staying. Their only chance was to be quiet enough.When the company started again, Frances found herself at the rear in Boromir's company. She didn't mind so much; his contempt had eased up, especially since the warg attack. The warrior had reluctantly admitted that she could stand her ground for a woman, not that he would ever admit it. If Boromir did not deny her skills anymore, he still had some macho attitudes that pissed her off. The guy had been raised old school, and sometimes she had to lecture herself not to rip his throat off. At other times, she wondered what his life looked like, in Gondor, before he appeared in Rivendell chasing a dream. Would she unravel the puzzle that was Boromir ? Understand his motives, his strong drive to protect his people ? The same thirst for power that made him vulnerable to the whispers of that blasted jewel !Yes. Sometimes, his gaze would turn distant, and this strange gleam would shine in his eyes. The ring was calling.It called to her too. At first, Frances just felt insulted that this evil thingy would try to break into her head. Then she realized that the ring fed upon her wrath, and she changed tactics. Her rational mind knew how treacherous the One could be. She needed to stay level-headed. Now, when she felt the ring pull on her mind, she focused on recalling the fifty-three numbers of the number PI until it relented. Perhaps a stupid trick, but it kept her focus on something rational. The whispers were receding; apparently, she wasn't such a good choice for the ring.Boromir however was another case. As the Steward's son, and a powerful warrior adulated by Gondor's army, he had a much bigger influence. If anybody that could turn the tide of war by being corrupted, this was him. The ring was definitely putting a lot of efforts into this. Whenever the evil entity was trying to get a hold on him, Boromir would become more distant and avert his gaze to someplace only he knew.Frances held no illusion; Estel, Legolas and Gandalf, at least, were aware of it. But what could they do ? Somehow they had decided that the fellowship had better chances with the Steward's son than without him, even if his plans were to return to Minas Tirith. She, on the other hand, was ashamed of thinking this way, but did not agree. To her, Boromir represented a hazard, and even if she started to like him she was afraid of the moment when he would surrender his will to the ring. However, she had to admit that he seemed quite more resilient than she expected. Was there a chance she had misjudged him?As the situation was now, she was walking beside him in the gloom, and he did not seem in a very talkative mood so she followed the hobbits in silence.For hours and hours they walked, tip toeing shadows amongst shadows, following paths that never seemed to end. It was difficult to grasp the immensity of the mines as generations had dug and created more paths, more halls and more dwellings that the previous ones. At night they would establish a camp, eat on a few dried fruits and a piece of salted meat, and try to sleep. Greys and blacks, darkness and so little light. Frances felt like a ghost, treading in silence in this deadened place.On the fourth day they came upon three tunnels. Gandalf stopped, and the hobbits decided to stop for a while. From an outside onlooker the company would have seemed petrified, their gestures measured in the greyish light. Frances could not breathe anymore in this dusty atmosphere. The absence of light, of life and colours was killing her, and the hobbits were getting less and less cheerful. She could feel it all around her, this terrible tension, like a damn rock on her ribcage.Eventually, the wizard chose a path. And as usual they followed, down and down again, until the walls enclosing them disappeared. Suddenly Frances could not touch the rocks by her side anymore, the tunnel ending abruptly into empty space. It was so dark, but the air seemed ... almost fresh. Away from the company a ray of light descended like a waterfall of silver. Gandalf led them slowly, and turned to them with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Frances smiled; she had not seen such a cheerful look since... she could not even remember.- "Let us risk a little more light", he said.His staff rose, and sparkles exploded in the air, rising up until they touched the archs of the great Khazad-Dûm hall. Frances' voice was lost in the magnificent beauty of the room, and around her all heads were up. It was a never-ending hall, expanding to left and right without walls, a thousand arches carved into hard stone supporting the fantastic vault.She had never seen such an imposing building, and from the looks in the others' eyes, neither did they. It was like a reversed cathedral where instead of mounting the walls, the dwarves had removed the rock to create space. The techniques were probably very different, but the outcome was so impressive. Surely Gimli would look smug, and the young lady turned around to face him. But his eyes were set on something else, and the dwarf took off running.- "Gimli, no!", someone shouted.The company followed closely, crossing the hall in haste. The noise they made was so intense after many days of silence, and Frances' ears were ringing from the metallic sounds of the weapons clashing against shields and belts. She cringed as she ran, heart thundering against her ribcage. With the immensity of the hall, the echo would alert any enemies from their presence.They halted in a side room which contained nothing more than a rectangular rock. But in the center of it fell the ray of pure light, and Frances' eyes could not withstand it, not after all this darkness. When she managed to open them fully, she realized that the massive stone was in fact a tomb. Gimli was weeping, kneeling beside it. Here his cousin had been buried, cadavers scattered across the floor in awkward positions. Everywhere arrowheads were embedded in armors, some had passed through ribcages, instantly killing their owners. A few helmets still stood on bare skulls, other had fallen to the ground. Frances looked around, her eyes wide. The sight of this slaughter made her sick.The hobbits were regrouping instinctively, Frodo in the center, Samwise looking frantically around. Aragorn had laid a hand on Gimli's shoulder, trying to shake the dwarf away from the tomb, away from his grief. Gandalf had found a book, and started to read.- "There is no way out...", he said, his eyes deciphering the runes with ease.Legolas paced restlessly, exchanging a few elvish words with the ranger. His tension was so tangible that Frances shuddered. What could upset an elven prince so? Was it the imprisonment far away from his beloved stars that started to grate on his nerves? No, certainly not. They had been travelling for four days underground already. Surely he would have shown symptoms much before this day. Legolas, had certainly been uneasy, but never before had she seen him so tense.A terrible noise interrupted her reflections. Boom, Boom. The low sound vibrated through their bones, its location still far away, but coming closer already.