Hey folks, another chapters before it gets antsy. I am based on the movie for the moment because this warg attack never took place in the book (for once), and because it will help develop the situation between my characters. I have to say I found this warg attack very unrealistic. Still, It can be exploited.

If you like it, please review ! I'd be happy to get constructive criticism as well as the ideas that roam through your reader mind :) It's always gratifying to get a little word of encouragement.

Of Eowyn and Arwen

Eowyn was quite a puzzle to Frances. While the lady of Rohan walked alongside Aragorn, calling his attention, she could not help but notice how beautiful she looked in a simple woollen dress. Daughter of Kings, Theoden had named her one day. And it was very fitting. As elegant as she was cold, Eowyn evolved like a queen on the grassy hills of Rohan. Her people looked to her; she had after all stood true through the King's sour days. And yet, beloved and admired as she was, she could not steer Aragorn's heart. No one ever could, for his affections were already engaged.

Of course, he was being kind and polite, yet his reserve hid his emotions well for Arwen. As they talked, making fun of Gimli who struggled with his horse, Frances could not help but feel angry. As high born as Eowyn was in her own realm, she could never measure up to Arwen, the evenstar of the fair folk. Of what she seek, glory and battles, Frances feared that only the second one could be found. Rohan was fleeing before their enemies, all of its people to be encased in a fortress to keep them safe. But for how long? And what would Eowyn gain from Aragorn? Did she expect him to make her his bride? His mistress? His shield-maiden? To stand against the King to authorise her to fight?

There were so many things in Eowyn's eyes, so many contradicting desires that Frances could not make sense of them. Longing to be someone else, pride of her noble blood, hatred and frustration about her condition, boldness and, more than all, stubbornness. For the moment, she seemed to have crystallised all of this upon Aragorn. And despite the distance in his words, in his posture, she continued, undeterred, to seek his presence. Frances trailed behind, her blood boiling for Arwen, but silent. It was not her place to tell a daughter of Kings to get off her friend. The ranger was more than capable of handling this himself. And for the sake of diplomacy, she'd better shut her big mouth. No doubt that the lady Eowyn could be one to hold a grudge.

Frances walked away from the couple, huffing her disapproval, and earning a curious stare from Aragorn as she passed him. The man had definitely ears everywhere. Frances didn't want to stand in his way, answering his quiet interrogation with a smile of her own.

- 'I will join Gimli and Legolas at the front,' she said, pointing to the strange interracial couple in front of them.

Aragorn graced her with a bow of his own. Ever polite. He probably did not realise how kingly he behaved. Even in battle, his manners did not stray from the noble blood that flowed through his veins. Quite like Eowyn's attitude, and yet so different. Aragorn was a king in spirit and body.

Frances increased her stride to gain some ground. Sitting awkwardly atop his steed, Gimli spoke loudly to his friend. Legolas walked beside him, his hands never leaving the animal. Sometimes, the elf talked a few words to the horse in his tongue, probably to reassure him that all was well despite the heavy and uneasy weight on his back. No sooner had she come a dozen feet from them that Legolas' eyes fell upon her. The young lady refrained from cursing. It was bad enough that Aragorn could hear her breathing in frustration, there was no need to add up supernatural senses to the situation. Sometimes, she was feeling tired of having such companions. There was no way to go unnoticed when around them! At least, Gimli would not heed her presence until she sat on top of him. And if he was snoring, she could actually steal all of his equipment without him stirring. And probably cut his beard too.

As it was, Legolas' blue orbs were staring at her. She stared back for a moment, lost in their depths, until the elf realised his impropriety and turned to Gimli. Frances lifted one of her eyebrows, wondering what thoughts were plaguing him. It was unlike Legolas to behave so unfocused. At last, Frances came alongside Gimli, choosing the other flank of the horse to leave the elf in peace. The dwarf greeted her noisily.

- 'Aye lass, it is good to see you. What news from Aragorn?'

- 'I fear he may be trapped in a romantic moment,' she answered sourly.

Gimli turned around brusquely, scoffing. But the horse would not have it, and the dwarf had to fight not to be toppled over as it tried to rear.

- 'Oooh, ooh,' came the elf's soothing voice.

