Hello everyone. This is my first fanfic, written in 2008. I realised people have trouble handling the french dialogue formatting. In short, we don't use quotes, the fact that people talk is marked by a dash, and the rest is read from the context. Example:

- J'en ai marre, dit Frances en se grattant l'oreille. Vraiment marre.

- the middle of the sentence, between the coma and the point, is called 'incise'. It means Frances is NOT speaking here. It describes what she does as she speaks. The rest are her words. It's quite an exercise, but once you acquired it, you don't even think about it anymore. Like biking, I guess.

Given the comments, I had to go back and put around three thousand quote marks "" in my dialogues. It was long and tedious, but it's done. So now, I understand you might not be used to the dash form. I've put some effort in those "", albeit we don't need them in my home country. So could you please stop remarking when you find a place they are not totally accurate, because it really pains me to have written a 230 k word story, and the only review I get is 'oh, you're formatting is different I have trouble with it'. Thanks !

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.