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 name

Aragorn'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.

*Frances was gifted the blue rock by an immortal being who bestowed it upon her at the express will of a dying lady during the war of independence. The immortal, Dr Cullen, kept it until he found Frances. This part of the story will be written and detailed in another series. It is a slight crossover with the Twilight series.