Hey. So, this chapter had been eventually reviewed. Phew. I have to admit that my style was super heavy, so don't be suprised when it changes in the next one because it is unreviewed.

Sparks emerged gently from the crackling fire, the orange glow illuminating the two restless walkers who shared legends of another time while the rest of the company slept. Legolas was keeping watch, his glow merging with those of the woods as he silently circled the area, leaving the two companions in relative peace. Strider's voice was lulling, bringing peace where her mind was full of doubts. So Frances drank his words.

- " … and once their lives were all spend and all their tasks fully completed, the Lords of Númenor would finally lie down and close their eyes for eternity."

The young woman's eyebrows shot to the sky as she contemplated the meaning of Estel's words.

- "You mean that Númenoreans could decide to die once it suited them to leave the world?" she asked, dumbfounded by the implications of the news.

- "That was indeed the way it worked for millennia."

The notion had trouble registering in her brain.

- "This is incredible…"

- "Why would it be? The Kings of old were blessed with a long life."

- "How long are we talking about?"

- "Elros lived five hundred years, and the lifespan slowly diminished to two hundred. Long enough to settle a kingdom and enjoy one's relatives before downfall."

Thinking hard, the young woman stared into Estel's grey eyes. She saw him, beard and hair grey, the line of his face more pronounced, carved in stone with Arwen weeping by his side. Startled by the unexpected vision, Frances shook her head. Weird. Still, it was so incredible that men could gather enough strength and wisdom to realise when time was up, and not desperately cling to it like survivors to a safe boat. She had met people willing to kill to stay alive, no matter the conditions. Such wisdom seemed better suited coming from elves than men.

- "Were the Kings of Numenor close to the eldar?"

Aragorn nodded.

- "At first, they all were elf friends. Elros and Elrond were twin brothers. Then…"

A strange sadness washed over the ranger's features.

- "What happened?"

- "Sauron corrupted their hearts, and they banished the first born and their teachings."

Frances shivered by the fire; she didn't want the mood to crash, especially with the power of the ring attacking them at every turn. For she felt it still, trying to gnaw at her resolve, crushing her spirits. A small voice in her head sometimes; she banished it with merry tunes. How did Frodo manage to sustain it? He was so strong. So now wasn't the time to grant Sauron more power, and she steered clear from sad tales.

- "Are you not a descendant of the Kings of old?" she asked instead.

- "I am the last one of the line," answered Aragorn, curious to hear what were her conclusions after this moment of silence.

- "Therein in your blood lies great strength."

Estel winced at hearing this, and his eyes grew darker by the second as he mumbled:

- "In my blood lies great weakness too… I am Isildur's heir, who got tempted by the ring and did not destroy it when he could. I also am of the line of those corrupted kings who refused their condition of mortal and defied the Valar, resulting in the destruction of Numenor…"

Frances bit her lip; she didn't know if Aragorn was always si burdened by his line, but it could also be the weight of the ring speaking. And she didn't believe in predestined greatness or evil.

- "In my … place, we try not to judge people by the mistakes of their forefathers. The way you are raised, the principles by which you abide are more important than blood."

Aragorn seemed to mull over this, considering the way Elrond and his mother had raised him. Remembering, as well, the few memories of his father that lingered in his mind.

- "Is that so?"

- "Who cares what evil your ancestors have done, you cannot be held responsible for their deeds. Especially thousands of years ago. What you decide to do with your inheritance is for you to choose and you alone. You have spent years in the wisdom of Imladris, and defending those lands and their people. Do you really think that what flows in your veins can make you weak?"

Gasping, the ranger looked at his companion in shock. The passionate tirade had left her breathless, but the fire that burnt in her eyes told him that she had meant every word of it. Could it be true? Could he be a saviour when Isilduer might have caused the downfall of middle earth? Arwen had already lectured him on this topic, as well as many others. However, most of them were fond of cryptic answers while Frances' words were plain and nearly brutal in their clarity. What she said seemed right, but again she was not the one facing his pending doom and destiny. Shaking his head slowly, Aragorn gazed at the flames.

- "You don't understand," he said in a murmur.