- "We're trapped !", Legolas stated.Gandalf set the book down, realizing the company's mistake. Boom, Boom, Boom, said the drums, and Frances' heart seized with fear. There was no way out, the dwarf writing the book had himself said so. Boromir was the first to react, and he bolted for the doors. Two neatly placed arrows greeted him, nearly taking his head off. The warrior jerked back and closed them. The men barred it securely, but the voices and cries of the goblins only grew nearer. If the hobbits unsheathed their daggers, huddled like cattle awaiting slaughter. Gimli climbed on the tomb, his axe well in hand, rage boiling in his chest. Aragorn had drawn his bow, and Frances regretted that she had not practiced further. Only a master bowman could use this weapon as such range, and she didn't have the skill yet. She would have felt much better with arrows than with her sword.- "Stay behind me"Frances blinked, catching Boromir's worried gaze. She nodded, refusing to show fear, yet knowing he could read it in her eyes. His enormous shield was drawn, a rampart about what was to come. On the other side of the tomb, Aragorn had taken upon himself to protect the hobbits. And up front stood the elf, his light almost... wrathful ? Posture tense, jaw set, the lines of his face carved like a stone statue. Gone was the contemplative being, looking at the stars.Frances drew her weapon, and its perfect crafting gave her some courage. Glorfindel had done wonders on this blade; its size, its balance, the weight in her hand. It had been created for her, and responded eagerly to her commands. Now was the time to remember her training, now was the day to show that she could handle her own. And despite her shaking limbs, she stood proudly. But her mind... her mind was frantic. What if she died, here, in the depths of Khazad-Dûm ? Would her parents even know what had happened to her ?The racket interrupted her panicking, noises echoing in those enclosed walls. Loud bangs resonated on the door, and cracks responded. Every time, Frances jumped out of her skin. Any moment, now... Soon enough, the door was so damaged that Strider managed to land an arrow into an assailant's eye. Then it blew open, panels banging against the rocks as it yielded, defeated by such brutality. And Hell broke loose. Orcs swarmed in like a giant wave, the first ones efficiently taken down the moment they set foot in the room. Legolas landed arrows after arrows, seconded by the men's blades. It took only a moment before the orcs were within range of Gimli's axe, but they instantly regretted it. Thanks to the small aperture, the four warriors contained the flow of fouls creatures for a while. But soon enough some of them reached the group of Halfling, and the hobbits stroke back with valor.Cornered, Frances started to swing her sword. It cut and sang with vigor, removing limbs and slicing through dark flesh. She cringed; this dark soup of black blood reeked, gruesome, splashing the floor and her clothing alike. Sticking to her hair. But there was no choice; she couldn't let them approach. The goblins were small enough, and surprisingly weak. If it hadn't been for their number, the company would have dispatched them easily. Frances used her training, and while battling the orcs one by one she was able to stand her own. She sent a silent prayer to her disdainful swords master. The battle raged on for a while, and the young lady sliced and ducked, too busy to survive to pay attention to her surroundings. She was an easy target and her arm was already tiring.Panicked cries came from the back, Frodo had fallen. Frances turned around briskly, worried beyond measure. Aragorn was already checking up on their mutual friend, but the lines of his face were worried.- "Ouch!", she cried as a sharp pain greeted the inside of her forearm.Frances looked at her left wrist in disbelief, a warm trickle of blood was already dripping along the elvish tunic. The wound was not so serious, but it still bled furiously. Fortunately, the adrenaline rush kept the ache at bay, and she contemplated the beautiful garment with renewed rage.- "Only one second of distraction and see what you have done !", she exclaimed. "This is elvish craft you fool, show some respect !"The Orc responsible for the cut didn't see it coming, but his head was hacked by a mighty blow. In the mess of the battle, Boromir's chuckle went unnoticed. But his attention was soon drawn elsewhere: the orc's tide was getting lighter, and he gestured towards the entrance.- "Let this be our chance", he yelled.Soon the whole company was running across the immensity of the hall. Behind them came the hobbits, Frodo slung across Strider's shoulders, still unconscious. Was he even alive?On and on they went, as fast as their feet could carry them. Boromir set the pace, minding that the little ones could follow him. Legolas seemed to be flying over the paved ground, his feet barely touching it as he effortlessly ran beside them. Orcs were coming in, closing around them, but Gandalf ushered them forward until they were trapped. Around them expanded a never-ending sea of foul creatures. There was no escape. The company of warriors enclosed their fellow companions in an attempt to protect them, knowing fully that it would only gain them a few seconds of life. But still it seemed worth it, to delay the inevitable.Strider was pointing his sword to the Goblins, Frodo still safely tucked upon on his left shoulder. The creatures seemed to hesitate. With two men, an elf, a wizard and a dwarf, the orcs from the first line perfectly knew that they stood no chance. None of them was willing to die. But it was not the blades of the warrior that saved the company.A low growl resonated at the end of the hall, a sound like Frances had never heard. She felt like the earth itself was waking, and nearly expected the cave to collapse. The rumble resonated again, echoing on the archs as goblins started to flee. Gimli uttered a nonsensical sentence about them being cowards, but Gandalf's solemn face told her otherwise. Then she heard Legolas' voice, and upon seeing the expression of his usually so controlled features, dread seized her.- "A Balrog of Morgoth", he whispered.
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She had read about it in Imladris, but for the life of her she could not remember what a Balrog looked like. The elf's scared face told her how bad it was, and Gandalf's reaction did not really help.- "Durin's bane", exclaimed Gimli as he fell with his face in his hands.- "Right Gimli, really helpful", she muttered through ground teeth.Boromir and Strider exchanged a meaningful look. If the first one had no idea what the legend was about, he didn't need it to agree with his fellow ranger. The escape route was clear of Goblins. A reddish glow was advancing on the empty hall, and the company took off running once more. Frances was too eager to follow. They exited through a door, and started descending a flight of narrow stairs with no railings. Gandalf closed the doors behind them, and motioned for the company to go ahead. As they descended, the unconscious hobbit started stirring on the ranger's shoulder.- "Frodo !", Aragorn cried, calling Frances' attention.She granted him just a look, marveling that he was alive before flames engulfed the whole cave.