Steadying the mount in a few moves, Legolas lectured Gimli on his abruptness. Somehow in the process, the elf managed to switch sides. Frances smiled. That was sneaky, even for him. Not that Legolas could be incapable of teasing, for his seemingly serious manners hid a mischievous heart. Still, his face was too solemn to be mistaken at the moment.

- 'You disapprove' were his only words.

For a while, Frances said nothing, stunned silent by his perceptiveness and subtility. Yet, Aragorn's relationship with Arwen was a discreet one. No matter how close the fellowship had been, she doubted that Gimli had knowledge of it, hence Legolas' veiled words. It was no secret, not really. But it was intimate enough not to discuss it in public and the elf knew that Frances was not prone to brag. Still, she wondered about her acquaintance with Arwen. They had known each other for a short time only, even from a man's lifespan. In a century, or a thousand years, would Arwen remember her? Less than the fleeting life of a moth to an eldar was their acquaintance. How difficult for Frances to apprehend time, the way the elf handled it.

Arwen had spoken to her about her father's reluctance to let Aragorn into her life. At first, she had had trouble to understand. But now, she started to fathom the immense dilemma both Arwen and Elrond faced. And what of her brothers ? How would Elladan and Elrohir react to her choice ? Surely they could understand. To live in eternity a plain existence, or to accept death and embrace passion. Such was the price to pay for Arwen to choose a mortal life, to choose to follow her heart. A choice only bestowed upon Elrond and his siblings.

However short their time together had been, the affection Frances felt for the elleth held no boundaries. Arwen was, in every way, the evenstar of her people. Kind, generous and loving were only three of her attributes among the million qualities she possessed. The elleth gave so much, with no consideration to status or appearance, to everyone around her. She shone as much from within as from the outside. The white lady of Rohan could be as fair and noble as a queen, she would never come close to equal Arwen's soul. Aragorn himself was humbled by her love. So humbled that Frances knew, in her heart, that he felt like he did not deserve it. How mistaken he was!

Legolas' eyes were on her again, and Frances realised that she had not answered his question.

- 'It is not my place to disapprove.'

His face changed, a trace of disappointment marring his lovely feature before he composed himself. The young lady nearly frowned at that, but the elf gave her the reins.

- 'If you do not mind, I would like to scout the area. Would it be too much to ask you to care for Gimli while I am away?'

A wave of dread suddenly filled Frances. Taking care of Gimli? Atop a horse? She stared at the cord in her hand, then yanked her head back to the elf. But he was gone. Turning around, she saw his retreating form walking away, or rather, flying to another mount. He climbed gracefully on the brown stallion, and took off without looking back. Shocked by his abrupt departure, Frances frowned.

- 'Are ye all right lass?' came Gimli's rumbling voice aside her.

- 'I think so. Just tired I guess,

- "The pointy ears seemed as much. Couldn't get a proper conversation out of him. Strange, don't you think?"

Frances' breath caught in her throat. What could have happened to Legolas to have him behave so? And that look. Had she mistaken it for anger rather than disappointment? What had she done to displease him?

- 'Yes. Definitely strange.'

They walked in silence for a while. It gave her time to think. There were things, sensations that were beyond her understanding. Fearing that the elf would be cross with her seized her heart; it affected her so much more than it should have. Why did he hold such light in her mind? Why would his opinion be so important when others did not matter? True, Aragorn's point of view also did. He was, to her, some kind of father figure. A guide in this world. And yet, his opinion mattered less than Legolas'. What, when, and how had all those changes happened?

Somewhere in her heart dwelt feelings that she could not acknowledge. Frances was, by principle, pledged to another. She had made sure that the company knew about Charlie, speaking of him from time to time, thinking of him when her mind was free to wander. Frowning, the young lady realised that her boyfriend was slowly but surely disappearing from her musings. The war in middle earth, impending death, Balrog, monsters and magic had thrown him to the ground. In the unlikely event that she survived and got back, she would have to consider the meaning of this. Was she unfaithful to have surrendered her heart to middle earth?

