Hey, this chapter had been reviewed at last. The song of During which features at the end of this chapter was written by Tolkien and put into music by the fantastic group 'Clamavi de Profundis'. I have immense respect for their work, and thought this should feature in there. It speaks of Dwarven culture and their beliefs, but also on the ability of dwarves to transform silence into something so beautiful. I hope you enjoy it, and don't hesitate to listen to the song in question. It is worth it !
From this day, Frances went back to her studies. Arwen offered to fill Estel's place when while he was away with the twins, instructing her on the world and the legends of her folk. Her infinite patience allowed Frances to learn much more than she would have on her own, stumbling upon elvish words without shame as Arwen laughed lightly. Her new friend did not seem to have any objection about getting her ready for battle. Frances wondered many times if the gift of foresight that she was told to possess could explain her behavior. Despite their tentative friendship - or because of it ? - Estel did not want Frances to be part of the fellowship. Anyway, it was no use making conjectures, and in this domain Frances did not want to pry. Sometimes, there were things that had to remain hidden so that destiny could be fulfilled. If Arwen did not feel the need to share her thoughts on the matter, better to stay silent.
Estel was roaming the borders in search of more parties of Orcs, and did not have any more time to spare for her. His uneasiness whenever he was in Rivendell reminded her of the role she had to play. One day, Frances gathered her courage, and went to master Elrond's office. She stayed a long time in front of the magnificent wooden doors. As her racing heart would not find rest until she got her deed done, she lifted her shaking hand into a fist. Surprisingly, the characteristic creaking resonated before she could touch the panel. A voice rose.
- "Please make your way in, lady Frances. There is much to talk about."
Her eyebrows shooting up, the young woman penetrated in the sanctuary, feeling like she was swallowed by some ancient beast as the light receded. Gandalf, for he was there, closed the door behind her. Trapped ! Standing in the middle of the office, a part of her really wanted to disappear. She, the nineteen-year-old girl, was in presence of two of the main powers of this world. «Intimidating much", she though. If Glorfindel had been there, the effect would have been total. Fortunately, lord Elrond's level of humor was as low as usual, and therefore he did not linger on socialities.
- "I have heard that your fighting skills have improved greatly", he said, his dark eyes boring holes into her.
- "Have you really?".
Her surprised outburst caused Gandalf to chuckle.
- "Frankness is very refreshing"
- "Well, that's my name", Frances mumbled.
A few wrinkles appeared at the edge of the wizard's twinkling eyes. Lord Elrond, a bit surprised by this statement, regained his composure. Elves did not depreciate themselves this way, and no conversation held this much spontaneity. Of course, the young lady's skills were still far below average in those matters, but she had only been training for a couple of months. There was not much hope than for her to learn en route. The hobbits, who had volunteered shortly after the council, had no training whatsoever. Furthermore, she had shown quite some courage and strength of mind, and this quest would need much of it. There was no way ten walkers would defy Sauron's armies with the strength of arms. Therefore, the matter was settled.
- "Yes, your swordsmaster said as much"
- "How nice of him", came the witty reply, "to tell you so when he never uttered a word of compliment to me…"
This time, Gandalf laughed out loud, and Elrond's grim face shut her mouth for good. Frances cringed, fearing she might have gone too far. However, a close observation of the lord's eyes sowed a doubt in her mind. Did he actually look sheepish?
- "You have much to learn about the elves," young lady, finally said Gandalf with a pointed look. "Idle shatter is not their main ability"
Frances nodded. If the twins had been refreshing, she had seen how their manners exasperated their own kind. True to himself, lord Elrond cut the conversation short. There was far too much mirth in the room for his taste, and the aim of her visit seemed to sail away.
- "The fellowship is soon to depart. Do you hold true to your word?"
'So then, back to business', she though. Her eyes meet the elflord's grey eyes, and she put as much might as she could in her stare.
- "I do."
- "Then it is settled. The fellowship leaves in a dozen of days, on 25th of December."
At hearing the date, Frances chuckled, but the joke didn't seem to hit home. The two startled stares that she won told her there was none intended. She tried to pry a little, feeling uneasy by the unresponsive looks.
- "Come on, Christmas?"
- "I am sorry young lady but I do not see any matter of mirth in this."