- "Shit", she grumbled through clenched teeth.The hobbit gave her a wide-eyed look before the ranger ushered him forward. His terror drove him to run as if he had never been unconscious.The narrow bridge of Khazad-dum was in sight, and it held the key to their escape. Frances kept her gaze fixed on the bridge carved directly into the rock, its small arch granting passage between the east and the west as a huge canyon separated the two parts of Moria. Above them only darkness, below them not much better. But now the fire and smoke was so present that she lost sight of the oblivion extending below them. And to make matters worse, arrows started to fly around them. The Orcs were everywhere, hidden behind pillars and cracks, waiting for them to run across the emptiness of the cliff. As they progressed, the elf prince managed to land a few arrows of his own. Some goblins fell down into the great void, forcing the others to take cover.Such skill... and so little time to acknowledge it. Frances ran as if the devils was tailing her. Which, in retrospective, wasn't so far from the truth.They descended the last stairs, and they started to cross the bridge. Arrows whizzed past them, and it was only a miracle that they did not land in their flesh. There was a clang on Boromir's shield, and another arrow went through Gandalf's hat, staying there as a beacon. Frances tried to not look down as she ran, she was so tired that any wrong step would send her stumbling into the darkness. Relief washed through her body as she climbed up the first stairs on the other side, but it was short lived. Another growl made the rocks tremble. They all turned around, eyes wide, to see the Barlog materialize in front of their very eyes. Darkness and flames turned into an enormous beast, its wings expanded at his sides a dozen feet above the ground.Never in her life had Frances seen such a monster, and she understood Legolas' fear. Her stomach plummeted down, her limbs shaking. She would never forget it, this tower of fire and shadow. A demon. But Gandalf held his ground. Standing on the edge of the bridge, he lifted his sword, the glowing Glamdring. On his other hand something was shining a bright light, its brilliance so powerful that it seemed to keep the creature at bay.- "You shall not pass", he said, and his voice was imperious.Strider and Boromir unsheathed their blades again, and ran back to the wizard with a cry.- "Gondor ! Elendil !"Frances was now quaking in fear; what did they think to achieve, two lone men facing such a monster ? But Gandalf did not hear them, his attention fully concentrated on the winged beast. A burning whip hung in its hand, and the creature lashed at them with a mighty blow. But the wizard brandished his glowing sword, and blocked it as he cried:- "You shall not pass ! I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor."His voice echoed in the caves, deep below the bridge and high into the nothingness. Tones of hope and power, and yet, Frances was still frozen upon the roughly carved stairs.- "You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun. Go back to the shadow! You cannot pass."The Balrog seemed to consider it for a moment, and then he let out a roar of flames that left the company trembling. Gandalf did not move, but as his enemy advanced on him his staff descended upon the bridge.- "You shall not pass!", repeated the wizard with force.For a moment Frances though that the Balrog would engulf Gandalf in its flames, but a sinister cracked resonated in the cave. And then the bridge gave out. The company gasped. Seeing such a thick arch of rock crack under the blow was a sight to behold in itself, but the fall of the Balrog was another one even more impressive. The beast roared and tried to flap its wings, but the darkness engulfed it nonetheless as it disappeared below them. Frances sighed, and so did the hobbits beside her. The devilish creature had been dealt with. But the sound of a cracking whip echoed in the emptiness, and they all witnessed the extremity encasing Gandalf' leg.He fell down, hard, and was dragged to the edge of the bridge. Frances cried in fear as his body tumbled. But then, his fingers found a crack in the rock and he levelled them with a hard look. Before hope could settled in her chest, he ordered:- "Flee !"And then he was gone, falling into darkness where the Balrog had disappeared only a moment ago. Frodo cried out his name, and started running to the bridge. Fortunately, Strider caught him. It was a sorry sight, but they needed to escape or Gandalf's sacrifice would have been for naught. Frances was quite numb, not realizing quite yet that the wizard was gone. She climbed up the stairs, and ran with the company. There was nothing more she wished than fresh air. Now the flames were gone, she smelt the dampness in the air, could feel the darkness of the corridor, the emptiness of her heart. They ran again and again, not quite sure to be safe yet even if the only passage to the East had been cut definitely.The afternoon light greeted them at the end of an endless hallway. But after five days craving for it, nor Legolas nor Frances had the heart to acknowledge its glory. The hobbits were crying on the ground, their little hearts torn apart by the death of their friend. Frances caught the elf's expression for an instant, he seemed so lost, totally thrown off by the concept of death. The young lady did not cry, she was too numb to feel anything. The wound in her wrist throbbed painfully even if the bleeding had ceased. Gone was the adrenaline that kept her moving. Exhaustion threatened to take over, and her feet ordinarily so assured on the uneven ground were now trembling with the effort.But Strider hailed them, and led them further away downhill. The company followed without questions. They needed to get to safety before nightfall.
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They had made good time going downhill, and found the forest at the end of the day. Fortunately, or unfortunately in the eyes of a certain dwarf, a patrol of elves from Lothlórien found them as Legolas attempted to climb one of their beloved trees. The marchwarden, named Haldir spoke westron, unlike his two brothers Orophin and Rúmil. His features, if graceful, seemed set in a permanent scowl. Frances disliked him at once. But the company was so wary that they were way past caring the warmth of their saviors. They spent the night on a Talan, some sort of wooden flet installed high above the ground in a Mallorn tree. If Frances had not been so tired she probably would have minded the absence of railings. But in her state of exhaustion it didn't matter anymore. Past the shock of Gandalf's fall would come sorrow. But for the moment rest was the only thing on her mind. She closed her eyes as soon as her head was set down, and slept soundly. No nightmares to plague her, no Balrog populating her thoughts this night although it would come eventually. Her forearm stung badly, but she was too exhausted to care.The next morning came fast enough, and her hand was throbbing painfully. Frances was already regretting that she had not asked Aragorn to balm it, but their leader's worries laid elsewhere. They had already stopped to take care of Frodo's injuries on the way, discovering his Mithril chainmail in the meantime, and had pressed on after that. The guards led them deeper into the forest until they came upon a stream. The Celebrant's waters were dark, running fast and steady. Frances had never seen such a color, but she wondered if the strange silvery light that passed through leafless trees was the cause of it. Haldir, long hair flowing in the slight breeze, threw a high-pitched whistle in the air. On the other bank, another elf showed up. His garments matched those of the marchwarden, grey cloak over greenish tunics and breeches. It probably was one of the reasons the company had not seen them in the first place. Haldir exchanged a few gestures with his peer, and he turned back to them.