Live the moment. If she had learnt one lesson as to now, it was that every second, every instant of one's existence meant something. Each moment should be lived like the last and could not be avoided. Those trips, they showed her that some events had no place in her timeline, they still made her what she was. If she got back home, she would be a different woman. Older, wiser, stronger as well. Taught in the way of elves, tainted by the culture she mixed with today, touched by the grace of Lothlorien, imprinted by Elrond's family. Each step in middle earth took her away from the young lady she had been beforehand. She felt those changes in her heart. They were profound, scarred into her being. In less than a year, she had grown so much. Like a butterfly after so much time spend as a chrysalis. Would Charlie recognise her? Would he still love her as she was?

And did she still love him?

A baby's wail caused her to jump. Beside her, Gimli rode on, grumbling about the mood of elves and women. Around them, families pushed carts, children cried in exhaustion, faces fell as time passed. Many features were winkled from the effort. At last, the two companions could not take it anymore. Gimli dismounted and left the horse for some other to use. A woman burdened by a little girl thanked him profusely as she tried to install her elderly mother on top of the mount. But the horse was too tall, and the woman too exhausted to manage on her own. She set the child on the ground; the little girl wailing while clinging to her skirts. Losing his patience, Gimli offered his help. Strong like he was, he could have thrown the elderly woman on the stallion without blinking. Intercepting the fearful look of the old lady, Frances intervened before the dwarf broke the poor grandmother into pieces.

- 'Do no trouble yourself Gimli, I will help'

- 'Ah!' he scoffed. 'You probably weigh no more than her.'

Frances laughed. She would not let that one go and challenged him.

- 'Do you doubt the strength of my arm, friend?'

- 'No, but let me see how you intend to lift that lady on the horse back.'

She could have invoked his height, of course, but she was not much taller than he was, and most Rohirrim dwarfed her as well. Frances would not lower herself to blame Gimli for his short stature. As the discussion went on aside the war horse, Frances realised they were falling behind. Nor the woman not her mother dared interfering into the argument, too humbled by the company to utter a word. The child was still sniffing in her skirts, but her wails had stopped, replaced by a curious stare. At last, Frances suggested:

- 'You could always kneel on the ground and we could use your back for the lady to step one. Like a footboard.'

Gimli was about to roar in anger when the old lady was lifted in the air and settled on top of the stallion. Frances caught a glimpse of long hair, and the horse was off.

- 'Come,' said Legolas, 'we cannot fall behind'.

- 'Damned elves,' grumbled Gimli, setting off as well.

As the woman thanked her saviour profusely, the elf gazed at her. The Rohirric lady coiled a bit, unused to being stared at by an elf. No matter what kindness he showed, Legolas failed to realise how intimidating his very being could be. He was, after all, an elf in human lands. A legend that until yesterday, existed only from the tales of old. Frances smiled. It was lucky for him that no one knew of his title. She herself had long been intimidated by him, status and all, before realising that they had become fast friends. Legolas was far more accessible than he let on, provided you were willing to share an elf's way of thinking. It was, to her, fascinating how different he viewed the world. She couldn't get enough of it.

At the moment though, the elf bypassed the scared look on the woman's face, concentrating on her tired features. The haggard eyes spoke of too little sleep and sheer exhaustion. The elf prince opened his arms, offering to take her child with him while promising to stay alongside the mother. For a moment, Frances' breath caught in her chest. Elves were so distant, so secretive with their feelings that she could not fathom seeing them with children. And yet, Legolas' features were soft and encouraging, his light as comforting as ever.

But the girl would not hear of it, refusing vehemently to quit her mother's chest. The elf was probably too foreign for her to accept. And then, she did something totally surprising. The four years old lifted her arms to Frances, her green eyes shining with mirth. The woman smiled but scolded her child for being too presumptuous. Yet the girl would not be undeterred.

- 'I want the magician.'

Frances' arms lifted on their own accord, not bothering to ask her brain about it. Hence the look of surprise on her face as she received the child against her chest.

- 'All right. But I am no magician.'

- 'No magician? Princess? You travel with elf, dwarf, and a great man. So you princess'

Sending a desperate look to Legolas, Frances was surprised to find a genuine smile upon his lips. Her eye set on the wonderful expression of her partner, she tightened her hold lest she dropped the child. Her back protested. It was a wonder her mother had been able to go all this way without failing. The woman gave her an apologetic look.

- "It would be easier if she climbs on your back, if I may suggest."

