Hi to my readers. This chapter has been reworked, especially to insert the quotation marks as per English' rules (which we do not have in French). I have also reworked the text, so do not feel surprised that there is a difference in style with the rest. As it goes, I will review the whole bunch of old chapters (2014 ones). Cheers.

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 god 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 Numenor, 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 affect 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 no need 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 Erlond, 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 given instructions to fabricate ice skates of her own with leather and elvish blades. From now on 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 long life 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 three thousand 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 house

Legolas 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!", nearly exclaimed the twin.

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 embushed. 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. However 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 or lie dead…"

Legolas's brows shot up upon his forehead and he got silent. What kind of lady would react this way to an offense instead of calling for man's help or telling her displeasure? 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 pot of 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 telling me things 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 an unladylike wink when their eyes connected. 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 on a spot, 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 !

Thank you for reading my story. You have probably noted that English isn't my mother tongue and therefore you are likely to find some spelling and syntax mistakes, for that I am sorry. I would appreciate anyhow that you leave a review to share your feelings about this part. I have much more already written, but not in chronological order. Therefore I will post when the blanks are filled up correctly.