Elonrd's reply was sharp, and forced her bubbling mind finally to focus. Frances sighed, defeated. How ridiculous she must seem. Of course, Christmas had no signification in middle earth; there was no catholic religion nor Christ in sight.
- "Would you mind explaining what Krissmas is?", tempted Gandalf, sensing the girl's uneasiness.
- "Well, in my… world. Christmas is a yearly feast that happens on 25th of December. We celebrate the birth of, er, an historical figure. Anyway, people gather and have a meal, and then some presents are offered. It is one of the biggest traditions amongst my people. It's the most important day of the year, I think"
- "How fitting, then".
For the lord of Imladris, the discussion was now closed. However, Frances still had some very important questions to ask, and felt cheeky enough to stay.
- "If I may… You mentioned a prophecy when I first came. Is that the reason why you consider my participation?"
Silence welcomed her question, and it lasted for quite some time. Finally, it was Gandalf who answered.
- "There are many signs in this matter. This prophecy does predate the elves' installation on those shores, and not much remains. Lady Galadriel, whose dwellings are settled on the other side of those mountains, might be of help to you. We however take every indication very seriously; there clearly is a role for you to play in this war."
Frances opened her mouth, then closed it anew with a frown.
- "Yes, that is the reason why you are granted a seat in the fellowship without us knowing much more of you than we should. The Keeper of Time must be there"
This was the longest speech that had ever been addressed to her in this office. Therefore, the young lady bowed, ready to take her leave. She had found nothing about the prophecy in the ancient books. Here and there, a few hints had been written about a lady fighting in the third age war, but no details. Frustrated, she had given up looking. Before she left Lord Elrond's office, the elf Lord mentioned that a sword would soon be ready for her. The young lady could not help but smile at the prospect; at least she gained a weapon adapted to her size.
Two days later, the haughty swordsmaster picked her up for what should be the last lesson. Frances, reinvigorated by the compliments she had heard, felt in a cheeky mood.
- "So", she told him as they made their way to the sparring field, "I have heard by some very trusted sources that my fighting skills have GREATLY improved."
- "It is indeed so," said the grim elf, sending her a queer look.
- "Ah!, you could have said so, at least once!"
The swordsmaster stopped in his tracks. Her outbursts were so human, and he was quite eager to be rid of her. Young elflings were much easier to teach that this stubborn second born.
- "Since you started from a catastrophic level of mastership, there was much room for improvement."
The tirade stung her very deeply, and Frances accepted the rebuke without replying. There was so much truth in his words, and yet she could not help but feel miserable. The twins had managed to befriend her, dismissing her inferior skills and grace for her witty spirit, but the swordsmaster focused only on her flaws. Would it be up to him, no human should ever be fighting with a blade. Frances fought this session with the energy of despair. She so badly wanted to gain a compliment that never came, but try as she might she could never be up to it.
In the background, Glorfindel observed. His anger had gone a long time ago, replaced by curiosity. For the incarnation of a prophecy, the lady Frances felt very human. However, after spending hours in sight of the sparring field, he started to understand the bigger picture. Given her absence of fighting skills, it was this very humanity that made her worth. Even Estel, with his elven ancestry, did not use his emotions so strongly. Glorfindel had seen her exhausted and discouraged by the constant nagging of the swordsmaster, and every time she seemed at his mercy it was her will that kept her fighting. Now he understood the role of the Keeper of Time. She was no warrior, even if she could now hold her own. She was a conscience. Frances would bring hope, joy, and ask the very questions that nobody would dare. Glorfindel spared a look for the blade he had forged. The sword would suit her well.
The sparring session finally over, the sword master consented to share a few words of encouragement to a sweating Frances.
- "You have done well, considering your inferior strength and speed."
- "Thank you, I'll take that as a compliment", she answered.
The insult did not really touch home. Yes, she was a second born. Her speed, grace, strength and life were forfeited. There was no need to go against one's nature, no gain in wishing she was different. Frances embraced her mortality with relief.
- "You may."