- "We will cross here, but do not set foot in the waters for they are very cold this far north."On the other side of the river, the elf threw them a thin rope attached to a great tree. Haldir secured it on their hand, and ran across it back and forth to show them the way. Frances' jaw opened in shock. Were they expecting the company to run over a rope without falling in the waters? The current was strong, she doubted she could swim over and survive its coldness for long. Let alone the dwarf. Haldir's face did not show anything unusual, and it was Legolas who pointed out this lack of consideration.- "I can walk this path, but what about the others? Should they swim?"For once, Frances noted that the marchwarden looked sheepish, but who knew with this despising scowl carved into his face? Anyhow, the elves set two more ropes to create a 'safe' path. The young lady laughed in disbelief. It seemed that cultural shock was not only reserved to earth. With different races, middle earth was bound to be a very interesting place when it came to habits. Let us run across a wire, weee.Surprisingly, she made it quite fast. Her equilibrium had always been pretty correct, and she had improved it over the years by climbing trees and walking on branches. She had in fact dedicated most of her childhood doing just that. The rope held fast, and didn't vibrate under her legs despite its lightness. In other words, if was a good old motorway... Her only distractions were the painful throbbing of her wrist, and the closeness of the Greenwood Prince who wanted to insure that each of his companions could stay safe. Since he basically weighted so little, Legolas stayed close.Boromir walked the rope easily, surprisingly graceful for a man of his stature, and the weight of his equipment. Gimli certainly didn't make a fool of himself, but his sheer weight was enough to make her cringe. Would the ropes hold fast? What if he fell in the waters? Could they dig him out with his armor weighting him down? Finally, Gimli set foot on the other bank, and the whole fellowship released a breath. Pippin soon followed, sure footed. Sam on the other hand, was quite a handful, and the elf stayed as close as he could while the hobbit rambled about his father and walking across a stream like a spider.While half of the company waited for the other part to cross, Frances' eyes were lost in the somber waters of the Celebrant. They were impenetrable, but not nearly as dark as the emptiness of Moria. Gandalf's loss started to settle in her mind, her brain finally processing that he had fallen to his death. A hand on her shoulder startled her out of her thoughts, and Frances jumped. Grey eyes were looking at her in concern.- "Forgive me, my lady, for catching you off guard."- "No harm done... Is there anything that you wanted me to do?"Her response puzzled Aragorn. He had never before given orders, but her reply reminded him that he was the leader of this company now, and was treated as such.- "Let me see your hand", he said.- "Oh... right."Aragorn had the eyes of a healer, and while he had not remarked anything amiss the day before, he was now chastising himself for not seeing that the lady was injured. She was favoring her other hand, and had no held onto the rope on this side. The elf had disregarded this as normal since neither of them needed the support to cross. But Aragorn knew better.The two of them sat on the ground, Strider digging into pouches and balms as he examined the wound. It wasn't life threatening, but the cut ran across the wrist and bit the forearm. There was some swelling at the base, it needed to be washed and coated with a balm to stop infection from spreading. As he softly rolled the sleeve higher, the ranger shook his head. The tunic was coated in blood. Once more his blindness assailed him. What if the wound had been worse?Sensing his mood, Frances felt guilty about not saying anything before.- "I'm sorry Strider, I should have told you before that this needed attendance. But we were running to safety, and it didn't feel prudent to stop again."Aragorn lifted his head, considering her words.- "Please don't be angry ?", she added.Her voice was soft; nothing more than a plea. It said so much, like her admiration for him and also the fact that she could not handle him to be mad at her. She could not take it, not now, not after Gandalf's loss and their encounter with the beast of Morgoth. She was so vulnerable in this moment. For once the warrior was set aside, and the little girl came forth. Aragorn was at loss of words, did she really think that he could chastise her for choosing the company's life over her own comfort?- "You are not at fault. It is I who should have reacted swiftly."Tears came to her eyes, and they started spilling silently. Anguish seized him at seeing the maiden cry, and he rested his hand over her messy braid to pass on his message. But Frances would have none of it, and she flung herself in his arms, resting her head above his shoulder. Surprised by such a display of affection, Strider relented, welcoming her tears as she let go of her grief.- "You have done what is best for us, and brought us to safety. Thank you"The ranger hugged her for a while, the Valar know how much she needed it. Securely wrapped into his arms, Frances finally felt safe. And in the deep of her heart, she knew that somehow it gave him a little strength as well. There was such weight on his shoulders, and yet he was blaming himself.- "Damned be the stubborness of dwarves!"- "And that of elves!" answered Gimli with humor.Aragorn stood up, his eyebrows rising at the sudden dispute. What was this racket about?- "Peace", he cried like a father would have done with naughty children.But they would have none of it. All members of the company were standing, some unknown tension filling the air as Gimli and Legolas glared daggers at each other. The dwarf was boiling.- "Those prissy elves, you know what they asked ? They asked that I be blindfolded on the way to their city"Frances gasped; talk about racism ! The ranger tried to appease both parties, stating that the whole company would go blindfolded as the marchwardens of Lórien required. A good solution to appease tensions, but this time, it was Legolas who protested.- "I am an Elf and a kinsman here", said the prince of Greenwood with barely concealed anger.- "Now let us cry a plague on the stiff neck of Elves", retorted Aragorn, his patience growing thin.He had found a solution to this diplomatic issue, and now his close friend refused it for the sake of kinship. His eyes were dark, and Frances would have sworn that after saving all of them he was now considering to kill a few. The Hobbits did not know what to do, and Frodo's face was sombre. And for once, Boromir seemed at loss. The fight and curses went on, until Frances could not take it anymore. Brushing the last of her tears aside, she stood up.- "Oh Fuck off the both of you!" she finally cried, and all heads turned to stare at her outburst.She blushed from her poor choice of words. All elves bore a look of disgust on their pretty faces, but the Dunadán was chocked speechless. Frances exhaled slowly to master her boiling veins. Her bandaged hand brushed an strand of hair that had escaped the tight braid, calling the elf's attention.