- "Explain then"

Her eyes shone golden with the campfire, daring him to spill it out. Aragorn sighed; she was pushing him with her constant nagging. Not remembering how this warm moment of confidences had turned into a will contest, he decided that it was worth trying. The young woman was most of the time very respectful of privacy, but sometimes she would bug you until you gave up. It was as if the girl could see straight through him, and the ranger considered her dangerous for this ability. However, her will to help and inner character had won his trust, so there he was, confiding things he would never have voiced otherwise.

- "The ring is calling me," he hissed. "And it takes all of my willpower to prevent from falling into its sweet promises…"

- "Ah. It calls to me too, that rascal. All this hissing makes my head hurt, it is sooo annoying that I have to keep pushing it away."

Aragorn nearly choked at her words.

- "You hear it?"

- "Of course, all of us hear it I think."

- "What does it say?" he whispered.

- "Rubbish about the power to save my loved ones, and yada and yada. It shows me the past, tells me I could have saved … the people I lost. Anyway. The more powerful you are, the more that thing calls you. Lord Elrond told me humans are the most sensitive to it."

Sarcasm eventually laced into her voice as she finished:

- "You are the most powerful of us all, if you had not heard it, I would be worried for your senses."

The laid-back manner with which she treated the ring caused Aragorn to pause. Was it lack of respect for Sauron, or a clever way to dismiss its lure?

- "I feel weak for I sometimes listen."

- "You should feel strong since you haven't given in," she retorted, annoyed by the self-beating circle Aragorn had fallen into. "I know that this destiny thing must weigh a lot on your shoulders, but you chose your path and fought alongside the people of middle earth long enough not to doubt your strength any longer. What will occur later is another problem that you cannot solve for now, so let it rest for your own sake. It will come soon enough… You are strong Aragorn; do not let any golden whispers tell you otherwise…"

- "She is right, my friend," came a silky voice from behind them, startling Frances to death.

As Aragorn seemed to sink in all she had said, and especially his friend's approval, the young woman turn around to glare at the intruder. She seemed to be in a daring mood this evening.

- "Don't sneak up on me like that," she grumbled.

- "It is hardly fault of mine if you were not paying attention to your surroundings," Legolas teased.

His cheerful tone brightened the mood, and Aragorn wondered if Frances was right. Perhaps humans were more vulnerable to the ring, after all, for the elf's presence had already shifted the dynamics.

- "I was not paying attention because somebody much more agile and sensitive than me was on watch, but said guard is not supposed to scare me to death…"

The elf blue eyes twinkled for a moment, glad to be part of the fun for once, and then he lifted one of his hands in a peaceful gesture before he turned serious again. As he glided effortlessly towards the opposite side of the fire, Frances stared at his eyes. Even in the darkness and with the reflections of the fire, his irises still shone in this captivating blueish light, which should have been impossible. The elf sat down without displacing even one twig on the ground, then turned his gaze to the flames.

Frances studied Legolas from the corner of her eye; trying to understand how his mind worked. Elves seemed in a pensive mood at least ninety percent of their time, probably an alter effect of the huge amount of memories they carried. Fascinated by the eldar, Frances felt like an intellectual dwarf compared to their immense knowledge and wisdom. No matter how hard she tried, she could not fathom what it could feel like to see the earth change slowly but surely and still be there, contemplating your home being built, prosper and fade away as centuries went by. The young woman had always claimed that she would hate being immortal, and she bore as an anchor her attachment to people in such a way that every goodbye tore her heart. In a certain way, her sheer reluctance to become all-powerful and immortal made her the right choice to be the Keeper of Time.

Lost in her thoughts, Frances eventually pulled her blanket to her shoulders. As she slowly drifted to sleep, she unconsciously locked eyes with the elf sitting on the other side of the fire. His deep blue pools watched her small frame as fatigue washed over her and led her into a dreamless slumber. Nor Aragorn nor Legolas talked during the end of his watch, but it was very clear that the two of them were thinking deeply about their sleeping companion's opinions. As the Ranger chewed up her blunt words, trying to decide if it was worth extracting something from her ideas, the elf contemplated the human woman in her sleep.