The elf nodded and, without awaiting for Frances' answer, reached for her bow strapped around her shoulder. In a swift movement, he had removed both weapon and quiver. His scent lingered behind him, surrounding Frances for a moment. Then he bent towards the girl and settled her on Frances' back, her frail limbs crossing over the lady's chest. As he did so, his voice came to the child's ears, soft and full of mirth.

- 'Magician princess. You are an excellent judge of character, young one'

- 'Hey, I am five already!', responded the girl. 'And you?'

Frances started at the boldness of the child. Would Legolas answer such an intimate question? After many months of travels in his company, she still had no idea how long the elf had roamed the lands of middle earth. And she was eager to learn. But his eyes were not fixed on the child. His impenetrable gaze was instead set on Frances, as if to warn her. For a moment, she just stopped breathing under his scrutinity.

- 'I am much, much older than you are,' said he.

The child would not back down.

- 'You cannot be, you look much younger than mama.'

Frances snickered at that, but Legolas started walking, gesturing them to follow to catch up with the rest of the group. A gentle smile graced his lips as he progressed, his feet light as feathers while his companions imprinted the grass with their walking boots. He was aware of a stare in his back, probably Frances'. He knew her left eyebrow would be quirked in this funny expression of hers, the sign that she wanted some explanations. He also knew the weight of her gaze whenever she was looking for answers, or merely observing someone. Stronger than a daughter of man in her manners, yet confusing with her wisdom. But still so young, even by men's standards.

She said nothing, probably too winded by the added weight of the girl. Somehow, the child fit well on her back, or so he thought. He did not turn too often, catching a few images that he committed to his memory when she wasn't looking. With her stray hairs framing her face, the occasional curl brushing her reddened cheeks and her lively expression, Frances was lovely indeed. In his hands, her bow and quiver travelled comfortably until the girl had enough of being carried and asked to walk on her own. Then, the elf returned the items to Frances with shiny eyes.

- 'Your heart is immense. Not that I was not aware of this before. Yet, I find myself surprised every time I witness such feats'.

Then he took off, and she didn't catch a glimpse of him until well after the camp was settled, and most of all, after the infamous stew the Eowyn had cooked. Aragorn's face would have been comical had the situation not been so dire. But the attempt he made at chewing this horrible instance of meat soup would stay in her mind for eternity. It was even better than Eowyn's expression when she realised, at last, that Aragorn had fought alongside her grandfather such a long time ago. Truth be told, learning that one's flirt is eighty-seven years old can unsettle some minds. But Frances was satisfied. With this information, the white lady of Rohan would probably understand that Aragorn was out of her league. His destiny was so much greater than this. A legend by his blood only, Isildur's heir, a captain ranger by merit, and a leader impervious to the ring. No one but Arwen could ever be strong enough to sit by his side.

The others were nowhere in sight, and Frances settled in her bedroll near the fire. The ranger stood watch, lost in his own musings. There was probably much on his mind; since he didn't feel inclined to talk, the young lady didn't pry. She was exhausted, and her back ached from her behind the mount instead of the rider. Such a sweet little girl, and still such soreness in her muscles! Granted, she was now a decent warrior. But by no means she was ready to be a mother. That was too tough a job for her. Better behead some orcs than take care of a little one!

The second day found Eowyn aside Aragorn again. To an outsider, it seemed like she was attempting to fulfil her duties as royalty by entertaining a man of valour. However, Frances felt that she was hoping to gain some hindsight about the man himself. Strider held true, providing answers where there was information to give, hiding others in order to protect Frodo, and keeping silent when need be. The young lady, trailing behind the couple, had to admit that Aragorn was a natural at diplomacy. If the Valar granted him the kingdom of Gondor, no doubt that it would strive under his rule. He probably had in mind that his relationship with Rohan was of great import in this war as well as in the aftermath. But at some point, he would have to disappoint the white lady. There was no escape from her infatuation; given from the tense's posture of the ranger, Frances gathered that he knew it as well.