- "All right. Let us start afresh, I'm sorry for swearing."Seeing Legolas' pointed look, she added for his sake:- "Come on! All of you ! And yes, you too master woodland elf. We are a company for god's sake! Have you forgotten the reason why we travel together? Have you forgotten of our losses? Dwarves, men, hobbits, elves... hell even a woman!"The elf was about to retort when she lifted a finger, her jaw clenched in anger.- "I am not finished. You are fighting like bloody children...Who among you is ready to overlook our sacred duty? And for what? Are we on the brink of dismantelement? And for What??? FOR PRIDE! For a struggle that none of you remember? Because you don't eat the same bloody food !!! Well..."Panting, she watched astonishment settle on the company's faces. Gimli, though, watched her with curiosity. The elf, at least, had at least the nice idea to look sheepish under her scrutiny.- "I'm ready to eat whatever is thrown at me", Pippin said.Poor thing was hungry again. Frances laughed, as did Boromir. Count on the hobbit to ease the tension. But the lady grew serious again, she was not finished and the company knew it. Surprised by this sudden anger, they realized that they had never hear her shout.- "Well. I'll go blindfolded because such is our predicament. Nearly all of us are strangers here. Hell, I am even ready to go there walking on my hands and singing 'twinkle twinkle little star' if necessary. So now quit quarrelling, be good boys, and do as they say. "The cultural reference was lost on all of them, but the hobbits's head hobbled back and forth in agreement.- "Wise words indeed" concluded Haldir, "even if crudely stated."- "Don't start", she retorted sternly.Frances felt that she had talked enough for the rest of her journey, and also a little sheepish for this unwanted outburst. But they had needed the painful foot in the ass there! She was sick of hearing elf and dwarf fight all day long. The flash of anger seemed to have done the trick since all members of the company accepted the blindfold.
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They walked for a while, led swiftly by the elves of the golden wood. The guards gave them instructions, and light touches if need be. But the ground was soft and even, and the smells enchanted their senses. There was a little dampness from the moss, and the strong scent of humus as scattered leaves crushed under their feet.Frances was relieved that her silent companion made no attempt to keep a conversation for she was not in the mood. After what felt hours, she recognized a familiar smell of pinewood. Although his feet produced no sound, she knew that Legolas Greenleaf had fallen into step beside her. For a while he said nothing. Was he cross with her? He had every right to be. She had insulted him, and refrained to insult his father as well in the process. But in the end she could not take the silence anymore and asked:- "Master Greenleaf, what brings you to my side?"Although his eyes could not see, the elf had no difficulties walking around. The trees talked to him, preventing him from taking any wrong step. But the lady beside him did not share his talents; how did she know it was him? His inner musings were soon interrupted by the need to provide an answer. There were many things on his mind, like how the forest was radiating more and more the closer they got from Caras Galadhon, or how peaceful it became as they progressed deeper. But most of all, there was this rebuke on his mind, this silent judgment that she had thrown at them in her wrath. And truth be told, he had to admit that a part of it was right. The grudge he held against dwarves did not truly belong to him, it was passed along by his people. Wasn't it natural to mock their clumsiness and rudeness ?- "I gave a lot of thought to what you said earlier", he started.- "Oh, about that, I'm really sorry I yelled at you"Now she felt bad. Her lack of diplomacy had really affected the company. But his smooth voice did not bring disapproval as he continued.- "It is true that our people do not get along dwarrowmen. It was not so long ago, from an elven perspective, that Thorin Oakenshield insulted my father and thrashed his halls".- "I remember that. I have been told of this tale, and Bilbo filled in the gaps. Far from me the idea to discuss this conflict, but from what I heard this was quite a consequence of a previous dislike..."Legolas sighed. She was accusing no one, and yet he knew that his father had been at least discourteous. This strain in the relationship had started so long before he was born.- "What about your people? Do the all get along well regardless of origins?"Frances barked a derisive laugh; it wasn't merry at all and the elf frowned. She did that very often, saying something when her tone and posture said another. It could be disconcerting. Little did he know which kind of images he had called forth in the lady's mind. Frances recalled her history classes, the holocaust, second world war, the religion massacres and the day to day racism, the conditions of black people in the States only fifty years ago, all those countries were people were being hunted, discriminated and exterminated. But in the end, her answer was sincere.- "No. We have stupid people too... I mean... not that I consider that you act foolishly... Crap, I'm sorry... it gets out all wrong"Flustered, Frances tripped. Two hands came up at once to steady her, their grips strong but so different. One of them was cold and distant, the other warm and caressing.- "Do not be upset my lady, and please enlighten me with the story of your people."- "Very well, there was a war fifty years ago, and a lot of harm was done. So much that the earth would have bled out of sorrow..."And she proceeded to tell him what she could without him guessing that she was from another world. She told him about the German invasion, and how they deported and killed so many people, and their horrendous exactions in France. In the end she was happy that he could not see her eyes, because a lone tear was making its way to her cheek.- "And yet you do not hate them now, those enemies that killed so many of yours?", he asked in wonder.- "In the family I was born, I was taught to never judge people out of their origins, or the actions of their ancestors. I strive on following those teachings, even if it never is easy. Those people are long gone, and now I am the age of their grandchildren. People change, life conditions too... »- "Your elders certainly were wise. Even though time doesn't flow the same for us. Generations didn't pass for the eldar, and so we hold onto our grudges fiercely"Frances nearly laughed at this statement, but she shrugged instead. Her mother was so prompt to anger, and yet she held a bit of wiseness for sure. Just a little. Would she see them again? What would happen if she died here? If she never came back? She needed to think about it. Maybe she could talk to her cousin, her most ancien and most reliable friend. She would keep her secret safe, and understand it without judging. Lost in her inner thoughts, the young lady lost her footing again. The cold grip of her guard prevented her from falling, and it seemed that Legolas was gone from her side.They walked for hours, stopping only to grab some water and eat a few dried fruits provided by the elves. Frances didn't recognise any of those, but she enjoyed the sweet flavours anyway. Eventually, Haldir asked for a halt, and he removed their blindfolds. The whole company stood motionless in close proximity of a grassy hill. The scenery that greeted them was so