Then he was gone, and Frances relished in the thought that, at last, she would not face him again. The young lady could endure much, but being the target of such dislike always left her numb. She could not fathom what she had done wrong, why she could inspire such despise. Leaving those sad thoughts behind, she sat on a bench, observing the surroundings. Even in the heart of winter, Rivendell expressed its tremendous beauty. The waterfall's echoes sounded through the valley, and the bright light covered every single tree in a silvery shade. Here and there, some ice crystals glistened in the sunshine, some remains of the biting frost that fell upon the city at night. Frances' eyes closed, and she breathed in the dry cold air. If she concentrated deep enough, she could feel every element of the forest. The young woman relented her inner feeling to the harmony of the woods. At this time of day, the smells started to rise, replacing the icy mantel of winter dawns.
The slight noise of rustling leaves caught her of guard and she started. Glorfindel stood in the middle of the sparring field. His blond hair shone like a jewel in the silvery light, and his natural glow, stronger that the other's, blinded her for a moment. After facing Gandalf and Elrond in the office, Frances though that she could never be intimidated again. Well, she was wrong. The presence of the elf hero from the first age left a feeling of nothingness. She, who had been living for nineteen little years, could not even begin to fathom how the elf could be, think, and live. A pang of annoyance passed through her heart. Would she not be granted a little rest from legendary beings? Her energy levels were on the way to depletion, especially after this ultimate fight with the swordsmaster.
Surprisingly, Glorfindel's former hostility didn't radiate. In his outstretched hands laid a beautiful leather scabbard. He held it like a fragile relic, a most priced item for people to behold. The elf lord had not moved an inch since Frances' eyes opened, and his respect of her privacy showed a great deal of consideration. The young lady rose, and greeted him very formally in the speech of his kind:
- "Mae g'ovannen, Hîr vuin!" (Well met, my lord)
Glorfindel, if surprised, did not show it. Instead, he repeated the words of welcome with a slight bow of his head.
- "I have come to gift you with this elvish blade."
His hands came up as he presented to sword to its rightful owner for inspection. Frances, her knees trembling, approached silently. Her eyes were riveted on the present. There was nothing on earth worth the valor of this gesture. Her hand came over the scabbard, but she did not dare touching it. Her hesitation greatly pleased Glorfindel, for this blade had been challenging to create. For nights and days, he had considered the young woman that would be its wielder, reflecting on how she would use it. The observation of her fighting skills taught him on the balance and width of the blade, but he dug even deeper. Her stance reflected much of her character, and the sword had to accommodate for this. A defender. At best, the blade would enhance her every moves, making them easier. This would bring speed and strength to the wielder, enhancing the power that dwelled inside. Glorfindel put much effort in this blade, and employed all his craftsmanship into making it as powerful as possible given her human ancestry. The result was up to his hopes. Seeing her reaction to his work confirmed his suspicions. The woman was much more subtle than he though first, and she appreciated the greatness of the present. The elf lord had never crafted swords for a mere mortal, hence his reaction to Elrond's request, but she might well prove not to be.
Eventually, Frances met his heavenly eyes. His gaze was unnerving. It was like plunging in an ageless kingdom, where time was so relative that end and beginning meant nothing. Unable to sustain it for long, the young woman got back to the sword. She had found the authorization she was looking for, and seized the weapon with both hands. The scabbard, a leather tube which end was reinforced by a plate of shining metal, bore some engraved inscriptions. The young woman made a mental note to ask for its signification later, but at the time being her mind was transfixed by the weapon itself. The blade, still uncovered, seemed to be calling to her.
Was it really? Frances repressed a shudder. After so much time spent in this magical place, was her mind clouded with elven magic? Still, she would have sworn that the sword longed to be uncovered. In a swift movement the young lady unsheathed the blade. The handle fit perfectly in her palm, as if it had been molded directly inside her hand. The same inscriptions decorated the blade, the intricate elvish patterns running on the metal like a liquid dance. Its size, about an arm's length, was extended by the large handle that allowed the weapon to be wielded with both hands. Looking very much like Arwen's own, that Frances had studied closely, the sword curved elegantly; it would enhance any cutting move.
The young woman backed up a few steps, and tried a few kata. The blade responded wonderfully, enhancing every blow as if she could read her intentions. Never before had she felt so alive with a sword in hand. The young lady turned back to her benefactor, her eyes shining with childish joy.
- "I will never thank you enough, my lord. It is a kingly present."
Glorfindel lifted an eyebrow at hearing this title, wondering how much the young woman knew about what future could bring upon her. But beyond those interrogations, her inner pleasure infected him, and his lips slightly twisted upwards in an attempt to smile.