She was a mystery to him, and each time he laid his eyes upon her she reminded him of the first day he had seen her dancing over the ice. Sadly, she mostly shied away from him but her connection with the hobbits and their animated conversations always called a smile to his lips. How he missed the merry people of the Greenwood forest; she reminded him of some elves he had grown up with, for beside her cheerful manners lay some wisdom. If Frances' defence was to be underestimated then she played her game well. Her friendship with Aragorn, though, sold her out. Especially after what he just heard. A bit motherly, the young woman took care of the group, but she often drifted away in her thoughts, walking only on instincts. As if she belonged in the forests and mountains. As for the reasons of her presence, he had learnt nothing. Aragorn was tight-lipped; he only knew she had participated in the deliberation with Lord Elrond, Gandalf and the ranger himself. Why had such high beings decided to include a young woman in such a dangerous mission? Legolas couldn't fathom their reasons, yet he didn't resent it like Boromir did. He trusted both Elrond and Gandalf to take the right decision.

Despite the fact that a Maiar trusted her enough to handle the ring, he couldn't fathom why Frances avoided him. Surely she held no grudge against the first born, for she was welcomed in Imladris. Yet, there was an unbreakable barrier between them; even when he tried to be friendly, it took two weeks before she warmed up to him and stopped answering monosyllabic words. Perhaps she considered elves as a different kind of hers, and therefore did not wish to speak with them. Shaking his head in disbelief, the elf frowned; from what he had gathered, Frances was a very curious woman, and did not seem the type to be stopped by differences and races. After all, she did enjoy Gimli's company quite a lot, trading jokes and pranks with the dwarf.

The memory of her laugh caused his lips to quirk: it wasn't musical like the sweet melody of his kind, but in contained such freshness. Of all the companions, she was the one which he knew nothing about. If Aragorn could trust her then he would also do it without conditions. Sometimes she stared at him, especially when he was singing a ballad from home. But each time she crossed his gaze she pushed her head down and slow her steps to give him some space.

- "What ails you Legolas?"

Aragorn's sudden question startled him from his thoughts.

- "Nothing important my friend, you should rest while you still can."

- "Yet, there's a crease between your eyebrows."

Startled by the ranger's insistence, the elf decided to ask nonetheless:

- "I was wondering if the young lady had some reluctance with the first born."

- "Nay Legolas, I am pretty confident that she does not hold anything against your people … or yourself. She has been nothing but friendly with Imladris dwellers if a little withdrawn. Why would you come to this conclusion?"

- "Forgive me if I am wrong, but it seems like she is shying away from me whenever I attempt to speak to her."

Aragorn's lips formed an 'oh' as he realised that, indeed, Frances had been less than forthcoming with the prince of Greenwood.

- "Oh… She is probably intimidated."

- "By me? Because I am an elf? She seemed friendly enough with your foster brothers."

- "Well, they are a handful. And a little less…"

- "Guarded?"

The ranger chuckled softly.

- "No, less noble than you are. And there's the title as well."

The elf frowned this time; his status caused many elves to react differently. Whether they became too friendly, or more distant depended on each character.

- "You know my title means nothing among friends," he scolded.

- "But she doesn't. She is still learning the rules of etiquette. And you have to admit that your people tend to treat the second born differently…"

The slight accusation in the ranger's tone did not go unnoticed, but the prince of Greenwood let it go for it was nothing but the truth. In Imladris, Elrond's house had been supporting Frances's presence, therefore allowing her to participate to the deliberations. Yet, his peers had mostly ignored her. Apart from Rivendell's haven, elves were withdrawing from the world; no longer did men and the eldar got along like they did in the old days of the Beleriand. Thinking that someone so young and yet powerful enough to be accepted in the fellowship might be intimidated by him felt awkward, but if Estel said so, then it was most likely true. As his watch was over, the elvish prince woke Boromir up and laid down to stare at the sky in search for a bit of rest.

Days passed, and the fellowship slowly made her way through wild and inhabited lands. Frances, who had never travelled for so long before, had a hard time adjusting. Fortunately, the hobbits were very straightforward in their habits, and she copied them to find a routine. After a few days, the weariness of her muscles gave way to renewed energy; a second wind. The clothes gifted by Lord Elrond were miraculously warm, and with the soft leather boots one could go a hundred miles without a scratch. After a while, setting up camp, lighting a fire, hunting some food, everything was getting easier. Frances took advantage of every moment to train. She would practise her bow and sword skills with Estel since Boromir treated her with hostility. However, with time, the proud warrior realised that she not slow them down. It still wasn't enough to befriend her, but at least he wasn't complaining anymore.