Eventually, it was Arwen herself who breached the subject. Not literally, of course, but Eowyn asked about the pendant that clung around Aragorn's neck. The evenstar, a jewel so beautifully chiselled, so elegant and so bright that it encased the light of the moon itself. Gently resting into Aragorn's worn-out shirt, the evenstar showed herself once in a while below the leather bound that held his bow and quiver. The jewel seemed to be playing hide and seek, sometimes disappearing in the folds of fabric, sometimes casting its light for all to see. And so Eowyn asked the fateful question. And to Aragorn, it hurt. Frances could feel it in her bones. The ranger's face fell, his answer long to come:

- 'By now, she should be sailing to the undying lands.'

Frances gasped, breathing out evenly so as not to alarm Aragorn. This was ill news to her, news to which she could give no credit. Was Arwen supposed to leave the shores? Not in a million years would she believe it lest she saw the evenstar herself boarding a boat in the grey havens. Each time that Arwen had mentioned her love to Aragorn, there had been no doubt that she considered her future with him, that they could share a life after the war. Everything in her eyes, in the tone of her voice had conveyed this undying love for him. Frances still felt goosebumps at the souvenir, experiencing such love that it would grow over centuries and never die. The elleth would sacrifice anything to her beloved, her life if need be. Not in a million years would Arwen turn away from Estel, even to save herself.

Eowyn's features froze, and to this she had nothing more to say. Misled she may be, but not stupid. After a few minutes of silence, the lady excused herself and left Aragorn's side. Her gaze met Frances' stare, a cold look who confirmed that she'd better forget about ensnaring the ranger. The young lady watched Eowyn's proud posture as she retreated to her people, shoulder slumped a little from the difficult news directed to her. Frances frowned, ashamed of herself for being so harsh on the lady.

She understood her desperation. Eowyn, had, like a princess of old legends, been caged for too many years in a dungeon. The presence of Grima, sneaking on her at all times, the fall of her uncle, the toll of her kingdom crumbling down would have been difficult to bear. The appearance of the company had marked her first attempt at freedom. The release of Saruman's hold on the king, and her daily life. No wonder she had fallen in love with her saviour; the man who had come and broken the bars of her prison. Still, he was not what she thought him to be. Eowyn needed to move on, she needed to see the ranger as the human being he was, and not the symbol he represented.

Frances hurried her stride to catch up with Aragorn, falling in step beside him. The ranger was silent, only acknowledging her by a stray look as his thoughts took him to Imladris. Had Arwen left yet? Had the city of his childhood been emptied of all souls, anbandonned to time for ruin and nature to overthrow? Such was the passing of time for the elves. But to him, a human, no matter how long his lifespan, seeing the elf inheritance disappear was terrifying. Elrond, his sons and his city had been steady, never aging, never changing people in his whole existence. Always they had stood against evil, Imladris being the ultimate refuge when the rest of the world would crumble to pieces. His heart had found ever-lasting support in his adopted family. He had built his strength on their steadiness. Imagining its ruin was as painful as breaking both of his legs: they held his body weight as their souvenir held his sanity.

A tongue clicking next to him called him back to the fields of Rohan.

- 'Forgive me if I am trespassing on your privacy, but… I may have not known Arwen for long, still I would not count on her to leave these shores to the undying lands.'

A surprised gaze fell on the young lady's face. Yes, she was diving into a subject that was very close to home, but with a kind disposition. And so, he consented to speak of it. Maybe it could ease his heartache.

- 'Still, this is what her father demanded of me, and in truth, what I also asked of her.'

The tone of his voice was so sad that it hurt. Frances shuddered, touched by the despair that oozed out of him.

- 'Aragorn.'

No, this wasn't right. It wasn't the heir of Isildur that she needed to reach. Somewhere, deep down below the title, the ranger and the fighter lay the boy that had been adopted such a long time ago.

- 'Estel.'

His head whipped around, his face utterly surprised by the use of this private name. Frances was careful in her words, aware that she was in position to touch him very deeply. No matter how strong a man, there always existed a weak point in the armour. Like Achille's heel.

- 'I have felt the strength of her love for you. Never have I known such depth of feelings. It might seem presomputous of me to make such claims, for you know her much better than I do. Yet, it feels, in my heart, that it is true. As long as you draw breath, she will not leave middle earth."

The ranger gave her a queer look, and at last, a sad smile graced his lips.

- 'That is the answer she gave me.'