- "It is, and I trust it will serve you well. Never forget that this blade is but a weapon. You are the one who commands it."
The lady's smile disappeared so fast that he feared he had insulted her. Wondering how she could have tacked from joy to sadness in so little time, he waited the upcoming explanation.
- "This I cannot forget, for my fighting skills are still insufficient."
Breathing in, the elf lord answered something as cryptically as ever.
- "You have much to learn in terms of warfare. And surprisingly, much you already have for such a young age. Do not fret so on your fighting skills. Considering your age and abilities, they are as honorable as they could be. There will probably be far too many occasions for you to improve on the way to… your destination."
The last word hung in the air for a while, and the young lady turned as red as a tomato from the disguised compliment. Not knowing how to handle a swooned teenager, the elf lord took his leave. Feeling the need to domesticate her new weapon, Frances stayed a long time in the sparring field. Both sword and master learnt how to respond to each other, and when the young lady came back to her quarters her smile would not fade.
It was for the last dinner before the fellowship's departure that Frances had to bow to Arwen's wishes, and she spent more than two hours in the elf maiden's care who carefully brushed and braided her hair in elven fashion. Wincing whenever one of her strands refused to cooperate, the young woman could not help but wish that she would stop keeping promises. Arwen apologized profusely each time she pulled on a loose strand, but her good manners prevented her from swearing. It however was not for lack of envy. She had dismissed Frances' warning and was now struggling with her hair. The texture was smooth enough – not like elven hair but she was a second born - but still, every strand seemed to have a will of its own. Needless to say that the ever patient Evenstar was getting frustrated at disciplining them.
- "I told you my hair tends to grip, Arwen. You really don't have to… ouch !"
Arwen smirked. There, it should keep Frances from speaking out of turn again. Obstinate and focused, the elf maiden did not accept defeat, and after a few hours' work she sat contentedly, swearing that she would never touch human's hair again even if her life depended on it. Apart from Estel, that is
As Frances shook her stiff neck and turned to Arwen, the elf's mouth twisted in a satisfied shining smile. The effect of her crowned French braid was perfect on the young lady's oval face, and the few strands she had let free in front framed her features and broke the severity of the hairstyle. She took one of Frances' hand in hers and led her to the mirror where she could contemplate the work. Her gasp was the best of compliments.
The Keeper of Time stood, unmoving, trying to recognize herself in the polished silver surface. The top of her hair had been braided around on the first third of her head, and the braid turned around in itself like a tiara and was snatched to her skull with silver hair pins that glittered like the moonlight. A single white flower had been added for the effect, its stem buried into the twisted strands that ran loosely around the braid. The rest of the mass was left flowing, the natural wavy form contrasting with the strict arrangement at the top, but some silver ribbons ran along the length, creating a contrast with the deep reddish color.
- "So what do you think?", asked Arwen, impatient like an elfling.
- "This is… it looks incredible", said Frances, dumbfounded by the skill of the maiden
As a brilliant smile illuminated the elf's face, making her glow even more than usual, Frances pulled her close and hugged her.
- "Thank you, Arwen, I was never taken care of this way…"
- "Really?, that is indeed a pity for it suits you well."
The slight twinkle in the Evenstar's grey eyes taught her that it had been a tough struggle. Once the hairstyle completed, Arwen sent her back to her room to get dressed by a maid.
Dinner was magnificent, as always in the Last Homely House. People feasted like never, knowing that this gathering would probably never be seen again. Some melancholy hung in the air, called by the parting of wounded souls. Frances, seated next to Arwen this time, received her share of compliments. With her hair done like a princess, and the light blue dress that had been adjusted to her frame, she nearly felt at home. The absence of the twins, though, put a damper on her mood.
Estel, seated in front of them, participated in the festivities with a wrinkled brow. He knew that Frances would accompany them on this fearful quest, and could not overcome his reluctance in the matter. The young lady had called something very deep inside of his chest, the lack of siblings maybe.
At least, Arwen had chosen to stay in Rivendell for his sake. It was not from lack of courage though, but her wisdom far exceeded anyone's sight in the matter. His beloved knew better than anyone that she would be a distraction, and that Aragorn needed to know her safe if he was to fulfill his destiny. The choice wasn't easy, but she embraced it nonetheless. How wise the daughter of Elrond!