They had stopped early for the night, glad to escape the pouring rain under pine trees. At last, after supper, the clouds condescended to leave. Frances's hands were slowly brushing the crazy strands in an attempt to discipline them to braid it. Sliding the mass of hair to the side of her neck, she worked absently while gazing into the fire. Little animation was heard as most of the group had sunk into their bedrolls. Exhausted by the march and frozen by the icy wind, none of the hobbits had wished to linger longer than necessary. Estel had offered to take first watch and the elf was settled on a rock nearby camp. His keen sight gave him a clear overview of the campsite.

Awestruck by the light dancing in the young woman's hair, Legolas could not help but stare. Fortunately, he was too far away for her to catch him staring. The reflections from the flames danced over her in red and orange, and it enhanced the natural colour of her strands which seemed aflame. Her face was shadowed by unrest and fatigue, but somehow the young lady had not settled yet. The road was taking its toll on every member of the fellowship, and now that she thought to be alone, the elf realised how tired she seemed to be.

Silent as a squirrel, Legolas made his way to the hearth, mindful not to scare her. Despite his silent approach, she turned to him much sooner than expected. Good, she stood on her guard. Satisfied with her awareness, Legolas sat neatly on the other side of the fire.

- "You should rest my lady, I am afraid that tomorrow will be no easier than today and Estel is watching the company. I assure you that there exists no more skilled guard than he…"

- "I am no lady master elf," she replied without animosity, making this shocking sentence an unquestionable statement. "As for Estel I am aware that we are as safe as possible under the circumstances, and I fear not … well not so much anyway…"

Legolas cocked his head aside, considering her response.

- "Then may I ask what plagues your mind so?"

- "You may…"

But Frances wasn't so eager to share her thoughts with a prince, but her responses bordered on rudeness. Yet, Legolas didn't break the silence for a while, giving her a chance to reach out.

- "There are but mere mortal thoughts my lord," whispered Frances shyly, "they would not be of great interest to an elf."

- "There are reasons for every twist of the mind. The eldar are not above them."

As silence settled again, both companions staring at the dancing flames, concentrating on the low crackling of the drying branches in the brazier. For one of the first times in his long life, the elf was at loss about what the necessary course of action. Amongst his people his royal status provided him with lots of company. The attention that was given to him as the Prince of Greenwood eased the relations, and sometimes he even wished to be left in peace when present at his father's court. Elleths were hunting his presence, and the little solitude a treat. Feeling unwanted was a first. It wasn't his pride which accommodated the refusal, yet his feelings were bruised. Legolas had always been curious, and his friendship with the ranger sometimes made his father. Learning from others was embedded in his character like the salt was in the ocean, and so Legolas hoped to share moments of connivance with the members of the fellowship.

As Frances's gaze shifted from the flames to the elf's face, she felt a pang of sadness at seeing his fair features so thoughtful. She knew the reasons of his turmoil, and could not help feeling guilty about it. Soon he would leave, and believe that she despised him or hated it, or God knew what. This was unacceptable, and so Frances decided to master her feelings and talk to her companion as if he was her equal. However the words would not come, and she frowned. Seeing her eyebrows furrowing, Legolas decided that it was time to take his leave. He unfolded his legs. The graceful movement sent Frances in a panic and the words blurted out:

- "Please don't leave. I just… I'm trying to find the right words. Gosh, I'm so clumsy. I was thinking about my euh, fiancé, or whatever he used to be"

Stopping abruptly, the elf lifted his eyes to her. She seemed rather distressed.

- "You do not have any obligations to me my lady, if you wish for solitude I will grant it gladly. I know the price of such things…"

His voice danced about the flames, his face so fair, blue eyes staring into hers. Frances' breath caught in her throat. Her companion was sitting anew, but his stance indicated that he was ready to jump to his feet and leave at any word from her. It felt wrong for her to have such power over an elf.