Frances nodded, laughing gently. Her memory revived one of Arwen's determined gaze, her grey eyes steeled for what was to come.

- 'That sounds more like her.'

Aragorn smiled, calling forth souvenirs he had carved into his heart. But his merriment was short-lived.

- 'Yet, I hope her father will be able to convince her of the folly of this decision. Danger lurks everywhere in middle earth, and the dark lord rises. I could never forgive myself if something happened to her.'

- 'You cannot be held accountable for the world. Most of middle earth's people are now in danger, and out of your control. Somehow, you have to trust Arwen to take the best decisions for her sake. And better to live a short life with the man you love than live eternity in misery.'

Aragorn's grey eyes bore into Frances for a moment, and his hand came to her arm, stopping them effectively. For a little eternity, he searched into the young lady's soul, looking for treachery. Yet, he found none. She was sincere to the core. Eventually, he resumed walking, his posture so stiff that he might have snapped with the wind. To his side, Frances felt like she was treading on eggs. And so, she waited patiently for Aragorn to explain.

- 'Never have I heard such words other than in my beloved's mouth.'

Frances nodded. Yes, of course. This sentence was one of Arwen's, a confidence the elleth had graced her with before she left. It was on the day before they departed, when she had asked to Frances, her eyes stormy, to look after her beloved. If Arwen's gaze had not been so intense, the young lady would have laughed. How could she, a clumsy warrior to be, be of any use to a seasoned fighter like him? Still, the elleth had extracted this promise from her. And in her ears, it rang true. Surely, the support she showed him had some impact on his life? His confidence? Their quest maybe?

It all came down to the same question, repeated over and over. Why was she here? Frances shrugged, unsure about where those thoughts led her. At her side, Aragorn seemed to deflate, the tension leaving his body.

- 'Surely you have been a true friend for her to decide to share those thoughts with you. In truth, I know not how to feel about her remaining in middle earth. My heart swells with happiness while my spirit fears for her life.'

Surprised by the depth of his confession, Frances laid her hand on his arm while they walked.

- 'I understand your predicament. And still, I have never witnessed such love as yours. I think, in the end, people might sing your praises, choosing to tell your lore above the one of Luthien and Beren.'

- 'How I wish this to be true,' he whispered. 'Sometimes…'

The ranger paused at that, his eyes fixed on the ground for a moment. Frances squeezed his arm gently, reminding him of her full support. He wore the weight of the world on his shoulders. At least, she wanted him to know that he could count on her to share the tiniest amount from his head. Eventually, Aragorn decided to confess what he had in mind.

- 'It might seem very unlikely. But sometimes, it feels like she is watching over me.'

Frances looked at him, her lips quirking up. That would be very fitting, and not so unlikely. Those lovebirds had a bound, an invisible cord keeping them together when the world wanted them apart.

- 'I wouldn't be surprised if she did,' she answered fondly.

Aragorn was surprised by this plain statement. Never before had he encountered a human so prone to believe in others. Anywhere in middle earth, there would have been talk of sorcery, of madness even, to give credence so such a thing. But Frances accepted it gladly. This remark closed the subject, as they seemed to be of the same mind. It was curiously comforting, not to be alone in this belief that Arwen could, somehow, be there by his side.

Her support meant a lot, although he could not exactly pinpoint how or when it actually started. The ranger reflected on those thoughts, realising that being an outsider to this word, Frances might be much more forgiving than the people living in it. She was more trusting, less suspicious than most. How would the others see that, given that no one except for Gandalf and himself had the knowledge of her origins? Certainly, they must think her very odd, maybe a bit magical as well. To him anyway, she was quite an exceptional youngster. She learnt fast, and her mind was quick. While he had been afraid of her not surviving this quest, it became clearer and clearer that she was adapting. Her fighting skills were improving by the day.

While he studied her, Argorn squeezed Frances' hand back. A silent recognition of her support before returning to the task that lay before them.

- 'But come' he said, 'let us not linger on those thoughts. Arwen's choices are her own. And we still have a long road ahead of us.'

Frances nodded, and Aragorn's grey eyes roamed the column of refugees. Deep down, he knew that she was right. He could still feel his beloved's presence. Had he been in position to make Arwen's choice, he would have stayed, no matter the consequences.

In the next episode, a little sport !