Songs and music kept them awake for many hours in the hall of Fire, and Frances drank their beauty with rapture. A few elvish words rang a bell in her mind, and she recognized the tale of Lúthien Tinúviel. Her Sindarin was improving. Beside the great fire, the people of Imladris showed their true heart, and enchanted the minds of many. Gone were the stern nature and serious looks as they sang. Nowhere on earth would Frances ever find such beauty, but it would be kept alive in her heart.
And when eventually, another song started, the young woman couldn't help but stare at the fire with a furrowed brow. The voices, deep and sorrowful, were so very different from usual. They only hummed, and Frances could already pick at least two different tunes. Puzzled, she turned to Bilbo. The old hobbit's face was split by a large smile, both of his wrinkled hands resting upon his cane.
- "tis the song of Durin. Hush now, listen"
And listen she did, started to realise that she could indeed understand the lyrics. Bilbo would explain, later, that Khuzdul was a secret language and never spoken outside the community, hence the common tongue. The whole company of dwarves now sang the first days of Durin, one lead following the melody as the others produced a background. There was no music needed, for the strength of those voices created a harmony so strong that it turned Frances' heart.
« The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone »
Another dwarf picked up the singing, one with such accent that it reminded her of scottish highlanders.
« He named the nameless hills and dells
He drank from yet untasted wells »
Beside her, Frodo sat his wide blue eyes mesmerised by the shadows that danced in the Hall of Fire.
« He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear"
And two more here, starting where his fellow dwarf had finished, with a voice so deep that Frances shuddered on her seat.
« As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadows of his head »
More voices joined the first as the rhythm picked up, and the melody washed through her like the roll of a gentle sea, deep, huge waves who moved her from head to toe. They spoke of Nargothrond and Gondolin, of western seas and the elves' paradise far in the west. Carried away by the song, Frances failed at noticing how Glorfindel, Lord of the golden flower, shuddered at the mention of his former home. Neither did she understand why tears suddenly prickled at the corner of her eyes, dismissing the emotion to the beauty of the song. Elves had joined the singing now, adding their voices to the Dwarven choir in such a polyphonic and spontaneous harmony that Frances swore she could never hear something so beautiful again. A few women, then topped it with their soprano voices so effortlessly that she was nearly jealous.
They seem to respond to each other, speaking of hammer and blazes, carvings and stones in Khazad Dum. When the back and forth of couplets eventually quietened, the dwarves' voices were the only one that remained to conclude the song.
« The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere; »
The last two sentences were uttered by voices so profound, so deep that Frances could only close her eyes in sorrow. When had Khazad Dum become Moria ? There was so much she didn't know about Middle-Earth yet.
« There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep. »
Waking from sleep ? Did the dwarves think that During would wake again ? Did they believe in reincarnation ? Why did this song shake her so much ? Unwilling to cross' anyone's gaze, Frances kept her eyes closed, mulling about the significance of such a song. How she wished she could record it and play it back a thousand time. It was so complex, so intricated, so beautiful. Perhaps Bilbo would consent singing it again.
Seated beside the hobbits with her eyes closed, Frances failed at noticing that an observant blond elf was detailing her features. The mystery of her origin wasn't fading, especially tonight since she looked very much like an elven maid. An elven maid, with a very human energy, a human woman moved to tears by a dwarven song…
The next morning, envoys left to reach their respective homes. Of the Greenwood delegation, only the prince Legolas remained at the last Homely house. Of the dwarves, Gimli, son of Glóin greeted his kin goodbye, much to Bilbo's chargin. From that day, the little hobbit became distant and gloomy. And despite her best efforts, Frances had trouble cheering him up, even when she talked about her antics with the twins sons of Elrond. Where were Elrohir and Elladan now ? She had no clue, for Estel had not spoken of it. He had not tried to persuade her to stay in Rivendell either, and she was glad that even if he disapproved, her respected her decision.
The fellowship left one week later, on 25th of December as was planned. Many words of encouragement were shared, but much more was left unsaid. With one last look to Arwen, Estel turned away. With one last look to Rivendell Frances followed him without knowing if she would ever see the city again.
So, on the road at last ! Even if this story is finished (but still being reviewed), do not hesitate to leave a review. I get some follows and favourites, but it is not the same as hearing what you think about it. Please, pretty please, leave a review once in a while. Cheers !