grand that it took all of her strength to not whistle at the sight.The silvery light was even more diffracted than earlier, indicating that the day was finally ending. Huge trees with golden leaves were scattered everywhere, the hills green with grass even though it was winter. Everywhere suspended lanterns gave a soft glow, granting light to the wandering elves. Everything was grayish, harmonious and yet a little ghostly. In the center of the improvised city lay a giant tree, its bark so wide that it could fit Frances' house inside of it. It grew tall and proud, and its high branches were probably several hundred feet above the ground. Never in her life had she seen such a tree.As much as she disapproved Gimli's words spreading the beliefs that described Lothlórien as a cursed place, Frances could not help but feel uneasy in those woods. As Aragorn took a few steps towards the mount and seemed to marvel at a whitish pretty flower, Frodo joined him, his face haggard from the effort of the last few days. Those two never really talked a lot; much of it was silent communication. Perhaps because they shared a burden.As elf and hobbits alike opened eyes bigger than flying saucers at the marvels of the scenery, Frances tried to pinpoint the reason for her uneasiness. It would have been insincere to denigrate the beauty of the woods surrounding her. Golden leaves created strands of light filtered by the huge trees, their branches scattered high above their heads and creating a living canopee that seemed to protect the surrounding area from any external element. Here and there, rays of pure light descended in the woods, falling like a curtain of sweet warmth falling upon the living beings of Lothlórien. Was it the sun's or the moon's? She honestly could not say.Haldir motioned for them to follow, and they penetrated deep in the heart of Caras Galadhon. Everything they set eyes upon was a wonder but they could not linger. The Lady of the wood had asked that they be presented to her on their arrival. This is how they started the long ascent of the great tree. The wooden stairs were soft under their feet, and yet there were far too many. Several times they had to pause for a rest except for Legolas whose eyes were so mesmerized by the wonders of the place that he forgot the wariness of his companions.Eventually, they were ushered into an audience room of branches and leaves. They did not get time to let they eyes wander for the Lord and Lady of the wood came forth. If Celeborn's noble poise and silvery hair was a sight to behold, Galadriel's pure light definitely beat it. Her long golden hair fell way past her waist, and her immaculate dress seemed to radiate. Frances had never seen such a glow, and her own limbs were practically vibrating from the lady's power. But instead of being soothed by her light, she felt strangely unnerved.Greetings and warnings were exchanged, and when the subject came to Gandalf the lady's eyes opened wide. Her irises were like crystal, so pale and so deep in the same time. Frances could not help but stare as she told her husband of her vision, her voice so far away. There it was, the thing that made Frances feel uneasy, this strange connection to something far beyond her reach. Would the Lady know something about her role in this quest? And more important would she be willing to share?As she pondered those questions in her mind, a presence seemed to penetrate her thoughts. Galadriel's voice echoed in her head, clear and carefully neutral. Welcome to you, Keeper of Time. Put your mind at rest for now, and before long we will discuss your presence in our world. Frances locked eyes with the Lady, tempted to gaze down but resisting the urge to be freed from her hold. She understood now Gimli's appellation, he had said she was a witch. Well then, this certainly was a witchy trick !Frances should have trembled with fear, but the strange aloofness of the place soothed her sore body. Before she could answer, the Lady of the wood focused her attention on Boromir whose uneasiness was radiating. The strong warrior who used to have his way on any subject was now struggling to keep his gaze steady. What sorcery is this !, he thought as his mind was violated by the elf's presence. But the words she spoke were even worse that her intrusion, and had he been a lesser man Boromir would have collapsed on the floor.Celeborn and Aragorn exchanged in Westron, agreeing to discuss in the near future. But most of the company was not listening. They were far too weary to even acknowledge the conversation. Thoughts freed from immediate danger, hobbits, dwarf and human were free to contemplate Gandalf's fate. Frances' eyes were unfocused; she was half sleeping on her feet. Sweet voices were rising and falling in the air like the winds sweeps around grassy hills, but she way too tired to care.When the meeting came to an end, she snapped to attention. She contemplated the idea of curtseying to the Lord and Lady of the woods, but without a dress this could prove very awkward. Frances settled for a respectful bow before rushing to follow her company down the stairs. Unfortunately, a she-elf stood in her way, her gaze stern. She spoke a few words of Sindarin as Frances tried to catch sight of the fellowship over her shoulder, panic suddenly filling her. She knew she was being rude, but the maid prevented her from leaving and she feared getting lost. The blond elf finally sighed, and tried to catch her attention in a different way.- "My lady. I was asked to care for you. Follow me."The voice was soft, and the words laced with a strange accent. But you could not mistake her speech for a request; it was an order. Frances glared at the she-elf from her lowly height of five feet and four inches. In a reflex, her hand flew to the weapon hanging at her hip.- "I will not part from my company"Her voice carried the protestation through the stairs, and suddenly the whole fellowship had stopped in their tracks. Had she not been so cross Frances would have cried at the sight of this, all seven of them frozen in place to wait for her. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Boromir's worried gaze. But it was Strider who climbed back, and spoke a few quiet words to the elven maid before turning back to her.- "The Lady of the woods wishes to grant you one of the rooms in the trees to ensure your privacy. As a lady, it is most befitting."He left out the part were having a maiden sleep alongside seven men was a breach of propriety in the elven society, but she caught on the meaning. In Lord Elrond's dwellings she used to have a room for herself, and Aragorn knew it. She searched his grey eyes for an answer. In truth, she was just too frightened to be left alone so early after loosing Gandalf. But she could not afford to insult their hostess nor the legendary hospitality of the elves. Frances gulped down the fear, and answered in an even voice.- "Tomorrow I will be a lady, and do whatever is required from a maiden. But this evening I will share your accommodation as a member of this company. It is too soon after we lost one of us to afford it."Strider sighed, and bowed his head.- "Very well. If such is your choice then so be it."The elven maiden, her lovely face controrted in disappointment, did not oppose them. Frances left her with a smile.- "Hannad le", she said. (Thank you)They made their way down the stairs, feet growing heavy. At last they would rest, and for once nobody would take the night watch as they shared dinner. Frances tried to apologize for going against propriety, but Aragorn cut her gently.