- "I … do no long for solitude, my lord," she stuttered uneasily. "I just do not wish to bother someone like yourself with my personal issues; it would be too improper…"

- "If I wished not to know, I would not have asked. Do not fear, my lady, I would feel honoured to be the recipient of your thoughts"

Struck speechless by the sincerity of his voice, Frances lowered her eyes to the ground, unable to hold his enchanting gaze much longer. That was her cue, and the elf had given her the opening she needed. Scowling herself for being such a coward, the young woman lifted her eyes again to his face and contemplated his perfection.

- "My concerns are about my doom, and whether or not I will have the pleasure to see again my fiancé, family and friends."

- "I understand how distressful this perspective can be for I myself wonder, but it would be offence to lie to you. I do not know if either of us will come back, but for nothing I would turn around even if fate does not grant me to see my father again."

- "Is he the one that imports the most?" asked Frances with curiosity. "Your father, King of Greenwood?"

- His blue eyes filled with sorrow.

- "Yes, he is, for he is the only family I have left. But pray tell you spoke of a fiancé. You are then betrothed?"

The term was new to Frances, and she took a moment before answering.

- "Well, sort of. There was no ceremony yet."

Discarding the two little words that did not mean a lot to him, Legolas' curiosity won the best of him.

- "Has he not accompanied you to Imladris then? I do not recall seeing any man by your side before we left."

- "He has, fortunately or not, no idea of where I am today. Charlie probably thinks that I am safe and sound and so do my family and friends."

- "How can this be? Are all of them ignoring where you are and not wondering for your sake?" asked the prince, his voice still ushered but rising with concern.

- "This is a long story, but the short answer is yes, and this is for the best and a choice of my own. No one must know I am there, and it will be so if I return, and pointless if I do not."

Her tone had slightly risen, and Legolas refrained the hundred questions he wanted to ask. Now that she had agreed to talk, even for a few instants, it would have been foolish to spoil the moment. Searching to soothe her temper, the elf changed his strategy.

- "So what is your fiancé like? May I ask?"

A tiny smile spread over Frances' lips, and the elf saw great affection in her eyes as she recalled the man she had left behind. Freed from her shyness, she slowly related her encounter with Charlie and how their love blossomed, editing the story along the lines so as to fit his possible existence into the medieval age of middle earth, and playing with her souvenirs to adapt Charlie's character to the knight age she was presently living in. The exercise proved extremely difficult, but as she danced around banned notions such as his profession and past actions, she realised that speaking of him felt good. It was like giving a tribute to her world, and by doing so honouring the strong ties she had with her birth planet. Lost in the fate of middle earth, it was so easy to forget about one's character and history, and Frances realised she had been much more silent and melancholic than before in fear of displeasing people met. This behaviour was an insult to her inner being, and it did not correspond to the merry and exuberant woman she was. One part of her character had taken precedence, nearly erasing the other one, and slowly she realised it had been a mistake. When she eventually, Frances felt whole again, and she brightly smiled at the elf.

- "I thank you my lord for listening to me. You have given me much to ponder about."

Startled by the change of attitude, Legolas bowed slightly.

- "I am glad my company pleased you my lady, it was an honour to learn from you."

- "I, however, have to insist that the next conversation hovers around you since you have learnt so much of me and I so little of you."

The elf chuckled gently, then stood up with such grace that Frances blinked twice at this sight.

- "That would be only fair. For now I will bid you a good night and wish that you rest well."

- "I wish you a fair night," she ushered.

Standing still, the elf gave her a warm smile, his eyes contemplating again the shadows of the flames playing along her braided hair. Then he bowed and left. As he made his way back to the lonely boulder, the prince of Greenwood listened to the swift shuffling of the bedroll as the young woman slid into its warmth, and his eyebrow furrowed in wonder. What kind of man voluntarily let his beloved run errands in this dangerous world? There was something behind this he could not understand, one enigma that stood in front of him that he could not resolve. The mere thought of some Elleth leaving his father's court for a month's length without her family knowing was unbelievable. There were some things she did not reveal, some things that hid amongst the numerous unspoken lines of her story. The mystery that surrounded her coming and origins was thicker than the trunk of a Mallorn tree. Sighing in delight at the thought of Lothlórien, Legolas let his dreams take over and surrendered his body to the sweetness of elvish rest.

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