- "I am glad that you decided to stay with us tonight. Your presence will soothe many a mind this evening, and your presence always brings us joy."Speechless, Frances wondered to whom his words referred to. The bond had become very tight between the members of the company, and she knew that Pippin, at least, had grown very attached to her. Would Boromir be pleased? Certainly not !Said warrior was angrily stomping off a few steps in front of them, clearly displeased with the situation. His stiff posture spoke of fear and anger. She could relate to him. If Aragorn was probably used to the golden woods, Frances could not prevent from feeling watched. Galadriel's power filled everything, from the air they breathed to the earth they walked on. Frances hesitantly reached for Boromir, gently touching his arm as the fell into step beside him. The steward's son paused for a second, his eyes haunted by something uncertain.- "Come", he said, "Let us have some food, and tend to our wounds."Frances nodded, reassured that it was not her outburst that had called such anger in him. But the look in his eyes left her wondering. The wounds he spoke of were not only physical. They walked shoulder to shoulder for a while, until they came upon a few tents. Inside, there were cots, blankets and even some pillows. Heaven ! The air was warm enough, so unlike the coldness of the outside world. As Sam marveled at the settings, digging out of his pack a saucepan, the fellowship very soon settled into their old routine.Dinner was a quiet affair; they were way too exhausted to swallow a banquet. Well all except for Pippin. The loss of the wizard felt heavy on their minds. Frances tried to lighten the mood a little. She even managed to make fun of the situation as they ate in the makeshift camp, making the hobbits laugh as she mimicked the distress of a young lady forced to sleep amongst men. She told tales of Elrond's twins and how they always found a way to place her in the worst situations. She even got a smile from Aragorn. But at some point fatigue threatened to take over, and as their energy depleted a sorrowful mood gained them.A song started to fill the air, the notes smooth and clear, strangely dissonant. Even Legolas, the ever-cheerful elven prince, started to pace back and forth. He told them that it was a mourning song, but had no heart to translate it. Beside him, only Aragorn and Frodo could understand its meaning. There were no tears in the prince's eyes, but his whole posture spoke of despondency. Sam tried to put together a few verses, and Frances found them beautiful. Never had she heard something so lovely composed in such haste. Not long after, the young lady fell asleep at the sound of elvish voices. Her head had not even touched the pillow that her mind went blank.
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On the following day, Frances decided that she would abide by the elves' wishes and made to get to her rooms. Unfortunately, she could not remember her way around the place. They had walked in such a haze on the day before, focusing on not stumbling down to keep a little honour in front of those ever-perfect elves. But Aragorn knew the golden woods from his previous visits, and he offered to take her to the guest quarters.The ranger was pretty silent as he walked, his face reflecting some sort of melancholy as his grey eyes gazed over the wonders of Lothlórien. But unlike his usual poise, his body was relaxed. Frances could feel this strange out of time mood that should have soothed her as well, but she could not relent just yet. They very forest was unsettling. Every part of it seemed alive and waiting for a reason to awaken. The trees themselves seemed to be watching them, the Dunadán's crownless king and the Keeper of Time. How grand it sounded when in fact Frances was very, very lost. Just a woman, really. Did Aragorn feel that way too ? That his title was too big for his frame ?They arrived at the bottom of a grey tree and the young woman swallowed back her questions.- "I believe you can climb the steps to the first level. There should be maids awaiting for you in the common room."- "Should I join you afterwards in camp?" she asked, suddenly intimidated to be left alone.Frances did not usually shy away from solitude. In her world, she used to research it quite actively. But after travelling for so long with the fellowship, she had got used to their presence, even Gimli's snoring. Aragorn frowned, visibly unsure about what to answer. In truth he had no idea what to say. He knew not how long the fellowship would stay and a part of him hoped that the young lady would remain in Lórien.- "You are free to come and go as you please. I will consult with Lord Celeborn today as to the length of our stay. The company is in great need of rest and I think wise to take it while we can. Meanwhile none of us would bear you ill will should you choose to remain in your quarters."Frances frowned. She had asked what their leader wanted of her, and the only answer she got was that he didn't have any wishes. But Aragorn was probably right. Rest was needed.- "All right then. Good luck with your meetings."Her speech must have seemed a tad modern for the ranger gave her a queer look before nodding. Frances watched him as he went, broad shoulders graced with his brownish hair. How much could they hold? Was the fate of the world quite enough? And what of Frodo? The hobbit was a wonder, so frail and yet so sturdy.Stair after stair, Frances climbed the tree that was supposed to host her for the following nights. She reached a room of branches where carpets and wooden furniture showed off their elven elegance. A soft breeze was the only reminder of its openness for it enclosed visitors in a cocooned space. No one was in sight and Frances made to sit on a beautifully carved bench. But no sooner had her legs touched the wood that an elvish maid entered the room. Had she been so loud?The maid was beautiful and ageless, a very common trait among the elves. On her face there was no hint of friendliness or disapprobation, only a careful neutral expression. A flash of Legolas' face came to her, and she could not help but compare them. He was so genuine and expressive, merrier.- "This way my lady," said the maid, and her voice was as light as a feather.They climbed a few steps on the other side of the room and came upon a lovely carved door. There was no lock on either side of it; it was only a token of privacy. One could easily walk through the slips in the branches; they were only covered by curtains and tapestries. The silken material looked like it would fly away, but it hid the occupants from view. Obviously sound insulation was not even considered. After all, elves were so silent that it made sense. Wait, did elves ever snore? Or sweat for that matter?The maid opened the room and gathered a neat pile of fabric folded on the bed. And then she took her downstairs. Frances' legs protested against the strain. It was only yesterday that they had walked blindfolded to Caras Galadhon and her muscles were still quite sore. But it made sense that the bath should be found outside. After all, it would have been folly to drag such an amount of water to such height, especially when one had to tiptoe on the stairs rather than weight heavily on them. They seemed so fragile and yet they had probably been there for centuries and seen many guests, some of whom were probably heavier than her.But elves were weightless, Frances had witnessed it firsthand when Legolas had literally walked on snow. Like this could be possible! The main question, however, was how he did manage to fight like he did. A weightless man should not have been able to hit anything. Inertia was key to give momentum and strength to a blow. But somehow he did, and she had finally gathered that it had to be a conscious effort in this mind. How did it work ? Fascinating all the same.While her thoughts were being occupied by the trickeries of elves, the maid led her to a secluded area covered in rocks and plants. Some mysterious steam roamed all over the place, transforming it into a strange garden. No one was in sight, and the elleth settled the bundle of clothes on a rock.- "These are the ladies baths. You can wash your hair with the contents of those pots, and I have left a comb for you to untangle the strands. Will you need assistance while you wash?"Frances reddened a bit. Of course elven hair didn't become tangled, or caked with blood and mud. But she wasn't used to having people seeing her naked.- "I will be well on my own, thank you very much."The sentence seemed much less polite than she intended to, and the maid merely snorted before curtsying.- "In that case I will go back to my duties. Should you need my assistance I can be found in the common room."- "Hannon le."But the maid had already turned around and left, her shoulders tense but her demeanor graceful. Frances sighed. She felt every bit human in her dirty clothes and guilty to have dismissed the elleth so rudely. But the steam garden intrigued her much more. The soft sound of falling water greeted the silence and she observed the scenery before her. A large pool welcomed a light waterfall filling it up with crystalline water. The high banks were made of dark rocks similar to those of Moria.Very soon, Frances had set aside her travel clothes. Naked, she tested the waters with her foot. It was so warm, it felt fantastic. She had not enjoyed a hot bath since their departure from Rivendell and had to refrain from diving in. Flat rocks covered the ground, devoid of any slippery substances and she knelt into the basin for a while. The slight callous caress under her feet felt marvellous and she let the hot water soothe her aching muscles.She didn't know there were hot springs in Lothlórien, but given the position of the forest on the edge of the misty mountains it made sense. Frances swam around before finding a soap-like object on the side. She spotted a bucket next to it, and realised her mistake.- "Ooops"Like in Japanese Onsen, she should have washed with the soap and bucket before plunging into the waters. She climbed out and filled the bucket several times, removing the grime, dirt and blood and washing it off. It felt like a rebirth. Each parcel of her skin was getting rid of the weariness and the horror of the last days. Once this first step was completed, Frances attacked her hair. Literally. The fight took longer than expected, and at the end her arms ached more that after Moria's fight. And her wrist still throbbed. She would have to ask Aragorn to take a look.Several buckets of darkened water later, the young lady had finally got a hold over her mane. She disappeared in the hot pool with delight, floating from one side to the other, revelling in the warmth and the atmosphere of the place. Once more a fish, Frances soaked into the hot spring until she felt that her skin would come off.Frances finally consented to leave. The maid had left soft sheets and a very simple dress. The fabric was heavenly light but it felt good on her skin. She had never seen such clothes. Even with the multiple layers of white and light blue the dress was surprisingly easy to put on. It fit nicely, and she tied up the side laces by herself. A fresh braid crowned upon her head, Frances got her old clothes into a bundle and left. After spending hours in her room, marvelling at the bed, the finery of the sheets and curtains and the beauty of the arches made of trees, her stomach.Time to explore the city !After much comings and goings, Frances eventually found the fellowship sharing lunch on a huge table. The hobbits' eyes seemed like they would pop out of their heads such were the dishes presented. They were in a merry conversation on one side of the table, the men and elf more reserved after the shock of Gandalf's disappearance. Each of them coped the way they could, and it seemed like the hobbits needed food for comfort.- "Am I too late to grab a little food?"Frances' voice shook the men out of their sad musings, but it was Legolas who recovered the quickest. The flowing dress was typical of elvish clothes, and he wasn't used to seeing her in such garments. But the red hair caught his attention, and soon enough he realised his mistake.- "Not at all Lady Frances. Please have a seat and share sustenance with us. Your presence can certainly cheer some of us up!"The Prince of Greenwood looked brilliant in his new tunics, the shade of grey highlighting his own glow. The whole company had given away the old worn-out clothes as well, and even Aragorn looked presentable.- "Waaa, have you seen Frances? She's wearing a dress!" exclaimed Pippin.- "That is worth the sight," responded Merry.- "Should I remind you that I was also wearing one when we met?" she said as she settled on the bench.The two hobbits shared a look.- "It had been such a long time, we had forgotten that you can dress like a respectable lady."- "Should the respectable lady show her wrath at being wronged so?"Boromir chuckled in his plate, showing the first sign of mirth since their arrival. But the hobbits started to apologise, and Frances cut them off.- "Never mind, I know what you meant. May I ask what a respectable lady can eat?"As soon as the words were pronounced, an avalanche of names and descriptions greeted her. Merry and Pippin talked at the same time, sometimes corrected by Sam who could not accept that one ingredient could be mistaken for another, and half of those vegetables unknown to her anyway. On the other side of the table, the Prince of Greenwood was observing her.The colour of the dress complimented her silhouette, although she had lost quite some weight during their trip. But overall, she did not seem out of place within this elvish garment. For a daughter of men, she certainly had a noble poise. The sadness in her eyes matched the one he saw in Aragorn, and he suspected that his own gaze was somehow darkened by the loss of their companion.But she smiled at the hobbits nonetheless, looking utterly lost. Legolas took pity on her and interrupted the little ones.- "What does your stomach yearn for my lady?"His interruption did not go unnoticed as the whole table fell silent. But rather than being intimidated, the prince gazed into her eyes. Frances maintained eye contact for a while, looking into those blue pool as if he could carry the pain away. His eagerness to help was oddly comforting, and she looked back to the dishes.- "Uh, something hot would be nice. And then fruits or vegetables, I miss fresh food so much."Legolas nodded; he also grew tired of eating dried meat and bread on the road.- "May I recommend this soup? It is very tasty and yet refreshing."Frances nodded, and thanked him in elvish. Then conversation started again, and the awkward moment was quite dissipated.